"I told him that every talented Pyro-psychic needs a trained arson investigator on her team."
She gaped at him.
"You can close your mouth, Jasi."
"But you're not…"
"Psychic?" He grinned. "I knew you'd say that."
She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face.
"No, you're right. I'm not psychic. But I have a lot to offer. I'm trained in arson profiling. You and I together will make an unbeatable team."
Jasi was stunned. This turn of events was the last thing she expected. With Brandon joining her team, she'd see him every day. They'd work on the same cases. He'd be taking orders from her.
For a second, she experienced a surge of doubt.
He kissed her. "Don't worry. We can make this work."
"Does Matthew have a rental for you?"
Brandon shook his head. "There's nothing vacant yet."
Jasi hitched in a breath. "So where will you stay?"
The smile he turned on her made her melt.
"Well, my little pyro-psychic, I was kind of hoping I could stay here. At least until something comes available." He cupped a hand against her cheek. "Besides, I think you'll need someone here to help you extinguish the fire."
"What fire?"
Brandon's head lowered. "This one."
Hot lips seared hers, and she welcomed the flames of desire that consumed her. This was one fire that could take some time to put out.
But we'll have fun trying.
Epilogue
Emily emerged from the shadows of Jasi's closet. She drifted forward, her feet barely touching the floor. Her head lolled at an awkward―strangled―angle.
In this dream, an adult Jasi gasped in surprise.
The pink skipping rope noose was gone.
"You're ready, Jasmine."
"Ready for what?"
"To start looking for me."
Jasi stood still, mesmerized by the bruises around the girl's neck. They were fading before her eyes.
"The skipping rope is gone," she said finally. "And your bruises are disappearing."
"Yours will too," Emily said.
"I don't have any bruises."
Emily led Jasi to the mirror. When she peered into it, her image shifted from a young Jasmine back to her adult reflection. One arm was bent in front of her, throbbing as though someone was squeezing it hard then letting it go. Old yellow bruises dotted her arm.
Emily tried to smile. "In time all your bruises will fade. But first, ya have to set things right."
"And how do I do that? Oh, right, I have to find you."
"Yes. Find me." The dead girl floated backward.
"Wait!" Jasi cried out. "Why did your bruises fade?"
"Because you're one step closer to finding me."
"How? I don't know anything more than I did before."
Emily blended into the shadows. Before they swallowed her, she said, "You may think you aren't any closer to finding me, but trust me, you are." Darkness closed in around her.
Jasi took an anxious step forward. "Emily?"
Silence greeted her.
And a mystery.
She took a deep breath. "I'll find you, Emily."
~ * ~
If you enjoyed this book, please consider writing a short review and posting it on eBook retailer websites, especially the one you bought this eBook from. Reviews are very helpful to other readers and are greatly appreciated by authors. When you post a review, drop me an email and let me know, and I may feature part of it on my blog/site. Thank you. ~ Cheryl [email protected]
DIVINE SANCTUARY
Cheryl Kaye Tardif
This book is dedicated to all the fans of my Divine series, for their patience and enthusiasm. Jasi and her team would be nonexistent without you.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my husband, Marc, for always supporting me, my writing and my career.
Character contest winners:
I often hold special character contests where winners can become a character or choose a character's name from a family or friend.
Thank you to "PutiPato" (Todd Barselow) and "Prescott," two bloggers who entered my Create a Corpse Contest and won. They are responsible for the names of two corpses, "Jennifer Phillips" and "Cooper Prescott", in this novel. Ironically, Todd became my editor about two years later.
Thanks to Nannetta Cook, who answered a Facebook call and suggested her name for the chief pathologist. This was an impromptu contest I held just for fun, and it received over 30 entries within a couple of hours.
During my SUBMERGED Army promotion, I held more character contests, and the winners were able to choose to have their name featured or another name of their choice. These winners were: Sheral Downham, Kaye Killgore, Stefan Gathmann, Kristen Howe, Jesse Giles Christiansen and Paxton Helling. Thank you all for allowing me the use of your name or one you selected.
Family life itself, that safest, most traditional, most approved of female choices, is not a sanctuary: It is, perpetually, a dangerous place.
—Margaret Drabble
Prologue
Emily emerged from the shadows of Jasi's closet. She drifted forward, her feet barely touching the floor. Her head, with its long blonde hair, lolled at an awkward―strangled―angle.
In this dream, an adult Jasi gasped in surprise.
The pink skipping rope noose was gone.
"You're ready, Jasmine."
"Ready for what?"
"To start looking for me."
Jasi stood still, mesmerized by the bruises around the girl's neck. They were fading before her eyes.
"The skipping rope is gone," she said finally. "And your bruises are disappearing."
"Yours will too," Emily said.
"I don't have any bruises."
Emily led Jasi to the mirror. When she peered into it, her image shifted from a young Jasmine back to her adult reflection. One arm was bent in front of her, throbbing as though someone was squeezing it hard then letting it go. Yellowed bruises dotted her arm.
Emily tried to smile. "In time all your bruises will fade. But first, ya have to set things right."
"And how do I do that? Oh, right, I have to find you."
"Yes. Find me." The dead girl floated backward.
"Wait!" Jasi cried out. "Why did your bruises fade?"
"Because you're one step closer to finding me."
"How? I don't know anything more than I did before."
Emily blended into the shadows. Before they swallowed her, she said, "You may think you aren't any closer to finding me, but trust me, you are." Darkness closed in around her.
Jasi took an anxious step forward. "Emily?"
Silence greeted her.
And a mystery.
She took a deep breath. "I'll find you, Emily."
Sanctuary: a (1) : a place of refuge and protection (2) : a refuge for wildlife where predators are controlled and hunting is illegal
—Merriam-Webster Dictionary
1
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Vancouver, BC
In the smoky ruins of what had once been a flophouse for methamphetamine tweakers just off Hastings Street in downtown Vancouver, CFBI agent Jasmine McLellan stared at what was left of Tara Kincaid's smoldering corpse. The young woman's body had been reduced to a twisted, blackened mass of tendons and bone. From the gaping hole that was once the victim's mouth, Jasi deduced that twenty-one-year-old Tara had been alive when her killer poured some kind of accelerant on her and set her on fire.
"Ready?"
The question came from Benjamin Roberts, a Psychometric Empath and the only Psychic Skills Investigator—PSI—who could pull off wearing a well-fitted Armani suit to a crime scene.
Her lips tightened. "As ready as I'll ever be, Ben."
Beside Ben stood Natassia Prushenko, a former Russian SVR agent and gifted Victim Empath, and Brandon Walsh, an arson expert they'd met during a previous case. Brandon w
as the only member of their team who did not have a psychic gift. He had other gifts though, ones she preferred to think of in the privacy of her bedroom.
Focus!
The corpse beckoned her closer. Though the Oxy-Mask protected her, she knew the smell of death permeated her own hair, skin and the very air around her. It was a pungent scent, like no other, and she knew it all too well. Some smells were impossible to wash away, no matter how much bleach one used.
"When you take off the mask, inhale slowly," Brandon said. "Don't rush it."
"This ain't my first rodeo, you know."
"No, but I know how badly you want this guy. I don't want you passing out."
For Jasi, the scent of a fire set by a killer triggered something mysterious—a psychic gift, the ability to view a scene from a killer's mind and memories. A Pyro-Psychic and covert government agent for the Canadian Federal Bureau of Investigation, she knew these killers more intimately than anyone else. Sometimes the visions were so strong they knocked her unconscious for a few minutes.
"Not this time," she murmured.
She inhaled the smoke-free air from the mask, gave her team the thumbs-up signal and tucked her auburn hair behind her ears. Okay, give me something—anything—so we can confine this bastard to a windowless cell in Matsqui Institution.
She removed the Oxy-Mask, inhaled two shots of OxyBlast from a mini-can she'd strapped to her chest and tentatively sniffed the smoky air. "I'm fine. It's Shake 'n Bake time."
Breathe…in…out…in—
The vision hit her hard, knocking the air from her lungs.
"No!" the young woman screamed. "Please don't! I'll go back. I'm sorry. Let me go back!"
Didn't she know how pathetic she looked? I'd bound her legs and hands, trussed her up like a calf waiting to be slaughtered. Poor little cow.
"It's too late, Tara," I said. "You know the rules."
"But I can do better. I'll do what I'm told. I can be useful. You'll see. Someone will want me."
I smiled at the stupid child. "No one wants you. Not your parents, not any of us, no one. You are weak. You are a traitor." I spat the last word at her.
"Please!" she begged, her face dirty except for the path her tears took down her cheeks. "Forgive me."
"I told you when you joined us that it was a life choice. You chose."
I reached for the gasoline can, unscrewed the cap and began to pour it over her body as she lay writhing on the ground. She was shivering from the cold night air and her lips had a bluish tinge to them. It's not difficult to get hypothermia when you're practically naked and lying in the middle of a clearing at two in the morning.
"Mercy!" she cried.
I had shown her mercy. I hadn't let the others have her first.
"I'll do anything!"
I scowled at her. It was too late. "Soon you won't feel a thing."
Tara coughed and sputtered as I poured gasoline over her head. When I lit a match, she screamed and the sound echoed in the night.
With barely a backward glance, I headed to the nondescript gray sedan I had borrowed, lifted the trunk, pushed aside a small white bag and removed the blanket I'd used to wrap around Tara's unconscious body. I returned to the hellish mass that was once Tara and tossed the blood-soaked blanket into the fire. I watched it smolder and ignite.
After a minute or so, I returned to the car and climbed inside. Against my will, I peered into the rearview mirror. Behind me, several yards away, flames scratched at the air like hungry claws grasping for food.
Lighting a joint, I took a long drag. The deed was done.
I drove away, knowing I had made my point, one the others would clearly get. There was only one way out.
Jasi gasped as hands secured the Oxy-Mask over her head once more and her vision cleared. Blinking back tears, she said, "We've got him."
"Are you sure," Natassia asked, her sapphire eyes widening.
Jasi clenched her teeth and stared down at her hands. "I saw his hands. And I saw his vehicle and his eyes in the rearview mirror." She described everything she'd seen.
Ben handed her a folder containing an assortment of suspect photos. It took her seconds to find the killer, a beefy guy with thick arms and an oversized bald head.
"Him."
"Boris Lipinski?"
She nodded. "I saw his tattoo, a cobra, inside left wrist."
Lipinski was one of the head guys of the Black Cobras, a ruthless gang originally from Denmark that had set up camp in the Vancouver area. He'd been investigated multiple times for theft, illegal weapons and drugs. A few cold murder cases were thought to be his work, but no one had been able to gather enough evidence to prosecute him. Until now.
"He drove a gray Ford Fairmont, late '70s or early '80s," she said. "BC plates, but I didn't get the number. There will be trace evidence in the trunk. He was sloppy."
Natassia glanced up from the palm-sized, government-issued data-communicator and brushed aside jet-black bangs. "According to my data-com search, Lipinski doesn't own a car. I checked vehicle registrations Canada-wide."
"Look for one of his older relatives. Someone on heart medication. I saw a pharmacy bag in the trunk. I only caught the last name. Same as his. You'll find blood on the bag too, so tell forensics to check the relative's garbage if they don't find the bag in the relative's house."
"Got it!" Natassia said. "A 1979 Ford Fairmont is registered to a Regina Lipinski, age 83. Boris's mother. She underwent heart surgery a week ago."
"I'm positive this is the vehicle he used for all four body dumps. He would've had access to it while his mother was in the hospital. We've got him." Jasi threw Brandon a sad smile. "The four women that were lured into this gang will be avenged."
"You always said Boris was the enforcer," Brandon said.
She shrugged. "He had that look. Kind of like Schwarzenegger meets Stallone—on elephant steroids."
With the task at hand completed, she headed toward the SUV parked on a side road near the secured crime scene. She removed the Oxy-Mask and stowed it in a backpack along with two cans of OxyBlast. After gathering her smoke-infused hair into a ponytail, she withdrew a small photo of Tara Kincaid. The woman's mother had given it to her a week ago when Tara hadn't shown up for a planned family get-together. In the photo, Tara was smiling.
"This is how you'll be remembered," Jasi whispered.
She dreaded the visit she'd have to make later—the one where she got to tell a mother that her child was dead. There was no easy way to break that kind of news.
Brandon loomed over her. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"You seem rather quiet."
"I was thinking about Tara's mom. Her life is going to change completely."
"It's going to be tough, but at least she'll have closure. She won't be wondering if her daughter is out there somewhere, in pain or alone."
She thought of Emily, the dead girl in her closet, and blinked back a tear. "I guess there's that. We found Tara." But will I ever find Emily?
Though she had shared many things with Brandon, she hadn't gathered the courage to tell him about her dreams. They were too horrific. And she couldn't admit to him that she'd seen a ghost while she'd been wide awake either. He was still getting accustomed to her psychic abilities.
"How often does it happen this fast?" he asked.
"Clear visions? Not often. I'm not sure why this case was an easy one, but I'm glad it was. You and I still have that date you promised. And don't think you're going to get out of that."
Brandon gave her a half grimace, half smile. "I can hardly wait."
"I'm not water-boarding you, so stop acting like you're being tortured."
"I was expecting a different kind of date. One with less—"
"What, culture? This is going to be the best date ever."
"If you say so," he mumbled.
She almost laughed out loud at his downtrodden face. They had been dating for just over a year now, ever since they'd been thrown toge
ther in an arson investigation. He'd annoyed the hell out of her when they'd first met, but he'd proven his loyalty to a fault. And although he didn't have a psychic talent, his expertise in arson investigation was advantageous, and her feelings for him had blossomed into something she'd never before experienced—something more than pheromones and physical attraction.
They didn't always see eye-to-eye on what constituted a "date." He'd dragged her to many a hockey game and monster truck event, and she suspected they may have permanently affected her hearing. Now it was her turn to plan a date. She'd eventually convinced him to see Phantom of the Opera. He'd even bought the tickets. For tonight. But when Matthew Divine had called them in to consult on a string of four brutal killings, she was pretty sure Brandon had been relieved.
She looked at her watch. "We have lots of time to get ready for Phantom."
"I don't know, Jasi. What about our reports?"
"Ben and I'll write them up," Natassia called out as she and Ben joined them. "What? Not my fault you two were talking so loudly that I could hear."
Jasi laughed. "I swear you'd hear a leaf fall in the woods from five miles away, Natassia."
"Seriously, I don't mind. You two go out and have fun. Ben and I will take care of the reports. After all, you did crack this case wide open with a single vision. Didn't even need me to read the victim. Not that I mind."
"Didn't need me either," Ben said, adjusting his black gloves to ensure his skin was fully covered.
Jasi knew what he was doing—preventing the chance of an unexpected vision. As a Psychometric Empath, he had visions when he touched an object or person. But the visions were symbolic and enigmatic, and translating them wasn't always easy.
"No," she said, "but you did get us closer to finding Lipinski. You were the one that picked up the gang connection on the second victim when you touched the necklace she'd been wearing."
Ben patted her shoulder. "I think we all agree that this win is really yours."
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