It was the first time Gabriel could remember hearing Tom Harley sound defensive. But, then, being around Kalesia could do that to a man.
“Even after Kalesia led you to a body?” Gabriel asked, lacing his tone liberally with sarcasm.
Harley nodded. “Even after. Right now we’re assisting in the search for two children who disappeared. On top of that, the body of a hiker was found handcuffed to a tree in the forest.” Harley’s voice deepened. “Yeah, you could say I had more to worry about.” Their eyes met in a look of mutual understanding. Harley cleared his throat. “Any special reason to wonder about that particular vision now?”
“What caliber bullet was Crump shot with?”
Harley gave him a hard look. “9mm. Why?”
Gabriel nodded, his hunch confirmed. “The man I want you to run a check on was shot in the head with a small caliber round.”
“And that makes you suspicious?”
“Hell, yes. Anything that has even a remote resemblance to what’s happening currently makes me suspicious.”
“You’re grabbing at straws,” Harley warned.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair and pinned the older man with a hard look. “That’s why you sent her to me, isn’t it? Because I’m so damn good at grabbing straws?”
Kalesia looked from one man to the other, a frown pulling the delicate, wing-like brows together.
Harley snagged a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Give me the details again. I’ll see what I can do.”
When he finished, Harley asked, “You’re sure that’s all you can remember?” The question was aimed at Kalesia. She nodded.
“That’s it. Even though that vision took place over two years ago, the details are very clear in my mind. It’s hardly something I would forget.”
Harley reclined back in his office chair and steepled his fingers over his stomach. The chair groaned alarmingly.
Gabriel waited for the rickety swivel chair to collapse. When it didn’t, he decided it was much like Harley, himself—a little used, a little battered but completely dependable underneath it all.
“Okay. That’s enough to get me started. If I turn up anything, I’ll give ya’ll a holler. What is it?” Harley barked, when Parker knocked once and stuck his head inside the door.
“Senator Morne’s on the phone again. Line three.” Gary Parker delivered the message and ducked back out.
“Shakespeare was dead wrong,” Harley grumbled. “It’s the politicians we need to get rid of, not the lawyers.”
“I read somewhere that most politicians are lawyers. Some are even law enforcement officers,” Kalesia murmured to Gabriel. He hid his grin at the wild blush that covered her face when Harley switched his gaze back to her.
“Which goes to show you what a model of efficiency looks like. By getting rid of the politicians not only do they become an extinct species but the lion’s share of lawyers do likewise.” Harley grinned, showing a lot of teeth. “Those who are cops are exempt.”
Gabriel grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet. He, better than anyone, knew the little witch fought dirty when cornered. And, damn, she looked like she wanted to sink through the floor. This time, he didn’t hide his grin.
Harley shifted in his chair. If he were a betting man, Gabriel decided, eying his friend, he’d bet Harley felt bad about teasing her. She seemed to have that effect on men.
Gabriel waited, counting off the seconds silently. Sure enough, in less than fifteen seconds Harley took pity on Kalesia’s embarrassment.
Tom made a short, shooing motion, the ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Go. Get. Let me tend my headache in peace.” The smile faded. He rubbed at his temple with one hand and picked up the phone with the other.
“I see you made it out alive,” Gary Parker greeted them after a quick check to make sure the door was closed.
“Barely.” Kalesia gave the young man a wry smile. “Somehow, I get the feeling your major doesn’t care much for the political system.”
“Now, ma’am, whatever gave you that notion?” Gary Parker grinned back. “The boss is a good man but politicians tend to give him a rash.” His expression turned serious. “Morne’s been riding the major pretty hard. Seems like he’s been appointed the head of some crime task force. That, along with his bid for reelection, means he’s been hanging around here tighter than a tick on a wet hound dog.”
“He’s finding fault with the Department?” Gabriel asked, his attention on the deputy seated behind Kalesia. He glared at Henry Pompano, who seemed altogether too interested in Kalesia. The young deputy, finally sensing the malevolent regard aimed his way, finally pulled his gaze from her ass. Gabriel pinned him with a lethal glance. Pompano went white. Ducking his head, he opened a file on his desk with shaking hands.
He should have beaten the shit out of the little twerp when he used weed killer instead of fertilizer on the seedlings.
“Not really. At least I don’t think so. It’s just he’s asking all kinds of questions and sticking his nose everywhere. Making us all kinda nervous. I’ll be really glad when the election’s over.” Another deputy walked up, a sheaf of papers in his hand, diverting Gary’s attention.
Gabriel gathered Kalesia with a hand under her elbow and started toward the door. “Bye,” she called back over her shoulder.
“See you, Miss Brannigan,” Gary and Pompano called out at the same time.
* * * * *
Gut-wrenchingly real images slid through Kalesia’s defenses like a thief through an unlocked window.
Unable to move, he waited for the pain.
Ghost-like fingers slithered down his spine, leaving blood in their wake—tiny droplets that turned into a river that welled into a carmine cascade.
Agony exploded and saturated the night…
“Wake up, Kalesia. Damn it, wake up!” Gabriel commanded, fear making his voice rough. He reached up and snapped on the lamp.
She woke with a start. For a long moment she stared at him, not seeming to recognize him, then she flung her arms around his neck. Underneath his palms, quivers racked her slender frame. Her gown stuck to her body. His own skin, he knew, was cold and slick with a thin film of sweat from his own dream.
Finally, a long moment later, he gripped her upper arms and held her slightly away. “What the hell was that about? You nearly scared me to death with your moaning and flailing about.” Gabriel swallowed a hard lump, remembering the tortured groans that had rent him from his own restless sleep. God, he would never forget the sounds. “I thought someone was killing you!” he ground out, unable to prevent his hands from roaming over her. Needing the feel of her warmth to assure himself she was in one piece.
“Oh God, Gabriel! They were torturing him.”
He stiffened. “They were torturing whom?” he asked, each word shaped with undue care.
“That poor man. The one I saw tonight.”
“You had another vision?”
“Yes. No. Oh God, I don’t know,” she stammered, tears trembling on the tip of her lashes. Her head fell forward and pressed against his damp chest.
“Calm down and tell me what you saw.” He rubbed soothing circles on her back and stared over her shoulder, seeing a growing darkness that had nothing to do with the night.
Kalesia took a shaky breath. The sound cut straight through Gabriel. “This poor man was strapped to a table and they were torturing him.”
The darkness expanded. “Who was torturing him?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice broke. “I couldn’t see their faces.”
“What about the man being tortured? Could you see his face?” The darkness prowled. Searched for fine fault lines. If it found them, he’d shatter. Like a poorly repaired bowl. Malicious laughter echoed in his ears. It knew. Knew it was only a matter of time.
“Crimson. Everywhere.” She burrowed closer. “Table. Floor. The man.”
“His face. Did you see his face?” he asked again, forcing his mouth to work. Gabriel felt weird. As if
a paper-thin sheet of crackle glass separated him from the real world. He could see it. Could almost touch it. But was apart from it.
Darkness crept closer.
Once it found the spiderweb of cracks, the darkness would spill out. Swallow him whole.
He’d be trapped. A shade, able to see life but unable to touch it. Forever.
Kalesia shook her head against his chest. Long strands of her hair caught and clung in the dark mat of hair covering his chest. They gleamed like strings of silken fire against the ebony darkness. “His face was too covered in blood and bruises for me to see any details of his features. I’m sorry,” she whispered, her breath tiny pants, searing the icy coldness of his skin.
“Shh, don’t apologize. You can’t help what you do or don’t see.” His voice was a harsh rasp. He sounded like a man too long without water. Or one who had screamed himself hoarse, Gabriel thought in that distant part of his mind that still functioned.
“So much pain. Waves of it.” Her fingers dug into his sides. “Gabriel?” There was a tentative lilt to the question.
He needed to answer. To say something. But he couldn’t. So he waited.
“I know this doesn’t make sense but,” she tilted her head back and looked at him, “I could almost swear it was the same man I saw in my vision about Crump.”
The darkness receded. Crawled away, snapping and snarling. Everything became sharp and clear again. “I thought you decided it was Crump both times in that vision.”
“I did,” she agreed slowly. “I’m not so sure now. There’s something very familiar about that man in my vision tonight.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
Sweat dampened his underarms. He tucked her head back under his chin. “Still could be Crump. That would explain the sense of familiarity.”
“But why would I have another vision about him? We found his body.” She sounded skeptical.
Gabriel searched for a logical explanation. “Don’t know. Because his murder is somehow linked to the vision of yours?” Shit, that was weak but it was the best he could come up with.
To his surprise, she considered it. “How do we find out for sure?” She smoothed a finger over his nipple, then traced the wickedly curved scar that stretched from shoulder to ribs.
Gabriel caught and stilled her fingers. He knew she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. The gesture was absentminded. But he couldn’t think with her touching him like that.
“I’ll ask Harley tomorrow for the result of the autopsy.”
“He’s not allowed to give you that information.”
“I have no scruples about blackmail, remember?” He forced amusement into the statement. He was rewarded with a watery chuckle.
After a long while, she stirred. “Gabriel? If the man in my vision isn’t Crump that means someone else is in danger, doesn’t it?”
“In danger? Not dead?” The lid slammed shut on the darkness. He closed his eyes in relief.
She froze. “In danger.” She spoke slowly, as if she were working it out in her head. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Whoever it is, he’s not dead, is he?”
“No,” she said, very softly. “No, he’s not dead.”
“Yet,” he amended.
* * * * *
“What did Harley say?”
At Kalesia’s impatient query, Wolf Devlin looked up from sorting stacks of official looking paper into manageable piles. His glance slid from her to Gabriel.
“Crump wasn’t tortured before he was killed. At least, not beyond his arms being bound.” Gabriel ran a hand behind his neck in frustration. “It seems that no sooner do we find a lead to follow than it sprouts ten more shoots.”
“Am I missing something?” Wolf asked in that slow, deep drawl of his that gave the impression of a sloth, slow to anger, even slower to move. An impression that was immediately shattered when you looked into his eyes.
Sam and Badger looked at each other in puzzlement and then turned toward Gabriel. “If you are, so am I,” Sam said.
“I wasn’t sure until I talked with Harley that I had anything to tell you.” Shit. He’d really, really hoped that Harley would tell him Crump was tortured. That, somehow, last night’s vision was a loop of Crump’s.
“Now that you’ve talked to Harley?”
“Let me explain.” Kalesia crossed and sat next to Wolf on the sofa, careful not to disturb the papers. “Last night I had what might have been a vision.” She stuck her hands between her knees and rocked back and forth. “I say might because it was different from usual. I didn’t see a death. I saw a man’s torture. Where it gets really confusing is I think I’ve had a snatch of this vision before. When I saw Crump’s murder.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Badger shot to his feet. “Kalesia, why didn’t you say something earlier this morning?”
“Because I couldn’t be absolutely certain that it wasn’t Crump. Ever since I had the vision of my own death, my visions have been erratic, strange. Before, there was at least a consistency in the manner in which they occurred. Now, sometimes I see through the victim’s eyes, while at other times it’s like I’m watching from the sidelines. Don’t you see? The last time I saw this man I believed he was a fragment of the Crump vision. One blurry and out of focus because I was fighting it so hard. I didn’t want to say anything until Gabriel checked it out with Harley.”
“So now we have another body to find.” Sam’s voice was grim.
Gabriel felt a great deal grimmer. “No. Now we stop the person behind the threat before the man in Kalesia’s vision becomes a body.”
* * * * *
Gabriel and his friends disappeared upstairs to the room Sam was using, an air of dark urgency about them. Restless, Kalesia wandered around the house. The men had rejected her offer of assistance in no uncertain terms, telling her that she’d be more hindrance than help at this point. She had neither the training nor the objectivity needed. Protest, Kalesia had quickly discovered, was futile.
Despite knowing they were trying to protect her, she couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful. They were her visions. It was her life that was in danger. She should be helping, not twiddling her thumbs. Heck, she couldn’t even work on her business. Not only did they have all the files but she wasn’t to contact any of her clients until this was over.
About to go stir crazy, she stalked from living room to kitchen and back again. In the middle of the living room, she came to an abrupt halt. The silver unicorn on her ankle tinkled wildly. She didn’t feel like cooking and she was too wired to sit and read. So that left what? Kalesia racked her brain and came up with zilch. In desperation, she studied the large room. A wild idea began to form. It was rash, reckless and certain to piss Gabriel off.
A wicked smile curved her lips.
Perfect.
Even that first night she met Gabriel, the bleak austerity of his home had disturbed her on a very basic level. The neutral furniture and stark white walls struck her as…wrong somehow. Instinct told her Gabriel needed warmth, light.
She turned an assessing eye on the house. Her palms literally itched. His home could be magnificent. If she had to guess, she’d say it was well over a hundred years old. It reminded her of a gracefully aged Southern belle. No matter the passage of time or fashion, you could not completely hide the elegant bones or innate grace.
She grimaced. In this case someone, who in her completely biased opinion ought to get a load of buckshot in their derrière, had sought to bury its charms under a coating of generic modern. The result was as inviting as a cheap motel room.
Not Gabriel. No, Gabriel wasn’t the culprit. Kalesia pondered her certainty for a minute. She shrugged. Okay, so she had no proof. She just knew.
Kalesia turned in a full circle. It definitely needed a splash of light, airy color and clutter. Something besides dust to fill the nooks and crannies. Kalesia planted her hands on her hips, disgruntled. Well, okay, so there wasn’t actually any dust. Gabriel was a bett
er housekeeper than she was. Which brought up another point. It just could not be healthy to live in a house this neat and…and mundane.
Take that floor-to-ceiling bay window on the side wall. It cried out for a window seat. A place where you could sit and watch the sun set. A place to relax and daydream.
It was harder to picture Gabriel utilizing the window seat. She grinned. Somehow, she thought he’d still prefer sitting, stark naked, on the balcony. Hmm. Come to think of it, she preferred that too. All that male flesh. Mmm.
She fanned her face. Okay, enough of that. Concentrate, Brannigan. Priorities, here. First a little creative mischief. Strictly for his own good, of course. Lord knew, if there was ever a man who needed a homey, inviting atmosphere, it was Gabriel.
She could jump his bones tonight.
In the ancient garage, Kalesia struck the proverbial gold mine, can after can of paint. And, miracle of miracles, several of them were not white. She chose one that was the bright, cheerful yellow of a crepe myrtle.
Drop cloth spread to catch any stray drips, she set to work with a will on the wall with the bay window. She’d start with just this one wall, pique his curiosity. And maybe mute his anger at her meddling, she admitted to herself as doubt began to stray in. Placing the paintbrush on the edge of the can, she stepped back to survey her work.
What if Gabriel hated it? How mad would he be? She swallowed and consoled herself with the thought that the guys wouldn’t let Gabriel strangle her. At least, she was fairly certain they wouldn’t.
“Damn,” she said under her breath. Her mother had warned her that one day that the streak of impulsiveness she’d inherited from Granny Brannigan was going to be her downfall. Well, it was too late to stop now, the wall was over half-finished. She picked up the brush.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
The wall finished, Kalesia returned to the garage to see what else she could find. Tucked away in the very back, wrapped in protective clear plastic, she unearthed some throw pillows in bold, jewel colors, a very old hand-sewn magnolia-pattern quilt in a frame and several beautiful hand-blown pieces of glass.
Tapestry of the Past Page 15
