Cold Image (Extrasensory Agents Book 4)

by Leslie A. Kelly

  That’s when he saw the kid—a boy, probably about fourteen. He had been hit so hard he’d flown in through a now-closed doorway onto the wooden floor of the gym.

  Damn it. Not now.

  The boy writhed and twisted, trying to get away from invisible, probably booted feet that came at him from both sides. Thin and wasted, he had sunken cheeks, deep-set, brown-circled eyes, and hair that had been carelessly cut until it stuck up in short, tattered tufts.

  Despite his age, Derek knew he’d been no student. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform or even an athletic one. Instead, he was clad in a dingy, old-fashioned hospital johnny. Unlike today’s that fastened up the back with Velcro, this one was loosely tied with ragged strings, only a few of which were functional. The gown gaped open, revealing protruding bones in the spine, and bruises on the hips and flanks. Long sleeves dangled down the sides. They had probably been wrapped around him to restrain him during his bad days.

  Of course, he was witnessing his very worst one. Derek was viewing the last moments of the life of a mental patient who’d been beaten to death in this room years or even decades ago.

  The coach said something. Derek didn’t turn around, barely hearing him. He stood still, watching the boy scream as black fluid flowed from his face. The helpless kid drew into a ball, trying to make himself a smaller target. But his attacker, or attackers, proved relentless. Each kick or blow caused him to flinch. One must have landed on the small of his back, because his whole body flew backward into a comma-shaped arch. That exposed his head, which suddenly jerked. Derek mentally inserted the sound of cracking bone. The neck bent awkwardly. The boy stopped flinching. He lay still. Dead. And then he disappeared.

  “Hey, buddy did ya hear me?”

  I’m not your buddy and I never could be. Derek let out a slow breath, silently praying for the doomed boy’s soul, and turned to face the coach. Another man, younger and fit, wearing similar clothes and a whistle around his neck, stood beside Emerson.

  “I was thinking about the past of this place,” Derek said.

  “I get that. I swear sometimes I hear the howls of them crazy nuts from the looney-bin.”

  The guy’s compassion overwhelmed.

  “Anyway, I want to introduce you to Nate Gardener. He’s my assistant. Coaches track and field.”

  “Great to have you,” Gardener said with a broad smile, extending his hand in greeting.

  “I’m showing Monahan here around,” Emerson interjected.

  “I hear you’re taking over the boot camp this semester?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Great. That’s a load off us.” Gardener looked genuinely relieved. “My J.V. track kids are competing in a city-wide meet next Tuesday. I don’t have time to give up three hours every afternoon to help with the seniors for the next two weeks.”

  That sounded like what a normal teacher would say. And he’d called the boys “his” track kids. It was almost like Derek had stepped out of a prison and back into a typical high school gymnasium. He wondered how many guys like this one had the stomach to work here…and how long they typically lasted.

  “I didn’t know the students here participated in outside activities,” he said, feeling the man out.

  Gardener’s mouth quirked, even as Emerson’s tightened. “They’re let out of their cells…I mean, dorms, once in a while. They even go on field trips.”

  Glowering, Emerson snapped, “Have you finished inventorying the equipment room?”

  Gardener might have rolled his eyes the tiniest bit at Derek before turning to face his boss. “I was on my way to do that right now.”

  “Well, get on with it,” Emerson ordered. He was a man who obviously liked his authority. “Can’t have any of these punks stealing anything.”

  The junior coach nodded. Looking at Derek, he said, “Good to meet you, Monahan. If there’s anything I can do to help you out, just let me know.”

  “As long as it’s not during track practice,” Derek murmured.

  Gardener chuckled. “Right.”

  Watching the younger man go, Emerson muttered, “You have any problems or need any help, you come to me. You understand?”

  Derek murmured his assent, the picture clear in his mind. Emerson was overweight, not very bright, and looked ready to retire. His assistant was young, energetic, and excited about his athletes. Classic story of generational competition. Knowing he might at some point have to get information from one of them, he noted their mutual dislike. It could be of use.

  “I guess we should get on with it,” Emerson said. “There’s not a whole lot more to see.”

  That was a good thing, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief when they finished the tour of the facility. Afterward, with a class to teach on the field, Emerson left him alone in the athletic department office. Derek took the time alone to study the names and backgrounds of the boys in his class. He knew he couldn’t do any real digging on the school computers without leaving an incriminating electronic trail. So he took careful notes to use later.

  Although his attention was on the missing students, he couldn’t help thinking about his cover story, and why he was supposedly here. Now that he knew what they went through, he wanted to do what he could to help the boys avoid the hell of the “traditional” Fenton boot camp.

  The headmaster had made it clear Derek was in charge of this year’s program, so he didn’t hesitate to ignore everything the sadistic coach had said. There would be no naked push-ups. No hand-to-hand combat. Definitely no animal slaughter. He didn’t give a shit if Emerson raged. Derek was in charge. And since he was stuck doing this, he might as well do the best he could at the job without putting the students through sheer humiliation and terror.

  Kate had no idea how other detectives, private investigators, or psychics interacted with their clients. She didn’t know if they provided in-depth, daily reports, or if it was normal that Derek didn’t reveal much of anything when they spoke on the phone.

  There were two things she did know. First, that Derek had mentioned he would be working late at the office tonight. Second, that she was a pretty good cook. And that was why she showed up at the Extrasensory Agents office at eight o’clock Monday night, glad to see his motorcycle parked in a reserved spot in the garage attached to the downtown office building.

  “Okay, Mr. Monahan, let’s see if pasta makes you talk.”

  They’d spoken on the phone this afternoon, right after he’d finished his first day at Fenton, but Kate preferred to hear more than the dribbles of information he provided. She wanted details, but he’d insisted he would update her fully when they met at the end of the week. That was another four days away. Meanwhile, she was going stir crazy. A stealthy dinner ambush sounded like a good way to get him to open up.

  Plying information out of the taciturn agent was the only reason she’d decided to make lasagna and bring it to him. There was nothing personal about it. It had nothing to do with the hours she’d spent worrying about him and what he’d seen on the grounds of that school last night, and everything he must have seen inside today. Nothing to do with what he’d told her about his parents—God, she still couldn’t get over that. It had nothing to do with her grief for him. Her empathy for him.

  “And it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with that kiss,” she mumbled as she removed the large box of food, dishes, and utensils from the passenger seat of her car.

  No, not the kiss. She’d barely spared a thought for that super-dirty, super-impulsive…but super-hot kiss they’d shared Sunday night.

  Her protestations weren’t helping. “Physician heal thyself,” she mumbled.

  She wanted to see him. That might be second to her need to find out what was happening at Fenton, but it was definitely her other motivation for coming here tonight.

  They’d met under the worst of circumstances. She hadn’t been interested in anyone for a long time. He was the kind of man she knew better than to get involved with.

  None of
that mattered. She wanted him. She’d been dancing around the realization since their first meeting, and their kiss—despite the itchy bug bites, the slimy hair, and the creepy school grounds—had cemented it. Her libido had reawakened after a long dormancy caused by months of worry and grieving. That it had awakened under the influence of an adrenaline-fueled, moonlit, swampy kiss was for somebody else to figure out.

  Wanting him, thinking about him the way she had been, made her want him to see her. Kate wasn’t a vain woman, but something in her needed to remind him she wasn’t the pathetic, mosquito-bitten, mud-covered, algae-haired woman he’d had to carry out of the muck. He’d kissed her when she was at her worst. What might happen when she looked her best?

  “That’s not why you’re going there,” she reminded herself as she headed toward the garage elevator, which led up to the Extrasensory Agents offices. “It’s about the case. And the pizza.”

  Aside from the sexual attraction, and what was happening at the school, and her missing brother, the other thing she couldn’t stop thinking about was how normal it had seemed for him to eat at his desk the other night. It was as if he did it all the time.

  Derek no wore ring, nor did he seem like the kind of man who would cheat. If he were in a committed relationship, he wouldn’t have kissed her. So he was probably single, probably lived alone, and probably hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. Bringing him something substantial to eat—a salad and bread to go along with the pasta—was the least she could do. If she happened to be wearing a cute dress and strappy sandals, rather than moss, mud, and duck crap, oh well.

  Reaching the outer office, she tested the door and found it locked. That hadn’t stopped the pizza guy, however, and she jabbed at a nearby buzzer. A deep, throaty voice emerged from a speaker. “Come on in. I’ll meet you out front.”

  Derek. Undoubtedly waiting for his dinner delivery.

  Well, tonight’s pepperoni would have to stay in its box in the break-room refrigerator.

  Shifting the box onto her left hip, she waited for a click that said the door had been unlocked remotely, pulled it open, and entered the waiting area. It was almost eight p.m., and the overhead lights had been switched off. The room was nicely decorated and attractive by day, but at night was shadowy and a tad eerie. The whole building seemed silent, these offices extremely so. Maybe it was because of the kind of work they did…or the ghosts that reportedly lurked around its employees.

  Derek was no ghost. She sensed him before she heard him. The air grew hotter, and she knew she was sharing it with another warm, living person. So she wasn’t startled when his tall form emerged from a dark hallway and swam toward her through the shadows.

  “Kate.” He didn’t sound surprised.

  “Hello, Derek.”

  “That doesn’t smell like pizza.”

  “You’re going to have to forego pizza tonight.” She shifted the heavy box so it rested in both arms. “I cooked too much and thought you might like a healthy meal for a change.”

  He took the box. “Why do I suspect you cooked too much on purpose and came down here to feed me in exchange for information?”

  “Because I did?”

  Even in the semi-darkness, she could see the gleam of the broad smile he flashed. “I like an honest woman.”

  “That’s good, because I suck at lying.”

  “Do you suck at cooking?”

  “No, that I’m very good at.”

  “Excellent.” He lifted the box and sniffed appreciatively. “Italian. My favorite.”

  Rather than to his office, Derek led her to the conference room. The lights came on automatically as they entered. He had just put the box on the table when the door buzzer rang again. “I’d better go get the pizza I’ll be leaving for everyone for lunch tomorrow.”

  “They’ll think you’re such a nice guy.”

  “They know better,” he said with a snort before leaving.

  She doubted his coworkers really believed that. She had known him for less than a week and already saw the man beneath the shell. He might like to play the angry rebel, but that didn’t really describe him.

  While he was gone, Kate emptied the box. Setting the table, she scooped salad into bowls and pasta onto plates. His eyes rounded upon his return, and one brow shot up. “Dishes? Really? You know I have paper and plastic stuff.”

  “I thought my bribe might work better if you were able to eat off a real plate.” She offered him a tiny smile. “I brought my everyday ones in case any poltergeists around here like to fling pottery.”

  “No dish-flinging poltergeists. The two ghosts who work here are pretty well-behaved.” He pulled out her chair, as if they were at a fancy restaurant, and she watched him take a seat.

  “Really? Two ghosts?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of the lasagna, nodded his approval, and mumbled, “Well, two that I’m aware of. Who knows if there are more hanging around, hoping to be noticed?”

  She waited for the disbelieving laughter that would have come out of her mouth a month ago. There was none. Given everything that had happened, she probably wouldn’t doubt someone who came running in to say aliens had landed in Forsyth Park.

  “Any particular reason these two ghosts ‘work’ with you? I mean, are they just upwardly-mobile, career-focused spirits?”

  “Who knows? And they don’t work with me. Julia and Olivia are the only ones who can see and talk to them.”

  “Ahh. Are you sure they really exist?” She snapped her mouth closed, realizing she had insulted his friends.

  “Pretty sure.” He shook his head. “Some stuff that has happened can’t be explained any other way. Julia finds things out a lot quicker than is humanly possible. I don’t like to admit it, because I hate him, but Morgan Raines has been a big help.”

  His dislike surprised her. “So you knew him when he was alive?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why do you hate him? I mean, you’ve never even laid eyes on him, have you?”

  “He was Julia’s partner in the Charleston P.D. He was also her lover. Let’s just say I don’t have much use for men who string women along.”

  Ahh. She immediately put the puzzle together, understanding why Julia Harrington, who was one of the most striking, animated women she’d ever met, was single.

  The agent was in love with a ghost. Talk about dysfunctional relationships.

  His tone grudging, he added, “I have to admit, Raines has been instrumental in a few cases, even if he couldn’t stop Olivia from getting kidnapped by a psycho serial killer.”

  Kate’s eyes rounded. “Really?”

  “Last summer.” He shook his head, looking deeply affected by a memory. “Her ghost friend was alive and well at that time, working on a case with us. He lost his life over it.”

  “How tragic.”

  “Yeah, it was. Ty was a hell of a good guy. Young, a great cop with a bright future. I dunno, if I’d died like that, maybe I wouldn’t have been ready to move on, either. I guess both of them being young, on the force, and murdered, they prefer sticking around to keep working rather than going wherever it is the dead people go.”

  She nodded, but couldn’t maintain her blasé expression for a second longer. With a deep sigh and a shake of her head, she admitted, “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about ghostly P.I.’s as if it’s an everyday conversation.”

  “You’re the one who has a psychic connection with her brother.”

  Kate’s amusement faded. “Had.”

  “Sorry.”

  They ate quietly for a few minutes. Kate remained patient and didn’t prompt him about the case, knowing he would fill her in eventually. She also liked seeing him enjoy a good meal. She hadn’t had anyone to cook for, other than herself, in a long time. Not since she’d broken up with her cardiologist ex before she’d left for Afghanistan. He couldn’t understand why she would even think about giving up a year of her life for such a mission. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’
t. The end.

  “So,” he said as soon as he finished his second helping.

  “So.”

  He stacked his salad bowl onto his plate, and put the utensils neatly beside them, then said, “Your brother wasn’t exaggerating about how shitty that place is.”

  “Start at the beginning. What did you think of the boss, Mr. Richard Fenton?”

  “Well, he really should be called Dick.”

  “No kidding.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “I repeat: No kidding. Do you know anything about his background? His family?”

  “Rich lumber barons. Sounds like the silver spoon was shoved so far in his mouth it reached all the way down his throat.” Thinking back, she ticked off everything she remembered about the family. “Dad Richard Sr., a workaholic. Mom Nancy, a socialite until she passed away. Nannies raised Dick and a brother, William, who died young. Mr. Headmaster was the last surviving Fenton, and he sold the company five years ago. The price tag was rumored to be somewhere in the eight-figure range. This guy could be living on a gold-plated yacht.”

  “Which makes it more puzzling that he came to the Savannah area to open a school.” She wrinkled her nose. “I honestly doubt his story that he did it out of sheer philanthropy.”

  “Me too. If that were the case, providing the funding and the disgusting site should have been enough.”

  “Exactly. He wouldn’t have to be here himself, especially since he doesn’t have a background in education.”

  “You did some research too.”

  “Believe me, when he threatened me with a restraining order, I tried to dig up any piece of dirt I could find on him.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not really. You?”

  “Some. Most of the public bio is true. There’s a gap of about a year when he was a teenager and disappeared. He no longer attended the elite prep school he’d been going to—I can’t even find any record of him graduating from high school, though he did attend Yale. He’s also not in any social reports about his family. He fell off the radar.”

  She tapped a nail on her cheek. “Any theories on where he was?”