Divine Justice

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  Jasi listened, her heart pounding in her chest. Something wasn't right. She could feel it. Her mother's business meeting wasn't going so well. But Poppa would be home soon and he'd tell the mean man to go away.

  Footsteps stomped down the stairs.

  She was about to call out to her mother when she saw the man through the slats. He carried something shiny in his hand and he smelled like a campfire.

  No smoking in the house, she wanted to say. That's what Mommy always told Poppa.

  The man paused in front of the closet.

  Could he hear her breathing?

  She hoped not.

  Through the slats, she studied the man's feet. He wore shoes like Poppa's.

  The shoes turned, suddenly facing her.

  Shivering, Jasmine shrank back into the shadows.

  Please don't find me. Please.

  The man jerked his head as if he heard something.

  Mommy! I'm scared!

  "It didn't have to be this way, Cali," the man said, turning away. "But you left me no choice."

  Her mother must have answered him because Jasmine saw him nod. Then he said, "I'm sorry, Cali."

  There was another loud bang, followed by silence.

  Jasmine closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry. She opened them when she heard the front door slam. She waited a few minutes. When there was no sign of the man, she wiped the tears from her face and slipped from the closet.

  "Mommy?" she whispered.

  No answer.

  She must be in the kitchen.

  "Mommy? He's gone now."

  Silence.

  Jasmine stepped into the kitchen. As she approached the counter island, she saw something strange. A foot. It poked out from behind the island.

  "Mommy?"

  She rounded the corner and stood frozen in place.

  Her mother was lying on her stomach on the floor, one hand stretched out as if she were reaching for something. Her face rested on one side and her bright green eyes were open. So was her mouth. There was a funny hole on the back of her blouse and another in the middle of her forehead. Dark red liquid pooled on the floor by her head, and a smear of red streaked across the floor.

  "What are you doing, Mommy?"

  No movement.

  "Is this a new game?"

  Silence.

  Jasmine touched the limp hand. "Mommy, wake up."

  Trying hard to be brave, she sat down on the floor and took small breaths until the coughing stopped. She stroked her mother's face. She wasn't moving. Or talking. She just kept staring at Jasmine.

  She sniffed the hole in her mother's forehead. It smelled smoky like the fireplace. She started coughing and it was hard to catch her breath. The room pulsated around her and a peculiar sensation washed over her as a dense fog crept into her mind.

  Suddenly, she was transported in her mind to the front door. She felt as though she were much taller, an adult. Worst of all, she could clearly see her mother. Mommy opened in a terrified scream. She lashed out, her fingernails raking the side of Jasmine's face.

  Jasmine cried out and touched her cheek. It was not the soft skin of a child. Confused, she rubbed harder. It felt like Pop's face did first thing in the morning. That's when realization hit her. It wasn't her face. It was a man's unshaven face that she touched.

  With the man's long legs, Jasmine ran after her mother. When she caught up, she reached out, but it wasn't her own small hand she saw. This hand was big and gloved. In it was something she'd seen her father holding.

  A gun.

  The hand pointed the weapon at her mother's back. Jasi felt her body jerk as a sharp sound echoed through the house. A burnt smell made her nose burn.

  Her mother fell to the floor.

  Jasmine screamed, and in a flash, the vision was gone.

  Confused, she blinked. What happened? Who was the man? And why had she seen through his eyes?

  The sight of her mother's cold corpse numbed her.

  She wanted desperately to forget everything. The horrible man, the gun…her mother's body.

  Blood. So much blood.

  She didn't want to see it, so she closed her eyes against the carnage and pushed the terror of the past half hour far from her mind. Then Jasmine did the only other thing she could think of.

  She let out a heart-wrenching scream.

  "Mommy!"

  35

  Monday, July 9, 2012

  ~ Vancouver, BC

  Jasi awoke with her pulse racing. "Shit."

  Panting, she thought of the nightmare. She'd seen everything so clearly. Except the killer's face.

  "My God. I remembered more this time."

  She recalled the man's angry voice.

  Cali.

  All these years everyone thought it had been a random home invasion, that a stranger had murdered her mother because they weren't expecting her to be home.

  "But he called her by name. They knew each other."

  There was no doubt in Jasi's mind that her nightmare was a symptom of her unconsciousness finally releasing the terrible memories she'd stuffed down deep inside.

  "I'm starting to remember."

  Something creaked downstairs.

  She sat up and turned on the lamp.

  The clock beside her read 2:54 a.m.

  She listened for a minute, then laughed softly. "You're imagining things."

  Another creak made her heart skip a beat.

  Someone was in her apartment.

  Throwing back the blankets, she reached into the side table drawer. Her fingers paused of their own accord. The last time she'd fired a gun, someone had died.

  A horrifying thought gripped her. What if Zane was still alive? She'd been thinking about him a lot lately. Ever since she'd woken up in the hospital. She'd been confused at first, still lost in the past with Zane, until Ben told her that had been months ago.

  She'd loved Zane. Once. There was no denying that.

  What if he somehow survived?

  Her hand began to shake as an image of Zane floundering in the water came to mind. He'd called out to her. Help me! But she was too drugged. The last thing she'd seen was the terror in his eyes as his head disappeared beneath the water's surface, a trail of blood from the bullet wound in his chest the only thing to show his passage.

  She swallowed hard. But what if he'd faked his inability to swim? Whoever heard of a guy from an island not being able to swim?

  Gathering her courage, she grabbed the Beretta. The gun felt alien, and that bothered her. She'd always thought of her weapon as an extension of herself, at least when she was facing danger.

  Her senses tingled, suddenly alive, receptive.

  She could hear the clock ticking in the hall. She could smell the cleaner from the gun cloth she'd used the night before.

  With the Beretta in hand, she tiptoed down the stairs, hesitating at the landing, listening. A shuffling sound came from the living room. Then all was silent.

  She waited.

  Who the hell was in her apartment? And what did they want?

  Determined to find out, she inched down the stairs. Her heart pounded and she fought to contain shallow breaths. When she reached the archway that led to the living room, she pushed her back against the wall and peeked around the corner.

  The room appeared empty, but she could feel another presence. Slowly, the intruder emerged from the shadows and moved toward the fireplace mantle. Moonlight from the window over the sofa illuminated a tall, daunting form.

  Jasi could tell by the build that it was a man. A big man.

  Zane?

  Startled by her thoughts, she bit back a gasp.

  What the hell, Jasi! Zane is dead.

  Besides, the intruder was taller, broader in the shoulders.

  The man had his back to her, his attention fixed on the display of photographs on the mantle.

  She frowned. He broke in to steal my photos?

  He was staring at a photograph that her brother had taken of
her, the one where her hair was loose in a spring breeze and where for one brief moment she had forgotten that she entered the minds of deranged killers for a living. On that one perfect day, Jasi and Brady had gone to Stanley Park and picnicked in the grass. They were goofing around when Brady snapped the picture.

  But what did this man want with the photo?

  Silently she approached him, her trembling hands gripping the cool metal of the gun. She took two steadying breaths, then moved closer, aiming the gun at the middle of the man's back.

  "I have a gun aimed at your head," she said between her teeth. "I advise you to put down the picture and raise your hands where I can see them."

  The man silently obeyed.

  "Now turn around," she said. "Slowly."

  The hands held up in surrender were strong hands, familiar hands. Hands that had held her, touched her, caressed her.

  "I thought you said you were aiming for my head," Brandon Walsh said with a smirk.

  She raised the gun. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I came to see you, silly."

  With the gun still trained on him, she glanced at the H-SECS display panel. There was no sign that he'd tripped the alarm.

  "How'd you get in?"

  "Ben gave me the code."

  "He wouldn't do that," she scoffed.

  He shrugged. "Okay, I guessed the code."

  "That's impossible," she said dryly.

  "Eight digits. I knew there was only one date that would be permanently etched in your mind."

  She flinched. "The night my mother was murdered."

  "And here I am."

  She lowered the gun a few inches. "But…but you left."

  "I had to tie up some loose ends." He frowned and moved closer. "You should put that thing away."

  You should put that thing away, Jasmine.

  Her mind shifted to the last time she'd held a gun on a man she loved. Zane. He'd said the same thing to her. And she'd shot him.

  "You're not going to make me shoot you, are you?" she said, her voice stretched thin like a worn elastic band.

  "That wasn't in my plans, Jasi."

  She lowered her hands. "What exactly are your plans?"

  Brandon tipped his head. "Well, for starters, this."

  He strode toward her, grabbed her and kissed her hard. The kiss softened and his lips caressed hers with driving passion. And something else. Longing?

  "Brandon…" Her words were carried on a sigh.

  "And this." His mouth followed the arch of her neck down to her shoulder where, with nibbling kisses, he nudged aside the thin strap of the teddy.

  Heat spread throughout her body, flowing downward, a cascading waterfall of emotions. Somewhere in the heat of the moment the gun fell to the floor and she kicked it aside, thankful that the safety was still on.

  She pulled away and took a breath. "And?"

  He backed her against the wall. She stopped breathing and watched his hooded eyes swoop down. His mouth claimed her again, this time soft and sweet. A moan started in the back of her throat and found its way to the surface.

  His hands explored her, and she didn't want them to stop. When he slid the straps of the teddy down her arms, she made no protest. His hot hands swept under the teddy, capturing her breasts and lifting them. His prize.

  "God," she said with a moan.

  He raised his head, grinned, then his tongue trailed down her neck, over her chest where her heart was beating rapidly, toward her breasts. She closed her eyes as his mouth clamped down on one hardened nipple, eliciting a wave of pleasure that rose and ebbed like a tide.

  Then suddenly the contact ended.

  "No," she said with a whimper. "I want more."

  The look he gave her melted away any reservations she might have had, and then his head swooped down between her breasts. She moaned at the contact and he raised his eyes to hers.

  In a husky voice he said, "Then more you'll get."

  Much later she watched Brandon sleep. Through the sheers at the far end of the bedroom, faint rays from the rising sun painted his skin with streaks of pale yellow and peach. In the tangle of sheets, he'd thrown one leg over hers and his hands clasped one of hers under his chin.

  She took a moment to study the angular line of his jaw, the finely arched brows, his sensuous mouth. She snuggled closer, allowing a smile to cross her face. Slowly, she reached out and lightly traced his lips. She wanted to kiss them.

  Every day for the rest of my life.

  The thought surprised her.

  She wasn't one to plan too far ahead, but suddenly she couldn't think of her life without Brandon in it. When he'd left after the Gemini Murders, she was lonely―although she refused to show it. For the days before the infection had set in she'd told herself it was better that way. Better for both of them.

  Watching him, she knew now that she needed Brandon. It was time to let someone back into her life. Time to live in the present, to rid herself of the past.

  She closed her eyes and recalled her coma nightmare. She'd relived an awful time in her past, one she longed to forget. She'd thought of Zane often over the months following his death. Every time, she was left with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

  Now Zane's face swam before her, his pleading eyes, his outstretched hand. She couldn't help him back then. She realized that now.

  You made your choice, Zane. Now I'm making mine. I'm letting you go once and for all.

  In her mind, she saw her hand reach out toward him, but instead of trying to save him, she pulled her hand back and watched his head dip below the surface.

  Goodbye, Zane.

  "Penny for your thoughts."

  Her eyes flared open.

  Brandon was watching her from half-hooded eyes. "I hope you're thinking of me."

  "How'd you know I wasn't sleeping?" she asked.

  "You breathe differently when you're sleeping." He grinned and kissed her on the nose. "So…have you got anything to eat? I'm starved."

  "There's one thing you should know about me. I don't do domestic."

  "I should've known. Martha Stewart's granddaughter you're not." He chuckled and threw back the blankets. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he pulled on his boxers. "I could make breakfast. Providing you have something edible in that fridge of yours."

  "How about breakfast out?"

  "We need to talk first." His voice was ominous. "And I'd prefer to do it here."

  "What, as opposed to in public?" She bit her lower lip.

  Here it comes. The brush off.

  He studied her intently. "I'm leaving my job in Kelowna."

  Her heart fluttered, then sank.

  "Don't go," she said in a quiet voice. "I was wrong before. I thought I'd be better off alone. But I'm not."

  "Jasi, I―"

  "I need you in my life, Brandon Walsh. I want you in my life. You…you…"

  "Complete you?" Brandon grinned.

  "Stop making jokes," she demanded. "This isn't funny."

  He grabbed her hands and lifted them to his lips. "I'm not leaving you. I'm moving here. To Vancouver."

  He took a visible breath and she wondered what he could possibly say that would make him this nervous.

  "Jasi, I had a meeting with Matthew Divine."

  Confusion scored her forehead. "Why?"

  "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."