Supernatural Bonds: Trace's Psychic

by Jory Strong

  The fact that she paled at the comment didn’t help to calm him down. “Tell me what you have to do with them.”

  Aislinn slowly sat up. It brought her face only inches from his. “You won’t believe me.”

  Trace closed his eyes briefly. Christ, he was pissed. He wanted to be pissed at her, too, for being involved in this mess. But the only thing he could think about was maybe taking his hand to her backside and pounding her sweet little ass while she writhed on his lap, and then fucking her until she swore she’d never so much as say the word psychic, much less have anything to do with anyone claiming to be one.

  “Tell me.”

  “I never met them. Patrick did. He brought something that belonged to their son over to Inner Magick and I helped him locate Thad. But they weren’t supposed to know. Patrick promised that he was the only one who’d know that I had anything to do with it.”

  Trace opened his mouth, not even sure what was going to come out. But before he could utter a word he saw Aislinn draw into herself just as she had before leaving him at the bar. It was there in her eyes, if he wasn’t very careful about what he said, then she would walk away again. This time for good.

  His heart grabbed his throat and clamped down hard, choking off the words until all he could manage was, “You’d better get dressed.”

  * * * * *

  “Thank you for coming down to the station,” Captain Ellis said, dropping back into the seat behind his desk as the Morrisons took opposite chairs.

  Conner bit the inside of his mouth to keep from snorting at the Captain’s polite handling of the Morrisons. Better the Captain than him. He still didn’t buy any of this.

  Though Conner had helped look for the Morrisons’ kid, and seen their news conferences on TV, this was the first up close and personal look at them. The cop in him took their measure.

  Ordinary. That’s what came to mind.

  The husband was middle-manager plump with too many days behind a desk and too few outside in the sun. The wife was office-worker-styled, glue-on nails, heavy on the hair spray, and already frowning.

  Captain Ellis headed off trouble by saying, “One of our detectives is on his way in with the psychic.”

  Conner grinned, catching Miguel’s quick look down and Dylan’s rolled eyes. You had to hand it to the Captain, he could bullshit without blinking.

  “Why don’t we get started, from the events leading up to the kidnapping of your son through his rescue and any contact you had with Patrick Dean afterward,” the Captain suggested.

  Mrs. Morrison continued to frown but nodded to her husband as if he needed her permission to go ahead. He cleared his throat nervously and said, “I’ll try to be brief since you’re already aware of a lot of the details. Our son was kidnapped on Saturday. He’d been at the neighborhood park playing baseball with his friends, something he does most weekends. Usually he would have gone home with one of his friends or they would have come home with him, but we were going out of town for dinner with my brother-in-law, so he headed home on his own and was kidnapped. All he can remember is seeing an old van and noticing that the sliding door was open. The best guess from your detectives is that the kidnapper used something like chloroform to knock Thad out so he could be pulled into the van without anyone noticing. At least, the assumption is that the kidnapper used the van. No one came forward to identify it. As far as I know that’s still the case.” He paused and looked around for confirmation. The Captain nodded and Mr. Morrison continued telling what he knew.

  “When Thad woke up he was being held in a room that had bars over the window and a slot cut out of the door so that meals could be slipped through. There was a bucket with water and a bucket for going to the bathroom, along with a mattress on the floor and a collection of comic books. When we went to the house with Patrick, we found Thad in that same room. He told us that he never left it, and he never saw either of the two men he’d heard arguing in the house.”

  Conner leaned forward at the mention of two men. Somehow the investigators on the Morrison case had managed to keep that fact under wraps. It hadn’t made the rounds yet. Dylan shot him an easy-to-read look since they were both on the same page—the kidnapper and Patrick Dean arguing about how this publicity stunt was going to go down. But when Dylan opened his mouth, probably to follow up on that theme, the Captain cleared his throat in warning and asked, “Did Dean see the room where your son was being held?”

  Mr. Morrison shook his head. “No. At least, I don’t think so.” He looked to his wife. Her brows drew together. “No. He was in another part of the house. I was the one who found Thad. Patrick left right after that. He didn’t want to be around when the police got to the house. He knew that the reporters would be right behind them.”

  The Captain nodded as though that made perfect sense. Conner shot Dylan a look and grimaced. What bullshit.

  “Did you see Patrick Dean again after you recovered your son?” the Captain asked.

  “No,” Mr. Morrison answered. “We talked by phone. That’s the only contact we had.”

  “Did you know Dean before the kidnapping?” Captain Ellis asked.

  “No,” Mr. Morrison answered.

  Mrs. Morrison straightened in her chair. “My husband and I are active members in our church. Under normal circumstances we wouldn’t have had anything to do with someone like Patrick. But we were desperate. That’s the only reason we contacted Patrick.” She exchanged a glance with her husband before adding, “But we don’t believe that Patrick was the one who located our son.”

  Conner couldn’t remain quiet any longer. “Why is that?”

  Mr. Morrison answered, “Patrick said that he needed something that belonged to our son, something that was important to Thad. We took Thad’s baseball glove with us when we went to Patrick’s house.”

  Mrs. Morrison leaned forward. “Quite frankly, we expected Patrick to put on a show with a lot of mumbo jumbo. We were very surprised when he wanted us to leave the glove and go home. When we didn’t want to do that, he began acting…odd.” Her eyebrows drew together again. “Anxious, perhaps. He insisted that he could help us get our son back, but that he couldn’t get a ‘reading’ with us there. We left the glove, but instead of going home we parked down the street from Patrick’s house. We told Patrick that if he needed to reach us immediately he should call my cell number.”

  “A few minutes after he thought we were gone, he left and we followed him to Inner Magick. He was only in that shop for about thirty minutes. When he came out and got in his car, he called us immediately and said that he thought he knew where to look for Thad. We agreed to a meeting place and you know the rest of the story.”

  “So Patrick Dean knew the exact address of the house?” Captain Ellis asked.

  “No,” Mr. Morrison said. “He described what Thad could see through the window. We drove around for an hour before finding the house.”

  The Captain steepled his fingers. “There are several dozen psychics practicing in this area. Why did you choose Patrick Dean?”

  The Morrisons exchanged glances. Mrs. Morrison nodded slightly. Her husband answered, “One of the reporters suggested we contact him. It was after we went on television to plead for Thad’s return. We didn’t have anything to lose, except our pride, if all she was after was a story. That seemed like a small price to pay if we might get Thad back.”

  Mrs. Morrison gave the Captain a direct look. “We’ve answered your questions. Now we’d like to see the psychic from Inner Magick.”

  The Captain reached over and pushed a button on his desk intercom. “Trace here?”

  A woman’s voice answered, “Not yet.”

  “Call his cell and see how close he is.”

  “Will do.”

  The Captain pulled his hand back. “Which reporter directed you to Patrick Dean?”

  The Morrisons exchanged looks again. It was the wife who answered, “Khemirra Reis. She’s a freelance reporter.”

  Conner frowned. The
name didn’t ring any bells. Thanks to the torture of the press conference that the Captain had insisted he be a part of, Conner thought he would know who the “enemy” players were.

  Captain Ellis didn’t indicate one way or another whether the name meant anything to him. He nodded in the direction of the other policemen in the room and said, “Maybe the other detectives have some questions.”

  Dylan leaned forward immediately and said, “You said that your son was coming home from playing baseball when he was kidnapped. Is that correct?”

  The Morrisons nodded in unison. Dylan continued smoothly, “And yet you took Thad’s baseball glove with you when you went to meet Dean. Wouldn’t your son have had his glove with him?”

  Mrs. Morrison’s reaction was an immediate stiffening of her back and tightening of her lips. Mr. Morrison twitched and hurried to say, “He’d just gotten a new glove for his birthday. That’s the glove he had with him.”

  Conner wasn’t surprised that they had the story worked out. He decided to play the believing cop to Dylan’s skeptical one. His gut told him that the husband was the weak link in this family chain. He focused a friendly smile on Mr. Morrison. “It was probably a lucky break for you that he had the new glove with him. I assume that the old glove held a lot of value for your son. I imagine Dean said that having something like that would make it easier to find Thad.”

  Mr. Morrison’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Yes. I think that’s why we were able to get Thad back so quickly.”

  Conner smiled another friendly smile. “I’m sure the detectives handling your case already asked you this, but for the record, are you convinced that Patrick Dean didn’t have anything to do with your son’s kidnapping?”

  Rather than be offended by the question, Mr. Morrison actually seemed relieved to have it out in the open. He looked over at his wife before answering. “I’ll admit that it crossed my mind. As my wife mentioned, we’re active in our church and this experience is outside of our religious beliefs, that’s part of why we wanted to come down here. We want…we need to meet whoever Patrick asked to help find Thad. We need to find a way to reconcile this with our beliefs.”

  The intercom buzzed and a woman’s voice said, “Captain, Trace just got here.”

  The Captain reached over and pushed a button down. “Thanks, Kathy. Tell him to hold for a few minutes.” He released the button and said to the Morrisons, “Do you have your son’s glove with you?”

  Mrs. Morrison’s lips pursed together for a second before answering, “Yes. I think it’s still in the car, under the passenger’s seat.”

  “Would you mind if one of the detectives goes out and gets it?”

  “Of course not,” she answered.

  The Captain shot Dylan a look. “You followed them in?” Dylan nodded. “Good, then you can go get the glove.” As Dylan left the room Captain Ellis picked up the phone and made a call. “Bell, you still coaching little league?… Good. You still carrying around a sack of gloves?… Good. Get them up to interrogation. Kathy’ll tell you which room.” He put the phone down and compressed the button on his intercom. “Find us an interrogation room. Send Bell there when he comes in. Tell him to lay out the gloves on the table, then make himself scarce. He wants to hang behind the glass with me and observe, fine, otherwise I’ll take responsibility for getting the gloves back to him. When Dylan gets back inside, send him up. Tell him the same thing. Then buzz Trace and tell him which room we’re going to be in. But tell him to hold off coming up with the psychic until he gets the word.”

  Conner could barely suppress a grin. Damn, the Captain was really working it! He looked over to see what the Morrisons were making of this turn of events. The wife had her usual sour expression, the husband seemed like he might be admiring the Captain’s style, too.

  The Captain turned back to the Morrisons. “We’ll ask the psychic to pick out Thad’s glove before introducing you to her,” he said with a straight face that had Conner forcing down a laugh. “Obviously you’ve both been through an extremely difficult time. We don’t want to add to your burden by needlessly involving you in this murder case if there’s no apparent connection.”

  When the Morrisons nodded their heads in agreement, Captain Ellis smiled and rose from his chair. “Let’s head to interrogation.”

  Chapter Five

  The police station was a fascinating place. Though Aislinn had never been in one before, thanks to Sophie’s taste in television shows, the hustle and bustle, the constant sound of telephones ringing, the cubicles with their desks covered in paperwork and used coffee cups all seemed so familiar.

  She sat in the chair next to Trace’s workstation while he spoke to someone on his cellular. He was frowning slightly, but his grip on her hand hadn’t tightened. His thumb continued to sweep feather-soft across her knuckles, offering comfort and reassurance.

  Aislinn wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing. She prayed that the simple gesture came from his heart.

  They hadn’t spoken since leaving his home. The silence made her want to retreat behind her protective walls. That was how she’d survived when she lived among her mother’s people. But to cut herself off from Trace would hurt too much. To be without his touch would be like living without the sun.

  She took a shaky breath. Surely this was the beginning of the heartbond.

  Trace closed his cellular phone and slipped it into his pocket before turning to her. “There’re ready for us.” His voice was a low unhappy growl, but the grip on her hand was secure and comforting. “Let’s go,” he said as he rose from his chair and helped Aislinn to her feet.

  She could feel the interest of the other detectives as Trace guided her toward the door. Several snickered as they passed and Trace shifted his grip to her elbow.

  His tension grew as they made their way upstairs. Miguel stood midway down the hall in front of a closed door. “The Captain wants me to take her in,” he told Trace.

  The fingers on Aislinn’s elbow tightened. “What’s going on?” Trace asked.

  Miguel shifted uncomfortably. “The Captain’s waiting, I need to take her from here.”

  Trace nodded his head toward the closed door. “He in there with the Morrisons?’

  “No.” Unhappiness flickered across Miguel’s face. “Look, let’s just get this over with.”

  The door across from where they stood opened. A uniformed officer led a handcuffed man out of the room. Two other men followed. From where she stood, Aislinn could see a table bolted to the floor and recognized it as an interrogation room.

  Her heart sounded loud in her ears. Scenes from Sophie’s police shows flashed through her mind, scenes where detectives tried to lure suspects into confessing their crimes. She shivered and looked to Trace. His frown was fierce. “I don’t want her going in there without backup.”

  A brief smile lightened Miguel’s expression. “I’ll be with her.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Captain will let you come in later.”

  “Are you going to ask me more questions?” Aislinn asked.

  Miguel shifted nervously which did nothing to calm Aislinn’s increasing anxiety. “This is mainly for the Morrisons’ benefit. It’s nothing to be worried about. Just do what you need to do and it’ll be okay.” He cut a look to Trace. “I need to get her inside now, before the Captain gets pissed and wonders what the delay is about.”

  Trace nodded and dropped his hand from Aislinn’s elbow. For a second the loss of contact made her feel as though she’d been plunged into an icy pit. But before she could become truly afraid, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “It’ll be okay, baby. I’ll be watching. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll take you home.”

  His reassurance gave her the courage to enter the interrogation room and face the task that she knew awaited as soon as she saw all the baseball gloves spread out on the table and overflowing onto the chairs.

  “The Morrisons brought Thad’s glove,” Miguel said as he closed the door and took a stan
ce in front of it.

  Aislinn looked around the room and guessed which wall held the one-way glass. “They’re watching?” she asked, once again grateful for Sophie’s choice of television shows. In so many ways this world was far more complex than Elven-space.

  Miguel shrugged but didn’t answer. Aislinn walked over to stand in front of the table. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Thad’s glove. It looked no different than many of the other gloves, but his signature-touch was a beacon that made it unmistakable to her.

  She didn’t want to select it, didn’t want those watching to have proof of her ability. Yet what choice was there? If she didn’t do this, then how would she get them to believe her if she found anything else that might aid them in catching Patrick’s murderer?

  Aislinn shivered. It violated no Elven law to use her magic in the human world. But there was always a risk in doing so. If she drew too much attention to herself, the elders might notice and rule that she must leave.

  The thought kept her hand tethered to her side for a long moment. But ultimately her honor required her to take that risk. She reached over slowly and touched one of five gloves positioned on a chair. “This is the glove Patrick brought with him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said, letting her hand drop away from the glove as she turned to look at Miguel.

  He shrugged. “They’ll let us know what to do next.”

  She drew a shaky breath and waited. It took only a moment before Dylan came through the door and walked over to the glove she’d selected. Picking it up, he said, “Come on, the Morrisons are waiting for you in another room.”

  * * * * *

  Trace slammed his fist against the wall as soon as the Morrisons left the observation room. “Son of a bitch, I hate this stuff!”

  Conner grunted. “Don’t we all.”

  Captain Ellis continued to stand in front of the one-way mirror. On the other side Dylan entered the room and picked up the glove. “That wasn’t a lucky guess,” he said. “The Morrison kid’s glove looked like at least ten of the other gloves, more if she didn’t remember who endorsed it.” He turned to Trace. “My gut is starting to churn harder on this one. Trace, as soon as the psychic gets done talking to the Morrisons, get her out of here. Conner, hunt down that reporter who put the Morrisons onto Dean.”