Cold Image (Extrasensory Agents Book 4)

by Leslie A. Kelly

  This doctor—sister of the missing kid—was coming in at ten a.m. Five minutes from now. Meaning he had about four minutes to keep arguing. “What would I do, go in as the custodian? Sweep floors for the dollar bills discarded by the rich kids?”

  “You will not be going in as a custodian.”

  He noted the will. Not a would. Like it was already a done-deal. Damn that Julia certainty. “Shop teacher?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Auto mechanics, repairs, metal work.”

  Her brow went up. “At the Fenton Academy for Boys? Please. They don’t need that. They probably have professional mechanics to take care of the Ferraris back at the mansion while they’re incarcerated…I mean, educated.”

  Wonderful. Just his kind of people.

  She looked down, twisting a colorful bracelet on her wrist. “Um, they do, however, have what they call a Boot Camp session in the spring, a requirement for graduation. One last kick-in-the-butt to ensure the boys are ready to rejoin the real world.”

  Derek gritted his teeth. He’d done his time in the Army and had no wish to revisit the memories. Nowhere safe to look, nowhere someone hadn’t died a horrible death. IED’s and gun battles and explosions and suicide bombers blowing people up.

  Going into the military had been the worst decision he’d ever made. Considering he’d been patriotic, barely nineteen, and hadn’t much cared if he lived or died, it had seemed to make sense at the time. Wrong.

  “I can’t do that,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady.

  “It’s not an actual battlefield.” She knew his background, though he hadn’t told her what it had really been like for him. Still, knowing what he could do, she had to have a pretty good picture of it. Sitting up straight, her stiff shoulders saying he wasn’t going to like what came next, she added, “Olivia’s cousin’s office placed a call and recommended you. You’ve already got the job. You start on Monday.”

  He definitely didn’t like what had come next. Olivia’s cousin was a senator. He didn’t know which woman to glare at first.

  “It’s a perfect cover,” Olivia said, her cheeks a little pink.

  He couldn’t be mad at her. Not when she was so pregnant. Not when she was the sweet one in their group. So he sent eyeball flames toward Julia. “I thought this wasn’t a military school.”

  “It’s not. Again, this place is super-expensive and renowned. It caters to millionaires with punk sons. They spend buckets to get their precious boys an education under lock and key so they can forget about them and their troublemaking ways until they’re eighteen. Then they become Yale, Oxford or Harvard’s problems.”

  He supposed with enough money, even the most rotten kids could get into those hallowed halls after they’d had their wild ways kicked out of them in a prep-school-for-juvies. He wondered what his co-workers would say if they knew he could’ve afforded it, too, if he’d given a shit. Nobody here knew how much money he’d inherited at eighteen, nor did they need to.

  “They’ll realize I’m a plant the minute they do a background check.”

  “They probably won’t, considering that place.” Julia shrugged. “If they do, you’re covered. I’ve run a thorough check on you. You’re not on our website, you’re low-key, and you don’t appear in any articles. No arrests, obviously. Honestly, anyone who looks for you is going to just wonder what jobs you’ve held since you left the military. I’m sure you can come up with an answer for that.” She smiled. “Sounds like a great option as far as I’m concerned.”

  “We need a bigger staff,” he grumbled.

  “Working on it,” she replied. “But we don’t have anyone else for next week.”

  Wondering what she was up to, and who she had her eye on to increase their investigative staff, Derek found another objection. He knew his own shortcomings. He wasn’t the most patient guy in the world. Understatement. “How am I gonna deal with a bunch of smart-ass punks? The first one who pisses me off…”

  “Stop it,” Olivia said, her southern-genteel voice gaining a bit of steel. “Stop with the self-deprecation. We all know the real you, Derek. You can do it.”

  Mick chuckled. “Yeah. Everybody knows you’re a big marshmallow inside.”

  “Uh-huh,” Julia piled on. “Your resting-bad-ass-face is a cover for a heart of gold.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes. “Children, please.”

  Julia got serious again. “Besides, it’s for seniors. They’ve had time to get the punkiness ground out of them, judging by how harsh this place sounds. Any young man who wants to graduate and get out of there knows he has to pass that two-week session…one final kick in the ass before he escapes for good.”

  Aidan finally contributed to the arm-twisting. “I know you don’t like it, Derek, but it is the most logical solution.”

  Damn. The not-much-older-father-figure of the group had spoken. Once the most responsible one of the group had put his stamp of approval on the plan, Derek knew there was no way out of it. He was outmaneuvered and out argued. He hated the idea—really hated it. There was, however, no getting around Julia’s determination, Olivia’s sweet smile, Mick’s gloves, and Aidan’s rationale.

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh, opening the folder in front of him, wishing he could do something simple, like posing as a thug for the mob. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the job. He was going undercover in a rich-boys’ prep school to try to find out what had happened to the missing brother of a determined doctor.

  God help him. And the students.

  “Good,” said Julia, sounding pleased but not surprised she’d gotten the result she wanted. She got up to lead him out of the office. “Let’s go meet her. By the way—this doctor? Totally bitchin’ hot. Sexy, super-smart. You’re going to like her.”

  Derek grunted, not impressed. He didn’t do this job to meet women.

  Following his boss out of the conference room, he spotted a flash of dark, gleaming red. It was cascading in thick waves down the back of a tall, curvy women who disappeared into Julia’s office, apparently led their by their receptionist.

  That was the client? The doctor? Holy shit.

  Only seeing her from the back was enough to freeze him in place. The stunning waterfall of hair was distracting enough. The body clad in a professional but form-fitting suit? With the trim waist, the generous hips, and an ass that would make a grown man howl?

  Hell. He might have believed he would never get involved with a client. This one, however, was already proving to be a major distraction, and he hadn’t even seen her face.

  The case had sounded like a pain in the ass from the start. Now, with a glimpse at the woman he would be working with, things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

  “I don’t think this is going to work, Miss Harrington.”

  Kate Lincoln hadn’t meant to say the words aloud to the owner of Extrasensory Agents. She’d intended to keep them in their brain, where all the other thoughts of Derek Monahan had been swirling since the moment she’d been introduced to the agent assigned to her case.

  Good God, he’s gorgeous. Then: That body, those shoulders. And: He stepped off a poster for Bad Boys Anonymous. Finally: He’s every woman’s secret, dangerous dream.

  But not hers. She hadn’t had those kinds of dreams in a long while. She might once have had a thing for bad boys, but that was over. Frankly, she hadn’t been interested in men since her world had shattered with the loss of the only person she truly loved. Maybe she’d been momentarily affected by the agent’s rugged good looks, but she was here for a reason that did not include being distracted by a sexy male.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Monahan might not be right for this job.”

  “You and me both,” the longish-dark-haired, dark-eyed man said, his frown deepening. His voice was deep, throaty, and rough. Not to mention curt. It fit his looks.

  Kate had expected someone professional looking. Not necessarily suit-and-tie, considering the reputation this place had, but not looking lik
e a sexy, dangerous biker, either.

  This man did.

  He had a strong face, angular, with slashing cheeks, heavy brow, a hard, square jaw, and God, those gleaming, almost-black eyes. His cheeks were stubbled, but that only emphasized the masculinity of his face. His silky hair swung loosely, almost brushing his shoulders. That will have to be cut. He wore a ratty pair of jeans, engineer boots, and a black T-shirt that hugged bulges upon muscles. New wardrobe required, too.

  She swallowed hard, knowing the clothes didn’t really matter on a man like this. A haircut and suit would never cloak the lion. No—wolf.

  “He won’t fit in.”

  Monahan obviously didn’t take offense. “That’s what I’ve been telling her.”

  “Whoever goes into the school can’t stand out as a P.I,” she continued. “The headmaster knows I don’t believe the official story. He’s caught me nosing around and banned me from the campus. He’s turned away the other investigators I’ve hired. He won’t fall for this.”

  “Exactly,” Monahan said with a firm nod.

  At least they agreed on something. Well, that, plus the fact that they were a little uncomfortable with each other. She’d noticed the way he’d pulled his hand from hers quickly after they’d been introduced. He hadn’t looked at her since they sat down.

  “We’ve worked out the perfect solution, Dr. Lincoln,” said the agency owner. Julia Harrington was younger than she’d expected, early-thirties, maybe. Kate had liked her the moment they’d met, appreciating a confident businesswoman in a male-dominated field. “We’ve pulled a few strings and gotten Derek assigned as the boot-camp sergeant. He starts next week.”

  She glanced at the agent sitting stiffly in the chair beside hers. He looked like the kind of angry, scowling man the school would hire to terrorize their students and whip them into shape. She wondered if he was capable of smiling or had a drop of softness in his hard body. Somehow, she doubted it.

  Although she didn’t like admitting it, she mumbled, “I guess that does make sense.” She didn’t like thinking about the fear in her brother’s voice during their last few conversations, but it had been there. “The boot camp training was worrying Isaac within weeks of his arrival at Fenton.”

  “Worrying enough to make him run away?”

  “No.” She didn’t expound, knowing her own certainty was audible.

  Isaac had not run away. Nobody else believed it, but she knew it was true. But she hadn’t been able to explain her certainty to anyone…until now.

  Because no one would have believed her…until now.

  Or so she hoped.

  Her heart twisted and her stomach clenched, as they always did when she thought about her only sibling, and his last, terrified cry. Why hadn’t she been close enough to answer it? If she’d been in the country, she would have dropped everything, driven like a madwoman, or hired a plane to get to him. Instead, she had been on the other side of the world, working with soldiers who had to deal with the horrors they saw every day in the field.

  She’d been helping others. So she hadn’t been there to help her brother.

  What happened to you, Isaac? Where are you? I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to save you.

  At age thirteen, Kate had been resigned to being an only child in a cold mausoleum of a house, with parents who ignored her unless they needed to show her off. Then, a miracle had happened: Isaac Lincoln III. She’d babied him, nurtured him like he was her own, since her parents and a succession of hired nannies certainly hadn’t. Despite the age difference, the bond between them had been as tight as if they’d been twins. She’d always protected him, right up until the moment he’d needed her most. And then she’d failed him.

  “I hate to tell you this,” Julia Harrington said, “but this wouldn’t be the first time a monster has been kidnapping a certain type of kids, counting on the public and the police to assume they were runaways.”

  She was aware of that. She’d done her research, and knew two people intimately involved with the case. They had, in fact, been the ones who’d told her about this agency’s existence. “You’re talking about what happened in Granville.”

  “Yes. The victims were all girls, but…”

  “Otherwise, the pattern fits.”

  Serial killers often targeted the most vulnerable members of society. Prostitutes, the homeless, runaways. People whose disappearance wouldn’t kick up too much of a fuss. It seemed counterintuitive that someone would choose to take boys from a rich private school, but when considering why the boys landed there—because their families wanted them out of the picture—it made a twisted sort of sense.

  “I’m not saying that’s what is going on, but it’s possible.”

  “I know, and it needs to be investigated,” Kate said.

  “Yes it does. I really think Derek is the right agent for you,” said Julia Harrington. “He has unique abilities that will help him find your brother. That is, if he’s, uh…”

  “Dead?” she snapped, still trying to get used to the word, though she’d associated it with Isaac for almost six months now.

  Julia nodded.

  “I’ve heard some things about Mr. Monahan’s skills.” She’d done some investigating of her own. She had a vague idea what Monahan could do.

  He saw ghosts. Which was why Julia needed to confirm her brother was dead.

  “Yes, I guess he probably is the best person to investigate. Because Isaac was murdered.”

  Monahan’s head swung toward her, and he stared, hard, maybe surprised by her blunt words or the certainty of her tone.

  She looked at him evenly, holding the stare. “I’m not exaggerating, Mr. Monahan.”

  His brow pulled down. The jaw clenched. “I can see that.”

  “Believe me, I wish it weren’t true.” She swallowed and blinked away sudden moisture, angry with herself for letting her emotions intrude. Kate seldom cried anymore, despite feeling Isaac’s absence every moment of every day, sure of his fate, but unable to fully process the hows and whys.

  The when she knew.

  “Isaac died five months and twenty-two days ago.”

  Julia looked at the folder in front of her. “The same night he disappeared? The night the administration and police claim he ran away?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Was she? Absolutely sure?

  Yes. Of course she was. She’d heard his final scream, his last plea for help. More importantly, she’d heard nothing since. Except in your dreams. But dreams didn’t count. Didn’t everyone dream about loved ones as if they were still there, still talking, still asking for help in their final, desperate moments? Her brother’s whispers to her in the dark of night were remnants of memories of his cries for help from years ago.

  “Yes, I’m certain. As certain as I am that it happened somewhere on the grounds of that horrid school.”

  With a plea from thousands of miles away, followed by a scream of pain and then utter silence ever since, she had immediately known the horrible truth of that night. Sweet, shy, but, according to her cold, repressive parents, newly-rebellious Isaac was gone. For the past six months, she’d tried to find out what had happened to him, to no avail. Hiring this unusual, but well-reputed psychic detective agency was a hopeful, last-ditch effort to get to the bottom of what, exactly, was going on at the Fenton Academy.

  She wanted his killer caught. She wanted his remains found.

  She had to know what had happened to Isaac if she ever wanted to go on with her life.

  “Dr. Lincoln, can you tell us how you are so certain?”

  “Please, call me Kate,” she told the dark-haired woman sitting on the other side of the broad desk. He could call her Dr. Lincoln. Considering the immediate tension she’d felt between herself and the sexy, gruff agent, she hoped formality would provide the distance proximity could not. “And yes, I can explain.”

  These people, at least, would understand, and hopefully believe. Given the entire pr
emise of Extrasensory Agents—people who used their unique psychic abilities to solve crimes—how could they dispute the connection she and her brother had shared?

  “Isaac and I are…” she cleared her throat, “…were close.”

  “Despite the age difference?” Derek asked.

  “Yes. Our childhoods were difficult and we formed a strong bond.”

  She thought she saw Derek shrug. She took no offense. Everyone looking from the outside-in at their rich New England family made the same assumption. How tough could it be growing up with six cars parked in the garage and silver spoons parked in their mouths?

  The answer was: very tough. Behind closed doors, her parents were cold, violent people who gave not one damn for anyone but themselves. That included their own children. The happy family image they showed the world when a local newspaper wanted to photograph the successful Lincolns was a complete fiction. More often there were screams, harsh punishments, dark closets to be locked in, and occasional beatings.

  Now, given her profession, she could recognize and name the various diagnoses that plagued her parents: Narcissism. Borderline Personality Disorder. Maybe not Psychopathy, but not far from it, especially where her mother was concerned.

  “My parents should never have had children,” she said matter-of-factly. “They are extremely self-involved. So Isaac and I formed our own little family. I was thirteen years older, and I viewed him as my child more than my sibling.”

  Holding him in the dark, rocking him gently, controlling her own fear as the toddler sobbed, wanting out of the tiny closet.

  She and Isaac had always known they weren’t wanted, which was why they’d been so close; they’d only ever had each other. The moment a staff member started being too attentive or kind to them, out the door they’d go. When her parents had realized how much Isaac relied on her, they’d encouraged her to leave the state to go to college, but she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone with those frigid people. She sometimes thought her parents hated Isaac. Her, they usually ignored, though she’d gone through some serious punishments of her own. Isaac, they tormented.