Trust Me (7 page)

Bragg. Skye hoped Jas was in her hotel room now. She needed to talk to someone, and she was eager to hear how Jasmine had been received by the small, conservative police force that had requested her help.

"Hello?"

Skye winced at Jasmine's raspy, exhausted voice. She was in her room, all right, and had probably been fast asleep before the jangle of the phone. "Did I wake you?"

"Skye?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't been in bed long. Are you okay?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Why me? I'm fine. I guess," she added.

It had been on the tip of Skye's tongue to tell Jasmine to go back to sleep, that they'd talk tomorrow, but the concern she felt over the "I guess"

overcame the concern generated by the fatigue in her voice. "You don't sound too sure."

"This isn't going to be easy." Skye could hear the bedclothes rustle as Jasmine moved. "I have an especially hard time whenever a child's involved."

Most people had a more difficult time working a case that involved an endangered child. But Jasmine's qualms went deeper than that. One hot August day fifteen years ago, when she was only twelve years old, her own sister had been taken from their home and never found. To this day, Jasmine had no idea what'd happened to her. She could use her psychic abilities to find others but drew a complete blank when it came to her own sister. She'd been to hypnotists, counselors and other psychics, all in an attempt to break through the mental block. But she couldn't even help a sketch artist come up with a good likeness. The trauma she'd experienced back then--and since--

had been too much. Which was probably why she embraced each abduction case.

If it turned out that the Ft. Bragg girl had already been killed, how 44

would Jasmine react? Would she feel responsible? Have a breakdown like the one she'd had ten years ago? As it was, she blamed herself for the fact that they'd never been able to recover Kimberly. She'd seen the man who took her sister, had even spoken to him, but her inability to recall enough details to identify him still devastated her.

"How old is the girl you're looking for?" Skye purposely used the present tense. She refused to believe they'd already lost the child when they were doing everything they could to recover her.

"Only three."

So young... That meant they couldn't rely on any help from her. At that age, she wouldn't know her own telephone number or even 911. "Are you sure she didn't wander off?"

"I'm sure."

"How do you know?"

There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. "I just do."

In other words, she could "feel" it. She didn't like saying so because she knew it sounded hokey and unbelievable. Jasmine explained her gift as a sort of sixth sense about certain people. She was the first to admit she couldn't read minds or envision the past or future. Neither could she lead police directly to a kidnap victim or perpetrator. Rather than crystal-clear answers, she received impressions, which often resulted from touching something that had belonged to the kidnapper or victim, or being in their homes, cars or workplaces.

Combined with all the study she'd done on criminal behavior and psychology, these impressions had been enough to save more than a few victims. And Jasmine seemed to be getting better as she learned to trust her intuition. A few of her cases had even garnered national attention. In the Ubaldi case, a child had been stolen from a school playground and Jasmine had assisted authorities in tracking down the middle-aged woman who'd taken her. She'd known the woman lived near the school, had been adamant that they continue to check the houses on the same block.

"This was a crime of opportunity," she was saying. "It was someone who either lives close by or has been visiting the area."

"Have you canvassed the neighborhood?"

"There isn't really a neighborhood to canvass. The mom's single but living with her boyfriend in an older home set off in the woods."

"Do the police have any suspects?"

"They believe the mother is covering for the boyfriend."

"You don't?"

"No."

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The rain pounded harder, but Skye ignored it. Block it out. It won'tflood. She 'd be able to drive away anytime she wanted. "What's her story?"

"Six days ago, the mother put the child down for a nap
and
lay down herself. When she woke up, Lily was gone."

"Where was the boyfriend?"

"He claims he loaded their Christmas tree in the back of his truck and went to get rid of it."

"No one can confirm his whereabouts during that time?"

"He took police to where he dumped the tree, but there's no way of telling how long he was gone."

"No one saw him?"

"He purposely avoided being seen. He didn't want to get fined for dumping the tree on private property."

Crossing the room, Skye tried to lower the blind at the window but couldn't get the knot out of the cord. She'd tied it earlier, when she'd been trying to get the damn thing to stay up. "No evidence of an intruder at the house?"

"No forced entry. But the doors weren't locked, so anyone could've walked in. The only clue is an odd-size footprint in the mud near the front walkway."

Skye glared at the water-streaked window with the broken blind. She wanted that blind down. It felt like someone was out there, watching her.

But she knew she was just letting the old fear get to her again. Burke's release was hitting her hard, making her regress. It's a kitchen window. A lot of people don't even put blinds on a kitchen window. "What's odd about the size of the footprint?"

"It's too small for the boyfriend and too big for the mother."

"What about a serviceman, the postman, the meter reader?"

"The mother says there hasn't been anyone else at the house for days, yet it's a fresh print."

"That is strange."

"They're taking impressions. We'll see if we can find a match."

Skye's call-waiting beeped, and she frowned in surprise. It was after midnight on a Monday night. Who would be calling so late? She would've checked the caller ID, but it didn't register a second caller's number when she was already on the phone.

Assuming it was one of her stepsisters, she asked Jasmine to hold for a minute and switched over. "Hello?"

There was a long pause.

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"Hello?" she said again.

"Skye Kellerman?"

The deep voice wasn't one she recognized. "Yes?"

"When I get out, I'm going to slit your throat."

Skye sat perfectly still as the memory of Burke's attack intruded. He was straddling her, holding her down as she fought him. His blade, aimed at her eye, cut her cheek instead because she was twisting and turning beneath him, trying to free herself. Then there was pain, more panic, and the blood that poured from the cut, smearing everywhere, blinding her as she fought like a madwoman....

"Who is this?" she asked, but the phone clicked and the caller was gone.

Her focus returned to the window. It couldn't be Burke, she told herself. He didn't have unmonitored access to a phone. Not yet, anyway. Had he put someone else up to it? He must have. The caller didn't say something general like, "I'm watching you" or "I'm going to kill you." He'd said, "When I get out--"

"Skye? Are you back?"

Jasmine.

Answer. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Who was it?"

She shivered as the words ran through her mind again. Whoever had spoken them didn't sound like a young boy trying to frighten strangers. It had been a man.

But she was unlisted. How did he get her number? "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

Skye stood and slipped out of the kitchen, hiding from whoever might be on the other side of that large, square window, looking in at her.

"Someone who knows that Burke is about to be released just threatened me."

With a knife...

"What did he say exactly?"

"When I get out, I'm going to--" she swallowed hard, trying to stem the onslaught of fresh fear "--to slit your throat."

"Call the police!" Jasmine nearly shouted. "Make sure they haven't let Burke out early."

Skye leaned against the wall in the entryway. "I don't think they have.

David would've warned me. Besides, it doesn't have to be Burke who's behind it. We've all talked to the press about our past encounters with criminal violence."

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"Maybe a lot of people know how you were attacked. But how many know Burke is being paroled?"

Again Skye tried to convince herself that it could be more people than she realized. "That depends on who he's told, who they've told--"

"Still, you have to go to the police."

Outside, the rain fell harder, hitting her porch like pebbles, and Skye imagined the water in the sloughs rising steadily, cutting off her escape.... "I can't. If they respond at all, they'll take their time about it. They've warned me on several occasions that I'm making myself a target, hinted that I'll be putting myself at risk if I continue to get involved in potentially dangerous situations."

"Call them anyway. And do it now. Then make sure your doors and windows are locked. I'll get hold of Sheridan and have her come out and stay with you. I'm too far away or I'd come myself."

"Don't call Sheridan. I have what I need to take care of myself." She withdrew the gun she'd stuffed in the pocket of her coat on Friday, when David dropped by. Still loaded. Ready to shoot.

"But you'd rest better if someone was with you," Jasmine argued.

"You don't get much sleep as it is."

It wasn't for lack of trying. Skye couldn't let her guard down long enough to sleep. Bad things happened when she closed her eyes....

"I can't expect Sheridan to get up in the middle of the night and drive an hour in the pouring rain just to hold my hand."

"Yes, you can. On Friday you learned that the man who attacked you is getting out of prison, for crying out loud. Sheridan won't mind."

"Don't bother her. She was exhausted when we left the office." Skye held the side of the gun to her chest, reassured by the weight of it, the fit of the handle, the cool metal against her skin. After Burke, she was more terrified of knives than any other weapon, but a gun could outdo a knife any day. As long as she saw him coming. "I'll be fine."

Jasmine hesitated, but finally relented. "I'll back off because he's not out yet. But only if you promise to call the police and ask them to do a drive-by."

"It'd have to be the sheriff. I'm outside the city limits."

"Whoever. Have someone walk the perimeter of your property."

"Okay."

"Let me know if you get another call. I mean it. I don't care what time it is."

"I will." Skye disconnected, then went around the house to make extra-sure she'd locked the doors and windows. She performed the same 48

routine every evening--once, twice, three times. Occasionally she got up in the wee hours of the morning just to check them again or to sit at a window and peek through the blinds and the iron bars she'd paid a contractor to attach, watching for the worst.

Tonight was one of those nights. She wouldn't call the police. She wouldn't call anyone. If Burke or someone like him came after her, she'd terminate the threat--right here.

The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket woke David long before dawn. Blinking to clear his vision, he squinted at the furnishings in the room, trying to figure out where he was. He was sleeping in a twin bed.

There were two large beanbag chairs and some shelves that contained...

Jeremy's toys and books. He was in the guest room at his old house.

He must've fallen asleep before Lynnette came home.

Rubbing his face, he yawned and got up, intending to see if his ex-wife was in her bed. He had a lot to do in the morning and wanted to go home so he wouldn't have to wake to the kind of tedious rehashing that usually followed one of her emotional outbursts. He'd spent most of the weekend and all day Monday working on those old murder cases, going over the autopsy reports, studying the crime-scene pictures, rereading the statements of those who'd last seen each victim alive. He had to find something that would put Burke back in prison before anyone else got hurt.

Especially Skye.

He started for the door, but when his cell phone vibrated, he remembered that was what had awakened him in the first place.

Pulling it from his pocket, he snapped it open. '"Lo?"

"Detective Willis?"

"Yes?"

"This is Sergeant Blazer at the Marysville Boulevard station."

David tensed at the possibility that he was about to be directed to a new crime scene. The worst calls always came in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours. Just a few weeks ago, he'd helped process a house in Oak Park where a man had shot his wife and two children before turning the gun on himself. "Yes?"

"Jasmine Stratford from The Last Stand called here a few minutes ago."

A knot immediately formed in David's stomach. Why would they be hearing from Jasmine? "Was she looking for me?"

"Not specifically. She wanted to make a report."

David's blood ran cold as he imagined the criminals Skye, Jasmine and Sheridan angered on a daily basis, and the revenge they might seek. "On 49

what?"

"I guess her partner in that victims' group got a threatening phone call last night."

"Which partner?" he asked, but he already knew.

"Skye Kellerman."

His grip tightened on the phone. "Did Jasmine give you any details?"

"Some guy called and said, 'When I get out, I'm gonna slit your throat.'" The sergeant's voice assumed a note of self-importance. "I told Ms.

Stratford it was probably a pervert who gets his kicks out of scaring women.

But she and her friends have more enemies than I can count on two hands, and a lot of those enemies are pretty damn dangerous. That's why I thought you might want to know about this, in case it wasn't a prank."

"You did the right thing, Sergeant. I appreciate the courtesy." Except for the part about getting out, David might've been able to believe it was someone who'd heard about the attack on Skye and was using it to terrorize her in retaliation for the assistance she'd given a wife or lover. But the mention of a knife, together with getting out... How many people could know about Burke's impending release? It wasn't as if the papers had picked it up. Hell, he'd just learned last Friday. "If anything else that has to do with TLS or the three women involved in it comes in, please get in touch right away."