by Deborah Camp
Through His Eyes
Deborah Camp
Copyright 2014 by Deborah Camp.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
The six white squares of paper lay like fallen tombstones on the table. Slowly, almost ponderously, Trudy Tucker moved her left hand toward them. Her tapered fingers hovered two or three inches above the table, and then she moved her hand back and forth as she closed her eyes.
Within seconds, the tingling blossomed in her fingertips, but she continued the sweeping movement as the sensation traveled up her arm. Because she wanted to be certain. She had to be certain. Lives depended on it. A dark substance poured through her mind and she felt as if it coated her face until she thought she might be smothered by it. She sucked in a breath and willed herself not to panic. This was all part of the process, she told herself. She had been schooled in this. She could control this now.
The comforting words she repeated to herself settled her, soothed her, so that she could push through the discomfort and decipher the signals that tingled from her fingertips to her brain. Flickering scenes of horror passed behind her eyelids. She made herself look. She made herself see. Although everything within her screamed for her to turn away, to block out the inhuman scenes, she stayed there. She observed. She witnessed until she was secure in what she was sensing and in what she now knew to be true.
Plucking four of the white squares from the others, she opened her eyes again. The police interrogation room swam into view, reminding her of what was expected of her and that she wasn’t alone. She had an audience of two people and she quelled the feeling of being looked at as if she were a circus freak. Methodically, she moved the two remaining pieces of paper farther apart. The tingling remained strong, winding its way along her whole hand and twisting up to her wrist. Yes, she had it right.
“These two are definitely involved,” she said, looking across the table at the police detectives who watched her intently. “I feel strongly that the one on the right is the murderer and the other one watched. I . . . I believe they both raped . . . I mean, I know that they both raped the woman.” She took a deep, cleansing breath to erase the rest of the dark blot from her mind. “But this man . . .” She tapped her index finger on one of the mug shots. “This man strangled her.” She pushed the others across the table toward the two detectives, eager to be done with them. The youngest officer, Ramon Martinez, reached out and flipped over the pictures.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Detective Hal Bernardo chuckled. “Look at that.”
Martinez eyed Trudy with dark brown eyes that called her everything but honest. “How’d you do that? Who you been talking to out there?” He jerked his head in the direction of the squad room.
“No one,” Trudy said, keeping her voice and gaze level. “Are these two men your prime suspects?”
Martinez nodded and ran a finger along his closely cropped mustache. “They’re in lockup right now. We’re waiting for forensics to do their thing.” He glanced toward the photos. “Why don’t you look at their faces when you do that?”
Trudy swallowed against the tightness in her throat. It was never easy. Would it ever be for her? “It’s too distracting to see them. I don’t want to be prejudiced by how they look or by their expressions.” She rubbed her stinging fingers and then ran her hands up and down her bare arms. “There isn’t any goodness left in them. They should be locked up or they’ll kill and rape someone else.”
Martinez’s smirk was purely sarcastic. “Is that a prediction?”
“I don’t make predictions,” Trudy said with a tight smile. She didn’t like Martinez and he didn’t like her. One needn’t be a psychic to figure that out. “It’s just an opinion.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him.” Bernardo extended a beefy hand across the table to her. “Hey, thanks for your help. I figured since you were already here in Houston working on the Finnmore murder, I might as well pull you in on the tail-end of this one.”
“Good luck, Detectives.” Trudy stood, glanced at the two stark faces in the photographs, and braced against another shiver of revulsion. Yes, they did it. No doubt.
“I hear you’ve broken open the Finnmore investigation,” Bernardo said, clearly fishing.
“I looked over the case file and told them what I could. An arrest has been made and Kirby’s body has been found,” Trudy said, edging around the table to make her way out of the room that had suddenly become too cramped. Being hired by people as a psychic was still new to her and she felt strange taking money for it. But now that she’d sold her share of her granddad’s pawn shops to her brother and sister, she had to find a way to make money. And this was it.
“The family called you, right? They hired you,” Martinez said around the toothpick he’d stuck in his mouth. “Are you their fortune teller?” He snickered and elbowed Bernardo. “Lots of rich folks hire their own personal fortune tellers.”
“That’s enough, Ramon.” Bernardo sent him a quelling glare.
Martinez opened the door leading to the squad room. Although she wanted to escape, she hesitated as words burned her tongue. “Like I said before, I don’t read fortunes or predict future events.” She looked squarely at Martinez. “But if I did, you know what I would predict for you, Detective?”
He grinned around his toothpick. “I’ll bite. What?”
She leaned in closer. “That you’ll never make lieutenant. You’re too dense.” She waited only long enough to see his smile fall away from the toothpick before she left the interrogation room.
Hurrying through the large area that was dotted with desks and cubicles, Trudy was aware of the curious looks slanted her way. She flattened her hands against the double doors and sent them swinging forward. Anxious to be away from police officers and murder cases, at least for a little while, she shot down the hallway toward the bank of doors that gave access to the street.
Outside, she stood still for a few moments to let leaves of yellow and pale green whip around her ankles and tangle in her short, auburn hair. The September air was cooler than she had expected and she wished she’d worn a jacket instead of a sleeveless blouse.
She crossed the street and sat on a concrete bench in the sunshine, hunching her shoulders against the breeze. Sunlight warmed her eyelids as she turned her face up to the sky and took in a deep breath. Exhaust fumes tainted the air and she coughed to clear her throat, wishing she could clear her mind just as easily. She scolded herself for smarting off to Martinez. If she was going to continue working as a psychic, she had to make nice with cops. All cops. They would be her main source of any word-of-mouth advertising.
For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she should have sold her third of the pawn shops to Derek and Sadie. The money had come in handy, but it was dwindling. She had to find more work. No, that wasn’t true. She had to start accepting more work that paid well. The freebies had to stop.
The cell phone in her jacket pocket vibrated. She fished it out, flipped it open, and held it close to her ear. “Yes?”
“How is it going down there in the Lone Star State?”
Trudy sighed expansively. Just the person she needed to hear from in this moment of doubting. “Oh, Quintara, I just smarted off to another cop.” She closed her eyes for a few moments, picturing her psychic mentor dressed in her usual flowing caftan and carnival bead necklaces.
“Trudy, you’re going to slice up enough lawmen with that sharp tongue of yours and they’ll stop calling you about any case anywhere.”
“I know, I know. I have to stop being such a smart-mouth.” She sighed. “Sometimes I still worry that I’m not cut out for this.” When a woman walked past her and looked at her with a mixture of annoyance and amusement, Trudy realized that she was almost yelling into the phone in an effort to be heard above the traffic noise. “Ummm, can you still hear me?” she asked, lowering her voice and twisting away from the street.
“Loud and clear. I think you should come to Florida. There is a serial killer in the Keys. You’ve heard about that?”
“A little. But I can’t. I need to watch my money. I’m not a famous writer like you with book deals and magazine editors begging for articles.”
“But you could be. This Florida case will open the door for more cases to come your way,” Quintara said with her usual confidence. “You have a gift. You have a duty to use that gift responsibly. Believe me, you’ll get more comfortable with your abilities as you learn how to use them instead of letting them use you. Do you really think you won’t have all of these feelings and visions if you stop working on murder cases?”
“I know they won’t go away.” Trudy pinched the bridge of nose between her thumb and forefinger. Darkness swam at the edge of her mind and she tried desperately to deny it, conquer it, vanquish it. It had appeared the moment Quintara had mentioned Florida.
“Listen, dear, Levi Wolfe and I are in Florida working on this case. Since he can only channel the deceased, he thinks you should come here and help track the killer. Working both sides of it, you and Levi could locate the lunatic in no time so that no one else is murdered.”
Levi Wolfe? The Casanova of the psychic world wanted to team up with her on a case? Suddenly, she was hot. Just the mention of his name made her breathe faster and instantly picture his brooding, fuckalicous face. His midnight, unruly hair, his soulful blue eyes, his full lips, and that smile. That slightly lopsided, bad, bad boy smile. She swallowed and cleared her throat, wondering what was up. It just didn’t make sense that he’d want to work with her. He was extremely talented and famous, so why would he want to team up with someone who was just starting out? She’d met him about a year ago in Tulsa when he’d visited Quintara’s Psychic Roundtable where fledgling psychics honed their skills and perfected their techniques under Quintara’s patient and skillful tutelage. She’d seen him a few times after that and he’d always made her skin prickle with longing and her thoughts scamper to all things sexy.
She smiled, thinking that the scornful Martinez should get a load of Levi Wolfe! Wolfe was a true showman with his dark good looks, raspy voice, devilish grin, and all-black ensembles.
“Another body was discovered yesterday and this murder was especially grisly,” Quintara said, cutting through Trudy’s musings. “Levi says the woman was tortured for several days before being killed. That’s different from the other victims. They were killed almost immediately.”
“Quintara, I’m going home to Tulsa. Not to Florida.” She shook her head. Levi Wolfe was sexy as hell and way out of her league.
“Trudy, listen to me,” Quintara suddenly sounded less breezy and more determined. “This will be your turning point, dear. Do you know how many young psychics would jump at the chance to partner with Levi? Wrap it up there. I expect you to join us at the end of next week.”
“I really can’t,” Trudy said, laughing a little at the older woman’s tenacity. “Your crystal ball is on the blink.”
“I know what’s best and this is your time to shine. See you soon.”
Trudy realized that Quintara had broken the connection. Rolling her eyes, she pocketed the cell phone. Guilt nudged her. She owed so much to Quintara, so how could she refuse her?
At her lowest point three years ago, when Trudy had wondered if she might need to check into the psych ward, she’d met Quintara at the Tulsa State Fair. Quintara had a booth in the exposition center where she was selling her books and promoting her work with the area ghost hunter and psychic groups. The minute she’d met her, Trudy had known that Quintara had been placed in her path for a reason and she’d grabbed onto her like a lifeline. Because that’s what she was then and now. A lifeline.
Glancing around at the whirling traffic, Trudy pondered her next step. Now that she was finished with the Finnmore case, she’d need to find another one to keep her bills paid and continue to bolster her reputation. For the past two weeks, she’d worked closely with Cher and Brad Finnmore and had helped identify their daughter’s slayer. She’d been able to slip into the murderer’s mind and get information about who he was and where to find him. She’d also seen through the killer’s eyes where he’d buried Kirby’s remains, which had been found only a few hours ago exactly where she’d told the police to look for it. Near a yellow barn on the killer’s uncle’s property.
Working with Levi Wolfe certainly would further her reputation and give it more gravitas . . . but could she keep her mind on work with him around? He was sex personified and she could barely think rationally when she was in the same room with him. She’d experienced that every time he’d visited the Roundtable. When he looked at her, her skin heated up and her heart raced. When he spoke to her, she replied in a breathy voice that didn’t even sound like hers! It was weird. The man was dangerous.
No. She couldn’t work with him. She could rip his clothes off with her teeth. But she couldn’t work with him.
###
Two days later Trudy sat at the dining room table in her home in Tulsa and scanned a newspaper article about the discovery of the most recent murder victim in the Florida Keys. It was the case Quintara and Levi were working on.
Her interest piqued and she read the information more carefully. Suddenly, a black veil descended over her mind and then the thoughts and visions of a stranger bombarded her with a ferocity she hadn’t experienced before. It blotted out everything else in her world. She saw bright sunshine and the backside of a girl in a bikini.
Nice ass. Shake that thing, slut-baby. Turn around and let me see your tits.
His voice was a purr. He saw the woman as an object. Not sexual. Contemptuous.
A beach. He was at a beach. He sat in the shade at a table. A beer in his hand. He was casing . . . looking for the next one. The last one hadn’t been satisfying. She’d been passive and dull. So strung-out on drugs that she hadn’t even known her life was ticking away. He’d kept her at his place for a couple of days, hoping she’d snap out of it and make it more interesting. But she’d been a dishrag, a disappointment. He wanted a lively one this time. Someone who needed to be taught a lesson about appreciating and respecting what God had given her.
His mind latched onto a woman he’d met. She worked at a bar in Key West. He thought of cutting her. She had fake tits and he wanted to cut them open and watch the silicone spill out.
Trudy sucked in a breath and managed to jerk out of the twisted thoughts. She threw down the newspaper and ached to talk to Quintara. But Quintara was in Florida . . . in the same place where the man who’d just given her a glimpse of his depravity was planning his next murder.
Damn it! Trudy pushed aside the newspaper sections and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t hide in Tulsa. She had insight about the next victim that she couldn’t keep to herself. And she had connected with the killer, so she couldn’t ignore this! If she went to Florida, the connection would strengthen. Proximity always did that.
She grabbed the phone and jabbed in Quintara’s cell phone number. She got the outgoing message.
“You’ve reached Quintara. I’m busy with other things right now. Be so kind as to lea
ve your name and number and I’ll return your call. If this is Trudy, we’re staying at the Conch Motel in Key Largo, dear. I’ve reserved a room for you.”
Trudy disconnected without leaving a message. Why bother. Obviously, Quintara was way, way ahead of her.
###
The RV was sweet. The dealer had called it a “25-foot Class A Holiday Rambler.” Trudy decided to call it “Gypsy Spirit.” She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and settled more comfortably in the roomy seat, recalling her siblings’ hot debate about the wisdom of such an investment. Sadie had said she was crazy to spend so much of her money on it, but Derek had seen her reasoning.
“Trudy will be traveling more now,” her brother had explained to their older sister. “In the long-run, an RV will cost her a lot less than plane tickets and hotel bills.”
She glanced over at the passenger seat. “I bought this thing mostly for you, I hope you know.”
Mouse opened her big, gray eyes briefly, gave a little whine, and snuggled back into sleep. Trudy directed her attention back to the highway. She’d adopted the Chihuahua two years ago and she didn’t like leaving her with her parents or siblings for weeks at a time.
“Good decision,” she murmured, happy with herself. Forking over the dough for the RV was almost painless. Almost. She’d received the pawn shops’ payout from her siblings a year ago and she only had about twenty thousand of it left in her bank account. Not good. And she was once again taking on work that would pay her nothing. Nada. A big goose egg. She rolled her eyes, questioning her decision for the hundredth time to strike out for Florida. But she would gain the experience of working with Levi, she thought. A shiver skipped through her at the prospect of spending time with him. Alone.
Her cell phone began playing “Stronger.” Mouse’s small body jerked all over as she emitted a single bark before going back to sleep. Trudy grappled for the phone inside the console and flipped it open.
“Yes?”
“Dear, where are you?”