Through His Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 1)

by Deborah Camp

  “Oh, Quintara,” she said on a long sigh. “I just crossed the state line into Florida. I’m going to drive a while longer before I pull into an RV park for the evening. Why? Has something happened?”

  “No, no. I just wish you’d flown here like a normal person.”

  “Normal? Me? Us?”

  Quintara’s laughter floated through the phone. “So true. When will you finally arrive?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “And where will you park that thing?”

  “I’ve reserved a space in Stirring Palms RV Park on Crescent Key.”

  “Crescent Key? Where in heavens is that?”

  “It’s near Duck Key.”

  “What Key? Did you say Fu—?”

  “Duck,” Trudy said, laughing. “It’s close to Marathon. It sounds lovely. Full hookups, shady sites, and a fishing pier. Trailer Life gave it four stars.”

  “I think you’re speaking Latin. Anyway, it’s a language I don’t quite understand. Levi connected with the latest victim and she revealed that she didn’t know who killed her. He’s also been in contact with Gregory.”

  “And who is Gregory?” Trudy asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “You know perfectly well that Gregory is Levi’s spirit guide,” Quintara said in a lightly scolding tone. “Just because you don’t use a guide, doesn’t mean that they don’t exist.”

  Trudy made a face at the phone. Two of the psychics in the Roundtable also claimed to have spirit guides. They were constantly one-upping each other on whose spirit guide was the best, the oldest, the wisest. Blah. Blah. Blah. Trudy rolled her eyes. They were full of hooey. What was the point of having a guide? Shouldn’t they be able to do the work on their own? Especially a hot shot like Levi Wolfe!

  “This case must be special for Wolfe to take time away from his frequent appearances on all those talk shows and radio programs,” Trudy said. “Especially that one with the former prosecutor that he’s on every time you turn around . . . Sissy Franklin on Court TV.” She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice. Whenever she’d seen Levi on that show, Sissy had seduced him with her eyes and fawned all over him. It was disgusting.

  “Sure you’re not just a teeny bit jealous?”

  “Wh-what?” She sputtered wordlessly for a few seconds. “Of what? Making a spectacle of myself is the last thing I want!”

  “He’s sleeping with that Sissy Franklin woman. Oh, he won’t admit it to me, but I know. You can tell by the way she looks at him when he’s on her program. She’s got it bad.”

  Trudy sighed. She didn’t want to engage in more Levi Wolfe gossip. The Roundtable participants never tired of wondering who he was or wasn’t sleeping with and if he would ever settle down with one woman. Everyone – including the two men in the group who happened to be gay – gushed over him and went on endlessly about how ripped he must be under his clothes.

  “You still there, Trudy?” Quintara asked.

  “What?” Trudy shook her head. “Yes . . . um, Levi Wolfe is just weird.”

  “Aren’t we all? The thing is, he’s accurate.” Quintara waited a few beats to let that sink in. “He’s one of the most gifted psychics around. You can’t deny that. Showman, flashy, handsome as the devil, and probably a dynamo in bed, yes. But you can take what he tells you to the bank. He’s the genuine article.”

  “And you’re all hot and bothered over him,” Trudy said with a wicked smile. “You’ve always wanted to get him in the sack.”

  “Well, of course. I may be white-haired under this red dye job, but I’m still breathing!”

  Trudy laughed. “And I’m coming up to a toll booth.”

  “Dear, the more cases you work, the quicker you’ll learn to trust yourself. Given time, you’ll be as successful as Levi.”

  Trudy wagged her head back and forth, wanting to believe, but thinking that Quintara was overly kind. “Thanks for the pep talk. I really must hang up. I have to look for change.”

  “Very well. Call me tomorrow after you’re settled in at Spinning Palms.”

  Trudy laughed. “Stirring Palms. Okay. Will do!” She closed the phone, dropped it back into the center console, and dug through the cup holder for quarters. She paid the toll and urged the RV back up to sixty-five miles an hour as her thoughts meandered to how she was going to keep her focus on the paranormal instead of on her womanly urges when she was in close proximity to Levi. But then again, he had women melting all over him, so he probably wouldn’t give her a second glance.

  ###

  Trudy stood on the broken concrete slab and looked at the scraggly, crooked palm tree that leaned drunkenly toward her. Her RV stood out like a cherry on a sundae in the nearly deserted Stirring Palms trailer park on Crescent Key. She was surprised that there were electricity and water hookups. Free cable TV was probably out of the question. “This place must have been hit by a hurricane since Trailer Life bestowed four stars on it.”

  “Nah. Changed hands is all.”

  Trudy jumped and pivoted around, one hand flying up to cover her heart. She hadn’t heard the stocky, older man approach her. She recognized him from when she had checked in a little while ago. He ran a hand over his balding pate and grinned as he shifted his weight to his cane.

  “Howdy. You okay?”

  “Yes, I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Oh.” He shrugged and looked around. “Yeah, well, I bought this place two years ago and then my health took a downward spiral. I’ve been in the hospital more than out of it since I sunk my retirement money into this RV park.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “You’re not the first one to say that this place has gone to the dogs.” He paused to eye Mouse before continuing. “I got it up for sale, but no takers yet. I forgot to give you the washroom key.” He held out a silver key attached to a big, plastic palm tree.

  “I probably won’t need it, but—.” She took the key from him.

  Suddenly, the world grew fuzzy around the edges as if it was going out of focus on her. She glanced around quickly, jarred by the odd sensation. She’d never felt it before and . . . the vision of a woman filled her mind. The woman smiled and mouthed one word – Ethel. But there was no malevolence in the vision like there had been with all the others. No. Just the opposite. This woman was pure kindness. Almost angelic. The image faded away and Trudy realized that the man had moved closer to bend over and pet Mouse.

  “Is your wife around?” Trudy asked, not even sure from where the question had originated.

  “No, she died six years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Trudy blinked her burning eyes, disturbed by what had just happened to her.

  He chuckled warmly when Mouse licked his fingers, then straightened with some effort and obvious discomfort. “I don’t know if I introduced myself when you checked in. The name’s Yardley. Mike Yardley. So, you’re staying at least a week? Are you on vacation?”

  Trudy managed a smile, her mind still reeling. “No, I’m – I’m meeting some friends here in the Keys.”

  He squinted at her through his bifocals. “You’re meeting friends here, but you’re not on vacation?”

  “That’s right. My friends and I are working on a project together.”

  He tapped his bulbous nose and winked. “Sorry to be a buttinski. I’ve still got a reporter’s nose.”

  “You were a reporter?” She tried to concentrate on the innocuous chatter, but she still felt shaken. She made a mental note to ask Quintara about the vision of Ethel and what it might mean.

  “A coon’s age ago I was a newshound. I was a college professor before I came here.” He laughed at her widened eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. I taught journalism at the University of Nebraska for twenty-five years. I was a goddamned institution! My son works for the Associated Press out of Miami. My late wife was a copy editor when I met her. Ethel was fresh out of college and the prettiest girl I’d ever laid eyes on.”

  Ethel!
Trudy stared at him. Ethel? A mist seemed to float through her mind and then out of it. She blinked. The spirit was back, but this time she wasn’t in Trudy’s mind. She stood beside her husband.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Trudy shook her head, denying what her eyes were witnessing. Quintara had said that she might see spirits someday. Why was this happening? Didn’t she have enough to deal with? Did she have to add ghosts to her repertoire?

  “Ethel called me Coach,” he said. “I taught her the ropes. We worked together on the copy desk.” He glanced beside him, following Trudy’s gaze. “Hey, you okay? What are you looking at?”

  “Oh. Nothing.” Her voice sounded high and girlish – not like her at all.

  He drilled her with his gaze again. “Nothing, huh? The color has drained from your face and your lips are quivering. Something’s got you upset.”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.” Trudy placed her hands to her cheeks. Yes, he was right. Her skin felt unusually cool.

  “Try me.”

  “Well, you see, I’m psychic and I think I’m seeing . . . your . . .”

  “Ethel?” He grinned. “You see Ethel?”

  Trudy sucked in a breath, stunned for a moment by his insight. “I . . . how?”

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost and suddenly I can smell Ethel’s perfume. Every now and again I get a whiff of it. White Shoulders. That’s what she wore.” He grinned, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes.

  Trudy focused on him, trying hard to ignore his wife. She suspected that Mike didn’t believe a word she was saying and was just pulling her leg.

  “So, you see dead people?”

  “Not exactly. I think I see your wife, but . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t usually commune with spirits.”

  He pinned her again with his cagey stare. “You’re here sniffing around after that serial killer! I saw some psychic guy on the news last night. Said he was talking to the dead girls about who killed them. What a load of horseshit.”

  She didn’t take offense to his opinion of her abilities. She was used to it. “That was Levi Wolfe.”

  “He’s one of your friends, I guess.”

  “Well, we’re . . . uh . . . acquaintances.” She glanced at her wristwatch, mainly to look at something besides Ethel, who was mouthing words Trudy couldn’t hear. She didn’t know how to deal with it – with her.

  “I won’t keep you. Me and Ethel will be moseying along.” He chuckled and shuffled off, shaking his head.

  Ethel was beside him, walking through picnic tables and palm trees. She glanced over her ghostly shoulder once to wave at Trudy. Before she could stop herself, Trudy waved back.

  “That pretty much makes it official,” Trudy whispered to herself and Mouse. “I’m nuts.”

  Chapter Two

  “Now that you’re here, I know we will make tremendous progress,” Quintara said, hugging Trudy close for a few moments. “Where’s the dog?”

  “Back at the RV park. I was afraid she’d be bored listening to us drone on about dead people and murderers.” Her gaze moved of its own volition to the man standing quietly, unnervingly behind Quintara. His thick, black hair lay in tousled waves, and the lower half of his face was shadowed by tomorrow’s whiskers. He wore perfectly tailored black trousers and a gun-metal gray shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blue eyes glinted at her, framed by sooty lashes. He towered above Quintara’s five-foot-two frame.

  Trudy’s mouth went dry. She knew she was staring at him, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. It was a sin for a man to be that pretty, she thought with a twist of malice. His winged black brows brought more attention to the arresting blue color of his eyes. His nose was perfection, his jaw line was square and infinitely masculine, and his chin bore the barest hint of a cleft. He oozed sex appeal like it was part of his DNA.

  “Hello, Tru,” he said, his voice husky and deep.

  Tru? She bristled a little. “Hello, Leviticus,” she rejoined, arching a brow in an effort to appear on equal footing with him even as nerves erupted in her stomach.

  He frowned for a second at the use of his Christian name, but then his lips slid into his trademark, slightly lopsided grin that made her stomach do a somersault.

  “Children, be nice,” Quintara said.

  “I thought I was.” Levi stepped away and motioned to the bar. “Care for a drink, Tru?”

  Grudgingly, she decided she liked the way he said her shortened name, even though it made it sound as if he knew her well – which he didn’t. “Is there juice?”

  “Of course. Orange, Papaya, Pineapple—.”

  “Pineapple sounds good.” Trudy sat beside Quintara on the rattan sofa. The living room faced a sliding glass door that gave a view of white sand, palm trees, and a slip of the ocean. The doors to the bedrooms that flanked the dining area were closed. Levi handed her a tall, frosted glass of juice. He smiled at her as his long fingers slid against hers on the slippery glass.

  Trudy drew in a breath and told herself to chill out. He sat in the rattan chair to her right, crossed his legs, and flicked a white thread from his black trousers. He was the picture of calmness and she felt as if her chest was full of butterflies.

  “Do you two have separate rooms?” Trudy asked, trying to drive past her nervousness and get Quintara’s goat.

  Levi smirked and glanced at a cackling Quintara.

  “Levi’s too busy seducing all the pretty television anchor women to want to share a room with a well-rounded, older enchantress like me. Isn’t that right, Levi?”

  “You’re the one who was announcing your room number to every waiter and barkeep we ran into last night.”

  “And a lot of good it did me,” Quintara said, flipping her string of red beads and puckering her lips in a pout. “But let’s talk about murder.” She glanced from him to Trudy. “Have you felt anything, dear? He’s been talking to you, hasn’t he?”

  Trudy fidgeted on the sofa. “Yes, a little. I don’t know . . .”

  “You do know,” Quintara said, her tone scolding, scalding. “You have felt him?”

  “Yes.” The word almost stuck in her throat. She glanced toward Levi and flinched when she saw that he was completely focused on her. Talk about intense! It was like she was being blasted by a laser beam. “He’s thinking of murdering a barmaid that he knows. But I’m not entirely sure—.” She caught the rapier-edged glance Levi and Quintara exchanged. “What?”

  “You have the right person, dear.” Quintara nodded to a folded newspaper on the coffee table. “A barkeep was murdered last night. He mutilated her.”

  “Oh, no!” Feeling as if she had been socked in the gut, Trudy reached for the newspaper and located the front page article easily. The details were sketchy. No clues. No leads. Used a serrated knife. Mutilation. Worked at the Gold Lagoon on Canal Street. A shiver ran through her and guilt brought hot tears to the back of her eyes. “I should have told you about the vision sooner.”

  “And what? We would have cased out every bar in Key West and warned the potential victims?” Quintara shrugged. “We must have more to go on than that, dear. We’ll put our heads together and create a profile of this killer. We’ll get to know him so well that we can predict his movements. Eventually, we’ll be ahead of him and be able to identify him and help catch him.”

  Trudy turned toward Levi to find that he was still studying her, one brow slightly arched. “What have you been getting about this guy?” she asked.

  He lifted one broad shoulder. “The victims haven’t given me much to go on yet. They didn’t see him coming and were knocked out. The woman before this one – Janie Fullbright was her name – was blindfolded, gagged, and when she came to, her wrists and ankles were tied. She was a heroine addict.” He held out a hand for the newspaper. He wore a silver ring on his middle finger and the square black onyx in it glinted in the sunlight.

  When he moved, Trudy caught a whiff of lemony lime. One cool customer, she thought. Everything about him was
controlled, calculated almost. But there was an undercurrent of turmoil just below his polished surface. She’d always felt it and that intrigued her about him – more than his abilities or his reputation as a womanizer.

  “Janie Fullbright had burn marks, rope burns, cigarette burns. She was tortured before her throat was slit. Nothing sexual with any of them, other than he sometimes ejaculates on them. The latest woman was Shelly Farmer. The other two – Barbie Allen and Debra Williams – were strangled and then stabbed in the heart over and over again. They were knocked out cold from behind.”

  “He doesn’t want them to look at him while he’s killing them?”

  “So far,” Levi confirmed, his gaze moving from her hair down to her breasts and then back up.

  Trudy forced herself to concentrate on the case and not the shape of his mouth. She noticed that he called the victims by their names, making it more personal. It was oddly touching and admirable since Trudy always tried to view these things from a distance. It seemed safer and less painful. She became personally involved with the survivors, but she needed a buffer between her and the murderers and their victims.

  She realized that Levi was still studying her, one brow arched. Feeling as if she was under a microscope, she cleared her throat again and wondered if this was a new tic reserved for when she was around Levi Wolfe. “Is it the same killer then?” she asked him.

  “The police think so.”

  “It has to be the same person. Two serial killers in Key West?” Quintara cut in, frowning. “Not likely. I’m surprised even one could elude police for so long. You can’t kick a cat there without someone seeing you and reporting it.”

  “I think he knew the last victim,” Trudy said. “So, had he met the other women before, too? Or did he just stalk them and then pounce?”

  “You tell us.” Levi tented his fingers and his navy blue eyes issued her a challenge. “Can you read him now?”

  She stiffened her back and looked away from him. “I don’t work like that. I’m not a light switch.”

  “Remember our lessons?” Quintara placed a hand over hers. “How we gathered our energy and sent it out like feelers?”