Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (321 page)

Clarence stepped next to Millie, placing an arm protectively around her shoulders. “I’m afraid I hit you, Mr. Jackson. Saw you skulking around and followed you.”

Carl turned his fierce gaze on Clarence, but held his tongue. The old fart looked pretty tough, even barefoot. Besides, he wasn’t in any shape to take on the two of them.

Millie glanced fondly from one to the other. “Why don’t you two get to know each other while I get some coffee.”

Clarence sat down, eyes alert, watching Carl suspiciously.

“You can relax. I didn’t come here to hurt her.” Carl patted his pocket for his cigarettes.

“Why the gun then?”

Carl managed a shaky grin, pulling the pack from his pocket. “In case I ran into some son-of-a-bitch with a big stick.”

Clarence laughed, relaxing as Millie came in with three mugs of steaming coffee and an ice pack.

“Glad to see you two made up. No hard feelings?” She handed Carl the mug and watched as he sniffed it, sighed, and placed the ice pack on the lump, which had begun to swell.

“No hard feelings.” Carl sipped the coffee laced with brandy and watched as Millie took a seat on the arm of the chair next to Clarence. Loneliness washed over him. He’d missed Millie. Missed Sharon. It was hard getting old. He was glad Millie had somebody.

Carl finished the cup of coffee and held it out for a refill. “Bring the bottle.”

Millie refilled the mugs and handed Clarence the bottle of brandy. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here, sneaking around in the middle of the night?”

Carl took a long swig of brandy, chasing it with hot coffee. He glanced at Clarence, his meaning clear.

“Ain’t no secrets here, Carl Jackson. Anything you got to say, you can say it in front of Clarence.”

“We gotta move you, Millie. Right away.”

“Ain’t going nowhere.” Millie stood up, pacing the room. “This is my home. Been my home twenty years.” Her gray eyes flashed fire.

“Ain’t got no choice. Things are about to break wide open here. Can’t take a chance on you being seen on the media. Chief says we gotta move you.”

“Ain’t going.” Millie’s chin quivered, but her voice was strong and clear.

Carl muttered to himself, lighting a cigarette. “Fool headed, stubborn old woman. Knew you’d be this way. You’re going, if I have to knock you over the head and carry you out of here.”

“We’ll see about that.” Millie walked to the phone, dialing the number from memory.

He answered on the second ring. “Walsh.”

“You got an agent here with a knot on his head. Says I gotta leave. I ain’t going. You hear me, Junior?”

“Millie?” Walsh rubbed his eyes, glancing at the bedside clock. Two a.m.

“I told you, I ain’t going.” Millie glared across the room at Carl.

“Put Jackson on the phone.”

Millie handed the phone to Carl and sat down next to Clarence with a resounding “humph.”

“Chief?”

“What the hell’s going on there Jackson?”

“Well, first some old codger clobbered me, and now the old biddy says she ain’t going nowhere.” He smiled at Millie, seeing the sparks in her eyes at his reference to Clarence.

“Should have known. All right. All right. Fill her in. Make sure she stays out of the spotlight.”

“Yeah.” Clarence hung up the phone wondering just how he was supposed to do that.

“Chief says you can stay.” Carl snarled, noting the satisfied grin. “Give me some more of that coffee. And don’t look so damn smug.”

Millie grinned, but stifled the giggle. She sure had missed the old coot.

#

Sarah filled the coffee pot with water, peering into the darkness surrounding the house. She’d been awakened by the dreams again. She shivered. Two men were going to die, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She didn’t even know who they were or where to start looking for them. Dammit, it wasn’t fair. What kind of gift was it if she couldn’t stop what she saw?

“Sarah?”

Gavin stood just inside the kitchen doorway, his face a pale ghostly mask. “You saw it too?” she whispered.

Gavin nodded, unable to find his voice and put into words the horror the dream had instilled in him.

“Gavin, do you know who they are?” Sarah approached him, reaching out to him. He moved into her arms, body trembling.

“Rob Walker and Carl Jackson. My brother and his partner.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The sound of the key turning in the lock woke Rob from a light sleep. He’d stayed up as long as he could, prowling the room, cursing, worrying like a father waiting for his child to come home. He met Carl at the door.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Taking care of business.” Carl tried to grin, but the spinning of the room made it come out lopsided. His head still hurt, and the brandy was fermenting on his stomach. He belched loudly.

“Shit, you’re drunk.” Rob grabbed him, placing one arm around his shoulder and half lifted, half dragged him to the bed.

Carl tried to grin again. “Jus’ a little bit. Hep’ the headache.” He closed his eyes to shut out the spinning room and immediately fell asleep.

Rob stood, mouth gaped open, listening to the sound of Carl’s snores. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He grinned as he pulled off Carl’s shoes and gently covered him with a blanket. The grin stiffened on his face as his eyes took in the knot and slight oozing of blood. He shook Carl gently.

“Go ‘way,” Carl slurred, turning over and continuing his snoring.

Rob examined the knot. What if he had a concussion? He shook him again.

“Carl, what happened out there?”

Carl pushed at Rob’s hands feebly, muttering, “Said she ain’t going.” He giggled. “Called him Junior.”

Rob sat down, watching his partner snore. Carl was too hard-headed to have a concussion. Pulling the blanket up over him, Rob patted his shoulder. “It must have been some night, buddy.”

#

Sarah refilled their coffee cups and sat down at the table, waiting for Gavin to hang up the phone.

“Chief says they’re here somewhere. He doesn’t know where, but he’ll keep trying to reach them.” Gavin raked his hands through his thick wavy hair, a look of desperation on his face.

Sarah wanted to say something, but stopped as José came down the stairs carrying Nikki. Juanita followed closely behind, carrying the small suitcase she’d packed.

José nodded to them, carrying Nikki out to his car. Sarah felt the tears behind her eyelids as Gavin’s arms slipped around her. He whispered, “Go with her. This isn’t your fight.”

Sarah shook her head, enjoying the comfort of his arms before she pulled away. “It is my fight, Gavin. I should have faced him six years ago. I should have killed him then.”

#

Joshua pulled into the driveway of the old Sampson place, cutting the engine. There were no lights on, and only one car sat in the driveway. Maybe the bastard had left. His hands were white from gripping the steering wheel. He’d promised Sarah he wouldn’t do this. He was here. The least he could do was check on Ella Mae. The radio squawked as his hand touched the door handle.

“Deputy Cross,” he answered, never taking his eyes off the silent house.

“Joshua, I need you to meet me at the office right away.”

“What’s up, Sarah?”

“Not on the radio. Just get here as fast as you can.” Sarah clicked off.

“Shit.” Replacing the mike, Joshua sat for a second, hand poised over the door handle. He started the Jeep, spun around, and headed toward town. “I’ll be back,” he whispered to the silent house.

#

Ella Mae whimpered, shying away from the icy metal pressed against her back.

“You fucking that deputy?” he spat out, hand raised to hit her again.

“No. He’s just a friend.”

“Friend!” He raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips, the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “Get out,” he snarled.

Ella Mae whimpered again, raising her hands in front of her. “Please… “

He jumped at her, laughing as she scurried up the basement stairs. “Fix my breakfast. I got things to do today.”

#

Gavin hung up the phone, shaking his head at Sarah’s questioning look. “Still no word from them. Rest of the department is out on some terrorist threat.”

Joshua paced the floor. “So, we’re on our own?”

Gavin nodded. “Looks like it.”

“How much time do you think we have?” Sarah asked.

Gavin shook his head again. “I don’t know. The dreams have never been like that before. It’s always been during or afterwards, not before.”

“Dreams don’t always mean something, though. Maybe it was just a fluke.” Sarah touched his hand, wishing she could ease the pain she knew he was feeling.

Joshua glanced back and forth between them. “You two sure need an education.”

Sarah frowned at him.

“Dreams have forecast the future since the beginning of time.” Joshua sat down, warming up to his subject, surveying his audience. “Ever read Cayce?”

They both shook their heads.

Joshua shifted in the chair. “Edgar Cayce, born March 18, 1877, in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. From the age of 24 he gave over 14,000 readings.”

“What’s a reading?” Gavin took a seat on the edge of Sarah’s desk.

“Sort of a prediction. Something like your dreams.”

“But that’s different than the dreams we’re having,” Sarah stated flatly. “Cayce was physic, we’re not.”

Joshua shrugged. “Everybody’s psychic, Sarah. Some know it, some don’t. Comes in all forms, too. You got your dreamers, your meditators, people like Cayce that go into trances, and empaths that feel what other people feel. Then you’ve got those with the voices in their heads. Most people are scared to death of it.”

Joshua knew he had their attention, but they were still skeptical. “Pharaoh’s dream, remember? The seven cows that were fat and the seven cows that were lean. The lean cows ate up the fat cows. Then he dreamed about seven ears of corn on one stalk. Good corn. Then seven thin ears which devoured the good ears. Joseph interpreted the dream for him. Seven years of plenty, followed by seven years of famine.”

Sarah laughed. “Coincidence, Joshua.”

Joshua shook his head. “No such thing. What about President Lincoln? He dreamed his own assassination. And surely you’ve heard of Jeanne Dixon?”

Gavin picked up the story, familiar with Dixon. “She dreamed about the White House with the numerals 1-9-6-0 formed above the roof. A dark cloud appeared covering the numbers and rippled onto the White House. She saw a young man, tall, blue-eyed, crowned with a shock of thick brown hair, quietly standing in front of the main door. She heard a voice that told her the young man was a Democrat to be seated as President in 1960. He would be assassinated while in office.”

Sarah drew in a shaky breath. “John F. Kennedy.”

Joshua nodded and grinned. Thank God. Slow but not impossible. He grabbed a notebook from Sarah’s desk and sat down. “Doctor Cross, open for business. Tell me about your dreams.”

Sarah couldn’t believe her ears, and yet it made perfect sense. She’d suspected for some time that Joshua had a gift similar to her. His instincts were good. A little too good. Sarah glanced at Gavin, her eyes alight with excitement as she realized what Joshua was trying to do.

“It’s dark. I can see the two men sitting in a car. Someone’s approaching.” She glanced at Gavin, who nodded and picked up from there.

“It’s dark, but I think it may be early morning. There seems to be a grayness in the air. Just before dusk or just before dawn.”

Joshua nodded, writing down early morning. “Okay, someone’s approaching. Male or female?”

Sarah shook her head, glancing at Gavin for confirmation. “I don’t know. It’s too fuzzy.”

“Okay. What happens next?”

“There’s a streak of light or a blaze of some kind. And I can see blood. Lots of blood.” Sarah stopped talking, her eyes on Gavin’s pale face, closed eyes.

Joshua glanced at Gavin, but continued. “What happens then?”

Sarah frowned, closing her own eyes as she tried to remember what she’d seen next. She knew it was important.

“I’m in Sarah’s living room. Holding my brother. Trying to stop the blood gushing from his chest.”

“I’m on the porch, checking his partner. He’s dead.”

Joshua stood up. “Okay. Now we know who, and we know where. All we have to do is be ready for it, sit back and wait.”

Sarah took a deep breath and squeezed Gavin’s hand. Maybe this time they could stop it. She glanced at Joshua. “You believe in psychics?”

He nodded, sitting down and sticking the toothpick between his teeth. Grinning, he placed his feet on her desk.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Remember Joan of Arc?”

Sarah nodded.

“Joan heard voices in her head. Those voices prompted her to lead the French army against the English at Orleans. They burnt her at the stake as a heretic.” Joshua stood up and reached for the door. “Some things are better left unknown.”

#

Ella Mae looked up from the files she’d been sorting as Joshua came down the hall whistling. She hadn’t mentioned seeing him outside the house that morning. “I just made some fresh coffee,” she said, smiling hesitantly.

Joshua stopped whistling, noticing the way she favored one side, the look of pain that occasionally crossed her face.