(Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child (6 page)

Brandt smiled, happy to find someone normal in the town. "I'm Detective Sutherland." Brandt once again reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "I'm looking for directions to Samantha Blair's place."

"Oh." The older man smiled, his bushy brows giving him a Rip Van Winkle look. "That's easy. She's at the old Coulson homestead." He turned and pointed out the direction. "Head up the highway to the large gingerbread-looking house. Turn right onto the dirt road past the house and follow it all the way down to the lake. She's pretty isolated down there, but seems to enjoy it." He opened the front door of his office. "There's no problem, I hope?" He paused and looked back at Brandt, one eyebrow raised.

Brandt shook his head, tucking the slip of paper into his shirt pocket. "Not at all, I'm just checking on some information she gave us."

"Didn't think so. She's not the type." Smiling, the vet walked inside, the glass door shutting behind him.

Brant stared up the road. A gingerbread house – that should be easy.

4:09 pm

Sam dragged her sorry ass out of the truck and up the wooden stairs. The vision had left her feeling as if she'd gained a hundred pounds. Every shuffling step had become an effort. That insight into a killer's mind had been downright unpleasant. Knowing he'd found another woman, hurt her. That she'd had the vision at all terrified her. It was yet another sign her 'talent' was changing. And she didn't like it one bit. Her head throbbed from the remnants of sensory overload.

Moses barked excitedly, his madcap tail waving in the wind. He shoved his wet nose into her hand.

"Hey boy. Sorry to be so long today." She scratched the big dog's head. The golden haired Heinz 57 mix easily came to her mid-thigh. She smiled at the oversized black paws. Moses had been the main man in her life for a long time.

Shifting her library books, picked up over her lunch break, she strode up the front steps. On psychic phenomena, these books might hold the answers to her perpetual problem. At one time, she'd asked experts for help. Unfortunately, she'd chosen the wrong kind of expert.

Images of padded walls and needles slammed into her mind. Ruthless, and with more experience than she'd like to admit, she slammed them right back out again.

Moses slumped to the deck in his usual jumble of muscle and sinew, thumped his tail once, and fell back asleep.

"Good companion you are, Moses."

His tail thumped again, but he couldn't be bothered raising his head. Sam bent down to stroke his back. Her fingers slipped in and out of the thick golden pelt, enjoying the silky contact. A great sigh erupted from him, and he relaxed even further.

Sam laughed at his total exit from the world. He had the right idea. She needed sleep, too.

Exhaustion from her vision had caught up to her. Even running a hand over her forehead brought a tremor to her spine. After putting on the teakettle, she walked into the bathroom, dampened a washcloth, and wiped her face. The cool wetness helped refresh her.

Catching sight of her face, she winced. Her porcelain skin – always translucent – now seemed paper thin, transparent even. She looked friggin' awful. She closed her eyes, shocked at how far her health had sunk. If she didn't find answers soon, her 'gifts' would kill her.

She was halfway there now.

While she walked through the tiny cabin, loneliness crept in. She stared at the plain walls, her hip propped against the counter and a hot cup of tea warming her hands. The support walls were old logs and the floorboards had been cut from hewn wood. They'd worn down in places and would have some incredible stories to tell if they could talk. Unfortunately, in her case, they could. Depending on the day and the strength of her energy as to what signals she picked up, the stories went from unsettling to downright nervy.

Moses raised his bushy head and growled. Sam glanced around, puzzled. "What's the matter, Moses?"

He growled again, staring at the place where the driveway drove out of the evergreens at the top of the ridge.

Sam gazed out the living room window, but couldn't see anything. Living out here, wildlife often shared her space. She loved watching the deer make their way to the river for a drink. Thus far she'd also seen raccoons, coyotes, and once, in the evening, a bear. If the animals left her in peace then she'd be happy to return the courtesy.

A faint rumbling told her what she needed to know. A vehicle. She retreated into the house, a leery eye on the driveway. It didn't take long before a black pickup bounced into view and rolled to a stop at the porch stairs.

A tall, rugged man got out, removed his sunglasses, and tossed them on the dash. He appeared vaguely familiar, yet she couldn't place him. Using the one gift that she'd come to accept, Sam assessed the waves of determination pouring from his shoulders. This man was nobody's fool. And he wanted something from her.

Moses growled again.

That face. The lock of brown hair falling down on one side, piercing eyes and a 'take no prisoner' attitude, dressed in denim. He was a cop. Recognition flickered. He was the man she'd almost run into at the police station. Curiosity and fear mingled. What could he want? Her stomach acid bubbled as tension knotted her spine. She chewed her fingernail as his six-foot frame climbed the stairs.

The heavy pounding on the other side of her head startled her. She cursed silently, but with full force, letting it bounce around inside her mind. She wiped her moist palms on her jeans, and opened the door.

"Yes?"

His brow furrowed. "Samantha Blair?

She frowned. "Maybe. Who's asking?"

An odd light shone deep in his Lake Tahoe blue eyes. "Detective Brandt Sutherland, at your service, ma'am."

"Your badge, please," she said.

His eyebrow quirked, still he didn't say anything. He reached into a back pocket and withdrew it for her.

Sam plucked it from his fingers. She read the number on it several times, committing it to memory.

He reached for the badge. "Satisfied?"

Sam handed it back to him. "Maybe. What can I do for you?"

Tucking his badge away, he stared at her, an odd glint in his eye. "You spoke with Detective Kevin Bresson at the station this morning, correct?"

Nerves knotted her stomach tighter, pulling down the corner of her mouth. Sam frowned at him. What was he up to? "Yes. You saw me there." Her stomach heaved. "What's this about?"

He shifted his weight. Why? He didn't seem the type to feel discomfort about much in life.

"May I come in?"

She considered his request for a long moment before opening the door wide.

Moses followed, staying close to her side, and nudged her leg. She dropped her hand to his head, reassured by his warm presence. "Good boy, Moses."

Big brown eyes laughed up at her, his tongue lolling to one side.

"Moses, is that his name?"

Sam nodded slowly, studying this lean muscular male, hands fisted on his hips, as he watched her. Raw sex appeal oozed naturally from his very presence. She frowned. He was too damn appealing. She didn't like that. Cops were not her favorite people. Sexy ones definitely didn't make her list.

Glancing around the small living space, she realized she didn't know what to do. She'd never had any company here before. Did a police visit count as company? Did she sit down with him? Offer him a cup of tea or what? Awkward – and hating the uncertainty – she repeated abruptly, "What do you want?"

He surveyed the simple living room, walked over to an old sofa, and stopped. "May I sit down?"

With a new perspective, Sam saw the threadbare furniture for what it was – shabby signs of dire poverty. It wouldn't have mattered any other time – after all, she lived it. She didn't understand why it mattered now. "Sure."

She sat on the couch opposite, trying to understand why he intrigued her. He glowed – with life, with health. He had so much vitality that everything around him paled by comparison. His energy was a beacon she couldn't help but find attractive – the lure of warmth and strength, something she'd experienced little in life. He dwarfed everything in the small open room. Sam felt tiny, insignificant against his more dynamic presence.

He reached across and placed his huge hand over hers.

Sam froze. His touch burned into her icy hands. Heat flared. So did confusion. Attraction. Hatred. Pain. Heat. Everything rolled together. Her gaze flew up to meet his.

He squeezed her fingers. Only then did she notice she'd been twisting her fingers around and around in a nervous pattern. A habit she'd tried to break for years. She yanked both hands back and tucked them under her thighs, leaning back. Heat still pulsed inside her veins. Heat she wanted to nestle closer to, yet couldn't explain why. Or didn't dare try. Nervous energy bubbled up. She clamped down hard and forced her errant muscles into stillness. Sam waited for him to speak.

"Are you okay?"

She jerked her head up and down.

"Good. Then let's go over the statement you gave Detective Bresson."

"Why? He didn't believe me."

"But maybe I will," he countered. "So, please, from the beginning."

The beginning. She cast a careful eye over him.

He prompted. "You said you woke up inside a woman's body as she was being murdered?"

Oh, that beginning. Relief blossomed, and she settled back into the couch. Slowly, succinctly, she explained her story again.

"Any idea if his ring had real diamonds in it?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "No. I wouldn't know the difference."

"Could you see the woman's hair?"

"This one had long brown hair. I think it had a slight curl to it."

He raised an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips. "Curly?"

Sam swallowed hard several times, overwhelmed with the memory. Soft and feathery, the dead woman's beautiful curls had stroked against her neck with every twist and turn of her head as she fought for her life.

Locking down her grief and stiffening her spine, Sam explained. "I could feel it curling around my neck."

The look on his face eased.

Sam had no idea if he believed her or not.

"Can you tell me anything about his height, the clothes he wore, the type of mask he had on...anything?"

His mask. Shivers raced down her spine. The madness in those eyes – those glowing orbs still made her nightmares hell. Green neon had shone with joy at the pain he had inflicted.

Sam could hardly speak. Her voice hoarse from unshed tears, she explained what little she'd seen, and the impression the killer had left on her. She hunched her shoulders against the lingering horror, hating the power the memories held over her.

He asked a few more questions. She slid into monosyllabic answers, wishing he'd finish and leave.

Finally, he snapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Thanks." He stood and walked to the door, and turned back to face her, pulling out a business card.

"I don't know if I believe you or if what you've given us even helps, but I appreciate you having come in to share your information. If you think of anything else, please let me know." He nodded politely and walked out.

Now that he appeared ready to leave, Sam's emotions scattered. She didn't know what to make of him. His presence confused her. Interested her. Intrigued her. Memories dictated that she should be angry, scared even. But she was none of those.

Sam trailed him onto the porch. The detective hopped into his truck and drove off. He never looked back.

Sam stayed, bemused, until his truck bounced and shuddered out of sight. For the first time in years, a faint hope came into being. Maybe something could be done after all.

"And just what the hell was that all about, Moses?"

His heavy tail brushed over the wooden planks. Not much of an answer, still it was the only one she was going to get. She headed back inside, Moses at her heels. A chill settled into the room – or maybe it was into her soul.

She wandered around the now seemingly overlarge, empty space...lonely space. The ancient floors creaked under every step in a rhythm that was almost comforting.

The detective probably considered her a suspect by now and if not he would soon. That's how they worked. The police were suspicious of anyone odd. She knew that. She'd come under their scrutiny more than once. But especially from one detective.

Her thoughts blackened at the reminder. That man had been out to get her, and she'd only been trying to help. Damn him.

Even if this detective did put her on his suspect list, she had no one to blame but herself. She'd known it was likely to happen. Still, she'd had to do something. Those women had no one else.

A shiver of apprehension raised goose bumps on her arms. The last thing Sam wanted was to have her life examined under a microscope. She avoided people because she couldn't stand their questions. And sooner or later, everyone asked questions.