by Amie Gibbons
“Stop trying and sit your ass down and just do it. Realize that all you need to do is stop making excuses and just do it, because I'm three seconds from killing you myself.”
“Oh please, you're not going to kill me. You need me.”
“I never said I'd leave you dead.”
He let me go and I stuck my tongue out at him soon as he turned his back.
I wasn’t gonna try that with him lookin’. Not after he was fast enough to grab my tongue earlier.
I took a breath and looked at Thomas.
Really looked at him.
He was a person.
He deserved someone who could suck it up and put in her all to find his killer.
Especially if that killer had gone after others and would keep doing it.
I needed to do this because I was the only one who could.
Even Carvi had his limits without a psychic to piggyback on.
“Okay,” I said, reaching forward and brushing Thomas’s hair off his forehead.
Flash.
Thomas walked through a party up to a cute blond girl, maybe old enough to drink. They chatted and the world fast forwarded to them at his place in way too personal a position for me to be okay with seeing if I wasn’t so used to it by now.
The vision jumped to another girl. And another one. And another.
His place, a different bedroom, a different apartment but with the same general décor, what looked like the corner of a library, a bathroom.
Then there was a girl crying on a couch, and another one slapping him in the middle of what looked like a school hallway.
And it went on.
I pulled out of the vision.
“What the quack?” I asked, looking at Carvi.
“What did you see?”
“Sort of a movie montage of him hooking up, and a few girls being pissed at him, I think,” I said. “He got around, I guess. Guy’s cute, and seemed pretty funny, obviously smart, so I guess he could get around, but he seemed like a good guy when I talked to him. And he was also married there for a bit, he said. But I don’t get why any of this is relevant. Would I get visions if it wasn’t though?”
“Yes,” Carvi said. “There’s nothing up there making sure you only see what you need to. You could have seen his sexual exploits because you’re near me and thinking about mine, or because you’re thinking about your own, or because he was proud of those and that’s what was on his mind.”
“He was going to a Halloween party,” Kat said, hands buried in the body. “He could have been thinking about hooking up.”
“You being a slut isn’t very helpful,” I said to Thomas. “I meant for the case, but that could also go in real life. I mean, you obviously hurt a few girls with…”
Kat and Carvi were staring at me.
“Right,” I said. “Thomas, you being a loose man have anything to do with you dyin’?”
He didn’t answer.
Kat finished her autopsy with my help and me trying to get more visions.
When we got back upstairs, I had a surprise.
“Quil!”
My boyfriend was waiting by my desk in the bullpen and I launched myself into his arms.
He squeezed me tight and just feeling him and smelling his neck made me feel better.
I let him go but kept a hold of his arms and stared up at him.
Quil’s six feet tall, all lean muscle, with short soft golden curls, sharp features straight outta GQ, and he has the prettiest eyes.
Carvi has every man alive beat on intensity, even Grant.
But even his eyes didn’t compare to Quil’s when it comes to attractiveness.
Quil’s are a mix of blue and green, practically turquoise, but completely natural.
And I wanted to swim in them every time I saw him.
“Hi,” I said, suddenly fightin’ the urge to cry.
“Sweets,” he said, pulling me tight again.
I held onto him like a child and he rubbed my back.
“How?” I asked when I finally let him go.
“Sierra was able to get a message to me we’re pretty sure was encrypted, but we probably want to move you soon.”
“Well, isn’t this just beautiful,” Carvi said, voice bland and bored.
“Carvagio,” Quil said, making it a four letter word.
“Ah, such feistiness,” Carvi said. “I love that spirit in you.”
“Oh dear,” I said.
Grant, Jet and Dan were all standing around Grant’s desk, planning something based on the massive map and scattered papers on the desk.
“Sir?” I asked.
Grant nodded at the desk and I walked over.
“Confirmed suicides,” Grant said. “Over one an hour starting with a guy around nine this morning. All men.”
I glanced at the clock.
It was just past seven.
“Yeah,” Jet said. “We already put out the call to all the precincts to tell us if a suicide comes in, but we’re betting there have been a few more by now.”
“How is it getting around like this?” I asked.
“Tied to an object is my best guess,” Carvi said.
“I agree,” Quil said. “But that doesn’t explain what they’ve told me about how strong this ghost seems.”
I nodded. “It seems coherent, but it’s following a pattern. We saw her in the guy’s phone on that first one and she was lookin’ at me. She was there and she was conscious. But if these guys are all repeating the suicide, then that suggests non-coherent ghost stuck on a loop.”
“Maybe it’s a coherent ghost of a magical being who is doing this on purpose because she’s insane and she can,” Quil said.
“Possible,” Grant said. “But doesn’t explain how.”
“We need to check out those other bodies,” I said. “Sir, I know we have this whole assassin thing hangin’ over me, but…”
Grant stared at me and my heart picked up.
He had looked me in the eyes more today than in the past month.
Too bad I didn’t have an assassin after me sooner.
Did I just actually think that?
“We need to keep you moving anyway,” Grant said. “Since we are not officially on those suicides, no one will know to look for you there. Carvi, how long to cook up a potion to hide her?”
Carvi frowned. “About an hour.”
“Too long,” Grant said. “Get on it, we’ll be at the first victim’s crime scene. Quil, are you equipped to watch out for assassins?”
“Not as well as Carvi,” Quil said. “But you’re right, with a general protection, and not knowing where she is, we should be good, especially if we keep her moving.”
“I’m not leaving her side,” Carvi said. “You can get the witch on it. I’m coming.”
###
The first crime scene was from nine this morning and was clear out in Bellevue, the neighborhood in the very western part of Nashville. It was a normal suburban house in a cul-de-sac in a good neighborhood.
Kids were still trick or treating, but had probably been thinning out as the shadows grew and the street lights popped on until in the early stages of night we were left with only the older and more determined candy seekers.
I had been stuck in the back of the van with the equipment and my two vampires as Grant drove. He wanted me out of sight just in case.
Nothing had happened so far and I was honestly startin’ to think Carvi had made this whole assassin thing up.
I looked around the neighborhood, taking a deep breath of the night and I swear I could smell the sugar on the air.
“What I wouldn’t do for a drink right now,” I said as we walked to the driveway. “I want something strong and sugary, like a mint julep.”
“That’s my Southern girl,” Quil said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to his side.
I smiled but it dropped off my face faster than a Kentucky Derby winner.
The house was a typical suburban
ranch house. Two floors, a shell pink color, and a huge bay window.
The front door was blocked off by police tape but nothing looked amiss besides that.
“I’m assumin’ this one didn’t jump,” I said.
“No,” Grant said, taking one side of the tape off and opening the door.
“Doesn’t that kinda throw a wrench in the whole a ghost is doing this on a loop thing?” I asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it be the same type of suicide if it was that?”
“Yes,” Carvi said.
“Sooooo?”
“If you’re looking to me for answers, lea, I have none.”
Grant held the door open and I walked through first, taking a deep breath as I walked into a home.
Most homes have a feel to them. I’m not even sure it’s a psychic thing. It’s the smell, the decorations, the amount of clutter.
This place felt warm and loving and filled with life.
We walked into a living room that was in an open floor plan with a gigantic kitchen and a little nook in the middle held a table.
The ceilings were high and the giant windows probably made this place glow with natural light during the day.
There were two overstuffed couches in black framing the living room area, with a giant cushy blue recliner, a coffee table and end tables completing the look, and a big flat screen on the wall.
There were kids’ books piled on one side of the far couch and little plastic dinosaurs lined up across the room and twisting into the hall. There had to be hundreds of them.
A laptop sat on one end of the kitchen table and there was an open textbook next to it with three others piled up nearby, all having to do with biology or chemistry.
There were some dirty dishes scattered around the kitchen sink and a pan left to soak, but other than that it was pretty clean.
“I’ll stay and watch the door,” Carvi said.
I nodded. “Where was he killed?” I asked Grant.
“Master bathroom,” Grant said, voice quiet.
“Who found him?”
“His wife. Said he never came down to go to work, so she checked on him.”
“So the little boy…?”
Grant shook his head. “After she found him, she called the cops, grabbed the kid, and got the hell out.”
I nodded.
Such a beautiful, happy home.
And then this happened.
“How did he go?” I asked.
Grant shook his head and pointed to the staircase.
Right.
He wanted me to see without anything coloring my perceptions.
I walked upstairs, the guys close behind and far too quiet.
Quil took my hand as we walked down the hall and passed the open door showing the kid’s room.
It looked like a hurricane had hit it and it was covered with dino everything.
Quil squeezed my hand and pointed up.
The sign above the door was a cutesy hand-painted one that said, “Hurricane Andrew.”
I let out a strangled laugh.
Mama always joked I was conceived during Hurricane Andrew so if I’d been a boy, they would’ve named me that, and that it would’ve fit since I was as messy as both of my brothers as a little kid.
It’s one thing to see a dead body at a crime scene.
It’s something completely different to see the life that person was ripped from.
To see the pictures lining the walls in the hall of the boy who’d grow up without his daddy.
Grant opened the door to the master bedroom for me and I took a deep breath as I walked through.
The place smelled faintly of cologne but other than that, nothing was off.
There was a king-sized bed with a bright red duvet taking up the bulk of the room, a few pillows at the top of the bed but no little decorative ones, and giant bookshelves lining the wall next to the master bath nearly all full with tons of books, with everything from text books to romance paperbacks.
The bathroom was a long one, with a shower separate from the jetted tub, and a walk-in closet on the other end.
The bathroom looked messier than the rest of the house besides the kid’s room, more like my bathroom: beauty and bathroom supplies all over the double sink counter.
But still, nothing was off.
“Grant?” I asked, turning and walking back into the bedroom.
Grant and Quil stood in the room, arms crossed, both sets of eyes examining it for every little detail.
This place didn’t have the ominous feel to it the last one did. The body was long gone, and if there was any evidence from this morning, it’d all been picked up.
What were we thinkin’ I’d find?
“Tub,” Grant said like he’d read my mind.
The victim had cut himself.
Adrenaline shot through me, a wave of panic making my knees shake, and I twitched, almost grabbing my left wrist.
I met Quil’s eyes.
He was the only person outside my family who knew what I’d done to myself over eight years ago when I was depressed. I hadn’t really wanted to die, otherwise I would’ve cut up the arm instead of across the wrist, but it still wasn’t something you wanted coming out during a psych eval.
“I…” I started.
“Problem, Ryder?” Grant asked, voice so cold I was afraid it’d kill the potted plant in the corner.
“I’m not feeling anything, sir.” Yeah, I wished I felt nothin’ when he used that tone. “There’s no energy here. But I can try.”
I went back to the bathroom and knelt by the tub, taking a deep breath and trying not to think of my own past.
It wouldn’t help us here if I got caught up in my own crap.
I grabbed the edge of the tub.
Nothing.
“Come on, focus,” I whispered to myself.
Maybe I needed Carvi in here to help.
Maybe I was holding back because it hit too close to home?
I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of the cool, slick porcelain under my hands, remembered that despair I’d felt, the feeling that I had to do something, anything dramatic, no matter how extreme.
Because physical pain would distract me from the anguish in my soul.
Because any pain was better than my heart falling apart in my chest.
Because maybe if he found out I was in that much pain, he’d come running.
He’d care.
I needed to feel that pain again.
Flash.
“I’m not asking,” Grant’s cold voice said amidst a world of icy blue. “I’m putting in for a transfer.”
“I’m not moving around the teams without a damn good reason, Westley,” a female voice I recognized as the director’s said. “So unless you want to explain to me why I need to move and upset a valuable asset, the request for a transfer is denied, and she’s staying on your team.”
“The fact that she’d be upset is exactly why she needs to be moved. This arrangement is not working anymore.”
“Why?”
“After how she acted in Miami, I do not trust her. I can’t have someone I don’t trust on my team. Put her with Crowley or Mender.”
“What happened down there?”
“That is not for me to disclose, director,” Grant said.
“Then tell me why.”
He took a long breath. “She has turned insubordinate. She isn’t respecting the chain of command. She has always been entitled and immature, but now she thinks she knows what she is doing when she does not. If she has not grown out of those behaviors by now, she will not, at least not under me.”
“Drop the act, Westley,” the director said. “That girl is in love with you, and something happened down there.”
“She crossed the line. We were in the middle of an op and she let her desires endanger all of us. She’s a child and she is using me as an excuse not to grow up. That isn’t good for the team or the SDF. This situation is no longer under control. I thought her crush would go a
way with time. It hasn’t. It has gotten worse.”
The director sighed. “Westley, that girl is the first psychic we have ever encountered, and she only took this job because she had a crush on you. We both know that. If you transfer her now, will she quit?”
“Before Miami, I would’ve said no. Now, I’m not sure.”
“You can’t move her until you are sure.”
“I have to. If not for the good of our mission, then for the good of her.”
I pulled out of the vision with a violent jerk backwards and I slammed my hands over my mouth as a sob broke out.
My whole body shook and my heart felt like it was going to rip to shreds and fly out my fingertips.
My blood boiled as a wave of hot pain washed through my chest and a low wail escaped my lips.
And I thought I’d had my heart broken eight years ago?
Grant wanted to transfer me?
And the things he’d said?
He actually thought that little of me?
Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe I just caught part of that and it was way outta context. Or maybe… maybe…
Another wave made me bend over, holding myself tight as hot tears welled.
I hadn’t been this broken in over eight years.
I ran out of the bathroom, head down.
I couldn’t look at him.
Not after that.
“Ariana?” Quil said, catching me by the arm before I made it to the bedroom door. “What did you see?”
“Let me go. Quil, please. I can’t.” My voice broke and I cried the last word. “I can’t deal with this.”
Quil let me go and I hit the door.
“Agent Ryder,” Grant said, voice hard and strong, “calm down and tell us wh-”
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” I screamed, shocking myself as I whirled around.
Grant’s eyes widened, the surprise obvious even on his normally stoic face.
I swear, there was a Taylor Swift song, or like five, that fit this situation.
“I didn’t see what happened to that poor guy!” I kept going, so loud neighbors could probably hear.
And I didn’t care one tiny bug’s butt bit.
“You want to know what I saw, sir?” I practically spat. “I saw, well, heard, a conversation. Between you and the director.”
Grant’s face showed nothing.
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
