by Linda Mooney
POSSESSION
by
Linda Mooney
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright Ó 2011 by Linda Mooney
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-60313-954-0
Credits
Cover Artist: Kendra Egert
Editor: Fran Mathieson
Printed in the United States of America
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
FROM OUT OF THE SHADOWS
“This was a very well written novel and it had me on the edge of my seat the entire time I was reading it. The love scenes were sensual, erotic and just graphic enough for me to be able to imagine what it would be like to have Croat make love to me. I really enjoyed From Out of the Shadows and would not hesitate to read another story by the author of such an enchanting story.”
Happily Ever After Reviews
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
RUNNER’S MOON BOOK 4: CHALLA
“Wow! Runner’s Moon: Challa Book 4 has to be one of the best science fiction romances I’ve had the pleasure of reading this year!”
Coffee Time Romance
“Challa is one of those books you just can’t put down, but of course it is; it’s a Linda Mooney book! Like everything she writes, this story is captivating from beginning to end, but then, frankly I think Ms. Mooney could draw you into a scene about taking out the garbage. She’s just that kind of writer. Her plots are riveting, and she makes you feel her characters, right down to their toenails.”
Two Lips Reviews
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
THUNDER SERIES
“In this reviewer’s humble opinion, no one writes more touching, heartfelt romances (like Wings of Thunder) than Linda Mooney. She can haul you right into the story and make you feel her characters’ desires, happiness, passion and sadness better than any author I’ve ever read.”
Two Lips Reviews
Fallen Angel Reviews Recommended Read
“The powerful and sensual sex scenes between Annie and Rion (in Passion of Thunder) add a deep, abounding passion to their devoted relationship. Rion’s commitment to Annie drew me to him more than any fictional hero ever has.”
Fallen Angel Reviews
“I will never look at a thunderstorm quite the same again. Lord of Thunder isn’t just a play on words; it describes the main character of this fascinating new novel by Linda Mooney. A story of strength, determination, and love told with characters as rich as the Montana setting. Raw, intense and satisfying, are words that both describe the story and the romance. Reading Linda’s work is an escape like no other. Reading romance, always a guilty pleasure has now become a real joy!”
Renee’s Book Talk, Blog Talk Radio
Two Lips Reviews Recommended Read
“I devoured this book, alternately smiling and shedding tears along the way. I guarantee that readers will want to read this book over and over again.”
Two Lips Reviews
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
MY STRENGTH, MY POWER, MY LOVE
“The premise of this Science Fiction / Romance novel caught me off guard. I was blown away and completely enamored with the idea. Linda Mooney takes you on a beautiful journey to the stars and beyond. She has a wonderful ability for writing stunningly beautiful scenes and the expertise for making an emotional connection through her characters. She is a talented and powerful writer and I highly recommend My Strength, My Power, My Love. It is a necessary read for all lovers of science fiction or romance.”
Renee’s Book Talk, Blog Talk Radio
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
HEARTCRYSTAL
“Linda Mooney has done a top notch job of world building. You get a story that will make you laugh a little but mostly it will twist your heartstrings to pieces. You may want to keep a box of Kleenex nearby while reading (HeartCrystal).”
The Romance Studio
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
HEARTFAST
PNR Reviewer Top Pick
“(HeartFast is) Well worth the time to read - which won’t be too long, as you won’t be able to put it down!”
ParaNormalRomance Reviews
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
SANDEFLAY
Outstanding Read
“(Sandeflay is a) Great book, a definite keeper.”
Simply Romance Reviews
“Sandeflay is an absolutely stunning read by Ms. Mooney.”
Romance Junkies
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
RUNNER’S MOON SERIES
Joyfully Recommended
“Fantastic Sci-Fi story is the first thing that comes to mind when I tell people about (Runner’s Moon book 3) Simolif.”
Joyfully Reviewed
“Go, Ms. Mooney, Go. I am thoroughly intrigued by the species she has invented and am hooked on reading how they adapt to the human race and lifestyles (in Runner’s Moon: Tiron book 2).”
Joyfully Reviewed
“Be warned, though. If you have not read the first book yet, odds are you will want to after reading (Runner’s Moon: Tiron book 2).”
Coffee Time Romance
Top Pick Recommended Read
“Runner’s Moon: Jebaral (book 1)…is an exciting and passionate romance that leaves you anxiously waiting for the next book in the series.”
Romance Reader at Heart
Other Books by Author Available at Whiskey Creek Press:
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Runner’s Moon Book 1: Jebaral
Runner’s Moon Book 2: Tiron
Runner’s Moon Book 3: Simolif
Runner’s Moon Book 4: Challa
Sandeflay
HeartFast
HeartCrystal
My Strength, My Power, My Love
Lord of Thunder
Passion of Thunder
Wings of Thunder
From Out of the Shadows
Rhea 41070
A Different Yesterday
Dedication
For Nancy
Prologue
One month ago
The attack was swift and relentlessly brutal.
“Cop! The guy’s a cop!”
The words rang like doom overhead as he heard the screams reverberate louder than the warning inside the big building. And then he dimly realized the screams were his.
He tried to get up on his knees. Tried to raise his hands to ward off any more pounding blows from the length of iron rod that rained down upon him. Beating his flesh into jellied pulp, and shredding his skin and muscle from the bone with every downward slash. But rain was pouring into his eyes, mixed with his blood and…
More blood. He was on his knees, on a concrete slab, and his life’s sustenance was running like a river overflowing its banks.
Pain was in every movement. There was more screaming, and this time he knew it wasn’t his. The killer or killers had gone on to other game.
Falling forward, he was vaguely aware of his face hitting the cement. There was practically no feeling left in his body. Every nerve had been beaten into submission. Into numb, weightless submission. He couldn’t even feel his hands or fingers anymore to reach for the small snub nose he’d tucked into his boot.
The attack had come from nowhere. Where was he? Who was attacking them?
For the only time in his life he felt sorry for the bastards who had dragged him in here, thinking they were going to be his judge, jury, and executioner. It had to be their wet, gurgling screams he heard above the steady whipping noises.
He couldn’t open his eyes. Even if he could, the place was black as a tomb. Somehow he knew he was in a warehouse. An abandoned, dilapidated one, if he could feel the rain splatter over him from overhead.
The mushy sounds of the beatings continued, but the screams had stopped. Quietly he remained where he lay like a broken doll. He was growing cold, but there was no way he could find a warmer place. A safer place.
After what seemed like hours the bludgeoning ceased. There was no sound, not even the raspy breathing of whoever had done this carnage. The guy had to be pumped full of adrenaline. After beating three guys into dog food, the man had to be gasping for air. But there was nothing. The place was so quiet, he could hear a soft rumble of thunder in the distance.
And then the guy was there, standing next to him, over him. His boots crackled on the gritty cement floor.
“You were not to be. You are not one of them,” a dark growl said. The timbre was smooth and unhurried. Tearing into three grown, heavily armed men, and reducing them to little more than roadkill, and the guy was as calm and unaffected as if he’d just gotten up from a nap.
The killer poked at him with the rod. There was no pain.
“You were a mistake,” the growl told him. “You were not to be.”
Well, it’s a bit late to discover that, don’t you think? he wanted to answer. But he couldn’t. His skull must have been caved in. There had to be bits of his brain matter speckling the floor around him.
“Gotta fix you.”
Oh, yeah? How?
The killer walked away, heavy tread echoing in the empty building, until—
Suddenly the steps were gone. Disappeared. Which was impossible. There hadn’t been the sound of a car door, or a maintenance door, or even the crunch of feet upon dirt and gravel to let him know which way the man had gone.
The rain started up once more, sending cool droplets down on him.
He was dying. Death was a quiet blanket hovering over him, ready to descend, ready to envelope him, ready to claim him. It would be a welcome respite from the unrelenting agony.
One unfocused eye managed to open, his final glance upon the world.
Far, far away there was a tiny incandescence, like a single candle flame. Oh, great. Now the guy’s going to torch the place. It would be his last coherent thought.
A breath later, Detective Kiel Stark was dead.
Chapter 1
Monday
Sam found his partner and roommate sitting in the recliner next to the picture window in the living room. In the morning sun Kiel appeared unusually pale and transparent, making Sam wonder what the problem might be, as if he couldn’t already tell. Kiel had that look that often meant something was weighing heavily on his mind.
“Yo. Good morning. How’s it hanging?” Not waiting for an answer, Sam followed his nose into the kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee was ready. He poured himself a cup as the man came up behind him.
“You look like shit,” Kiel announced heavily.
Sam smiled. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m not going to even ask if you’ve arrived at any Sherlockian conclusions, since the expression on your face hasn’t changed since yesterday.”
Stretching his arms over his head, Kiel slowly let out a sigh. “In all my years in homicide, I can’t remember ever facing a case where there weren’t any clues. Not a freakin’ one! We can’t even figure out what the freakin’ murder weapon was!” He growled softly and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Sam to eat his meager breakfast of Pop-Tarts alone, before going back to the bedroom to get dressed.
The conversation slash discussion slash rant continued on their drive over to the station. “I must’ve gone over the details a hundred times.” Slapping the folder in his lap, Kiel finally ceased and sat back to watch the scenery go by. In front of him the police radio chattered almost inaudibly, although their ears would quickly catch their I.D. if it was called.
The sky couldn’t have been any grayer or sicklier looking than it was that morning. And on a Monday, no less. Not taking into account the rain that continued to drizzle in one section of the city and pour in another. With their luck, it would be pouring at the station.
He chanced a sideways glance at his partner. As always, the man looked impeccable, pushing Sam’s jealousy factor up another notch. “Where’d you get the suit?” he inquired, just to break the monotonous quiet.
“I saw an ad for it at Makes-the-Man.”
Sam whistled softly. “So what does a suit like that go for? Five hundred?” He caught Kiel giving him a weary smile.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Bet the tie and shirt alone is almost a week’s pay.”
“If you’re trying to take my mind off the case, it’s not working.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam quipped. Throwing a glance back at the other man, he met Kiel’s eyes, and waggled his eyebrows. Seconds later they were both laughing at the bad joke. It was enough to break the tension their case had been putting on them, and by the time they arrived at the station, both men were in a better frame of mind to tackle the details afresh.
Twenty-four/seven, three hundred sixty-five, the main police station on Aaron Street looked like New York’s Grand Central Station for the dregs of humanity. It didn’t matter what time of the day or night, day of the week, or even the month of the year. One could find both blue-collar and white-collar crime being bundled up, cuffed, arraigned, bailed out, or any number of procedures, which caused them to be paraded back and forth from holding cell, to interrogation room, to booking. If it weren’t for clocks and calendars no one would be able to tell one minute from the next.
Sam parked his thermos on top of his desk while Kiel tossed the case folder on the desk across from his. Before either had a chance to drop their butts into their chairs, Lieutenant Owen Random signaled for them to join him. Silently they followed the man into their boss’ office.
“Did either of you two geniuses come up with any possibilities?” the captain inquired right off the bat. The wrinkled shirt and crooked tied was evidence that the man had been at work a lot longer than they had.
Kiel shook his head by way of an answer.
Sam went a step further to add a despondent, “No.”
“I thought not. Which is why I’ve decided to go a bit off the path and try an unorthodox route.” Captain Jordan Redd reached underneath a stack of file folders sitting to one side on his desk, and extracted a bright green one. The fact that it was a colored folder immediately attracted everyone’s attention. All cases were handled in the plain manila variety, but only very exclusive ones were given the color option.
Green was the captain’s personal choice for outside help. And in many circumstances, for those sources who often worked outside police jurisdiction.
They watched as the man picked up his phone and punched in a number he found inside the folder. “J Laurent, please. Yes, Miss Laurent. My name is Captain Jordan Redd. I’m in charge of homicide here at the Aaron Street Station, yes.” His eyes swiveled over to the two detectives watching him from the other side of the room. “Yes, ma’am, it is.” He paused again to listen. “Yes, I will. I’m sending over the two detectives assigned to that case. They’ll be able
to fill you in on the details and take you over to the site for you to examine. Yes. Yes, that’s right. All right. Thank you, Miss Laurent. Appreciate any bone you can toss us.” He hung up as he muttered a soft expletive under his breath. “Wish I knew how she does that.” Glancing back up, he laced his fingers together and placed both hands on top of his desk. “All right. Miss Laurent has agreed to help us. Stark, you and Reese get over to her place and be sure to give her everything she asks for. Take her anyplace she needs to go. Got that?”
Kiel nodded, raising a finger for attention. “Who is this Laurent woman? A profiler? Or what?”
Captain Redd made a face before taking a deep breath. “She’s a…it’s hard to explain. She calls herself a seer.”
“A seer?” Sam snorted. “You mean a psychic?”
“Oh, Geez, Captain. You want us to babysit a psychic? Why not just get out the Ouija board while we’re at it?” Kiel propped his feet up on the rim of the trash can beside the captain’s desk.
Sam opened his mouth to say more, but the expression on Redd’s face stopped him cold.
“Listen, you two. You’ve had over a week to pop the zit on this case, and you’ve got nothing to show for it. Personally, I’m just as leery about bringing in this woman, but I’m sitting at a crossroads. I’ve got the head honchos at central demanding information to feed the public out there. I have five dead bodies down at the morgue, with no clue as to who killed them, or with what. And I have somebody still out there probably getting ready to do in victim number six.”
Leaning over his desk toward the men, he dropped his voice slightly. “You men know Captain Lucius over at the Sender Street Station, correct?”
Kiel nodded for the both of them.
“Remember the Milkman Murders?”
This time both men nodded. The Milkman Murders had occurred four years ago. Four women, all housewives, had been found viciously strangled in their kitchens. The victims, as well as the floors, had all been covered in spilt milk. There had been no signs of a breakin. To all intents, it appeared as if the victims had voluntarily opened their doors to the killer. The press had dubbed the maniac the Milkman. With hardly anything to go by, and with nothing to tie the apparently randomly picked victims together, the police had been at a loss as to who was responsible.