Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (86 page)

His tone came across light and
amused, yet Sam sensed a serious thread through it all.

"You mean like mind reading? She
sharpened her gaze, trying to figure out what he meant. No, he was
too sensible for that. Wasn't he? Searching his face, she had to
ask, "You don't really think I can read your mind – do
you?"

He shifted his weight and stared out
across the lake.

She grinned, her first real one in a
long time. As the realization swept through her, a giggle escaped.
She slapped her hand over her mouth, astonished at the sound. Moses
raised his head and whined. She giggled again. Then she couldn't
help it; she laughed aloud. When he cocked his head to one side and
stared at her, she laughed harder, threw her arms around the dog,
and hugged him close.

She watched Brandt shake his head, as
if he only just realized he'd crouched down beside her, his puzzled
look clearing.

"What's so funny?" he asked,
aggrieved.

Another giggle escaped even as she
fought to control herself.

She wiped her eyes. "Sorry. God that
felt good. I haven't laughed that hard in years." It took another
couple of minutes before finally, she heaved a big sigh and
relaxed. Peace settled upon her, ill fitting at first, but she
slowly grew more comfortable with it. Another sigh escaped, and she
stretched out on the dock. The sun had lost most of its heat,
leaving a slightly cooler air to wash over her heated
skin.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Then she remembered –
mind reading. Another giggle escaped. He shot her a dirty look, and
she tried hard to stifle the rest. There was no way to stop the
grin that split her face. "I'm not telepathic. I can't read minds.
Okay?"

He peered at her intently. She stared
back, still grinning, but serious.

He nodded once and lay down on the
warm dock beside her.

Sam smiled, the wooden boards warm
beneath her shoulders. It was a gorgeous day.

She was dimly aware of Brandt
stretching out on the other side of Moses. She could feel his gaze.
She smiled slightly and closed her eyes. Content.

Her thoughts free floated in the
newly created space in her mind. Stress had fled in the face of her
laughter, leaving room for peace and contentment.

Images, both colored and not, danced,
enjoying the freedom to roam. Faces, images, names, and places.
Nothing followed a pattern as free association flowed. In an
uncharacteristic move, she let them. Amazed at the clarity, Sam
could only watch in awe. Where did these come from? She recognized
some of them – and some she didn't.

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked what you were
thinking."

"Not thinking – seeing. Pictures,
images, events." She smiled lazily, never opening her
eyes.

"Anything on the
murderer?"

She froze. It didn't help. The moving
images sped up, tumbling over each other, impatient for their
moment in the light. One face flashed, followed by another and then
another. Without warning, the film stopped. A camera trained on one
woman. But Sam was inside that woman staring at the camera lens.
The faint reflection on the camera lens showed the vague outline of
a beautiful laughing brunette. The woman smiled into the camera,
amused at something the photographer said. She turned her head. Sam
caught glimpses of a huge green park, flowers in brilliant vibrant
beds. Several other people mingled. Someone called out a name. Her
head twisted around. Her name. She was called Annalea. Sam
recognized her basic essence. Sam had connected to this same soul
the other day.

"Annalea."

"Who?"

She knew. "That’s her name." Sam
opened her eyes to a slowly darkening sky.

"The murderer?" he asked. His voice
sounded stunned, his tone disbelieving.

"No," she whispered, grief already
clogging her heart, breaking up her voice. "He's stalking his next
victim. Her name's Annalea."

***

2:10 pm

Even an hour ago, Sam would have said
what she was doing was impossible.

It defied logic. But there it
was.

She stood on the steps of the police
station, staring up at the imposing front. What was even worse, was
that somehow...somehow she'd been convinced to do this
willingly.

Un-freakin-believable.

"Problems?"

Sam started. Brandt stood several
steps above her, staring down at her with a questioning look on his
face. She rubbed her damp palms on her faded jeans, glancing at her
scuffed runners showing too much wear, then up at him. She wrapped
her arms beneath her breasts, not quite knowing what to say. Her
thick sweater was long and didn't seem to make a bit of difference
to the chill deep in her bones. She stared around at the busy
street before turning her gaze on him again.

"Yeah, this isn't exactly my favorite
place to 'visit.'"

He grinned at her. "It will be
different this time."

Should she believe him?

"I promise."

Sam raised her face to the sun, took
a deep breath, got a grip on her whacked-out emotions, and strode
the remaining few stairs. Once inside, she kept her focus on Brandt
and followed his lead. Within minutes, she was sitting at a large
table in a spacious lived-in room. It was much more pleasant. This
looked like a meeting or a conference room. The sideboard held
papers and books. One of the tables held used coffee cups and even
a dirty plate.

"Do you want a cup of coffee before
we get started? I’m not sure we have any tea."

Feeling as if she'd been caught
snooping, Sam quickly nodded. "Thanks, coffee is fine. Black,
please."

Brandt flashed a quirky grin as he
left.

On her own, Sam glanced around at
those passing through. There were no windows in the room. She'd
have felt better if she could have seen the world outside – to have
less of a caged feeling. She did much better in open air. She
tilted her head. Maybe she should look at going into horticulture.
That was outside, away from people. Yeah, she'd do well with
plants. Too bad they didn't do well with her.

"Here you go. Careful, it's
hot."

A cup of steaming coffee was placed
before her. The heat drew her like a magnet. She wrapped her hands
around the mug, almost moaning with joy.

At that moment, she looked up to
catch Brandt's quizzical gaze. She flushed.

"I'm a little cold, that's
all."

He raised one eyebrow and refrained
from commenting.

Sam returned her attention to her
coffee, staring at it longingly. With the steam still rising, she
tried a sip. She choked, hastily putting it down again. She coughed
again, trying to clear her throat. Dear God, how could they call
that coffee? She snuck a glance at Brandt. He hadn't
noticed.

Sam didn't know what to say. Brandt
sat down across from her, sipping his own coffee. God, he actually
seemed to enjoy it. He flipped through a file on the table. Every
once in a while, he stopped and wrote a few notes on a pad of
paper.

"You'll get used to it."

Surprised, Sam asked, "Get used to
what?"

"The coffee." He flashed a grin at
her. The wicked glint in his eyes caught her sideways. Her heart
stopped, before suddenly thundering on.

"Like hell," she said when she
finally managed to speak.

"You're right. I lied. You never get
used to it."

A sudden commotion at the door caught
their attention. An older woman, hauling a large case bustled into
the room. "Sorry I'm late, Brandt."

"No problem, Irena. Grab a
seat."

Irena banged the case down and
shrugged out of her coat. "The weather has gone to hell out
there."

"Has it started raining?"

"Not yet, but the sky is ready to
explode at any minute." Irena opened her case.

Sam gawked. Wow, what a kit. She
watched as Irena pulled out an art pad and a small case of art
pencils.

"Okay, so what are we doing
today?"

Brandt quietly explained. Sam
listened, watching Irena's face intently. Her expression wrinkled
once before settling into the same old cynical look.
Whatever.

Brandt stood up. "Sam, I'm going to
leave you in Irena's hands." He smiled at the two women. "I'll
return in an hour or so to see how the two of you are getting
along."

Sam watched him walk out.

"So." Irena pulled a large sketchpad
toward her and reached for a thick art pencil. "Let's get
started."

An hour later, Sam was so engrossed
that when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, she shot out of her
chair and spun around to face the danger. Brandt.

"Jesus," she snapped when she could,
her hand still covering her pounding heart. "Don't do
that."

"Sorry." He held his hands out in
supplication, yet his twinkling eyes paid lie to that
statement.

Sam glared at him before slowly
retaking her place.

"If you two are finished, can we get
at it?" Irena glared at them both. "We're just about
done."

Brandt walked around to
stand behind the artist. He gave a quiet but deadly whistle.
"Wow."

***

2:34 pm

Irena shot him a look. "I'm not done
yet. Get lost."

Brandt glanced over at her. He
reached for the picture beside her on the table. "Is this yours,
too?"

Irena took a quick peek in between
her strokes. "Yes. We started with that one."

Sam slid lower in her chair under
Brandt's intense gaze. "Why?"

"I do that sometimes. I started with
a strong visual to help her to focus on the details. Why?" Irena
frowned at him.

Brandt didn't answer. He studied the
diagram. Something twigged, but he couldn't place it. The detail
depicted was incredibly scary. Christ, she was good. Inside, he
turned cold. His team members were going to have a heyday with
this. Anyone would point out the three possibilities – either she
was an incredibly gifted psychic, had a deadly twisted imagination,
or she'd been there. He knew which one Kevin would lobby
for.

He studied Sam, slouched in the
chair. She lay with her eyes closed; gray smudges underlined her
eyes, accenting her translucent skin and the fatigue.

The picture disturbed him. Irena was
good. In this piece of work, she'd been damn good. The eerie
details made it come alive – or appear even deader. In fact, the
picture was damned near perfect. Tossed bedclothes, half on and
half off, portrayed the violence with uncanny accuracy. The pool of
blood on the mattress and the overturned lamp on the night table
added to the impression of a great wrong having been committed.
She'd given a death scene a terrible sense of life.

Softy, he questioned her further.
"Sam – this level of detail?" He paused shaking his head. "Did you
tell Irena about the blood dripping down on the mattress or the
lamp overturned?"

Stretching her arms over her head,
Sam shook her head. "I knew the bedding had been tossed around and
that there was massive blood loss. I thought the lamp had dumped
because the light came from the floor region. The layout details
are all from Irena."

"You realize this level of detail is
what will bother the other detectives?"

Sam bolted upright to stare at him.
"Bother them, how?"

Pulling a chair up beside her, Brandt
laid the sketch down. "They're going to say this picture has been
envisioned from someone in the room, not from someone in the body,
because if you were to see from her eyes only, you wouldn't have
these details in your viewing area."

Sam peeked at Irena, who was
listening to the conversation. "I gave her some details, her years
of experience in this job allowed her to fill in the rest. But make
no mistake, that picture…" She stabbed the sheet once again in his
hand. "Is from one of my visions." She ran her hand through her
hair. "Sorry, maybe I'm just overreacting from this morning." She
turned to Irena who'd kept working, her pencil swiftly forming and
pulling visions off the page.

Silence ensued in the large room.
Brandt knew they were the center of attention. He cleared his
throat and cast a glance in Irena's direction. She was studiously
working on her drawing, keeping her head down.

"I didn't mean to imply anything. But
for anyone who doesn't really understand how your abilities work,
this...stuff seems, well I guess it's a little freaky, and they're
going to question it."

She nodded, refusing to face
him.

"Brandt, Captain Johansen wants to
see you."

Damn. He glanced around at Adam, who
tilted his head in the captain's direction. Brandt shook his head
and motioned toward Sam.

Adam grimaced. "That's
why."