by Mayer, Dale
She took several deep breaths as confusion and disbelief argued with fear. Common sense won out. This couldn't be real. It had to be a sick joke. Giving herself another moment to calm down, Kali reread it, this time slowly, trying to analyze the words - the meaning behind them.
What game? Who was going to do the hiding and what was being hidden? It sounded like a child's game. As part of her SAR work, she found people all the time. Did this person know her personally? Know of her? Know her enough to understand the type of work she did? Was the person a psycho or a sicko? Hard to tell. Best-case scenario, this was a stupid prank. Worst-case scenario...well she didn't want to go there.
That question about whether she was better than He made her stomach drop. They couldn't know. She closed her eyes. Don't panic. Don't panic.
Added to that line was the fact that the letter had been delivered to her kitchen door. Talk about scaring the crap out of her. The letter writer knew her - in ways she didn't dare contemplate. It might have been a coincidence that she hadn't been here at the time of the delivery, except she couldn't stop wondering if she'd been watched and the letter delivered after she'd left. The fine hairs on her arm stood straight. Unable to stop herself, Kali relocked the back door then ran to make sure the front door was locked too.
What the hell should she do now?
She had to inform someone. She'd never sleep again if something bad came of this and she hadn't spoken up. That it could be nothing more than a bad joke didn't matter. Ignoring the letter and the envelope, she put on a small pot of coffee, then headed to the shower. She did some of her best thinking under hot water.
Twenty minutes later, her hair still wrapped in a towel, she walked out onto her deck, and took a bracing gulp from her freshly poured java.
Staring blindly out at the garden, Kali considered her options. The simplest answer was to call the police. They might come and inspect it, take her statement and possibly make a couple of inquiries. Still, they weren't likely to do more until something else developed.
All she really had was a piece of ugly fan mail.
Great.
Or she could call Stan. In the twenty-something years since starting the Second Chance SAR center, he'd received several threatening letters. Stan was the center. He was as well-known as Kali, maybe more so. Had he received a similar letter? She reached for the phone.
An hour later the sound of crunching gravel drew her to the front porch. Beside her, Shiloh stood alert barking madly at the unfamiliar large black truck. Kali narrowed her gaze as it parked beside her jeep. As she watched, Stan stepped down from the passenger side waving at her. She relaxed against the doorframe.
"Hi, Kali." Stan's smile reassured her further. She waved back before turning her attention to the driver. Tall and slim, dressed in jeans and a stretched black Henley, he looked big, dangerous, and vaguely familiar. Her stomach twisted. Energy stirred inside. A faint zap crackled between them. She puzzled on it as he fell into step behind Stan. The two appeared opposites. Stan had wizened into a small gnome of a man, while the larger man resonated health and purpose.
Stan gave her a quick hug. "I called an old friend for help. This is Grant Summers."
Kali welcomed them both inside. She'd known Stan a long time and couldn't remember hearing the name before. Nudging the door shut, she led the way through to the deck. "Can I get anyone coffee? It's fresh."
"Always, thanks." Stan beamed.
Grant shook his head. As she walked into the kitchen to find another mug, she glanced back. Grant watched her, an odd look on his face. Kali flushed. She'd seen him before, yet more than that, her energy knew him. Did he sense it too? From where? When? Her stomach pulsed. Which was crazy - she didn't know him, yet she knew him.
The two men had taken seats at the outside table. "Here you go." Kali placed the mug in Stan's waiting hand. "Careful, it's hot."
"Thanks, Kali."
"No problem. I was ready for another cup myself." She motioned to the letter on the table at Stan's side where she’d placed it earlier. "There it is."
Stan reached for it, when Grant interrupted, "Read without touching it - just in case."
Glancing over at Kali apologetically, Stan read the letter aloud.
When he stopped, Kali spoke, her tone wry. "It's covered in my fingerprints. Honestly, I never considered that issue."
Grant moved over to study the envelope beside the letter. "Is this the envelope it came in?"
"Yes. It has no markings either."
He gave a short nod, a muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched like he had a twitch.
Under lowered lashes, she studied his lean face and narrowed gaze. Jet black hair matched by imposing brows, squared high cheek bones led to a chin that said capable and strong-minded. This was not someone to cross. So still, so stern, she couldn't read him. And if she'd seen him before, surely she'd have remembered that air about him.
Yet his energy synced with hers. She didn't really know what that meant. Her energy and Stan's were comfy together. She'd always figured it was because he'd treated her as the daughter he'd never had, giving her the opening to treat him as the father she'd lost.
Grant's energy was different. Warmer. Hot. Sexual, maybe. Except it was more than that - almost an instinctive knowing. She couldn't really explain of what or how. She'd never seen this with anyone else.
He glanced up and his deep brown eyes locked onto hers. Time stopped. Energy leapt, pulsed between them. She forgot to breathe.
"Is there something wrong?"
She blinked. Heat washed over her neck and face. "Oh no, sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I thought I recognized you from somewhere." Stan looked over at her curiously. Kali averted her face and moved to the red cedar railing where she took several bracing gulps of air. She was an idiot.
The men's conversation droned on in the background, helping her to refocus on the more important issue - the letter.
Still, why had Stan brought Grant here? She spun around to study the two men. Her narrowed gaze logged the inner strength and confident air of the bigger man, then remembered his comments on fingerprints.
"You're a Fed."
Stan and Grant both stared at her.
"What makes you think I'm FBI?" Grant asked, studying her face.
She snorted but managed to meet his gaze calmly. "Everything. It's written all over you."
Stan jumped in. "You're right. He is. After we spoke, I called him to get his take on this. We rarely get a chance to visit, so I suggested he come with me to see the letter. He's not here in any official capacity."
Pursing her lips, she leaned against the railing, her gaze traveling between the two of them. "So, what do you think?"
Glancing from the letter to her, he gave a small shrug. "Definitely personal. This could be serious - or it could be a prank."
Kali widened her gaze. "I'd figured that out on my own. What else can you add?"
His narrow gaze studied her. "You think this is for real?"
"I'm concerned that it might be," she stressed. "What if it is?"
"Then we'll deal with it. In the meantime, there's no way to be certain. I'll take the note and have it checked for fingerprints. Chances are it's clean." He motioned to the envelope. "Same for that." Glancing up, he added, "Show me where you found the letter."
Kali walked ahead of the men and through the kitchen to her back doorstep. "It was there. Resting flat on the top step."
Grant stepped over the spot and took stock of the area. "Gravel all around the house. No footprints. Cement steps, but the delivery person didn't have to step on them to drop the letter. If you didn't see the person who delivered it, and there's no evidence where the envelope was found, then there's little we can do at this point. I can search the files for similar cases, other than that, it's a waiting game."
Kali crossed through the kitchen to the deck, where she slumped back into her seat, baffled. "Nothing?"
"I have to admit, this letter is a bit unnerving
." Grant’s gaze narrowed in consideration. "I'm leaning toward it being a real threat."
She choked. "That's not the answer I was hoping for."
"On the off chance that this isn't a joke gone wrong, I need to ask a few questions. If you don't mind?" Grant tilted his head, his dark compelling eyes studying her.
There it was again. That same ping of recognition. Why? Keeping her voice calm, casual, she answered, "Of course not."
"Does this letter mean anything to you? It talks about this being a game. Do you know of, or have any idea where that game idea is coming from?" At the violent shake of her head, he continued. "Rounds. Any games that have rounds? Competitions with rounds?"
Surprised, Kali glanced down at the letter. "No. I don’t. Nothing about finding people is fun or playful in anyway. It’s horrible, depressing and often painful."
"Don’t think of it that way. Think of it more competitively. Back to the wording here. It says I hide and you seek. I’m presuming that is your search and rescue skills being called into play."
She shrugged. "I don't know. Probably."
"It’s simple," Grant continued to read.
"The hell it is." Kali didn’t see anything simple about it.
"And if you don’t find them in time, they die. Not good. Who or what are them? And how could we find out?" He pursed his lips, studied the letter, her face, then the letter again. "Definitely a competition. Do you know anyone who is jealous of your reputation?"
"My what?" Startled, Kali glanced at Stan for help. "What reputation? And why would that matter?"
Grant explained. "I understand from Stan that you and Shiloh are considered one of the best teams in the Search and Rescue field." He glanced at Stan. "That you recently received several awards and a rather large monetary gift."
She shook her head slowly. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. "I'm good, yes. So are hundreds of other teams. As far as I know, I don't have a reputation." Kali blinked several times, trying to clear the fog his question had created. "That money went to the center to help offset the costs from all the emergency trips. We have to pay for flights and supplies ourselves more often than not."
"You were written up in several magazine articles."
Puzzled, she glanced at Stan. "I was?"
Stan answered, "A couple of times. Once as part of the team and you've been mentioned several times in write-ups on the rescue work we do."
"Sure, but so was everyone else."
Stan shrugged, adding, "Shiloh won that contest. You were interviewed over that."
"Stan," she protested. "That was last year."
He wrinkled his face. "Still counts."
"I need a list and preferably a copy of articles where you've been featured. That you two can recall. We don't know what might be important here. It seems obvious that this person is jealous or thinks you undeserving of your reputation. It's almost a challenge of some sort. Prove that you are good as everyone says you are." Grant looked up at her.
"Challenge? Prove myself? That sounds so wrong." The whole concept sounded wrong. "I'm not the one saying I'm good. That's what other people say. More to boost morale than anything. The media plays up the successes at disaster sites. There's so much pain and suffering, no one wants to focus on the many losses." She hunched her shoulders, hating the influx of memories.
"I don't think it matters who said what. What matters is that this person believes what's been said. Supposedly people are going to die if you don't participate. It sounds very personal to me."
Kali massaged the building tension at the base of her neck. This was unbelievable. "So, because he wants to make this a game, I have to play, too?" Running her fingers through her hair, she added with a touch of humor, "At least we know he's male."
Stan tilted his head, a puzzled frown between his brows. "How can you be so sure?"
Kali snorted. "This is classic male - my penis is bigger than your penis, I'm-better-than-you-are kind of male behavior. Even the mano-a-mano style of competition. A shrink would get that immediately."
Grant appeared interested in his notebook again, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I imagine one would," he admitted dryly.
With a smirk, Kali leaned back, feeling marginally more in control.
"Now according to the letter, he said you're to use your mad skills. Even more troubling is that your skills appear to be competing against He, written with a capitalized H - which is likely to mean God, bringing a religious fanaticism into play here."
"As if he’s seeing himself as God?" Stan asked, shock and disbelief in his voice. He sat there with his hand to his throat, his face pale and aged. "That doesn't sound good."
Grant nodded. "Definitely a possibility. Although he might also see himself as a messenger, a servant of God. Back to the mad skills part, does that mean anything to you, Kali?"
She swallowed hard. "I’d have to guess my search and rescue skills."
Her face froze in place. Her breath caught in her chest. This letter writer couldn't know about the Sight. No one knew. Hell, she didn't know much about the visions. Her stomach knotted and the band around her temple tightened with each question. Somewhere along the line it all became too much and Kali dropped into silence.
"And the worst line of all is the last one. Game on." Grant stared off in the distance. "I’d interpret that to mean whatever this is, it's about to start."
Stan added, "Or it has already done so and we just don't know it yet."
Kali shuddered. Shivers wracked her spine and a horrible feeling of impending doom filled her heart, boding no good for whatever was coming.
The men left soon after, taking the evidence with them.
Kali closed her eyes in relief as they walked out.
Mad skills. Surely, that was conjecture.
It had to be. Nothing else was possible.
***
As he walked to his car, Grant forced himself not to look behind him. The energy tug telling him to return to her was hard enough to deal with. His heart made a small jump for joy.
Kali Jordan.
She'd changed. Not surprising. Life hadn't been easy on her. Maybe it was due to the circumstances or what life had dished over time, now she appeared distant. To him she looked every bit as stunning as the first time he'd seen her. She’d been addressing a large group of government employees during a FEMA training seminar. A natural beauty with a ready smile, she'd been energized about her topic, her face animated with excitement, her hands waving wildly to make her point. Passionate.
She still was, only more restrained.
Stefan had been right. Again.
She was an incredibly strong psychic but quite undeveloped. Stan hadn't mentioned that fact. But then, he might not know. Stan wasn't the most intuitive type around. Grant wasn't either. If it hadn't been for Stefan, Grant might have missed the signs telling him to look deeper. Only Stefan had told him. With that tidbit, he'd taken a deeper look using the techniques Stefan had taught him, he'd seen something that made him and his baby skills pause. Energy flowed around her like a breeze. Lavender and teal colored energy.
Grant started his truck, waiting until Stan finished buckling his seatbelt.
"So what did you think?" Stan asked.
"I'm not sure. It feels ugly."
"Horrible letter."
"Does she not have a partner?" Grant glanced curiously over at Stan, who grimaced back. He didn't want to let on just how badly he needed to hear this answer.
"She's a loner most of the time now. Her last long term relationship was years ago, the guy turned out to be a greedy son of a bitch. She dated for a while but nothing serious. Then something went wrong on a site in Mexico. She's been locked emotionally ever since. She won't date or socialize. Hell, she won't even have coffee with the regulars at the center anymore. Just hides away in the offices."
Grant shot a quick glance Stan's way. "Hmmm."
"Oh no. Don't think she's involved in this. There's no way." Stan stuck his
chin out. "I'd stake my life on that. Kali lives to serve."
Grant pulled the vehicle onto the main road. "I didn't say she was. However, someone wants her involved - willing or not."
"We don't know that yet. I'm hoping this is a hoax."
"Time will tell."
From the corner of his eye, he could see Stan settle deeper into his seat with a heavy sigh. Grant frowned. How old was Stan now? Grant tried to remember what he knew of his father's old friend. He had to be mid-sixties at least. Could even be a decade older.
It had been a while since they'd spoken. What a way to reconnect. Kali Jordan.
