The Knowing (Partners In Crime Book 1)

by Hanna Noble

  The Knowing

  Hanna Noble

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 Hanna Noble

  Cover by EbookLaunch.com

  All rights reserved.

  Happy Fox Press

  Red Thread Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-7775655-1-0

  To Jesse, who read every draft, and never stopped telling me that I could.

  Prologue

  Boston, Massachusetts —July

  Sitting in the precinct conference room currently doubling as the headquarters for their investigation task force, Detective Cole Walker looked across the table at the slender blonde woman in front of him and asked himself the same question that had been driving him crazy for days.

  Was Naomi Tenner a liar?

  His eyes took in her rigid posture, the white-knuckled fists clenched on the table, the pale face. Distress radiated from her in waves– her pupils were dilated and an occasional tremor rocked her frame.

  Her fear was real. That much he knew for sure.

  As a homicide detective for the Boston Police Department, he’d conducted countless interviews with suspects and witnesses alike, garnering a reputation for always extracting the truth. It was a talent he’d worked hard to cultivate, supplementing his natural instincts with behavioral sciences courses and body language seminars that had taught him one irrefutable fact: liars always gave themselves away. You simply needed the patience to spot the signs, and Cole considered himself to be a very patient man. He’d never met a liar he couldn’t see through, his skills had helped him find the truth— until now.

  He glanced over at his partner of three years, Owen Chapman, who gave him a subtle nod and walked to the back of the room to grab a bottle of water. At well over six foot three and sporting a thickly muscled frame, Owen’s intimidating appearance belied his gentle nature. His rock-steady personality was a harmonious complement to Cole’s fiery temper, and the two kept each other in check.

  Owen was a widower who had lost his wife a few years before, and Cole knew his partner was the most softhearted person in the room. He hoped Owen could calm Naomi. Cole’s own anticipation hummed in his veins, heightened by the slow crawl of each passing second as he waited for the woman who kept confounding his instincts to speak.

  The other two members of the task force, Detectives Leah Goldberg and Shauna Hamilton, sat to his right. Shauna, a tall, lanky brunette set up the digital recorder they used during interviews with her usual efficiency, while Leah tapped her pen lightly on the table, her gaze sharp and focused. Cole knew they all felt the same intense pressure to catch the serial predator who had been terrorizing the city all summer.

  The Phantom.

  Cole hated the nickname given to the perp by the press, but even he had to agree that it was apt. Six attacks so far. No DNA, no clues to his identity, no motive. The suspect targeted women who lived alone, assaulting them while they were asleep. None of the victims had seen his face or heard him speak. It was like chasing a ghost.

  Naomi Tenner was their only real lead, but there was one problem: she claimed to be psychic.

  He kept searching for an explanation —logic dictated that she had to be getting her information from somewhere— but damned if he could figure out her source. Cole had run a background check on her, but had come up empty. She worked at a small publishing house as a senior editor and had no prior arrests. Born in Florida, she was an only child who’d moved to Boston at the age of 11 to live with her grandfather after her mother had passed away. Nothing abnormal or suspect. She appeared to be an ordinary woman who paid her taxes on time and followed the law.

  And who claimed to have paranormal abilities.

  Under normal circumstances, he would have kicked her out of his office without a second thought. The only reason Naomi was even here was because she was friends with Owen’s little sister, Michelle, who had vouched for her character. Cole was a cynic by nature—he couldn’t figure out Naomi’s motives—but they were grasping at straws and running out of time.

  He couldn’t argue with the fact that she knew details that hadn’t been released to the public, like how the Phantom used zip ties to subdue his victims or how he always left a different flower behind at the crime scene. Cole’s own gut said she was telling the truth, adding to the confusion, and making him irritable at this whole damn mess of an investigation.

  Well, that, and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about her even when she wasn’t in the room.

  He watched her now, taking in every detail. She was wearing light jeans and a black silk tank top that hugged her small frame, showcasing her toned shoulders and arms. Her eyes were a light Caribbean blue, framed in a delicate face with high cheekbones and a small pointed nose. Her long blond hair was tied in a messy knot on top of her head. She was flushed, a combination of stress and scorching summer heat, he assumed, and he watched with great interest as a bead of sweat trailed down the delicate column of her throat. Observing her more closely, he also realized how quickly her pulse was racing.

  A heartbeat was damn hard to fake.

  He was conflicted, struggling to debunk her “abilities” by reading her body language, but unable to spot the tell that would indicate she was lying. It was there, he was sure of it. He refused to lose to a woman who was trying to upend the neat, ordered rules of his existence. When she started to speak, he pushed other thoughts aside and focused all his attention on her words.

  “I called in sick to work—” Her voice cracked as she struggled to keep her voice steady. “I saw what he did.”

  The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck stood up at her quiet words. He could hear her confidence, her certainty that she was telling them the truth. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

  He glanced at Shauna, who turned on the digital recorder and nodded at him to begin.

  “It’s Monday, July 12th, 9:15 a.m.” Cole spoke into the device. “Naomi, what can you tell us? He’s struck again, hasn’t he?”

  She nodded. “Last night. It’s worse. Oh God, it’s worse.” She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. “He’s escalated. Cole, he’s killed this time.” She covered her face with her hands, and he could hear her deep, shuddering breaths.

  “Take your time.” Taking the seat next to her, Owen placed a comforting arm around her shoulder, offering what support he could.

  “It happened last night.” Naomi’s voice was strained, but she spoke clearly with short direct statements. “There’s a woman. She’s young, maybe in her late twenties, I can’t tell. It’s dark. He’s outside her building, it’s red brick low-rise. Doesn’t
look like the best neighborhood. He’s angry. He’s so angry because it hasn’t gone according to his plan. She’s kept him waiting. He breaks into her apartment. She’s sleeping. He grabs her. She struggles.” Naomi stopped, her expression so bleak that Cole felt an answering twinge of sympathy despite his skepticism.

  Snap out of it, he ordered himself. He wasn’t a rookie who could be easily manipulated by a sob story. He needed to focus on the facts, to figure out how Naomi was involved and who was giving her this information. It wouldn’t be the first time that a witness had turned into a suspect. He had to remain impartial and focused.

  “Get it all out,” Cole encouraged. The more details she gave, the more they would have to work with. Her words would lead him to the truth, one way or another. “Don’t worry about making sense of it now. We can figure that part out later.”

  She nodded, straightening her shoulders and clenching her hands. “He hits her. Over and over again. There’s blood, so much blood, and he—” She broke off, her eyes welling with tears. “He strangles her. He didn’t mean to, but it feels satisfying to him. He glances at his watch, it’s after midnight. There’s a large suitcase in her closet. It’s blue. He ... shoves her into it. He’s going to throw her in the Charles River. He sends a text message from her phone. There are other things, too, but I can’t make sense of them. They’re all random images that jump into my head.” Naomi rubbed her temples, and Cole could see her struggling to put what she was seeing into words. Even he had to admit, she was convincing. “A flower, a daisy? An elephant with a blue rope. A giant diamond tiara, and a red baseball cap.”

  “That’s good, Naomi, that’s really good.” Cole kept his voice neutral, knowing it would help steady her.

  “Do you know where we should be looking?” Owen brought over a map of the city and spread it out in front of her. “He’s probably long gone, but maybe we can find the apartment. If he’s killed someone, he might have gotten sloppy.”

  “I’m not sure.” Naomi had a faraway look in her eyes. “Somewhere around here,” she said, gesturing to a specific area of the map.

  “Fields Corner?” Shauna’s voice was excited, hopeful. “That’s in Dorchester. Some areas are a little sketchy, but it’s being gentrified. It could be what we’re looking for.”

  “She’s still dead.” Naomi’s voice was flat, as if recounting what she’d seen had drained her completely. “What’s the point of seeing this if I can’t do anything to stop it?”

  No one could answer that.

  “Let’s focus on what we can do now.” Leah looked up from the pad of paper where she’d been taking meticulous notes. Despite the charged atmosphere in the room, the blonde-haired detective remained cool and in control. “We can review a list of the tips we’ve received that are Dorchester-related. We’ll interview the suspects who were flagged as persons of interest in that neighborhood.” She shrugged. “It’s not much, but it helps us narrow down the mountain of tips that we’ve gotten.”

  It was a decent plan of action and Cole was eager to get started. The pressure to deliver results was mounting. Both the Police Commissioner and the Mayor had made it clear this case was their top priority; the task force was being touted as a way for the department to show the citizens of Boston that they could rely on the police to keep them safe. Their reputations were on the line.

  “I want to go with you guys,” Naomi interrupted his thoughts, and Cole saw her straighten her back, her gaze intent. He recognized that look—pure stubbornness.

  “That’s a terrible idea,” Shauna replied, shaking her head. Cole shot an exasperated look at her usual unfiltered bluntness. She grinned in response, her expression unrepentant. “What? It’s true.”

  “I want to go with you guys,” Naomi repeated, and this time she stood, facing Cole. “Maybe I can pick something else up. Without me, you’ll be driving around aimlessly.”

  He felt himself waver, torn between his doubt and the chance of catching their suspect.

  “This is the seventh victim. I don’t want there to be an eighth,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  He sighed and looked at Owen, who shrugged but nodded his agreement.

  “You have to stay in the car,” Cole said finally. “And do exactly what we say, no questions. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she quickly agreed, and he could see her earnestness. He once again questioned her motivation in this bizarre situation.

  Was Naomi Tenner a liar?

  If so, she was the best he’d ever seen. But right now, he had to take a chance, to put everything rational aside and follow a decidedly illogical move. He looked over at the wall where they had placed the pictures of the victims. He didn’t have a choice but to take a leap and trust this woman. If there’s was even the slightest possibility of success, they had to take it.

  “Ok.” Determined to give it a fair shot, he stood and reached for his shoulder holster. “Leah, grab the tips sheet for Dorchester. Let’s move.”

  With every passing minute, the knot in Naomi’s stomach doubled in size. She was in the backseat of Cole’s car as they drove around Dorchester, following up on the various tips the department had logged from anonymous call-ins.

  Despite the air conditioning, Naomi could feel beads of sweat at her temples; the few tendrils that had escaped the loose bun on top of her head were now stuck to the back of her neck.

  She needed to find any trace of the man who moved like a ghost and left nothing but terror in his wake. She had opened her mind, trying to pick up something, anything that would help move this case forward, that would finally validate what she had been telling the police for weeks.

  Inhaling deeply, she turned her focus on the task at hand but her mind was too jumbled, her thoughts too chaotic, the sound of her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Her stomach lurched at the thought of the killer’s twisted mind.

  Focus.

  Right now, she had to concentrate. She’d never attempted anything like this before, but the possibility of him hurting another woman was enough to have Naomi risk being contaminated by his thoughts, a small price to pay if it meant putting him behind bars. She’d spent so many years working to build up a shield to keep people’s thoughts out that it felt strange and frightening to deliberately open herself up to the psychic noise that was now humming around her.

  Leah and Shauna were following in a car behind them, and Naomi knew they were scanning the streets as carefully as she was. She glanced up at the back of Cole’s head, counting on the fact that his slate grey eyes rarely missed anything. His sharp jaw would be clenched in concentration, a habit she’d noticed during their meetings. He was relentless in his pursuit of criminals. She had little doubt – if there was something here, he would find it.

  At least he was on her side now. Well, sort of.

  Their relationship had shifted into unknown territory, a reluctant tolerance fueled by necessity. It was a stark contrast to their first encounter, where he had dissected her every word, his eyes filled with a hostile distrust. Now, they had a tentative truce, the skeptical detective finally willing to entertain the possibility that she didn’t get her kicks from lying to the Police Department. She didn’t delude herself, knew his acceptance was forced. Cole was backed against a wall, and this was one of those times a cop would grasp at any lead, however far-fetched, to take a monster off the street.

  His single-minded focus amplified the intensity of his personality, a protective drive that brushed up against her psychic senses like a caress, despite the cold stare he always leveled her way. Cole couldn’t figure her out, and she could sense that it infuriated him. Naomi found herself torn between a mix of amusement, annoyance, and exasperation – she had never been taken for an evil mastermind before, yet he insisted on seeing some grandiose plot to deliberately mislead his investigation.

  She supposed his reaction was normal. After all, what was the reasonable response when someone tells you that they are psychic? She imagined it involved nodding politely, while
carefully making your way to the nearest exit. Owen believed her, though, which was thanks to her friendship with his sister. Naomi had roomed with Michelle and another friend, Gabriella, during college. There had been such a deep bond that Naomi had trusted them enough to share the truth of what she could do.

  It was Michelle who had suggested she speak to Owen. Naomi had been surprised at both his gentle demeanor and his open-mindedness, two qualities Cole sorely lacked. It’s not like she had a booth with a neon sign advertising tarot cards and palm readings. She was a book editor, who saw the world in an unconventional way.

  Gramps had called it “The Knowing,” a set of abilities that, according to him, had been passed down through her family for generations. He’d been able to sense the history of an object by touching it.

  Her mother had been able to see the colors of people’s emotions and communicate with spirits, gifts she’d suppressed to appease her husband. Ever since she was a child, Naomi could sense the emotions and thoughts of others. Feelings– especially if they were rooted in strong emotions – seemed to leap out at her, like a radio picking up a frequency. She could also communicate with spirits, though thankfully only through dreams. Shielding herself from the thoughts and emotions of the living was taxing enough without also having to worry about those from the other side.

  It was Gramps who had taught Naomi how to shield her mind from unwanted psychic energy, who had tried to undo the shame left behind by her father’s disgust at her “abnormalities.” Despite his insistence that her Knowing was a gift, she wasn’t sure. She’d learned the hard way that both friends and lovers didn’t enjoy that she could poke around in their heads.