Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  “See that? With me, you only had to overcome a few hundred layers of stubbornness.”

  In the moonlight, he could see her roll her eyes. “Levi, don’t make me compare. I might have preferred the challenges of a chain smoker. As noted, I’m right here. What do you want to focus on, Zeke’s bad habits or me?” Aubrey’s fingers hooked around the edge of his boxers.

  “Definitely you. But as far as your evening goes, I reserve the right to revisit tomorrow.”

  “And I’m not completely sorry you noticed my evening away from you. It may have saved you from that date-night trip to Paris.”

  Levi skimmed off the boxers, dismissing nearly all other thoughts. “Just one more thing,” he said, his hands moving in a practiced downward direction.

  “What’s that?” It came out in a lusty breath, as if Aubrey were disinterested in anything he wanted to verbalize.

  Poised over her, Levi moved forward, and she locked an elegant long leg around him. “Just so you know, I think maybe it is time to up my career game. My goals. I decided to take the TV job.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Present Day

  On Piper Sullivan’s desk was a picture of a blonde-haired girl who looked so much like her mother no one ever asked, “Is this your daughter?” It was the way Piper answered the follow-on questions that awed Aubrey. The photo invited the inevitable: “How old is she now?” “What does she do?” “Is she like you—a bloodhound of an investigator?” Piper had routine answers: “Sadie would have been twenty-one this year.” “She was eight in that picture—my daughter was crazy for American Girl dolls and glittery rub-on tattoos.” “Two weeks after that photo was taken, she was murdered, so I don’t know who she would have turned out to be.”

  That was the pattern when new people entered Piper’s office—cursory conversation followed by humbling silence. The day Aubrey entered Piper’s office for the first time, things went differently. For one, Aubrey knew she was looking at a photo of a dead girl. She knew Sadie’s name and that her murder had been solved. Her killer was a neighborhood teenager, a troubled boy with a twisted mind and heart. Sadie’s death eventually spirited Piper to this area of law enforcement, overseeing cases involving missing children in New England. She’d needed to get out of the South, where due process had brought Sadie’s killer to justice, though it had never brought closure to Piper.

  Not until Aubrey arrived.

  Piper had been a skeptical but intrigued reader of Aubrey’s book. She’d wanted to talk, ruminate over a couple of cold cases on her desk. Aubrey didn’t take offense when Piper said she’d wasted days on crazier leads. Sadie’s presence had been immediate and overwhelming; Aubrey delivered a long-awaited message of closure, not necessarily to Deputy Chief Sullivan, but to a dead girl’s stunned mother.

  It was as far as the two women had gotten that day. The connection to Sadie plunged the hermetic investigator into emotion buried deeper than her daughter’s coffin. A week later, Aubrey came back. She wanted to help, but she was also leery. Aubrey didn’t want this to become her life’s work. It was too much. When you lived with the dead, you had to choose, where you could, what you let into your life. In turn, Piper selected cases with care, only calling on Aubrey when certain elements surfaced—icy-cold leads and vague disappearances being common threads in the dark current of missing children.

  From their distinct vantage points, the women hit a stride with difficult and hard-to-hear information. In more instances than not, Aubrey supplied critical information, the abduction and recovery of Lily North being their most recent triumph. The more devastating cases were harder to process, though Piper assured Aubrey, for the families involved, it was better than never learning what had become of their children. Unfortunately, it was a fact Piper knew all too well.

  Aubrey believed that working with Piper was her current calling. The job was more intense than her previous spiritual employment—ferrying messages between the dead who resided in properties that were for sale and their loved ones. Maybe it was also part of the reason she’d written The Unremarkable Life of Missy Flannigan. It could be that this was what Missy meant by “You could do more . . .” Without the book, she would have never met Piper. It all made sense. The arrangement and general pattern of their work had been productive for a number of years, with Aubrey going home to a near-perfect life, always tucking Pete in a little tighter after a day with Piper. She had Levi—a breathing rock of stability, someone who encouraged but was always cautious about new challenges.

  Psychic challenges and everyday life balanced, or at least they did until things went haywire and Pete’s gift turned into something more than disconcerting dreams. Now, with the apparent change in her own gift, the curious discovery of her father’s ghost gifts, not to mention an estranged Levi, Aubrey sighed, wondering how disheartening a prognostication of her own future would be.

  Waiting for Piper, sitting in the chair across from her desk, Aubrey struggled for a grip on the things she could control. In the moment, it didn’t seem like much. She bit down on her lip, sinking back into the chair. Her work with Piper: that was something about which she could say yes or no. Maybe the time had come to move on, resign from the ominous world of missing children, thereby removing one disturbing element from her life. It could be the reason Aubrey had woken with an urge to call Piper and ask for today’s meeting.

  “Recovered from the other day yet?” The office filled with Piper’s drawl, in turn chasing the immediate ghosts from Aubrey’s head. She took the seat behind her desk. “I was thinking, you ought to write another book: My Life as a Terrorist—One Psychic’s Day in FBI Hell.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” Aubrey said dryly. “Actually, I was thinking.” She sat up straight. “The reason I called, after the tower incident and my prior warning . . . after what I learned about my father, where Levi and I are, together and with Pete . . .” She wallowed in an ambivalent pause. No. This was the right call. “Maybe I should take a break from this.”

  Piper’s energy was almost a visible thing; it stopped dead. She cranked her body into slow motion, drawing her chair closer to the desk, then pointing a finger at Aubrey. “I get that. It was a rough day. Nobody likes being held in a cement-block basement room, having their civil rights trampled on, or being accused of representing the New England chapter of ISIS, but—”

  “Piper, I was clear when I agreed to this. It wouldn’t be forever, and I would get out when I felt like I’d done all I could for you. I think I’m there.”

  “Is this Levi’s two cents talking?”

  “Levi doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just think as few distractions as possible are the best right now, especially when it comes to Pete.”

  “Makes sense.” She nodded, blonde curls bobbing. “’Course, I didn’t realize your son had moved back in with you, away from his daddy.”

  She hesitated. “He hasn’t.”

  “Oh, then I guess your theory’s changed from what you told me months ago—that it’s better to keep busy than keep wringing your hands over Pete. I mean, the boy’s safe. He’s with his dad, who, if I’m not mistaken, you still think is a pretty good man example.”

  Aubrey made a face.

  “Even I’ll admit Levi’s no chest-beating gorilla. Not like that Fed contact of his, Dan Watney, super-agent deluxe.” She put such a sharp twang on luxe, the sound ricocheted off the walls. “If you ask me, there’s something to be concerned about.”

  “I realize Dan’s methods are a little . . . cowboy compared to yours. That said, I don’t think Levi’s at an age where he’ll be influenced by peer pressure.”

  “I meant your son. Watney might have him stacking empty shot glasses before his thirteenth birthday.”

  “Ha! Levi would never . . . besides, they don’t even socialize; not as far as I know.” Aubrey scrunched her brow. Of course, it had been months. Who knew how Levi’s life had changed. Her imagination defaulted to a messy, d
orm-like condo, late-night poker games, and double bourbons all around. Aubrey rolled her eyes—like Levi would tolerate an open bag of chips in the common room, never mind dirty laundry on the floor. She shook her head. “The point is there are more unknown variables than ever in my life. It’s too much.” Aubrey wrapped her fingers around the beaded necklace she wore, tugging hard, then smoothed the front of her pale blue dress. “My work here is one thing I can control.”

  “So what’s your plan? To sit at home and wait for Levi and Pete to come around, maybe spend your time worrying when and where your daddy’s gift might pop up again? You’d feel safer holed up in your house, is that it?”

  Aubrey nodded fervently, and the two women stared at one another.

  “Okay.” Piper splayed her hands wide. “If that’s your decision, I respect it. I told you the day you rocked my world, this gig is your call. You may never have walked in my shoes, but I’ve certainly never treaded in yours.”

  “Well, all right then.” Aubrey shifted in her seat, not exactly sure how they’d reached the mutual conclusion. “We agree. My life is far too complicated right now, and I should—”

  “But before you go . . . I’ve been meaning to give you this.” Piper spun her chair around. From the pages of a Bible, tucked amid procedural manuals and case histories, she plucked a cream-colored envelope. “Darn thing kept slippin’ my mind. You know me. Not much for sentiment, no time to read anything but the files on my desk.”

  “What is it?”

  “Addressed to you.”

  “It’s open.” Aubrey took the envelope, and Piper shrugged, busying herself with a folder. Aubrey huffed, wrestling the note from inside. As she read, her eyes misted and her throat tightened. The note was from Lily North’s parents, a page of heartfelt praise and deep gratitude. A little girl had been found alive, terrified but essentially unharmed. Her life might be forever altered, but thanks to Aubrey, she’d have one. She stuffed the notepaper, now with one teardrop spot, back into the envelope. “That was a really cheap trick, Piper.”

  “And some of us didn’t get the kid back, Aubrey.” She flipped the folder closed, her expression solemn. “You possess an ability that makes mine pedestrian. I’ll use dirty tricks and carnie sleight of hand to keep you on this job. What happened the other day and your personal life, while currently out of sync, doesn’t match what these parents are experiencing—their child is missing, maybe dead, maybe worse.” She poked at some papers. “If I can prevent one parent from enduring my living hell . . .” Piper’s voice pinched. “I’ll do it.”

  Aubrey sank back into the chair and peered across the desk. “So what am I doing here?”

  “Beats me,” she said. “After your tower debacle, I assumed your focus would be off, or not of particular use to me. Go home; lock yourself in for a day, if it helps. Take a long bath. Maybe put some energy into sorting out your daddy’s gift. Lord knows I’d be curious.”

  “I should. Take a close look at what’s in that letter box. I guess I just don’t want to do it alone.”

  “Invite a friend to tag along,” Piper said.

  Aubrey rolled that short list through her head.

  “’Course, if it were me, I’d want the most methodical mind in on that case.”

  “Levi?”

  “I said he was a stubborn ass, honey. I didn’t say he wasn’t whip smart and then some.” Piper pulled a dark blue folder from a stack of white ones—new cases versus old, so Aubrey had learned. Her gaze jerked from the blue folder to Piper. “Go,” Piper said. “If you don’t want to deal with the letter box right now, do something else. Get yourself a mani-pedi. Better still, didn’t you mention an old carnie buddy being in town?”

  “Uh, yeah. Zeke Dublin.” It seemed like weeks ago. “We had coffee yesterday . . . at Euro.”

  “Cozy.” She frowned, looking between the folder and Aubrey. “Do I also recall you saying he’s more of an ex-boyfriend?”

  “Yes, but that was ages ago. Zeke, he’s . . .” She thought for a moment. “Just someone from my past whose timing is pretty good in the present. Right now, I could use that friend you mentioned.”

  “Hmm . . . good for you. A friend. Copy that.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Not that you and I aren’t . . . it’s just I’ve known Zeke forever. We go so far back.”

  Piper laughed. “You can’t insult me by wantin’ to sit at someone else’s lunch table. I get us, darlin’. No worries.”

  Aubrey shook off the misstep and reached for her satchel.

  “But here’s my two cents, even if you didn’t ask. Given your present, you might be a little vulnerable. Could be coffee was just an icebreaker. Is this Zeke hanging around town for a while?”

  “He didn’t really say. And you’re wrong. Zeke and I, there’s nothing . . .” Aubrey rewound their coffee “date” and Zeke’s “I love you . . .” parting words. The way he’d reached for her hand and touched her face. The lure of yesteryear had pulsed off him—a place that was safe and steady and whole. She squeezed shut her eyes; the aura of Zeke was almost tangible. “I wouldn’t let anything like that happen between us.”

  “Funny, that’s what my ex-husband said right before he put on his best dress shirt—long sleeved—and went to a high school reunion to ‘catch up.’”

  “Huh. I don’t think you ever told me that story. How did it turn out?”

  “Good. For him. ‘Catching up’ with his high school sweetheart . . .” Piper finger quoted the air. “She’s the reason he’s been my ex-husband since Sadie was four.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Aubrey cleared her throat. “But Zeke’s good people. He’d never . . . it was a lifetime ago and . . .” She wanted to say it was kid stuff but found herself replying, “He wasn’t the guy. Zeke knows that.”

  “If you say so.” Piper glanced between the dark blue folder and Aubrey. “Now shoo; I’ve got work to do.”

  Aubrey started to rise but was drawn, once again, to the folder. “New case?”

  “Sort of. Not New England. But, you know, sometimes they ask.”

  Aubrey nodded. It wasn’t unusual for individual states to seek out Piper’s input.

  “Tucson-area Feds just turned it over to me for a look-see. They couldn’t get anywhere with it.”

  Aubrey sat again, her sight line moving between the new folder and an older one marked “Trevor Beane.” It was a Pennsylvania cold case, a missing sixteen-year-old boy whose file landed on Piper’s desk months ago. Aubrey got involved back then, but there hadn’t been a vibe of insider information, nothing penetrating from Trevor Beane’s case file or personal belongings. Aubrey always perceived zero insight as a plus—she didn’t sense death.

  Trevor had vanished after ice hockey practice, not far from his home in Glenmore, Pennsylvania. Because of his age, law enforcement had leaned toward a runaway scenario. Piper felt Trevor didn’t fit the profile—good student, popular, happy family life, no peculiar interests or friends, a computer hard drive that showed nothing more alarming than a few sites featuring nude women. “Not finding naked women . . . possibly men, would have been stranger,” Piper had insisted. At the time, Aubrey made a mental note about paying closer attention to Pete’s web-surfing habits.

  In the parking lot of the ice arena, police had found Trevor’s goalie mask, one skate, and some tape. Green tape. The kind you’d wrap around a hockey stick. But did the items indicate a struggle or just stuff left behind by someone making a mad dash out of town? There’d been no conclusion or progress. Aubrey had physically handled Trevor’s personal items, the ones found at the scene and those gathered to create a DNA profile. To her, it’d all been as cold as the blade on Trevor Beane’s ice skate. But now, staring at the closed folder, Aubrey was oddly swamped by recall, the specifics of a case for which she’d been no help. Also, on the back of her palate was the sudden sharp taste of a sour green apple, then a rush of sugar.

  Piper was talking; Aubrey cleared her throat and looked up. �
�I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She spun the blue folder in Aubrey’s direction. “Girlfriend, I think you really should just go home. But suit yourself, I have no qualms taking advantage. I said this is fourteen-year-old Liam Sheffield. He lives in the suburbs of Tucson, or he did until ten days ago.”

  Piper opened the folder, and Aubrey absorbed the image of a brown-haired boy, his nose taking up a chunk of his face. Unassuming brown eyes. Definitely in the throes of puberty, with a ruddy complexion and gangly appearance. “Anything outstanding about his disappearance?”

  “I’ve only glanced at it. I was about to get into it when you called. Arizona state police sent Liam’s personal items. That’s them.” Piper motioned to a box on a side chair and skimmed the notes made by Tucson authorities. “Supposedly, Liam was on his way home from a friend’s house, right around dusk. His bicycle was found near a vacant lot in a residential area, a gym bag with it.” She flipped the page. “Nothing worth noting—usual stuff: shorts, Axe deodorant, chewing gum, two dollars in change, a half-eaten lunch . . . boy junk. Guess they’ll throw anything in a bag, huh?”

  “They will.” She knew Pete would. “Piper, could I see the list?”

  The deputy chief turned the paper and held it up.

  “No. See the list . . .”

  She obliged, holding out the report. The paper was warm to her touch. Aubrey felt a connection between the two boys and reached for Trevor Beane’s file, which was also now warm.

  Piper walked around to Aubrey’s side of the desk. Pictures of both boys were attached to the paperwork. “Interesting. Put young Liam here on a Proactiv plan for a few weeks, and I’d say these two could pass for brothers.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Aubrey murmured.

  “And what else are you thinking?”

  She shot a sideways glance in Piper’s direction. “Do you still have the personal items recovered from Trevor’s disappearance?”