Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (96 page)

She couldn't quite stop the flutter
of nervousness inside. Why had it never crossed her mind that the
police might go public with her information? Why had she never once
considered the risk that her identity would be exposed?

And why had this realization come
when it was too late to change her mind?

10:10 am

Brandt
stood with his legs apart,
shoulders straight and his hands locked behind his back. What the
hell? He struggled to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't believe what
he was hearing. Captain Johansen had called him into his office and
Brandt was getting his ass kicked.

"Sir? If I could just interject for a
moment." Brandt tried to interrupt the captain's rant, only the man
was steaming. Brandt relaxed slightly, and stuffed his hands into
his jean pockets. He eyed the chairs stacked high with papers. An
empty chair sat off to the side – one Brandt hadn't been
offered.

"Brandt? Brandt, are you listening to
me?"

At the first call, Brandt studied the
man opposite him. At the second call, he raised an eyebrow. "Are
you ready to listen to me?"

"Damn it." Captain Johansen blew hard
and rubbed his temple. Reaching for his coffee cup, he glared at
Brandt. "Fine. Talk to me. What the hell were you thinking?" The
captain's face flushed red as his voice started to rise
again.

Brandt held out his hand to slow the
man down. "I didn't do it." He enunciated slowly and clearly. "I
did not give that picture to the media."

The captain stopped cold. He fixed
his hard stare on Brandt. "What?" he growled. "If you didn't then
who did?"

"I don't know," Brandt admitted. "I'd
planned to ask you that question."

"Why?" demanded Captain Johansen. "I
sure as hell don't know. Any ideas? And why wasn’t it
you?"

Brandt stared at his boss. "I'd
prefer to have proof before I say anything."

"Not good enough." Johansen pounded a
fist on his desk. "I want to know what you know – and
now!"

What
could he say? Brandt shrugged his shoulders. "I
don't
know
anything,
sir. I showed the picture at the debriefing meeting yesterday, so
anyone who'd been there knew. As would anyone they might have shown
the picture to."

"And yet, a couple of names on the
force came to your mind." The captain glared at him,
waiting.

Brandt avoided answering. "It's the
why that bothers me. If someone wanted to help, you'd think they
would have included me in the plan. Which means someone may be out
to discredit me instead."

The captain glanced at his desk, a
frown furrowing his brows.

Brandt added one other point. "Or the
department." He paused for a moment, considering his next words
carefully. "I'll tell you this. Kevin doesn't appreciate me having
Sam onboard, except he appears to hold the department in high
regard. And Dillon barely speaks to me except yesterday he came to
talk to me about the ring. If he did this, he may have thought he
was doing me a favor." He shrugged again. "In both cases, it could
mean nothing."

"Did you give Dillon the
picture?"

"He walked into my office with a
copy," Brandt clarified. "All I know is I didn't give it to the
media."

"Therefore someone else did." Captain
Johansen played with his pen, thinking hard. "And because so many
people had access to the sketch, anyone could have leaked
it."

"I did fax it to two jewelry stores
yesterday asking if they recognized the pattern. It's possible the
media may have found out from them." The more he thought about it,
the more possible that sounded. "Except they said the police were
asking for help."

The captain picked up the phone.
"Dillon, come into my office please."

Brandt straightened up. "Sir, I'd
like to be able to call these jewelry stores before we accuse
anyone."

"And so you should, but I want to
know what his take is on this mess."

"Then I'd like to leave so he doesn't
suspect me of pointing a finger."

Brandt turned and walked to the door.
"In fact, it might not be a bad idea to question everyone," he
suggested thoughtfully.

"I know how to do my job, thank
you."

A knock sounded on the open
door.

Brandt turned to see Dillon standing
there, waiting. He smiled. "Hey Dillon. Your turn." He nodded at
Captain Johansen and walked out. "I'll get to work, if there's
nothing else, sir?" Without waiting for a response, Brandt walked
out. Feeling like he'd just barely escaped, he headed to his
desk.

Once there, Brandt sorted through the
sizeable stack of files on his desk and pulled out two. He tried to
focus on them, only his thoughts refused to organize. They kept
returning to the news broadcast and the person responsible. Who
could have done that?

Still, of bigger concern was the case
itself. Picking up the phone, he continued to work down his list of
jewelry stores.

10:30 am

That was close. How the hell had his
name come up – and so fast? Self-consciously, he glanced around to
see who might be watching. No one appeared to notice as he poured a
cup of coffee and walked to his desk. Captain Johansen hadn't known
much so maybe he was doing a check on everyone. Dillon grinned.
Good thing he had such an honest face.

Besides, what was the big deal? So
what if anyone saw the stupid sketch. After all, the whole point
was to learn more about the ring. Who cared if the media asked the
public for information? It was more or less a problem regarding
chain of command. The captain was pissed because he hadn't known
about it. Dillon smirked. Damn well time someone shook his goat.
The old man was a control freak.

What had the department come to? What
a joke. A psychic for God's sake. She was a joke. A pair of
anorexic eyeballs. Talk about someone who should have been shown
the door the minute she walked in.

He had to admit, there was an
opportunity to cement his reputation here. He didn't know what form
it would manifest, but he wanted to make the most of it.

Then there was Brandt. As far as
anyone knew, he was here only temporarily. Dillon didn't think so.
Brandt had plans he was keeping close to his chest. Dillon could
respect that. He did the same thing. Yet, he wondered what was
brewing. Brandt had managed several private meetings with Captain
Johansen.

Plans could involve the psychic.
Whatever she had going for her, Brandt seemed interested. And that
was just as ludicrous. Unless mercy fucks were this month's good
deed. Dillon chuckled. Yet, she had something to offer or Brandt
wouldn't waste his time. Dillon quickly pulled a notebook from the
left side drawer and wrote some notes on what he'd found out about
her so far.

He didn't have much, just bits and
pieces of gossip gleaned from hanging around Kevin's team. Adam was
a great source, and of course the office grapevine. That had kicked
in days ago. In a place like this, it could usually be counted on
for accuracy. It was a start. He'd source out her history and all
the rest soon. Very soon.

The bottom line? She needed
watching.

10:35 am

Brandt spent the rest of his day
following up leads. He'd put several phone calls out to hospitals
and morgues, checking for anyone fitting the right age and sex of a
victim that had been brought in with a drug overdose or as a
suicide. He'd found one possible – in a coma at Portland General
Hospital. Asking the doctors to let him know about any change on
that woman at the hospital, he carried on with his phone
calls.

The city morgue offered a second
possible victim. This one had little to no paperwork at this point,
as she'd just been brought in and would still need to be autopsied
for cause of death. He asked to be notified as soon as they knew
anything.

Brandt frowned. Thanks to Sam, he had
a very good idea of a time frame. Sam. He had trouble explaining
his interest. She pulled at his heart, his mind, his emotions. He
felt a dull pain in areas he didn't know existed. She made him ache
for better times, for happiness, for a life filled with
joy.

Spending time with her was like a
drug. He liked the effect while under, and hated the sensation when
it wore off. After his head cleared, he wondered why the hell he
kept going back. Except he knew. He'd been intrigued since the
beginning. Sex had never been his goal. He'd long since outgrown
his adolescent hormones. He certainly wasn't searching for a mate
to have the little white house with a picket fence and the
customary two-and-a-half kids like so many of his
friends.

When attraction slapped him up the
side of the head, normally he ran with it. This time, the way
forward held a few roadblocks. Still, he didn't think they'd stop
him.

Sitting at his computer, Brandt
checked his watch. He had a few minutes before his five o'clock
appointment at the university.

5: 25 pm

The sun dipped behind the mountain,
casting golden beams rippling across the lake. Sam tilted her head
sideways, wincing as the pounding inside her head increased. The
sun's rays twinkled and disappeared under the water. Mother Nature
had outdone herself. Exhausted, she lay in numbed limbo. She was
still dressed in jeans and t-shirt because she hadn't had enough
energy to go for a swim this afternoon.

For someone who preferred her own
company, she'd been overwhelmed by people, recently. She had to
watch out and keep centered.

Animals offered a respite for her
senses. They exuded calm, peaceful energy waves.

People, on the other hand, lived on
emotion. They constantly projected erratic bursts of painful
energy. The larger bursts from strong emotions hurt her the most.
Happier, lighter emotions were easier to tolerate. But when people
were angry or upset, overwhelmed in grief or even sometimes when
they were ecstatic, they exploded with energy. For Sam, these waves
became almost solid walls pounding against her.

Everything impacted much more when
she was tired. At those times, on top of lowering her defenses, her
own talents increased because her ability to keep them shut down
was weaker. Her energy both bled outward and sponged
inward.

Working at the vet hospital had
allowed her to make gains on her protective shields – in part, due
to the animals and their energy. Stefan had given her hints on how
to release the energy afterward. She should be euphoric at what
she'd accomplished, instead she was too exhausted to feel anything
except the headache clawing the inside of her head.

Today had been a tough day. It had
taken everything she had to feed her dogs once she arrived home.
She'd grabbed a chunk of cheese and an apple and walked to the
dock. She'd actually slept in the warm sun after consuming that
little bit of food.

A vehicle growl filtered down the
hill. Moses raised his head, not growling, yet not totally at
ease.

Sam tensed.

In the same half-aware state, she
watched as Brandt's truck drove into view. Her heart leaped. She'd
forgotten. He was supposed to pick up something and bring it down
for dinner.

Sam rolled over to lean on her elbow.
Blood pounded in her temple making her grimace. She closed her eyes
halfway against the pain. Headaches were the bane of her health
problems though she'd never seen a doctor about them. Her lips
twitched, imagining trying to explain her issue to a local MD.
She'd be referred to a shrink immediately.

Groaning as she stood up, Sam had to
stop and breathe deeply as the hammer in her head was put down and
a sledgehammer took over. "Oh God," she whispered to the empty air.
"I so don't need this right now."

Walking very slowly, Sam made her way
up to the cabin.

"Good evening." Brandt walked toward
her with a large brown bag.

Sam nodded and immediately wished she
hadn't as pain stabbed her right temple. Chinese food? Her stomach
gurgled. The apple and cheese hadn't gone far and the food smelled
delicious. Now if only the pain would go away.

"Are you alright?"

A wan smile slipped out. "Just a
headache. I'll be fine." She eyed the bag he carried. "Is that
Chinese food I'm smelling?"

Brandt eyes narrowed as he searched
her face. "I found a new restaurant to try. Let's go inside where
you can sit down. I'll find some plates and serve." As they walked
into the house, he added, "I also have a few pictures to show
you."

Interest flared briefly before being
pounded down. Sam navigated the stairs and led the way inside. As
much as she hated to, she took a painkiller for the headache before
collapsing on the couch. She let Brandt deal with the
food.

She closed her eyes. Paper rustled,
china clanged, and the aroma made her stomach sing. She hoped he
picked up her favorite dish – Chicken Chow Mein.