The Knowing (Partners In Crime Book 1)

by Hanna Noble

  He jerked the bitch’s hand behind her back. He was suddenly tilted off-balance, fell off the side of the bed. Landing in a crouch, he moved closer again. She would need a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was more than enough time to regain control of the situation, to show her who was in charge.

  He felt his body stir, this unforeseen resistance an unexpected rush that only heightened his pleasure. He relished her indrawn breath, knew she was scrambling for an escape. He reached for her and shoved her to the floor. She landed on her back and he punched her in the face, feeling a dark satisfaction as his fist connected with her soft flesh, finally indulging the rage that was pulsing through him. He grinned at her cry of pain, encouraging him to hit her again and again. He would make her understand that no one kept him waiting. No one.

  “Stupid bitch,” he sneered, watching as she writhed in pain, her breathing harsh. “Stupid whore. Did you really think you could get away from me? I’m so much smarter than you, little girl.” He moved to turn on the light, causing her to close her eyes against the bright glare. He admired his handiwork. He’d split her lip, blackened her eye. A trickle of blood ran from her nose.

  “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve wasted my time and made a mess.” He tsked. “As if I’d use you now after you whored yourself out to that loser.” He was still furious about her transgression. She deserved to be punished, she deserved ... suddenly he knew, the clarity bursting through him like a cleansing light, washing away his rage and leaving behind a single-minded purpose. He wrapped his hands around her slender neck and squeezed. It was an experiment at first, but he was fascinated by her renewed struggle, the spurt of energy as her survival mode kicked it and she fought in vain to free herself. He applied more pressure.

  “Mom,” she choked out. “Mom.” Soon, she was too weak to do anything but whimper.

  He continued applying pressure until she eventually stopped moving, stopped breathing. It was done. He stood up, savoring the euphoria that flooded his veins, making him nearly giddy with ecstasy. He pushed at her lifeless body with one foot, feeling so pleased with himself that he hummed a little tune, proud of a job well done.

  Naomi wanted to wail, wanted to escape, but she was trapped inside the head of a monster, forced to be an accomplice in the taking of a life.

  “Naomi!”

  She heard her name, felt a hand shaking her shoulder. The touch startled her, helped her break free of the vision. She opened her eyes with a loud gasp, sitting up.

  She was in Lily’s room, and she looked down to the bed, terrified she’d see Lily’s bloody body, lifeless. Instead, Cole and Owen were standing in front of her, their expressions tense. Cole crouched down, took her hand. “Naomi, are you back with us?” His voice was quiet, his touch was warm. “Do you know where you are?”

  She stared at his face. “Cole?” What was he doing in here? Hadn’t she asked him to stay outside?

  “Thank God.” Cole breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to look at Owen. “She seems to be coming back.”

  She felt a wetness on her face and reached up a hand to touch her cheek. Tears. Had she been crying? The fogginess and disorientation that accompanied her visions were fading, and the memory of what she’d experienced came rushing back to her.

  The killer’s joy and satisfaction, his ecstatic response. She felt her stomach lurch and looked down at her hands, still feeling the ache of squeezing Lily’s neck so hard. She started to shake. She wouldn’t fall to pieces here, wouldn’t give that asshole the satisfaction. She would go back to Cole’s house, write everything down while it was still clear, and then she would deal with the fallout from this latest blow. She owed Lily that much.

  She struggled to her feet and swayed, exhaustion beating at her. Cole’s arm came around her, but she moved away, ignoring his hurt expression. She couldn’t handle being touched right now, felt dirty. She wanted nothing more than to wash away the filth that lined the inside of her mind and crawled underneath her skin. She was grateful they didn’t ask her for explanations, that they simply followed her back out of the apartment and toward Cole’s car, without saying anything. She retreated into a welcome numbness.

  She huddled in the passenger seat, her eyes closed.

  “We’re here.” Cole’s voice cut through the silence a short while later. She opened her eyes, startled to see him pulling into the garage. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts she’d spaced out for the twenty-minute ride back.

  The house was warm and welcoming, and Naomi felt a little better after walking through the door. Shedding her jacket and boots, she padded into the dining room, taking a seat at the table that had become their unofficial headquarters. She reached for a pen and paper, knowing she had to write down what she remembered while it was still fresh.

  How do you put down on paper the delight in taking a life? The sick joy in hearing someone’s last pleas, their last breath? The sly smugness that a mother would never know that in her last minutes her daughter had called for her? Naomi started writing. Her hand wasn’t quite steady, she noted, the shaking was getting worse with each passing minute. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to keep going.

  She felt someone wrap a blanket around her shoulders, but didn’t look up, continued with her macabre essay. Cole sat in the chair beside her, placing a mug of tea on the table. No one spoke as Naomi continued to write everything down. She shouldn’t have worried about remembering her vision. She doubted she’d ever be able to forget what she’d seen tonight, would carry the grief of watching Lily die for the rest of her life.

  It took ten minutes for her to finish, and another five before she felt ready to face Cole and Owen. She wrapped her fingers around the mug of tea and pushed the pad of paper toward them. She watched as Cole read her notes, the worry on his face turning to disgust, then anger.

  He passed the notes to Owen. It felt surreal, like a scene out of a silent movie. The tension in the room was palpable, heightened only by the heavy silence. She didn’t know how to break it, so she sat quietly, trying to rein in chaotic emotions and the lingering nausea she felt. Her hands still ached and she shuddered, remembering how those hands had tightened around a neck, had killed.

  Owen’s eyes simmered with anger. He was the first to speak. “Ok.” His voice was calm, but it was clear the big man was fighting his own turbulent emotions. “What do we know now?”

  Naomi could feel the tenuous hold she had on her control slipping away. She put her hands over her face. “We didn’t learn anything important.” She felt a pressure in her chest, her frustration and despair building, needing release. “We’re not closer to finding anything out.”

  “That’s not true,” Owen protested. “We—”

  “Don’t.” Feeling tears in her eyes, she stood up, contemplating escape. She didn’t need Owen to pretend they’d found something useful to make her feel better when she knew it wasn’t true. “I’m going to take a shower.” She folded the blanket over the chair, her movements jerky. “You two can go over the rest of the notes.”

  Without giving them a chance to respond, she turned and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. She grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom, turning on the shower to full blast. Undressing quickly, she stood under the hot water, letting the steam and heat surround her.

  The frustration she’d felt combined with horror and grief boiled over, spilling out in a broken sob. She turned her face into the spray of water, washing away the tears that wouldn’t stop.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth as another sob wracked her frame. Then she sank down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, letting the water flow over her as she broke down, no longer able to hold it together.

  She was tired. Tired of carrying the burden of these visions. Tired of bearing the responsibility of helping someone and the accompanying guilt when she failed. She was tired of living in a town that wasn’t her home, of being alone, of being afraid.

  She was t
ired of not having anywhere that felt safe, a place that was hers. She was tired of fighting for her peace of mind, for the right to live a quiet life, for one goddamn nightmare -free night. She was just tired.

  What was the point of making her relive these horrible events if she couldn’t use what she saw? Why experience the heartbreaking devastation if nothing good could come of it? Her grandfather had been wrong. Her abilities weren’t a gift at all. They were nothing but a cruel curse.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cole hesitated in front of the bedroom door for several long minutes, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Take care of her. Those had been Owen’s parting words, leaving Cole to deal with the emotional storm he’d sensed brewing in Naomi since they’d found her in Lily’s bedroom.

  He couldn’t explain how he’d known she was in trouble, but he’d felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the cop instinct that had saved his ass over the years flaring to life.

  She’d been sitting on Lily Martin’s bed, her eyes open and unseeing, tears dampening her cheeks. Her expression had been one of such forlorn sorrow that his heart clenched in sympathy. It had been spooky to look at her and know that she was somewhere he couldn’t reach her.

  But he could reach her now. He steadied himself for what he was about to do, certain that his actions would permanently change the nature of what was between them. He leaned in, could hear her sobbing, and he opened the door unable to walk away from the sound of her pain.

  The sight of her small frame hunched over on the bed was a visceral punch in the gut. She was shaking, her arms were wrapped around her knees, her blonde head bent.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, feeling like someone was shredding his heart to pieces. Seeing her looking so lost was breaking him. At his words, her head snapped up, her eyes filling with surprise and embarrassment. Sinking to his knees in front of her, he wrapped her up in his arms.

  She jerked, fighting his hold. “What are you doing?” Her voice was thick with tears. “Get out.”

  “Naomi” he kept his voice soft. “It’s going to be ok.”

  “It’s not ok.” She pushed at his chest but he wouldn’t budge. “It’s not ok.” Her voice shook, and he knew she was still processing what had happened. He didn’t know what else to do, except sit on the bed and cradle her in his lap. “It’s ok,” he said again. “I promise, you’re going to be ok.”

  “Stop saying that.” Her voice was angry, and he tightened his grip when she began to struggle, her small fists hitting his shoulders before clutching at his shirt. “How can you say it’s going to be ok when it’s not? It’s too much. Feeling the killer’s glee. Lily’s terror. Seeing Shauna’s face. God.” Her voice broke, and she looked up at Cole, her eyes wet and haunted. “I keep seeing Shauna’s face. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m so tired.”

  There wasn’t anything he could say that would take away the pain of what she’d seen, what she felt. He could only hold her tight, his body a reminder that she wouldn’t face this alone. Not if he could help it.

  He couldn’t change what happened to Shauna, Lily, or Megan no matter how hard he wished he could. As a cop, he’d learned not to dwell on the things he couldn’t change. He could only offer her his presence, his comfort and his strength to help her ride out the backlash so she wasn’t alone.

  They sat intertwined for a long time, until she was leaning against him, her head nestled into his shoulder, her sobs becoming shaky breaths. She pushed against him, and he loosened his hold so that he could see her face. She looked exhausted, wounded.

  “I think I’m ok now.” Her voice was raspy, low.

  He didn’t like the stiffness in her tone, the distance she was putting between them, but he set her on the bed and stood, not wanting her to feel more vulnerable than she already did. She might look fragile, but she was one of the strongest people he knew. He leaned against the desk, giving her space.

  “My first year on the job, I responded to a call about someone acting erratically in a park. Turned out it was a young man, in his early twenties, high on bath salts. He was delirious, violent, and when he saw me he pulled out a knife and charged me. I yelled at him to stop, but he was moving so fast.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from, only that he needed to share this with her. “For months afterwards, I dreamed about him, dreamed that I did something different. And then I’d wake up and remember.”

  He paused but she remained quiet, her head tilted as she listened to him. He kept talking.

  “When you’re a cop, seeing bad things is a part of the job. There are ways to numb yourself to that reality. Booze, drugs, sex, gambling, exercise—they never work for long.” He knew from personal experience. “Things haunt you. They can ruin your relationships, even your life if you let them. You have to get them out of your system. It’s the only way to keep going. Cry, yell, hit something if you have to.” He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. It’s not anything to be ashamed of.”

  She didn’t speak. He worried that he’d said something wrong and had inadvertently made everything worse. He was about to apologize, when she spoke.

  “I dream of Shauna,” she said, her eyes were still red but her voice steady. “I dream that she comes over and then I shoot her. I watch her die.” She sighed. “It was the reason I needed sleeping pills in the first place, to keep the dreams away. But then ...” she trailed off.

  “The dreams came back,” he finished. He should have known that she’d bear the responsibility for Shauna’s death, but was shocked it had manifested in such a cruel manner. “It wasn’t your fault.” He made sure his voice was firm. “You’re not responsible for what happened. The asshole that shot her is.”

  “I made a call,” she replied. “I begged you guys to question him. And she got hurt because of me.”

  This was the first time they’d openly spoken of Shauna’s death. Cole shook his head. “No, Naomi. We all made calls that day. She was a grown woman and a trained police officer. She chose to get out of the car. It was her job and she would have wanted to do it.” He needed her to believe him. “You have to forgive yourself. You’re not going to be able to help Shauna or anyone else if you’re busy beating yourself up. This isn’t what she would have wanted for you.”

  He would never forget Shauna’s brash personality, her sarcastic humor and unfiltered way of speaking that had both driven him crazy and made him laugh. She’d been a good officer and a kind friend. He knew she wouldn’t want Naomi suffering like this.

  “Maybe you’re right.” Naomi’s voice was soft, considering. “I guess the drugs weren’t enough to numb me from feeling the pain and I had to let some of it out. I’m not used to having anyone see me like that.” She brushed her wet bangs away from her face, offered a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” he said, his own tension easing as he smiled at her in return.

  “I bet you have some questions for me about tonight.”

  “Everything can wait until tomorrow.” She’d been through enough. He wasn’t about to push her when she wasn’t feeling up to it. He preferred the Naomi who could stand toe-to-toe with him.

  “It’s ok, you might as well ask me now. We’ve already covered a few emotional hot spots, what’s one more?” She patted the bed beside her. “Ask away.”

  Although reluctant, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to be closer to her. He sat down and watched as she leaned against the headboard, settling in. She looked at him with expectation.

  “In Lily’s apartment tonight,” he began, not knowing how to phrase the question. “It was more than having an impression, more than seeing, wasn’t it?” He’d seen her rub her hands as though she were in pain several times, wasn’t sure she’d been aware of the action.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “It was more than seeing.” She dropped her gaze. “I experienced it. Through his eyes. Inside his head.”

  Cole hissed out a breath, shocked that she’d lived suc
h a horrific experience. “You experienced it all? His feelings? His thoughts?”

  “I was with him until the end.” Her eyes were filled with shadows, and he hated that he couldn’t shield her from this pain. He reached out for her hand, a physical connection to keep her anchored in the present.

  “I didn’t know.” He couldn’t fathom the horror of it. “I swear, Naomi, if I’d known I wouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

  “I wanted to do it,” she reminded him. “It was my choice, and I needed to do it. He liked it when she called out for her mother,” Naomi said, her eyes filling with tears that she blinked back. “It’s not always that intense for me. I only wish we’d gotten something concrete.”

  “We have more information. We’ll need to review it a few times before we know anything for sure.” He squeezed her hand, so small and delicate in his. He felt like he could break her if he wasn’t careful. “You have to be patient. It’s going to take time.”

  “I felt my hands squeezing Lily’s neck.” She looked down at her hands and then glanced up at him, horrified. “His hands,” she corrected. “Not mine.”

  That explained her clenched hands. What was it like to have experiences and memories in your head that weren’t your own? “Wait a minute.” He had a sickening realization. The first time he’d seen Naomi at the station she’d had the same pale, shaken expression. “Your very first vision, the one that convinced you to go to Owen was like this one, wasn’t it?” His brain was rearranging the events of that day with blinding speed. “You didn’t only see that first sexual assault, you experienced it yourself. Through him.”

  When she didn’t answer, he knew he was right.

  “Rachel Li,” she said after a few long seconds. “That was the first time I had an immersive vision like that.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t let him do that to another person.” She clenched her fists again. “We have to catch him. I can’t have those images in my head and know he’s still out there.” She sat up from where she’d been leaning, came closer to him, a sudden intensity in her gaze that had him straightening in awareness. “Help me forget. Help me make better memories.” She closed the remaining distance between them until they were practically touching. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he froze. “You said you wanted me.” Her soft whisper was laced with invitation. “Do you still?”