Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (83 page)

Moses stuck his nose on her neck,
reminding her she'd been motionless for too long.

Wrapping her arms around his neck,
she gave him a warm hug, burying her face in the thick ruff. "Oh,
Moses. Tell me this is going to work out for the best."

She reached down to shut the cage
door, and stopped. Both dogs stared at her, ears up. Soldier
couldn't go anywhere right now. His injuries would stop him from
running away. But what about her agreement with the vet? She made a
gut decision.

"Fine. We'll try it your
way."

Sam walked into the
cabin, the cage door wide open behind her.

***

7:22 pm

Whistling cheerfully, the tall,
heavily built man tugged on the lead he awkwardly held in his left
hand along with one of the two dog crates. He should have made two
trips, but he'd had enough for today. It was time to head home.
Past time.

He'd held his temper all he could
this day. He was quite proud of himself. It took inner strength to
remain calm when inside he despised being here, despised the
people, and particularly despised the women.

He should get an Oscar for that
alone.

No one
appreciated how hard it was for him here. No one. He was capable of
so much more. Still, it was their loss and his gain. He knew he
could do more. In fact, he
was
doing more – they just didn't know
about it. A malicious joy seeped through him.

"Hey, Bill."

Jack, one of the organizers, had
chased after him and almost reached him. He sighed, took the last
few steps to his van, and put down the crates. Damn, these dogs
were getting heavier every time he had to take them
anywhere.

"Good class today. Thanks, buddy. Did
Dolly Seymour ask you about fitting in a new session next week?
This would be another private session."

Bill opened the back door to the van.
"She mentioned something about it. I haven't confirmed availability
yet. I'll have to call her in the morning."

"No problem. This is the same group
from last week. They want to work on individual training, so maybe
you can see your way into accepting this one."

Bill had a grin plastered on his
face. On the inside, though, he was tired of smiling. He was tired
of being nice all day, and he was fucking tired of the whole mess.
Surely, his luck would change soon and he could split. "No problem.
If I can, I will."

"Good enough. We'll see you later
then."

Jack headed back into the clubhouse.
As he opened the door, a slinky brunette in tight-ass capri pants
and a shorty midriff top walked toward him, a tiny white Lhasa Apso
sporting a big pink bow, in her arms.

Bill grinned at the beautiful woman
walking toward him and stopped loading his stuff into the back of
the van to talk with her. "Hi, Caroline."

A bright smile broke across her face.
"Thanks for today's class, Bill. I'm just sorry Jared couldn't be
here today. He'd have really enjoyed it."

Bill smiled as expected. In truth, if
he heard one more thing about her husband, Jared, he was liable to
scream. If there was one thing he couldn't stand – it was gushing
females, particularly when they were gushing about their
males.

Still, he managed to keep an eye on
her nicely rounded ass as she walked past to her black Porsche
several vehicles down.

He just might have to do
something about that...and her.

***

2:30 am, June
17th

Screams echoed in the darkness. Sam
twisted and pulled, struggling to get away from whatever held her
fast. She couldn't get free. In a blind panic, she realized her
body no longer answered to her commands. Her eyes opened. She
shuddered. Shearing pain melded with terror as she took in the
blood dripping to the floor. It ran down the folds of the floral
bedspread to soak into the cream carpet waiting below.

"Please don't...no more." A voice not
her own spoke the words in her head. A blow shattered her
breastbone. Her screams poured into the small room. Sam barely
flinched. Her attacker laughed.

"Like I'm going to listen to you,
bitch. You like this. You must. You let that useless husband of
yours beat you all the time." His hideous laughter added to her
horror. God, how could he laugh at her? He was an animal. She died
a little more at his unexpected pleasure. Monster.

Maybe it had something to do with his
unseemly pleasure, or maybe it came from her absolute fury at yet
another murder, but somewhere deep inside, Sam's consciousness
attempted to reassert itself. In a weird way, she became aware of
both worlds at once. Her awareness built, a small step at a time,
allowing her to put a slight distance between her and the dying
woman's. Fog grew between the two realities, buffering her from the
poor woman's pain and fear.

Groggy and disoriented, Sam tried to
snap out of the psychic episode fully, only to slam back inside the
injured woman. Her body lurched uncontrollably. Sam tried to ward
off the oncoming blow, but couldn't make the right arm
move.

"Stupid woman. What good are those
looks of yours now? It's far too late to run away." The fists
lashed out, once, twice and then yet again. Muscles tore and
internal organs bled under cracked bones. The poor woman arched her
back, lifting high off the bed. Both women screamed. Cries echoed
inside and outside of Sam's mind, building, and blending into a
crescendo of terror.

"Why are you doing this?" Blood
trickled down the corner of her mouth. Sam didn't know who spoke –
her or the victim. It didn't matter, the words were the
same.

"Because I can, bitch." Mocking
laughter echoed through the small room.

"But...?" She gasped, fighting the
vomit in the back of her throat. "Why me?"

"You're weak. You deserve killing.
Staying with an asshole like that. Besides, I hate him. Maybe the
cops will think he's good for this one."

"No," she gasped. "Please,
don't."

"Too late."

He raised his fist and landed a blow
below her eye socket. Bone shattered, making little scrunching
noises. There'd be no white knight coming to the rescue. Ever.
There was only Sam and she didn't know how to help.

Through the bloody haze, Sam,
desperate to take something useful back with her, struggled to open
her good eye. Swollen and bloody and not her own, made the job damn
near impossible. Light slid painfully under her sore eyelids. She
struggled to bring the scene in focus. The bastard was getting off
her bed. Blood splatter covered his shirt and jeans. He wore
unrelenting black with the blood standing out in dark wet spots. He
wore gloves and a ski mask. Same height and same build.

Same energy pattern. Damn, him again.
At least she thought it was him.

Only one eye could see. Sam couldn't
even tell if this man wore a ring or not. The light in the room
started to fade, as if the sun were setting at rapid speed. Except
the curtains were closed and it was the middle of the
night.

Her vision narrowed, locked on her
killer's face. The circle grew smaller and smaller. Sam knew her
time was almost over. She could only watch with painful
understanding as the circle of light reduced to a pinpoint before
finally, thankfully, blinking out. Forever.

It was over.

Sam woke in her own room, minutes
later. For the first time, grief didn't overwhelm her. She was
angry. She hurt for the victim and her family. But even more, a
deep pulsing fury permeated her soul. That asshole had way too much
fun doing what he was doing. He had to be stopped.

When she could, she shifted upright.
Pain still coursed through her body, but the anger provided a dense
barrier, letting her cut through the pain. Inner excitement grabbed
hold. This time she'd had some kind of conscious awareness. She'd
kept a part of herself intact while living what that poor woman had
experienced.

Poor soul. Sam sniffled. Why was this
guy doing this? Surely, he had a reason – more than just for
entertainment.

Lying back down, she thought about
the details from the vision. Once again, the killer had been fully
hidden, so no face or ring showed. There'd been light-colored
walls, a plain white ceiling, and a cheap floral bedspread. Again,
nothing helpful.

It was six in the morning now.
Surely, someone would find the woman today? Depression set
in.

Tucking the blankets around her, she
reached for the phone. There was no answer at Detective Brandt's
number. She hung up. Then changing her mind, she redialed and this
time left a message. Afterward, she sat, undecided, before dialing
the station.

Five minutes later, she was sorely
regretting that action.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, could you repeat
that?"

"Could you please have Detective
Sutherland call me? I know this sounds bizarre, but I can't give
you any more information. A woman has been murdered." Samantha
tried to keep her voice from showing her frustration. Just going
over the details hurt. Damn it, why wouldn't anyone listen to
her?

She cleared her throat from the
confused emotions clogging it. "Excuse me, could you just pass the
message on, please?" She shifted the phone to the other
ear.

"I'll see that he gets your message,"
replied the cold voice on the other end of the phone.

"Thank you," she answered, and hung
up. There was nothing else to do.

It took twenty-five minutes to hear
from him.

"Samantha?"

"Yes," she answered, relief rushing
through her. "It's me."

"And?" he asked, concern in his
voice.

Sam took a deep breath, snuffling
back tears. "He's killed again," she whispered.

Dead silence.

She scowled into the phone. She could
almost hear the gears in his mind churning at lightning
speed.

"Did you see him?"

"I saw him, not the ring. He kept his
gloves on the whole time." She shivered at the memory, still fresh
in her mind. "He wore all black, including the ski
mask."

"Can you identity him in any
way?"

Sam shook her head then realized he
couldn't see her. "No. Not really. I might recognize him by size,
carriage, maybe his way of moving. His gaze..." Sam closed her eyes
and swallowed hard, hating the fear clinging to her skin. Some
belonged to the various victims and to a certain extent – some of
it was hers. The killer breathed evil. She got a grip again. "It
won't stand up in court, but I would recognize his energy if I ever
saw him again – at least I think so."

"What does that mean?" His sharp
voice cut through the lines.

She stiffened. "When he kills he lets
himself enjoy it. Energy has its own individual pattern and changes
with moods, etc." She paused for a moment. "I think I might
recognize it again, but I can't say for sure."

"Hmm."

Sam waited in edgy
silence.

"Is there anything you can tell me
about the victim?"

"Like what?" She relaxed slightly.
With it, fatigue set in. She was so tired.

"Like where she lives, a house, an
apartment...something to help us find her faster."

Samantha sighed. "When you're being
attacked, you don't think, 'I'm so and so and live at 146 Pine
Street.' Women think about being rescued, and why them, and toward
the end..." Sam caught back a hiccup of a sob. "Toward the end,"
she continued, her voice a hint above a whisper, "they only think
of those they're leaving behind – their loved ones." Sam could
barely hear him through the chaos of her emotions, yet, she could
sense his sympathy. She could hear him scratching down notes. "He
beat her to death."

"He beat her? No knives?"

"No. He hated her husband. The
husband beat her so he took her away from him. If that makes any
sense."

"Nothing a killer does, makes any
sense."

Sam hesitated. "Another thing. Her
eyes were damaged. It was hard to see clearly." Sam stared bitterly
out the large bedroom window, where raindrops started to ping
against the panes of glass. She would see another sunny day, but
the poor women wouldn't.

"Can you tell me anything else? Her
name? You got the name of the car victim."

"That
was different." Violent imagery coursed through her mind. Was there
gold to be mined in there somewhere? "Just a minute." Sam closed
her eyes, trying to let the images she'd been forcing back, flood
her mind. Maybe, there was something useful there. Fists. Blows.
Blood. Screams. Red. Pain. Grief. Sam doubled over, gasping at the
emotional onslaught. She fought to stay conscious, scared all over
again as the pain and images took her back into the
horror.
There.
What
was that?

A name. Sam fought to leash the
demons in her mind, scrambling for the safety of her physical
reality, desperately wanting to return to her small cabin by the
lake. She shuddered and opened her eyes.