Book One

by K. C. Archer

  Teddy didn’t know when it had happened, but as she’d lost herself in the details of the case, the assignment had become about far more than winning. Marlena and Corey were real to her—to all of them. She had watched the team work until their nerves frayed. Jillian, Jeremy, Pyro, too. They had to help because they could help. As Clint had said all those months ago, they had to show up. “I know,” Teddy said.

  Clint put his glasses back on. “Then all I can say is good luck.”

  Teddy knew she’d been dismissed, but she had more to say. “So, we haven’t spoken in months. You know I’ve been missing your class. And all you want to do is make sure I know how important this case is?”

  Clint looked at her. “Did you want to talk about something else?”

  Of course she wanted to talk about something else. But the ferry was leaving any minute. “That’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair, Teddy. But you have the chance to make it just. This is your job. So do it.” He returned to the file. “You’re going to miss your ride. I’ll see you in class this afternoon.”

  *  *  *

  After the ferry ride, Teddy found herself in the backseat of a government-issue Crown Vic, speeding southeast on Highway 101, through Marin County’s rolling hills. Any moment it felt like spring would take hold and the landscape would be green and lush, scattered with wildflowers. But at this time of year, everything looked brown and bare.

  Nick had spent most of the car ride briefing them on what to expect once they arrived at San Quentin—how to move, how to talk, how to conduct themselves should the alarms go off during their visit. The only item they were permitted to carry inside was their identification, Nick explained; that was why he hadn’t brought his laptop, which he usually carried everywhere. Teddy made a mental note to leave the book in the car.

  They exited the highway and drew to a stop at the prison’s first security checkpoint. The guard on duty checked their IDs and allowed them to pass. They drove through secured metal gates, past twin perimeters of towering chain-link fences topped with looped razor wire. Nick parked, and they walked toward the main entrance. Comparing herself to the prison’s massive scale, Teddy felt small. Maybe that was the point. She was going into a facility of thousands of people, with thousands of thoughts, memories, stories. She took a deep breath, gathering her strength. Her mental shield needed to be stronger than ever.

  Nick paused before they entered. “Ready?” he asked them.

  He held open the door and ushered them inside. More screenings, more ID scans. Nick checked his weapon and holster. They were processed through a metal detector, followed by a security-wand once-over. A female correctional officer patted down Teddy and Kate; a male CO frisked Nick.

  Next they were ushered one at a time through a series of heavy iron-bar doors.

  “Turn and face me.” A CO sat in a small room tucked between the doors, situated behind a bulletproof sheet of clear acrylic. “Hands up. Show me your ID.”

  Teddy complied.

  “Clear,” the CO called out. The next iron door rolled open, propelling Teddy deeper into the heart of San Quentin.

  Teddy had known the prison would be crowded. It housed more than four thousand inmates, roughly a thousand more than it had been designed to accommodate. As conscientious as she’d been with her mental defenses before stepping inside San Quentin, they weren’t enough. As soon as she entered the prison, Teddy felt accosted by psychic impressions, coming so fast that she lost her breath. What was different about this place? The desperation? The despair? It had been a while since she’d been around so many people who weren’t psychic. The anxiety that had tortured Teddy her entire life took hold of her body: her stomach churned, her heart raced, her vision swam. She needed to get herself under control. She saw Kate recoil as well, stumbling backward. For a split second their eyes met, and a moment of understanding passed between them. Teddy sent another surge of power to her wall. She took another breath. Remembered that she had a job to do. And that Kate was trying to do it better.

  A pair of armed correctional officers escorted them to a row of attorney-client conference rooms near the entrance. Teddy counted five rooms, all of which were occupied. As the COs took up positions on opposite ends of the narrow hallway, Nick pulled Teddy and Kate aside.

  “You’ll each have thirty minutes alone with McDonald,” he said.

  Well, not quite alone. As an additional safety measure, Nick would accompany each of them into the conference room in turn. He assured them that he wouldn’t interfere with their interviews in any way. This was their show.

  In a coin toss, the Misfits had won the privilege of interviewing McDonald first. When the door to the last conference room opened, a CO gestured to her. Teddy walked inside. Nick followed.

  When Teddy saw Corey, he looked different than the clean-cut boy in the evidence pictures: shaggy pale brown hair fell in his eyes, and his blue chambray shirt hung loose over his shoulders.

  The door closed behind her. As when she’d connected with Clint during the exam, she knew she would have to lower her wall if she wanted to reach Corey telepathically. She felt vulnerable without it up these days, especially in a place like this. She wouldn’t be able to rely on her usual lie-detecting skills, either—even in this room, one-on-one, her body felt like it was in hyperdrive. She’d have only her telepathy from this point forward.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Teddy Cannon.” A chain connected Corey’s wrists to the belt fastened around his waist. It rattled as he shifted in his seat.

  “I’m Corey,” he said. “But you knew that already.”

  She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. “Hi, Corey.” She smiled, even though she couldn’t dismiss the chance that he’d killed his girlfriend. It made her sick. “I’m here to ask you some questions, see if we can figure a way to get you out of here.”

  In the days leading up to the visit, she’d thought a lot about how she’d handle her time. She knew that she wanted to be up-front with him. Tell him she was psychic. She’d never had to tell anyone that before. There weren’t any rules against outing herself, just about mentioning Whitfield. So, Teddy took a breath and began. “Corey, do you know what a psychic is?”

  “A psychic? Sure. Someone who stares into a crystal ball, reads palms, that sort of thing.”

  “Not exactly,” she returned. “I don’t own a crystal ball, and I have no intention of reading your palm. But if you tell me what happened the night Marlena Hyden disappeared, I might be able to help.”

  His brow furrowed. “Do my parents know you’re here?”

  “Actually, yeah. They do.”

  “A psychic?” He slumped back in his chair. “So the attorney thing didn’t . . .” He studied the ceiling. “God, they must be desperate. My dad’s a scientist, you know that? He doesn’t believe in any of this.”

  Corey scooted back his chair and lurched his upper body forward. For one foolish, panicked instant, Teddy thought he was lunging for her. Instead, Corey slammed his elbows on the table. “Damn,” he said, as if her presence suddenly made his situation clear: his parents and his attorney had taken it as far as they could.

  The best possible outcome of the meeting was for Teddy to identify where Corey had been on the night of the murder. If she could put his mind on that train of thought, maybe it would make it easier for her to find the memory of that night. “Let’s try to start at the beginning, Corey. Can you tell me what happened the last time you saw Marlena?” She tried to sound gentle. Kind. Kinder and gentler than she ever had in her entire life, that was for sure.

  “I told them, told everyone. A dozen times. I was drunk. If I remembered, I would’ve had a solid alibi. I’m not an idiot.”

  She hadn’t expected tears or anything, but she certainly hadn’t expected attitude. Teddy leaned forward in her chair. “Maybe I can help find that memory for you. Walk me through that night.”

  “Marlena was angry with me,” Corey said. “That wasn’t n
ew.”

  “Did you two fight a lot?” Teddy took a breath, centered herself. Focused on keeping Corey talking. The better her sense of him, the more prepared she’d be when she entered his mind.

  “We had our ups and downs, just like any couple.”

  “I get that,” Teddy said. “Trust me.” Building rapport could help. She remembered all of Clint’s empathy lessons. Put herself in Corey’s place. “Look, Corey. I’m on your side here,” she said. “Can you try to remember where you were that night?”

  This was the crux of his case: his defense could never establish a concrete time line. He hadn’t had his phone on him—he said he’d lost it at a party earlier that night—so they couldn’t track his location via cell towers. There’d been no GPS in his car. His friends hadn’t seen him after he left the dorms. Corey had shown up at Marlena’s room early in the night, been seen in his own room alone near dawn. But there was a whole lot of time in between when he wasn’t accounted for.

  “I dunno. I went to see Marlena, we talked, we hung out. Drove around.”

  This was something. He’d never admitted that they’d been in the car together, even though several of Marlena’s personal effects had been in his possession.

  “I didn’t want to tell the cops we got in the car because I was drunk. I knew I shouldn’t have been driving.”

  Teddy began to push into his consciousness, the inky darkness unfolding before her. He had no wall, so Teddy entered easily. The image before her was hazy, out of focus. She thought it looked like a Victorian, two stories, white siding, a big bay window. It flickered once or twice before disappearing back into nothingness.

  The car. “Did something happen in the car, Corey? There were traces of blood—”

  “I can explain that,” he said. “She cut her finger in my tackle box, when she was looking for a bottle opener. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Must have gotten in the car, too.”

  This was going nowhere. The door to Corey’s house, to Corey’s astral self, was still closed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nick raise his hands. Ten minutes. Time had gone too fast. She might as well change tacks. The book. She should ask him about the book.

  “I read your book,” she said.

  “What book?”

  “The one your parents gave me. Romeo and Juliet?”

  He tried to rub his wrists underneath his handcuffs. “Oh, yeah. It’s cool.”

  In her mind’s eye, she saw only darkness. This line of questioning was another dead end. If she could talk about his essay, maybe. Or how Marlena reminded him of Juliet?

  “You remember the part when—” she began to say, but suddenly, she felt the breath knocked out of her. Panic surged through her. She felt the presence wrap around her mind, tightening like a vise. Her wall was down, she was defenseless. Then a voice rang through her head: Ask to see his handwriting.

  When she looked up, Nick was at her side. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just a headache,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Can I have some water?”

  Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my head? she said.

  All in good time, Theodora, the voice replied.

  She jerked, trying to shake herself free.

  Listen. I might be able to help.

  Teddy shivered. An echo of the words she’d said to Corey mere moments ago. Nick brought her a bottle of water. “You have about five minutes left.”

  Teddy felt her stomach drop. Five minutes? That was all? “Okay.” She took a sip and tried to concentrate. “Corey, you said you and Marlena got in the car. Did you go down to the wetlands?”

  He crossed his arms. “No, I’ve never been down there.”

  Ask to see his handwriting, the voice said again.

  “So, you didn’t go to the wetlands?”

  “No, I said I’ve never been there.”

  “Teddy, we need to wrap this up,” Nick said from behind her.

  “Hold on a second.”

  Ask, the voice said.

  What did she have to lose? “Nick, can I borrow a pen and paper?” Almost as suddenly as it had entered her mind, the presence retreated.

  “Teddy, you’re out of time. Where are you going with this?”

  “Please, just another minute.”

  Nick was at her side, handing her a lined yellow notepad and a pen he’d lifted from his breast pocket.

  “Corey, can you write something for me, please?” She slid the paper across the desk and placed the pen in his hands. “I know it’s hard with the, um”—she tilted her head—“handcuffs.”

  “What do you want me to write?” Corey asked.

  “Anything. Your name. Your address. Who you want to win the World Series.” Teddy watched as the pen made short strokes. “Wait—did you buy your copy of Romeo and Juliet used?”

  He shrugged. “It’s cheaper.” He finished the sentence and pushed the paper and pen back to Teddy.

  “Were there notes in the book already? When you bought it, I mean.”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. It made it really hard to read.”

  That was why Jeremy couldn’t get a read on Corey. The book had multiple owners. The notes hadn’t been his. Hadn’t been his comments, his thoughts. She’d based her whole profile on another person.

  Jeremy’s psychometric read was right. The person who’d written the notes in the book hadn’t killed Marlena Hyden. But that person wasn’t Corey McDonald.

  Because the handwriting didn’t match at all.

  “Teddy, you’re really out of time,” Nick said, coming toward her chair.

  She hadn’t found the memory. Hadn’t established a time line. An alibi. She wasn’t even sure that Corey was innocent. Every assumption they’d made was wrong.

  She’d failed. More, she’d failed Marlena.

  Teddy stood, wordlessly allowing herself to be escorted from the room. Her entire body was trembling. Her throat burned. Her limbs felt weak, and her head throbbed. She slowly eased herself onto the bench where Kate had been sitting.

  Nick hesitated. It was clear that he wanted to ask her what the hell had just happened, but he had to return to the room to supervise Kate. “You going to be okay out here by yourself?”

  Teddy attempted a smile and cut a glance at the two heavily armed correctional officers stationed at either end of the hallway. “It’s Kate’s turn.”

  Once the door closed behind them, Teddy drew in another shaky breath and attempted to center her thoughts.

  Someone had entered her mind when her walls were down, then proceeded to point out all the flaws in their logic, which now seemed glaringly obvious. But the only two people who’d been in the room were Nick and Corey, neither of whom was psychic.

  Her throat felt so dry she couldn’t swallow. She’d left the bottle Nick had given her in the interview room. She stood and approached one of the COs. “Excuse me, is there somewhere I could get water?”

  The man ignored her. He stared straight ahead, Buckingham Palace guard–style.

  She clenched her fists and tried again. “Look. I’m not going to wander away. I just want—”

  She stopped as recognition set in. His eyes were black, pupils wide, as big as his irises. He wasn’t ignoring her. And neither was the guard at the other end of the hallway, whose face bore an identical expression. The same desperately blank expression that Sergei and the Bellagio pit boss had worn the night Clint had mentally influenced them to walk away; the same expression Molly had worn in the warehouse.

  Teddy felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Someone inside San Quentin was mentally influencing the guards. She had to tell Nick. Before she could stand and make her way back to the conference room, the door adjacent to Corey McDonald’s drifted open.

  A slight, neatly dressed older man stepped out. He gestured in Teddy’s direction.

  “Ms. Cannon,” he said, holding open the door for her. “You’re right on time. My client will see you now.”

  CHA
PTER THIRTY-ONE

  “MS. CANNON?” THE LAWYER REPEATED.

  Teddy stared at the man as her brain scrambled for a response.

  This was San Quentin, home to California’s most hardened violent offenders. And she was supposed to leave a hallway where (at least in theory, even if they were under mental influence) she was protected by two armed guards and enter a private conference room with an unknown inmate? Teddy understood it was a bad idea. And yet she knew that whoever was in the other room had her number.

  Teddy closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. The man inside was already in her head. Instead of trying to block his psychic advance, she welcomed it. What do you want from me?

  The answer came almost immediately: Wrong question.

  “Ms. Cannon?” the lawyer repeated.

  Teddy took a step forward. The lawyer ushered her inside and then took her place in the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  Teddy’s gaze shot to the man who had summoned her. Just like Corey McDonald, he sat cuffed behind an institutional metal desk. But that was where the similarity ended. This man, whoever he was, was lean and wiry. Narrow nose, sharp cheekbones. A faint pink scar ran along the left side of his jaw. Eyes so dark they looked black. Something about him struck Teddy as vaguely familiar, but if she had met him before, she knew she would have remembered those eyes.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “Wrong question again. Don’t you want to ask who killed Marlena Hyden?”

  Teddy regarded him warily. “You were in my head.”

  “I was.”

  “To lead me to discover that the notes weren’t Corey’s. To lead me to think that he’s guilty of murdering Marlena.”

  “Yes.” His answer was simple.

  “But I still don’t have proof.”

  “Well, not yet.”

  How wrong the Misfits had been. They had believed McDonald to be innocent—until this man intervened.

  “Sometimes the justice system gets it right the first time.” He paused, rattling the chain attached to his handcuffs. “And sometimes it doesn’t.”