by Hanna Noble
“You know the answer to both,” was the reply, the woman taking another step toward her.
“Wait a minute—”
“My name is Lily. You have to get ready, Naomi. He’s coming.”
Naomi felt the cool touch of a hand on her cheek.
“Wake up.”
Naomi jerked awake and sat up in bed, a sob escaping her throat. The darkness of her room was suddenly unbearable, and she forced her trembling fingers to switch on the bedside lamp. She glanced at the clock. It was 5 a.m. She was in her room. She was safe. She was ok.
Her gaze landed on the bottle of prescription sleeping pills on the bedside table and any sense of calm evaporated instantly, replaced by the blaze of a powerful fury. She grabbed the bottle and threw it across the room with all her might. It hit the wall, pills flying everywhere. The book she’d been reading about healing meditations quickly followed. With an angry cry, Naomi picked up the glass of water and threw that, too, for good measure. The sound of glass shattering was the last burst in a room once again gone quiet.
Had she thought she was ok? She was far from it.
She rubbed her temples with her hands, feeling the beginnings of a headache. In the past few months, she’d awakened numerous times after watching Shauna die, but this was a new twist. A horrifying twist.
Lily. Her visit hadn’t felt like a dream. It felt like the Knowing. Were her abilities returning?
What good were the stupid pills if they didn’t stop the goddamn nightmares from taking hold? Was this some sort of karmic punishment? Would she be forced to dream about Shauna every night as long as she lived? Weren’t the shambles of her life penance enough? She’d left Boston, hadn’t she? She’d lost everything, so why was she still being tortured with these images?
When the Knowing had gone silent after she’d left the city, Naomi had been convinced she’d lost her abilities for good, a punishment for the destruction she’d caused. She felt as if she’d lost a limb, and she’d spent the past few months numb, trying to adjust to her painful new reality. What was supposed to be a few weeks of lying low had turned into nearly eight months of…merely surviving.
“You need a major reset. You can’t stay isolated out in the middle of nowhere,” Gabi had said to her on one of their calls. “You don’t go out unless it’s for a run. It’s not healthy. It’s time to come to San Diego. I know you’re still dealing with what happened, but you’ve punished yourself enough.”
It had taken months of convincing, but Naomi had finally agreed. The time had come for her to start over on the West Coast. In two days, she would trade the cold, inhospitable winters of the East Coast for the healing warmth of the Californian sun. She’d walk along the beach, dip her toes into the waters of the Pacific, and try to figure out how to put the pieces of her life back together again. The world she had known and the person she had been were gone. It was time to figure out what was left.
But there was one problem.
Ever since she’d purchased her plane ticket a week ago, the sleeping pills had stopped working, the nightmares returning with full force. At first, she’d chalked it up to nerves about the upcoming move, but this last nightmare had felt like something more.
She’d recognized Lily from her terrifying vision of the Phantom eight months before, though the police had never found a body. Was she going crazy? Was she so desperate for absolution that her fractured psyche would invent a way for her to be right? Overwhelmed with the flood of unanswered questions, Naomi focused on the most pressing element of the nightmare: Lily had hinted that someone was coming.
Only Michelle and Gabi knew her exact address, and neither of them would give it to anyone, not after the death threats Naomi had received once her role in the investigation had been made public. So, who could possibly be coming to find her?
The answer came to her with a sudden clarity: Cole.
Her shock and disbelief were replaced by a wave of anger. He wouldn’t. Not after he’d abandoned her without a word.
“How dare he!” She spoke out loud, tearing away the covers and stomping around the bedroom. “The nerve of that jackass, showing up here after destroying my life.” She pulled on a pair of jeans and a crimson sweater. “What could he possibly want badly enough to come find me?”
Lily had said that it was time.
“Wait.” Naomi said, stopping in her tracks. Had her last vision been right? It was the only thing that could explain why he would track her down. They must have found Lily’s body. The thought trumpeted in her head, over and over, and she sank down to the floor, overwhelmed and dizzy. “I was right,” she said to the room, testing the words, hearing the truth in her own voice. “I was right.”
She savored the relief that came with that realization, the pulse of joy that eased some of the pain she’d been carrying. Then another thought intruded: she had failed, and Lily was dead, a sharp reminder that devastated her all over again.
“I’m sorry I lost you, Lily.” Naomi felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you.” She was once again engulfed by the grief and helplessness that had been her constant companions since the police had arrested the Phantom and the attacks had ended. She’d been shattered, torn with the guilt that her Knowing had derailed the investigation, had gotten Owen hurt.
Somehow, the press had gotten hold of her involvement, and she had been painted as a troubled woman who had provided false clues, resulting in the death of officer Shauna Hamilton. The story had gone viral on social media, receiving international attention. The onslaught, which included someone leaking her address and phone number online, had broken her, forced her out of town, her abilities silenced.
The fallout had crushed her, nearly ripped her apart. That’s why she was moving to San Diego, to start putting the pieces of her life back together, the pieces of her soul back together. But what if the Knowing had returned for a reason? Working with law enforcement or using her abilities in any similar capacity, wasn’t something she would do again. It was too much responsibility.
Naomi stood on shaky legs and moved to the corner of her room and began picking up the pieces of the glass she’d thrown, careful not to cut herself on the jagged edges. She wanted to help Lily, but she was hurting so badly.
She was still recovering, but now it seemed like a hurricane was barreling down on her with enough force to blow apart everything she’d spent so long trying to salvage. She didn’t need to be psychic to know that she wouldn’t be able to outrun this storm.
Naomi closed her eyes and, for the first time in months, opened herself fully to whatever information the universe wanted to give her. “Lily,” she whispered into the quiet of the room. “Show me.” She waited, her mind focused. The minutes trickled by, but no answer came.
She sighed. She’d been feeling on edge for days and now at least she knew why. Her past was catching up with her, whether she wanted it to or not. It was time, Lily had said, and as Naomi had learned over the years, the dead kept their own schedule.
Chapter Two
Finding Lily Martin’s body had changed everything.
Cole had spent his entire career secure in his belief that forensics never lied, but now, he wasn’t so sure. Once again, he was doubting the principles that had served him well, and once again Naomi Tenner was at the heart of his confusion.
He was driving west down the I-90 with Owen, headed towards the town of Great Barrington, and possibly the biggest mistake of their careers. The tension in the dark blue SUV was palpable, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that while Owen had forgiven him, his partner was still disappointed at what had happened eight months before.
“So, what’s the plan?” Owen’s quiet voice pulled Cole back to reality and he glanced over at the man he trusted with his life. He hated the awkwardness he sensed, the distance that had cropped up between them in the suddenly cramped vehicle. The sub-freezing temperatures of a Bostonian winter had nothing on the ice inside their vehicle.
>
“Cole?” Owen urged him again.
“I’m thinking things over.” Cole tried to smile in apology, but it was strained. “I’m trying to figure out how best to proceed.” Preparing himself, he thought, for the confrontation that lay ahead. He didn’t anticipate a warm welcome. “We should be there in about twenty minutes.” Plenty of time to think of the right words to apologize for ruining someone’s life. Yeah, right.
He didn’t believe in vampires, witches, or psychics.
His father was a man of science, a Harvard biology professor who had instilled in him a profound respect for empirical evidence. His mother, a brilliant attorney, had taught him to rely on the cold, hard, facts. Anything else was simply speculation.
Was Cole a believer now? No.
He was still a man who followed the evidence, and this time the evidence was leading him back to Naomi. The victim, Lily Martin had been found in a blue suitcase in the Charles River, mirroring Naomi’s vision with eerie precision. He couldn’t ignore the accuracy of what she had described.
And yet, there was so much that still didn’t make any sense. The attacks had stopped after the arrest of Randall Carr, the man now known as the Phantom, further cementing Cole’s belief that Naomi was a liar. He’d thought she’d deserved what had happened to her, had refused to apologize for what he’d said. Now he cringed at his own arrogance. He had new information that was forcing him to re-examine everything he’d thought was true.
“I’m having second thoughts about this,” Owen said, sighing while flipping through the case files he had brought along for the ride. “I should have gone up to talk to her.” He looked at Cole pointedly. “Alone.”
Naomi had disappeared after the fallout of the investigation had become public.
“And have me stay behind like a coward?” Cole struggled to keep his voice calm. “I need to talk to her, Owen. I need to tell her what we found.”
Maybe then he’d get some answers, be freed from the guilt that seem to dog his every step. Cole had tried everything to forget the case, furious with himself for ever entertaining the possibility that Naomi was legit. He wouldn’t think about her devastated expression that day at the hospital. He hated that he was uncertain again, that he’d been left choking on the bitter aftertaste of his temper, unable to pinpoint the truth.
“This isn’t about you,” was Owen’s response.
The even tone didn’t lessen the sting of the words, reminding Cole that Naomi wasn’t the only injured party in this debacle. He had royally fucked this up.
Cole sighed, weary, and pulled into a rest stop, bringing the vehicle to a halt in the parking lot. This was the first time they’d really spoken about what happened in the aftermath of that day.
Everything had been chaotic, the loss of Shauna was still too painful, too raw for either of them to broach the subject. Hell, some days Cole still found himself looking over at Shauna’s old desk, jolted when he saw someone else sitting there. For all those months, Naomi had been abandoned as they grieved, collateral damage in a tragic investigation gone wrong.
Finding Lily Martin’s body meant they could no longer ignore the signs in front of them. Cole had to see Naomi, understood that she still had some role to play.
“Look, Owen—” he began, wanting to defuse what was gearing up to be a tense confrontation.
“No, you look,” Owen interrupted, turning to face him with a look of heated shame in his eyes. “We both hurt Naomi. We promised her we’d keep her involvement a secret, and we didn’t. We told her we’d protect her, and we didn’t. We told her we believed her, and then we didn’t stand by her when things got tough. We weren’t there for her when the press destroyed her life. Thanks to our actions, an innocent woman who was trying to do the right thing got hurt.”
There it was. Guilt, party of two, each of them wrestling with the choices they had made, and thinking about the woman who bore the brunt of their mistakes. Cole felt every word Owen said like a blow.
“I know, man,” he admitted. “I know, and it’s my fault. But, goddammit, I had your blood, Shauna’s blood, all over my hands. We didn’t know if either one of you would make it.”
Most of that day remained a blur, but some things stood out in Cole’s mind in stark sharpness. A burst of adrenaline shooting through his veins, his heart dropping as he saw Shauna fall and Owen take a hit. Willing his legs to move a little faster, knowing he’d still be too late. Yelling “Officer down” over and over again, as Shauna got paler and weaker. The blood that never stopped flowing from the wound on her neck. The agonizing wait for the paramedics. The quiet look of sorrow in the surgeon’s eyes as he told them that Shauna had succumbed to her injuries. Leah’s wails as she realized her partner was gone.
“I was angry,” Cole said, shaking off the memories that still haunted him. He’d been powered by a fury of self-recrimination and the bone-deep terror that his partner wouldn’t make it. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I thought she was wrong.”
The rift with Naomi was terrible. But would he and Owen be able to repair this rift between them? The silence stretched between the two men, taut with regret.
“I thought she was wrong, too,” Owen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “The evidence said so, made a solid case against her. And nothing in the Randall Carr case matched her vision.”
Cole accepted the olive branch, relieved.
“Yeah, but you thought she’d made a mistake, unlike me.” Cole had seen a malicious intent where there wasn’t one. “I yelled at her in the heat of the moment. I outed her. Whether I meant to or not, it doesn’t matter. And I never apologized.” He shrugged, feeling guilty all over again. “She was Michelle’s friend. She trusted you. I’m sorry.”
Owen nodded once, and Cole started driving again toward their destination, both men lost in their own thoughts.
They arrived in Great Barrington just shy of nine o’clock. With a population of twenty thousand people, it was a small picturesque town with a postcard-pretty main street and rows of brightly painted houses framed by tidy lawns. Naomi lived on the outskirts, in a cheerful-looking blue bungalow that backed onto a big undeveloped forested lot. He pulled into the long driveway and shut off the engine. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the upcoming battle. Telling someone who hated your guts that you needed their help was not going to be fun.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“Maybe you should let me handle it,” Owen suggested, as he hauled his big frame out of the car.
“If we’re going to be able to work together, I have to apologize.”
Cole did not relish this situation. While he wasn’t convinced that Naomi could do what she claimed to do, he was smart enough to realize that he needed her. If apologizing meant they could work together then he’d say whatever he needed to in order for her to cooperate. The truth would unravel itself eventually, and this time he wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. It was the best he could offer.
What would she say? What would she do? She’d probably be shocked to find them at her door. If he were honest with himself, he’d also admit part of his nervousness stemmed from the anticipation of seeing her again, wondering if he’d still feel that pull between them. Or had it all been a fluke, the result of too much stress and close quarters?. He’d say the words “I’m sorry,” and then lay out the facts. He would be professional and —
“Yes?” Naomi’s tone was polite but icy, and Cole realized the door had opened while he was preparing himself.
He wasn’t ready. There were shadows under her eyes and her face had a gauntness that hadn’t been there before. The jeans and red knit sweater she wore hung loosely off her slender frame, instead of hugging the curves he remembered. She had lost weight. Her eyes, the crisp blue of a summer sky, had a tired but challenging look. And her hair...
“You cut your hair?” Cole could have slapped himself as he heard Owen snort behind him. Way to go, moron, he thought, you’re supposed to be apologizing and actin
g charming, yet the first thing you do is critique her appearance.
Her long blond locks were replaced by a choppy short cut that framed her face. It highlighted her high cheekbones and the full mouth that was now twisted into a smirk. Naomi raised a brow.
“As usual, your powers of observation astound me.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
He tried to rally. “Ms. Tenner, we’d like to ask you a few questions about an investigation we’re—”
“Oh, it’s Ms. Tenner, is it, Cole?” she interrupted, her tone sugary sweet. “Ok, tell me, Detective Walker, does the Boston PD generally interact with people who are pathological liars?”
“Naomi, I— ”
“Or what about people who are so delusional they think they have psychic powers? Or who are dangerously imbalanced to the point that they would invent false leads because they enjoy seeing aggressive sexual predators loose on the streets? Do you talk to them?”
“I know what the press said—”
“Because it seems to me,” she continued, talking over him in that same grating, cold tone, “that doing so would compromise the nature of the investigation and put the lives of countless innocents at risk, not to mention pervert the very system designed to deliver justice. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”
He cringed at the words the press had used to rip her reputation to shreds. The idea of a local woman posing as a psychic to deliberately obstruct an investigation had whipped the nation into a frenzy.
The Boston Police Department, had come under scrutiny. Cole and Owen had barely avoided demotions. The task force had been reprimanded for pursuing unreliable sources that had wasted valuable tax dollars. The media had dissected Naomi’s life, her job, her reputation, all fueled by an offhand comment he’d made in that waiting room. He still didn’t know how word had gotten out. He hadn’t seen any journalists around, though an enterprising nurse or curious bystander could have tipped off the press.
