by Amy Miles
Great. Collins again. Why did her name have to come up? I kicked a rock in my path and it went flying.
He paused and the tension mounted at the mention of Blondie. Why oh why did she always have to ruin everything?
I grabbed Trip’s arm and he stopped walking. He looked at me and even in the dark I could see his facial expression change. “I’m not going to ask you about Collins and my dad anymore.”
He eyed me suspiciously.
“You gave your word. I’m not going to ask you to go back on that. Okay?” I was a mind reading saint, I know.
“Good.” He gave me a look I couldn’t read and I would’ve given anything for permission to grab his hand to read what he was thinking.
“But you still suck.” Fine, I wasn’t a saint. Whatever. I started walking again. “So your theory?”
“Well,” Trip strode along beside me, “you developed this ability the day after Amanda disappeared. At least, that’s when you first noticed you had it. We still don’t know how you got this ability, but the timing raises a flag for me. Especially when you consider the fact that Amanda looks just like you.”
“Lynn, too.” Not to mention my mom’s psychic ability. An eerie feeling came over me and I remembered that annoying girl from the hospital, Drew. She’d had way too much make-up on to know if we shared any resemblance though. “I just thought of something. There was another girl at the hospital with Lynn and Amanda. Drew. Have you met her?”
Trip’s expression shifted as he gestured to a bench, under a tree in the middle of the cemetery. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
I sat down on the wooden seat next to Trip and felt that it was damp as well. They really needed to fix their sprinkler system here. Or maybe that was still my butt. Lovely. Wondering how big of a mess I looked like, I put a hand to my limp hair. It felt like a rat’s nest. Wet butt. Tangled hair. Fat chance this would be a turn on.
“Kylie?”
I jerked out of my non-case-related thoughts. “Huh?”
“You were saying something about another person at the hospital with Lynn?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, embarrassed he’d caught my focus wandering. It was a good thing Trip couldn’t read minds. “Drew is Lynn’s niece. So, Amanda’s cousin.” I recalled my horror as Drew burst from behind the hospital door and my eyes narrowed. “She was totally and completely obnoxious.”
“How old?”
I thought about it. “Maybe nineteen. Or twenty at the most. How old are you?”
He looked thrown by the random question, but he eventually answered. “Seventeen.”
A year older than me. I wondered if he was a junior or senior.
“You were saying about Amanda’s cousin?”
“Right. Drew. She called me cousin in the hospital room.” An eerie feeling traveled up my spine. “I thought she was messing with me because I’d made up this story about—well, it’s long and lame so I won’t go into it, but now I think she wasn’t kidding. I mean, it seems pretty obvious I’m related to them.”
He nodded in agreement.
I took a deep breath. “That means I have a cousin who’d been hidden from me. Two of them actually. And an aunt.”
Trip leaned back in the bench. “That would mean your dad sent you to the police station to help find your cousin. It does add up.”
“Me, Amanda’s cousin.” It felt weird saying it aloud. Made it real.
“Haven’t you ever met relatives from your mother’s side?”
“My dad said she was an only child.” Another lie. I thought of Amanda and the connection I’d immediately felt with her. “It’s weird. In the hospital, I’d felt a bond with Amanda, but it might also explain her . . . ”
He waited a few seconds. “What?”
I fingered my jeans at the figure eight shaped mark above my bikini line. “When we found Amanda in the woods, I noticed a mark on her. I, uh, probably should’ve told you this before.” I gave him a guilty look but it’d been way too freaky and really, how was I supposed to know who to trust? “I have the same mark. It’s kind of creepy to think about, but maybe Lynn and Drew have them too.”
Trip’s brows came together. “What kind of mark?”
“A pink birthmark that’s shaped like a figure eight.” It’d never bothered me having a birthmark, but how weird would it be if it ran in the family? Freaky I tell you. Not even close to normal.
“A figure eight.” He seemed to mull this over. “Can I see it?”
My face flushed, but I lifted my shirt, undid the top two buttons on my jeans, and pulled the right edge down an inch or so. “Cool, huh?”
There was a moment of silence. Please don’t let him think it’s ugly.
“It’s hard to see in the dark.” He moved off the bench and knelt down on the ground, his face only a few inches from my belly. In the cool night breeze, my body became very aware of each warm breath his exhales made. He rested his thumb on my skin next to the mark. “It almost looks like a tattoo. The figure eight’s on its side. That’s the symbol for infinity.”
“Oh . . .” My breath caught and goose bumps prickled up my arms, possibly from the infinity discovery, but more likely from Trip’s touch. “Infinity, huh.” I held my breath as his thumb moved slightly—the tickle radiated up my side. I swallowed, trying to keep my cool. “I never thought of that.”
He studied the thimble-sized design closely, then looked up at me with an intense look. “What would happen if I touched it?”
My eyes grew huge and my heart drummed in my chest. “Come again?”
Trip flushed and pulled away, making my skin go cold. “I mean, if our palms touch then you can read my mind, right?”
“Not your left palm.”
He gave me a confused look.
My face heated. “Last night.”
“Oh, right.” He glanced down at his left hand, finally realizing he’d left his mind vulnerable. “Well, you have a mind connection through the right palm, so I wonder if something might happen with the symbol as well.”
I stared at him and swallowed. “It’s possible.”
He leaned back and pulled his hand away. “It’s just another theory. If it makes you uncomfortable—”
“Try it.” My voice raised a wee bit too much but I didn’t want there to be any confusion. After nearly being strangled, I wasn’t about to play hard to get. “It could be important to the case, don’t you think? We should definitely test your theory.”
Trip’s brows crinkled slightly. “I’m not quite sure how to ask this, but has anyone touched the symbol before?”
“Thanks a lot. I’ve had a traumatic night, okay? And a not so pleasant day for that matter. I don’t always look like this. I do use soap in the shower you know.” Then I caught his meaning. “Oh. You mean besides me.”
He nodded and his lips twitched.
Fine. Maybe I was a bit touchy about how I looked right now, but matted hair and a wet butt didn’t exactly scream kiss me. “No, nobody’s touched it. You’d be the first.”
It suddenly got very quiet.
“Go ahead. You have my permission if that’s what you’re waiting for.” I gestured toward my belly and braced myself. Do it. Do it. Do it.
He paused for what felt like forever. His face held an intense expression, but he made no move toward my mark.
I stopped my inner chanting. This was hopeless. Trip Williams obviously had no interest in touching me.
Then ever so swiftly, his thumb ran over the symbol on my skin. An electric current shot through my belly, but I doubted it had anything to do with the family birthmark. Oh. My.
He raised his brows. “Anything?”
Yes. “No.”
“Interesting.”
Very. “What do you mean?”
“Well—” Trip got up from his kneeling position and sat next to me again. Then his gaze dropped to my belly, which—I realized—was still bare. I dropped my shirt and then buttoned my jeans. “Again, this is just speculation. B
ut, you have this unusual symbol, possibly from birth—”
“Possibly?” Then I got it. “Oh yeah. My dad’s a liar. Go on.”
“So the infinity sign, plus you can read minds. Seems likely there’s a connection. And if Amanda has this symbol as well . . .”
“Then, she can read minds too.” Duh. “Gee, I never knew mind reading was so popular.”
Trip cracked a smile. “Well, I can’t read minds.”
“Not yet anyway.” I returned his grin, then remembered my mental warning at the hospital. “Wait a minute. Maybe Amanda can’t read minds. Last night, I was sitting alone with Amanda in her hospital room and somebody—who wasn’t in the room—warned me we were in danger.”
“You mean called you on the phone?”
I shook my head. “They sent me some kind of mind message.”
Trip looked shocked. At least I think it was shock. His stare became vacant and his jaw went slack. “Something weird is going on here.”
Um, yeah. “Ya think?”
Suddenly, we heard a loud crack. Like a twig snapping.
Trip instantly jumped to his feet, his gaze darting around us. “We’re in over our heads.”
I stood as my heart leapt. I’d been in over my head since I met him. “Did you say we?”
He grabbed my hand. “How fast can you run?”
“Pretty fast, I think. Why?” Another loud snap cracked through the air. I swallowed. Twigs broke all the time, in the middle of the night, at a cemetery, for no reason. Right?
Trip squeezed my hand, our eyes met for a split second and then we sprinted. I let him lead and ran as fast as I could, afraid someone might grab me from behind at any moment. I pumped my legs harder and harder. My lungs burned and my spine vibrated as I tried to outrun whoever might be chasing us.
Trip’s feet pounded the dirt between the rows of headstones and it was all I could do to keep up. I may get straight As academically but track held zero interest for me.
A tall old-fashioned lamp lit the parking lot and I spotted Trip’s truck next to my small red compact. My body slammed into his vehicle, the heavy metal stopping my momentum as I gasped for air. No wonder running had never been my thing. Not exactly fun. Trip dropped my hand, turned, and faced the direction we’d come from.
Wait a minute. He’d been holding my hand. My left again, but still.
Just then, Trip withdrew a gun from his holster—I hadn’t even known he was wearing one—and pointed it behind me as I fought to catch my breath.
My throat was dry and sticky as I gaped at Trip whose breath was also ragged as he focused on our surroundings. Did he know how to use that thing? “Do you think someone’s here? I mean, that noise could’ve been anything, right?”
After another moment, Trip lowered his weapon. “I don’t know. But I’m not taking any chances.” He pulled out his keys, pressed a button on his key ring, and the doors unlocked. “Get in.”
“But my car—”
“We’ll get it later.” He had a no argument tone. Not that I wanted to protest getting into a car with Trip. Maybe I could get him to feel my infinity mark again.
I slid into the passenger seat and before I could close the door all the way, he was backing out of the parking stall. I said good-bye to my little red compact, hoping that whoever might be out there would not have time to follow us.
****
I studied the empty streets as Trip sped through a yellow light. Not too many people out, although we were still in the outskirts of the city. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet.” He stepped on the gas and raced through the intersection. “I just want to get you someplace safe.”
“Safe from snapping twigs?” Not like I was in denial of the situation or anything, but it gave me the jitters knowing I was probably high on a killer’s Most Wanted List.
“This isn’t a game.”
“My dad always told me you can laugh or you can cry.” My dad. He was probably freaking out wondering where I was, which made me feel bad.
Trip stepped on the accelerator and we jammed through another intersection.
I reached behind my shoulder, pulled the safety belt down across my chest and clicked it into place. “Who do you think might be after us?”
He raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Could be someone working with Bishop and Miller.”
“Miller?” I pondered the possibility that Trip’s feelings for me might be more than just friendly. I mean, who rubs a girl’s birthmark out of concern for job performance? I pulled down the sun visor and stole a peek at myself in the small mirror. The view was not pretty. Wherever we were going . . . the dimmer the lighting the better. I flipped the visor back up and turned in my seat. “Hello? I said, who’s Miller?”
Trip’s jaw pulsed and his hands tightened on the wheel. He was silent for a moment and all I could hear was the hum of the car’s engine. He seemed to be holding his breath. “The one we arrested last night.”
Oh. That guy. I’d forgotten his name. The one who’d tried to kill me had a name. Miller. I wished I could forget him. My fingers flew to my neck, which was sore to the touch. “He’s in jail so it couldn’t be him at the cemetery.” I swallowed. At least he wouldn’t be able to strangle me—or stab me—anytime soon. “Will he stay there or will they let him out like they did Bishop?”
His eyes focused on the road and his teeth clenched together. “Oh, he’ll stay there. For life, if I have anything to do with it.”
“Good.” The jail thing provided some comfort, but unfortunately not enough. Bishop still roamed free and what if they had a third person working with them? During my read on Miller, I’d seen the guy in a suit and sunglasses. Maybe he’d be after me too. My head started to spin.
How could we find out what these guys were after?
My ears started buzzing, the vibrations heavy and annoying. Lynn knows what’s going on. Ask her.
I poked my fingers in my ears to soothe the tickling. “I just got a mind message.”
Trip turned to me, his eyes wide. “From who?”
I wiggled my earlobe. “They didn’t leave a number.”
He frowned. “What’d it say?”
“If we want answers, we need to talk to Lynn.” Duh. “Miller called her by name last night.”
Trip threw me an angry look. “And you didn’t give us this information because . . . ?”
“Don’t blame me. The way you tore away from my house last night, I barely had time to say goodbye.” No, not bitter at all. Not me.
He gripped the wheel so hard, his knuckles lost their color. “What else have you failed to mention?”
“When I read Miller last night, I saw an exchange.” A sickening feeling ran through me each time I said his name. Miller. He would’ve killed me. No doubt about it. I closed my eyes. It would be so much easier to forget everything, drive off with Trip, and just start a new life. I wondered if he’d be game.
Hey, a girl can dream. Can’t she?
“Unbelievable.” Trip’s tone told me he just realized something. He pulled over at a curb downtown, checked his rearview mirror and then gave me a look that shot fire threw my belly. “Rewind. Tell me everything.”
I gulped. “Huh?”
“Miller called Lynn by name?” Trip’s eyes were slits, his voice a slow growl. I was suddenly reminded he had a gun on him.
“Um, yeah.” Was he mad at me? He sure looked mad.
His brows furrowed. “You’re absolutely certain?”
“Positive.” I wasn’t sure if I felt more scared or angry, but the adrenaline was definitely pumping now. “He demanded she tell him where the girl was.”
It was quiet a minute. “What girl?”
“I’m not sure. I’m guessing not Amanda since Lynn was holding her at the time he asked. Maybe Amanda has a twin?” I shook my head. “No, wait. It can’t be a twin. He asked Lynn if she was willing to die for someone else’s kid.”
Trip hit the steering wheel. “Sh
e didn’t say anything about this when Sam took her statement last night.”
“He took her statement?” I frowned. “Why didn’t anyone take my statement?”
Trip’s eyes clouded. “You’d been through enough. Sam stalled them by reminding them you’re a minor and should only be questioned with your father present.”
My dad’s solemn face popped into my head and my smile faded. I wondered how much he knew about Amanda, Lynn, and what they had to do with Bishop, Miller, and Dark Sunglasses Guy. He’d refused to take me to the station when I’d read Bishop because he was afraid he might be recognized. “We should talk to Lynn tonight. It can’t wait.”
“I know.” Trip’s face sobered and his eyes darkened. “Tell me about the exchange you saw with Miller.”
I shuddered at the way Trip said Miller—so low and angry like he was biting off the word. “There was a guy in a suit giving him a briefcase full of money. The man looked kind of familiar.”
“How?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s all you saw?”
Yes, because he’d pulled my hand away from Miller’s. “I didn’t get to finish, remember?”
“The way you shrieked . . . I couldn’t stand it.” Trip waited until I looked up at him. “How bad did it hurt?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter?”
His eyes blazed. “And you talk about me not being honest with you?”
The memory of the searing pain burned into my brain, the dizziness that was almost too much to stand. I didn’t want to relive the feeling let alone have a discussion—just wanted the memory as far from my senses as possible.
“Forget it,” he said. Reaching over me, he flipped open his glove compartment and fished around until he pulled out a small pad of paper.
I held my arms up. “What are you doing?”
He started flipping through the pages. “Looking for Lynn’s address.”