Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (81 page)

Sam leaned over, reaching for clean
jeans and a t-shirt – dressing while deep in thought. Making a
quick decision, she reached for the card and punched the number on
her cell phone before she had a chance to change her
mind.

"Hello?"

Fear caught her sideways. Words
refused to come out.

"Hello. Who is this?"

The sharp demanding tone made her
wince. She glanced at the clock on the stove and grimaced. He'd
been asleep.

"God damn it, answer me." Anger
reached through the phone to squeeze her vocal cords.

Samantha rushed into speech. "It's
me. Huh, hmmm, Samantha Blair."

"Samantha," he said, enunciating the
words slow and clear as if trying to place her.

"You came out to my place at the lake
to ask me some questions yesterday," Sam started to
explain.

"Oh. That Samantha." The anger
shifted down to a growl.

She could almost see him shift into
gear.

"What can I do for you?"

"Umm." Now that she had him on the
phone, she didn't quite know what to say. "I know that some of the
stuff that I told you might have been a little difficult to
believe." She paused, not quite knowing where to go from
here.

"Maybe," he answered, huskiness
clouding his voice as if he was still groggy from sleep. It did
funny things to her stomach.

She focused on his answer, his
wariness. Determinedly, she forged ahead. "I saw an accident happen
this morning. I thought if you could verify these details, you
might have more faith in the other information I gave
you."

Dead silence.

Oh God, why had she called him? She
chewed on her bottom lip. What madness possessed her to call? She
glanced out the window. It was just starting to get light
outside.

"What kind of car accident?" His
voice sounded brisker, more alert.

"A woman drove over the cliff and
crashed onto the rocks below." She hesitated for a moment then
rushed into speech. "The thing is...this time I recognized the
spot. She drove off at Emerson Point."

"Emerson Point?" Now she had his
attention. He was all business.

Feeling reassured, she continued.
"Yes. She went through the guardrail. The car landed on its wheels
before exploding."

"Hmmm. Time frame?" He cleared his
throat.

That husky sound made her stomach do
a slow tumble. Sam struggled to consider his question. But images
of him leaning against the head of his bed, running a hand through
his ruffled hair, the blankets resting low on his hips made her
swallow and close her eyes. What had he asked? Oh yeah, it had been
something about time frame. Had the accident been in real time? She
cleared her throat. "About thirty, maybe forty minutes
ago.."

"You think?"

She hated the apologetic tone in her
voice. "I woke as it happened. All I can say is that I think it
played out in real time."

More digestive silence.

"Right. Make of car, color, and
license plate? Anything specific that you can tell me."

"I experienced her death the same as
always. So, I couldn't see the license plate because I was, in
effect, driving the car. She drove a dark colored Mercedes. I don't
know the model."

"How did you know the type of car
then?"

"Because I could see the logo inside
the car."

Sam could hear the scratching of pen
on paper. She waited.

"Right. Anything else?"

"Her name was Louise." Sam's voice
hitched and stopped, surprised. Where had that come from? The name
danced through her head. It felt right.

She took a deep breath,
knowing this could be the point where he suspended belief. "And I
think she was murdered."

***

6:30 am

Brandt rubbed the sleep from his
eyes. Jesus, what a way to wake up. Every time he spoke with this
woman, he couldn't get a grip on her. Was she for real?

He threw back his duvet and headed
for a shower. At least this time, she'd given him something
concrete. If it checked out.

Two hours later, at the station, he
stood frowning down at an accident report in his hands. Incomplete
as yet, just chicken scratch as the cop on the scene hadn't had a
chance to finish the paperwork.

"Jackson, any sign of foul play?"
Brandt glanced up from the paper, his piercing gaze nailing the
young traffic cop.

"No, sir," Jackson said shifting his
large weight from one foot to the other. "Not that I could
see."

The younger man rubbed his face,
fatigue pulling on his skin, giving him a much older appearance.
The job did that to everyone after a while. "There isn't much left.
The fire burned everything to ash."

"There weren't any secondary vehicle
marks on the highway indicating she might have been forced off the
road?"

"No, nothing like that. Her car
headed straight for the guard rail, went through and
over."

Brandt shot him a hard look.
"Suicide?"

Jackson shrugged. "No
idea."

He looked like he didn't give a damn.
It must have been a long night. Brandt nodded and handed back the
report. "We'd better find out." He turned away, heading down the
hallway.

"Uh, Brandt, sir?"

Brandt stopped before slowly turning
around. "What?"

"Do you know something about this
woman? Something that pertains to the case? Because this seems
straightforward. Open and shut type of thing."

You mean, ‘you don't want to be
bothered’ type of a thing, Brandt thought, his cynicism rising to
the surface. Too often, it was more a case of working in the areas
where progress could be made and leaving the time-wasting for
others. Still, his placement here put him in an awkward
position.

"Maybe," Brandt answered. "Then
again, maybe not." He turned and walked away. He needed to talk to
Samantha again.

The hot July sun shimmered between
the leaves to bounce off the hood of his truck as he drove past the
gingerbread house. The place was a remarkable landmark. Further
down, fir growth grew thick on the left and several poplar groves
dotted the fields on the right. Signs of improvement done over the
years blended into the natural habitats. Drainage ditches ran along
the side of the well-maintained road. Generations had put their
heart and soul into developing this place.

Brandt could only wish he had
something as nice to pass on to his kids.

Kids. He grimaced. He didn't dare go
there. It led to his mother and all her machinations. The truth
was, at thirty-five he'd given it a whole lot more thought than he
wanted to admit. Especially to his mother. He saw the worst that
people could do to each other, and at other times, events were so
poignant they made his heart hurt. It was at those times, he gave
serious thought to his future. Thankfully, these lapses were
short-lived. The divorce rate in his profession was out of this
world. He'd be willing to try, but honestly, he'd never met anyone
he couldn't live without.

Besides, it would take a unique woman
to accept his work.

He rounded the last corner. The old
homestead sprawled off to one side, lazy and serene. Except for the
dog barking on the porch, the cabin appeared deserted.

Braking, Brandt brought the truck to
a gentle stop beside her red one. Was that rust or paint that gave
the vehicle its color? He studied it closer as he opened his door
and hopped out. It didn't look road safe. He frowned. She needed a
better set of wheels.

The screen door banged
shut.

Brandt turned quickly. Sam stood,
arms akimbo, apparently surprised to see him.

"Louise Enderby drove her Mercedes
off the highway between 5:45 and 6:15 this morning," he said as way
of greeting. Alarmed, he watched the color drain from her face.
Brandt reached out to steady her, except she pulled back before he
had a chance to make contact. His left hand still in midair, Brandt
blinked at the speed she'd moved to avoid him.

In general, women liked him. He
couldn't remember a time when one had avoided his touch. He didn't
know if he should be amused or insulted. Instead, he felt oddly
hurt.

"Why did you come?" she
asked.

He glanced at her in surprise. "I
thought you'd like to know."

She frowned. "You could have called
me."

"But then I wouldn't be able to see
you in person. By the way, was this morning's call an emergency?"
He raised his eyebrows.

Samantha frowned. "I couldn't leave
her alone in the car."

Interesting wording. Alone. He had to
know. "Why?"

Her solemn gaze studied him for a
long moment. She sidestepped the answer. "The bastard needs to be
caught."

Brandt's heart stalled before
starting again – double time. "The bastard?" Did she know about the
serial killer he'd been chasing this last year? How could she know
anything? Unless she was for real? God, could she help? Hope flared
deep within.

"The killer."

Oh, that bastard. Damn. His heart
rate returned to normal. "I'd like to ask you a few more questions.
May I come in?"

She took a step back, paused, then
stepped off to the side giving him room to pass.

Brandt walked inside. It seemed as
bleak as he remembered. The threadbare furniture, plank floors –
everything clean yet old. Bare kitchen counters…only one mug stood
by the sink full of water.

He stopped in the middle of the room
and turned to stare at her.

She hadn't moved.

What was wrong? He opened his mouth
to ask, when she walked to the stove and put on a teakettle. As
usual, she had on a sweater several sizes too big that hung almost
to her knees, only this one was a brown cable type of thing.
Threadbare jeans and white cotton socks completed the picture. And
the perpetual braid down her back. He eyed her outfit. She barely
made five feet and her clothes accented her thin frame, but there
were hints of curves in all the right places.

"Do you want a cup of
tea?"

He'd rather have a coffee, yet with
no coffeemaker in sight, there didn't appear to be much choice. And
her offer could be deemed a definite step forward in the social
game. Even for a prickly female like her.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate
that."

He watched as she pulled out a teapot
and teabags from the cupboard. She never made idle chitchat or
unnecessary movements. Economical all the way. She fascinated him.
He couldn't think of another person like her. He walked over and
sat on the same sofa as last time. "This is a nice
place."

"I like it."

"Have you been here long?"

She shot him a suspicious look. "You
mean you don't know already?"

His lips quirked. "I'd like you to
tell me."

Samantha shrugged. "I've been here
close to six months now."

"And before that."

She rolled her eyes. "Before that, I
was somewhere else."

"Of course you were," he murmured.
Her full history had been on his desk half an hour after he'd
learned the details of the car accident she'd 'seen.' It hadn't
taken long as there'd been little to add to what he already knew.
Today's accident had opened doors for him. He wanted to learn the
extent she was willing to fill in the missing details.

"Did you sabotage her
car?"

She froze in the act of pouring water
into the teapot. Her back went rigid. Fury visibly radiated through
her bunched shoulders, rage-like waves he could almost touch. Ever
so slowly, she finished filling the pot and replaced the kettle on
the stove. Just as slowly, she turned around.

Brandt prepared to be blasted and
found himself stunned at the pain evident in her eyes. Anger, yes,
but he'd also hurt her. He grimaced. Damn, he'd judged that badly.
He couldn't figure her out and had automatically tried to shock her
out of her silence. Instead, it appeared he'd locked her deeper
inside.

"I'm sorry. I had to ask."

She stared down at the kitchen floor,
the muscles in her jaw twitching. She walked to the small fridge
and pulled out a carton of milk. After a long moment, she shuddered
once before answering, "When I have these visions, I'm not on the
outside looking in. I'm inside these people staring out." She shot
him a look. "Believe me, it would be much easier if it were the
other way around."

That was understandable. If what she
said were true, she must experience what they experience. He didn't
think that included the pain – no one could stand that. Still,
being inside must forge a personal connection. And how hard would
that be given the eventual outcome?

He waited until she'd brought his
tea. "Can you do this at will?"

"No."