It doesn’t look like it.
“You’d be surprised at what one can do with the right motivation,” Cameron says.
My eyes go wide at his statement. So do Levi’s.
The last bit of anger melts away as nerves ball in my stomach. I know I’d thought I could end up getting into trouble, but I never really, truly believed it. This doing something good thing is quickly turning into a nightmare.
No. It’s just a statement. He doesn’t really believe it. He can’t.
“I—No. I couldn’t.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do something like this. God, Cameron. You know that.”
“Do I?” he arches a questioning eyebrow. “How did you know where and when this murder was going to happen?”
I drop my gaze and rack my brain, scrambling to put a lie together. My mouth is dry, my heart, pounding, but that doesn’t stop me from glaring at the detective. This is ridiculous. All of it. I’m not even alive. I shouldn’t be able to feel all of these things.
I shouldn’t feel fear.
My heart shouldn’t race.
Adrenaline shouldn’t spike.
It’s useless, these feelings. They play no purpose for me anymore. But I feel them all the same. It’s all of these feelings that got me into this mess in the first place.
“I put the pieces together,” I say. “I’m a reporter. It’s kind of my job.”
Cameron clenches his jaw. He looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Alexa. This attitude isn’t helping you.”
My eyes move back to Cameron, and once again, they widen. Attitude? Really? That’s what he thinks? I put a hand on my hip, and then another, and I glare.
“I’m sorry. Am I doing this wrong?” I ask, my voice, thick with sarcasm. “Sorry, bud. I’ve never been a murder suspect before. It’s all kind of new to me.”
Cameron slams a hand on the roof of the car, and I jump, surprised. “This isn’t the time to joke.”
“I’m not joking,” I say, my tone matching his. “Really, this is a first for me.”
Suddenly, Levi is in my face. I jerk back, surprised, letting out a small gasp.
Levi gives me a look. “You’re just pissing him off.”
“I don’t care,” I growl under my breath. “He’s pissing me off.”
“Who are you talking to?” Cameron demands.
“Levi,” I say, then quickly snap my mouth shut, realizing my mistake. “I mean... um...” Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I feel a bubbling sense of panic, and I stop talking, pressing my lips tightly together.
It’s Cameron’s turn to blink. “Are you trying to tell me you’re talking to last night’s victim?”
“Um...” I hesitate, peeking over at Levi. He merely smirks, clearly enjoying the mess I’m making. Looking back at Cameron, I decide to just go with it, and I nod. “Yes. I’m talking to the victim. He thinks I should be nicer to you.”
Cameron exhales loudly and scrubs a hand roughly over his face. “What are you trying to say? You’re a medium? A psychic?”
“Come on, Detective,” I say. “I’m sure you can figure this out.”
At least I hope he can because I’m really not sure where I’m going with it. I can’t tell him the truth. I want to. Things would be so much simpler if he knew who and what I am.
But I can’t tell him.
I can’t tell anyone.
A girl who thinks she can speak to ghosts is an easier pill to swallow.
Cameron lets out another loud exhale, this time, it’s definitely from frustration. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“That’s a shame,” I say. “Some aren’t so bad. Levi, though, he’s a pain in the ass. He claims he’s not moving on until I catch his killer.”
Cameron stares at me.
And stares at me.
And stares some more.
And as he stares, some of the anger and most of the stress seem to melt from his face. The lines smooth out, and his eyes turn melty, and then, he’s staring at me like he usually does. With interest and a whole lot of curiosity.
“Dude, I don’t think you’re a suspect,” Levi whispers. “That man is hot for you. I think he’s trying to protect you.”
“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” I mutter, brushing him off because for some ridiculous reason, being a murder suspect is easier to accept.
“Yeah, I do,” Levi says. “I’m a man. I know these things.”
“Shut up,” I shout, balling my hands into tight fists and glaring at the ghost. “Just stop talking to me.”
Cameron is still watching me, the frown lines quickly returning to his forehead, but when he speaks, there is no anger in his voice. Instead, his tone is filled with concern, and maybe a little sad. “I need you to focus, Alexa. How did you know where the murder was going to happen?”
“Lucky guess,” I say. “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer? You didn’t read me my rights, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to have a lawyer.”
Cameron gives me a meaningful look. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the meaning is. “Do you want a lawyer?”
“Not really,” I shake my head. “But I feel like I’m supposed to ask for one. That’s what they do in the TV shows at least.”
“This isn’t a TV show,” Cameron grinds out, frustrated. “It’s real life. You need to take this seriously.”
Damn straight. If it were a TV show, it would be over by now. Cameron would have broken into the apartment moments after Levi died. There would have been a struggle, there always is in good television, but in the end, Cameron would have won. He’d have arrested The Clown Maker and walked out a hero.
Sure, Levi still wouldn’t have made it, but still...
“Believe me, I am. This is serious. There’s a killer out there. In ten days, there’s going to be another body. And you, the detective that’s supposed to catch him, is here wasting time, interrogating me.”
Cameron watches me, blue eyes skimming over my features, as though he’s trying to figure me out. Or maybe it’s because he thinks I’ve lost my mind and he’s trying to decide if he should be taking me to a padded room somewhere. I hate that it’s a possibility, but the idea makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
I lift a shoulder in a helpless, one-sided shrug. “I finally decide to use my knowledge for good, and still, I get the same outcome. Someone dies, and the killer gets away.”
“How did you know where it was going to happen?” he asks, this time his voice is gentle.
“Um...” I stall, take a deep breath, and then blurt, “You were right. I’m a... uh... psychic. I saw it all in a vision.”
Levi laughs. Cameron does not.
“You’re a psychic?” Cameron asks. “Are you sure that’s the story you want to go with here?”
“Yep. How else do you think I’m always the first reporter at a crime scene?”
Cameron blinks, then shrugs. “Figured you had a friend in the department.”
Well, shit. That would have been a better story. More believable, that’s for sure, and I mentally kick myself for not thinking of it first.
Oh well. What’s done is done. I’m now Alexa Cross, psychic.
Smiling, I say, “Nope. No friends. None at all. Now, if you’ll stop wasting time, I’ll tell you everything I know.”
TWELVE
I DON’T THINK CAMERON believes me.
Standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest, he stares at me. It’s not the usual intrigued stare. This one is closed and cold. I don’t like it. Not even a little.
He doesn’t believe in ghosts.
He doesn’t believe in psychic abilities.
I don’t blame him. Before my life became what it is, I didn’t believe in any of it either.
But I don’t think he believes I’m the killer.
I suspect if he did, I’d be in handcuffs in the back of the car, not standing beside it, free to take off whenever I please.
I stand there quietly, waiting for him to
process my story, shifting from one foot to the other. Levi is quiet, too, looking anxious. He’s worried, I realize. Concerned that Cameron is going to brush us off.
Eventually, Cameron laughs dryly. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this story?”
“I don’t know,” I say and try to smile. “You’re the detective. Isn’t it kind of your job to figure it out?”
Cameron makes a decision of some kind and groans, though he keeps his eyes on me. “Get in the car.”
“Why?” I ask, and take a step back. This is it. I’m getting arrested. Someone at The Local Observer is going to write a story about me. Psychic Reporter Turns Serial Killer. “Where are we going?”
It takes about three seconds for Cameron to reach out and grab me, and pull me around to the passenger side of the car. “Don’t make a scene, Alexa. Not here. Not again. For both of our sakes.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, noticing for the first time that we have a bit of an audience. Cameron lets go of me, and he gives me a warning look. When I continue, my voice is barely a whisper. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going to show me where the murder weapon is.”
“But I already told you,” I say. “I have to check out the crime scene. I have a story to write. I can’t—”
“Yeah, you can and you will,” he says, cutting me off. “Get in the car and bring your ghost with you.”
I turn to the car. I don’t even try to speak this time. There’s no point. Cameron has made up his mind, and it’s clear there’s no changing it.
Levi is hovering by the back door. I step over to it, opening it up, he jumps in, and I try not to think about what the watching officers must be thinking as I close the door.
Cameron is already starting the car up when I climb in and buckle my seatbelt. He doesn’t say a word, just starts driving, angling the car out of the lot. I pull out my phone and unlock it. I need to contact Greg because I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have time to submit a story.
“What are you doing?” Cameron asks, cutting me a look.
“Letting my editor know that I’m tied up and can’t work the story.”
Cameron nods reluctantly. “Keep the psychic stuff quiet. Don’t share anything you know. Your stories have already done enough damage to this case.”
I don’t respond. There’s really nothing more to say. I can just imagine the number of tips yesterday’s story provided, and I really don’t need his confirmation.
I tap out a quick email, being as vague as possible, letting him know there’s an emergency and I won’t be able to cover the story. I give him the crime scene address, just in case he hasn’t already heard, and I apologize profusely, hoping I don’t wind up losing my job over this.
Once it’s sent, I put my phone away, settling into silence as Cameron maneuvers the streets of Redport, heading toward the murder weapon.
It’s Levi who finally breaks the silence. “This is so cool. I’ve never been in a cop car. Ask him to turn on the siren.”
I turn around and look at him. “Why in the world are you so excited about all of this? You just died. Shouldn’t you be more... I don’t know. Sad?”
“Sad?” Levi purses his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am, but... No point in crying over something you can’t change. And this is the most excitement I’ve had. Ever. I’m going to soak up every second of it. Just ask him, will you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not asking him that.”
“Ask me what?” Cameron questions, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I sigh. “Levi wants to know if you’ll turn on the siren.”
Cameron considers it for a moment, then smirks. “I’m afraid not. It’s not an emergency.”
His cocky smirk tells me that he thinks it’s me who’s asking, and not the ghost. I offer up no argument. He probably already thinks I’m crazy. I don’t want to make it worse.
Levi grumbles his disappointment, but he doesn’t push the request. Instead, he settles on watching the buildings as we pass them by.
“So...” Cameron clears his throat. “I can’t believe I’m asking this but was he awake when it happened?”
“No,” I say. “He died in his sleep.”
“That’s lucky. I couldn’t imagine...” he trails off and cuts me a meaningful look. I nod because even though I watched it happen, I couldn’t imagine being awake for it either. “How did the killer get in?”
“Lockpick,” I say. “I don’t know how he got in the building, but that’s how he got into Levi’s apartment.”
Cameron nods. I get the feeling the police had already come to that conclusion, and he’s testing me. “Does your ghost know the guy who killed him?” he asks.
“Ghost?” Levi says and laughs. “Really, dude? I have a name.”
Ignoring Levi, I answer, “No.”
“Does he have any connection to a circus or clowns?” Cameron asks.
“I had a clown at my fifth birthday party,” Levi says. “He was creepy and come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he was drunk. Does that count?”
I doubt it meant anything, so I tell Cameron, “He says no.”
“What about the other victims?” Cameron asks, and he turns a corner. “Any connection? Does he know them?”
“Nope,” Levi answers. “Never met them. I don’t know many people. I’m kind of a homebody. Work from home, too, so I never got out much.”
I shake my head. “That’s a negative.”
“Why him?” Cameron lets out a frustrated breath. “There’s got to be a connection. Was anyone following him? Did he see anything the days leading up to it?”
I glance at Levi. He offers up a helpless little shrug.
“Not that he noticed,” I say. “Why all the questions?”
“Just trying to put the pieces together,” Cameron says and cuts me a look that tells me there’s a lot more to it than that.
He still doesn’t believe me.
He’s testing me.
He’s looking for a reason, a substantial reason to brush me off.
“Look, I get you don’t believe me,” I say. “I wouldn’t believe me either. But I’m telling the truth. This is all real. You’ll see.”
The drive to the first trashcan doesn’t take long, especially at the speed Cameron is driving. The sun has risen, but the sky is still dark with clouds hanging heavily over the town. It’ll rain soon, I suspect, if the chill in the air is any indication.
According to the dashboard clock, it’s a little after six when Cameron brings the car to a halt. “Is this the one?”
I don’t answer, not verbally, but I nod.
Cameron climbs out of the car, and I follow. Levi stays put, watching from the window.
Cameron clicks on a heavy flashlight, shining it in the trash can. He mutters something under his breath, but I can’t make it out, and then he steps away, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I move over to the trashcan, peering in. The knife is still there. My stomach roils. The blood looks brighter in the daylight, and I’m suddenly glad Levi chose to wait in the car. He doesn’t need to see this. Not again.
Cameron is barking out orders, calling units to this location, I realize. That’s probably a good thing. Secure the evidence before the rain starts. I hope they hurry though. The wind is picking up, and we still have to retrieve the cell phone before it gets damaged.
I glance back at the knife, feeling numb and tired, the adrenaline rush I’d been chasing all night, tapering off.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, staring at the murder weapon when I feel Cameron’s presence beside me. I glance up at him. “Now do you believe me?”
THIRTEEN
NEXT STOP: RETRIEVING the cell phone.
Two uniformed officers are already at the trashcan when we arrive. Cameron pulls up to the curb and folds out of the car. “Wait here,” he says. “I won’t be long.” And then, before I can respond, he shuts the door and walks over to the officers.
“
This is so cool,” Levi says, and I turn in my seat to look at him. “I’ve never been part of an investigation before. It’s exciting.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re picking through trash. I want to get to the good stuff. Do you think they’ll break down his door, or just knock and wait?”
Levi considers it for a moment. “Break it down. It’s more badass, and Cameron... he’s badass.”
I glance out the window, spotting Cameron already walking back to the car, and I have to agree with Levi. Even the way the man walks looks badass. The driver’s side door opens, and he slides in, fixing his gaze on me. “You were right,” he says, straight-faced. “There’s a cell phone there.”
I have to grin because of course I was right. “So, what happens now? We go get a warrant, right? Can’t search the building without a warrant, can we?”
“What happens now is, I take you home,” he says, as he turns the key, starting the car. “You’re done playing detective for the day.”
Take me home? He’s kidding, right? I look at him and take in his expression. Nope. Not joking. Not even a little.
“Screw that,” I say. “You need my help.”
Cameron pulls away from the curb, and he cuts a quick sideways look at me, scowling. “No, I really don’t need any more of your help.”
“Yes, you do,” I say. “I can ID him. Know anyone else who can do that? You need me there when you execute the warrant.”
“How exactly do you think I’m going to get a warrant to search an entire building?”
Cameron takes a turn, and I realize with a bit of a start, that we’re on my street. I’m about to ask him, how exactly, he knows where I live, but I’m not entirely sure I want the answer, so instead, I say, “Um... isn’t that something you should know?”
“I need probable cause,” he says. “I need facts. I need something substantial.”
“But I told you facts.”
He pulls up to my building, parking right in front of the doors, and turns to me, his face darkening. “No, you told me about a psychic vision. One in which you know where the killer lives, but not the apartment number. You don’t know his name. And I have nothing to tie him to the crime scene. No video evidence. No witnesses. Nothing. All I’ve got is a damn psychic vision.”
Going Rogue Page 6
