by Dale Mayer
Unless the last woman had survived.
He shot to his feet, disturbed. Not possible. Surely not. She'd been cold when he'd left her. She had to be dead. Except her death hadn't been reported.
The problem was, anyone could have seen the ring. He'd worn it as long as he could remember. Someone was sure to have noticed it somewhere along the way. He pondered the implications. First, he needed to make sure that woman had indeed died, then he needed to find a similar ring and wear it to fool anyone who may have thought he'd had on the ring the police were asking about. That way when anyone doubled checked, it would seem like they'd made a mistake. And last – he needed to never, ever leave a victim until he was sure she was dead.
***
9:35am, June 19th
Sam finally slept through the night. No nightmares, no visions, just sleep. Stefan's homework had helped. Lying in bed, feeling rested for the first time in several days, she rolled over and curled deeper into her blankets. Relaxation rolled through her.
If it weren't for the animals waiting for her, she wouldn't bother getting out of bed. Then, room service was a little lacking when you lived alone.
Moving easily through her morning routine, Sam made it to the kitchen and fed her canine family before they had a chance to get upset at the wait. Soldier ate then stood at the front door. Sam opened it and stepped out on the deck. He moved stiffly under her watchful gaze as he managed the steps and the few feet to a clump of trees.
While she relaxed with her morning tea, the two dogs started a ruckus. Sam frowned. Soldier's bark was hoarse, almost a cross between a growl and a bark. Like one long unused.
She walked toward the door and heard the vehicle. Instantly, her nerves reacted. She rarely had visitors, but it was only recently that the sound of an approaching vehicle brought out a sense of dread. Her tension eased when she recognized Price Coulson's car.
The rent wasn't due for another couple of weeks and her landlord came about once a month to check up on her.
"Good morning. How are you today?" She opened the door wider to let him in. She did it every time he came and every time, he refused to step inside. A married man in a single woman's house wasn't proper according to his generational rules.
"The wife sent over a loaf of bread and some cookies for you." His face creased into well-worn wrinkles. "Also wanted to make sure you're doing okay."
"Of course, I'm fine." Sam leaned easily against the doorway. God, she was becoming a good liar. How sad was that?
The old man glanced at her, sharp intellect shining beneath the heavy folds of his eyelids. "It's very isolated here. Aren't you worried about intruders?"
Shaking her head, Sam hastened to reassure him. "No. I've always been comfortable living out in the country."
He shoved his gnarled fingers into his jean pockets. "Now that may be, only it's not the same world today as it was a few decades ago. There are some bad people out there."
"There always have been. The communication systems of today are better so we hear about more cases."
"Aye. True enough. Just last night the news said the police were searching for the owner of an odd-looking ring." He turned to look at the calm waters of the lake. "The wife, she said it looked like a devil’s ring, what with the snake twisting through a garden."
"A ring?"
"Yeah. You don't have television down here so you wouldn't have heard about it."
Sam went cold inside. "They said the police wanted this guy?"
"Just that they were looking for the owner of the ring so they could talk to him."
Almost numb with the ice that had settled into her limbs, Sam shook her head. "Then it's probably nothing."
He pulled out one hand to run through the white fluff around his ears. "Aye. I told the wife that. But well, she worries."
That was the reason for his visit. The pair of them were concerned about her. Unaccustomed warmth melted through her. This was a new feeling. She savored the sensation. Someone actually cared enough to worry. And he didn't even know her.
She shook her head in bemusement. "Are you sure you won't come in for a cup of tea? You can tell me all about it inside."
Price shook his head. "No, no. I promised Mary that I wouldn't be longer than a few minutes." He twisted, pointing out Soldier. "I didn't know you had a guard dog. Mary will worry less knowing you have him down here."
Sam's lips twitched at the thought. "I don't know how much help he'll be. He's with me because he's recovering from surgery and needed a home to heal and be rehabilitated."
The old man's gaze sharpened. "Is he dangerous?" His wrinkles rearranged downward. "Don't really want something dangerous living here. He's too old to be rehabilitated." He stared at the dog. "A bullet might be kinder all around."
Sam refused to take offence, understanding his old-timer ways. After all, he hadn't said anything different than the vets themselves had expressed. "No, he was mistreated, and then hit by a car. Since he's been with me, he's spent his time healing. I don't think he's dangerous." She couldn't help crossing her fingers. "He'll be a great deterrent for anyone out to cause trouble. I think he's a trained watchdog. At least that's what one policeman told me."
The older man's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's good then. If the police and vets are involved, then he's probably fine." He nodded as if satisfied. "Mary will be happy to hear this."
A little later, Sam, with cell phone in hand, watched his pickup head up the hill. Dear God. The ring had been on television. Surely, not the same ring? Why would Detective Sutherland do that? What else had the broadcast said? She didn't quite understand how she felt about this development.
"Hello."
"Hi Brandt. This is Sam. Did you release a picture of the ring to the media?"
A hefty pause stretched out over the line. "I didn't, no. One of the members of the department must have. The first I knew about it was when I saw it on television last night."
"The whole point of telling you about the ring was to help – I just hadn't expected to have it released to the media. I guess I'm more surprised than anything." She took a deep breath. "The thing is, I'd really like to keep my name out of this. I've taken care to build a new life here. I don't mind helping, but I'd just as soon do it privately"
"Understood. I'll make sure your name isn't connected. I don't know who contacted the media, but I will find out." His voice came across strong and determined, and that helped reassure her a little more.
Sam rang off and went to get ready for work. A quick brush of her hair and a check to make sure her face was clean, then Sam grabbed her keys and purse and headed for work.
She couldn't quite stop the flutter of nervousness inside. Why had it never crossed her mind that the police might go public with her information? Why had she never once considered the risk that her identity would be exposed?
And why had this realization come when it was too late to change her mind?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
10:10 am
Brandt stood with his legs apart, shoulders straight and his hands locked behind his back. What the hell? He struggled to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Captain Johansen had called him into his office and Brandt was getting his ass kicked.
"Sir? If I could just interject for a moment." Brandt tried to interrupt the captain's rant, only the man was steaming. Brandt relaxed slightly, and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. He eyed the chairs stacked high with papers. An empty chair sat off to the side – one Brandt hadn't been offered.
"Brandt? Brandt, are you listening to me?"
At the first call, Brandt studied the man opposite him. At the second call, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you ready to listen to me?"
"Damn it." Captain Johansen blew hard and rubbed his temple. Reaching for his coffee cup, he glared at Brandt. "Fine. Talk to me. What the hell were you thinking?" The captain's face flushed red as his voice started to rise again.
Brandt held out his hand to slo
w the man down. "I didn't do it." He enunciated slowly and clearly. "I did not give that picture to the media."
The captain stopped cold. He fixed his hard stare on Brandt. "What?" he growled. "If you didn't then who did?"
"I don't know," Brandt admitted. "I'd planned to ask you that question."
"Why?" demanded Captain Johansen. "I sure as hell don't know. Any ideas? And why wasn’t it you?"
Brandt stared at his boss. "I'd prefer to have proof before I say anything."
"Not good enough." Johansen pounded a fist on his desk. "I want to know what you know – and now!"
What could he say? Brandt shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know anything, sir. I showed the picture at the debriefing meeting yesterday, so anyone who'd been there knew. As would anyone they might have shown the picture to."
"And yet, a couple of names on the force came to your mind." The captain glared at him, waiting.
Brandt avoided answering. "It's the why that bothers me. If someone wanted to help, you'd think they would have included me in the plan. Which means someone may be out to discredit me instead."
The captain glanced at his desk, a frown furrowing his brows.
Brandt added one other point. "Or the department." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "I'll tell you this. Kevin doesn't appreciate me having Sam onboard, except he appears to hold the department in high regard. And Dillon barely speaks to me except yesterday he came to talk to me about the ring. If he did this, he may have thought he was doing me a favor." He shrugged again. "In both cases, it could mean nothing."
"Did you give Dillon the picture?"
"He walked into my office with a copy," Brandt clarified. "All I know is I didn't give it to the media."
"Therefore someone else did." Captain Johansen played with his pen, thinking hard. "And because so many people had access to the sketch, anyone could have leaked it."
"I did fax it to two jewelry stores yesterday asking if they recognized the pattern. It's possible the media may have found out from them." The more he thought about it, the more possible that sounded. "Except they said the police were asking for help."
The captain picked up the phone. "Dillon, come into my office please."
Brandt straightened up. "Sir, I'd like to be able to call these jewelry stores before we accuse anyone."
"And so you should, but I want to know what his take is on this mess."
"Then I'd like to leave so he doesn't suspect me of pointing a finger."
Brandt turned and walked to the door. "In fact, it might not be a bad idea to question everyone," he suggested thoughtfully.
"I know how to do my job, thank you."
A knock sounded on the open door.
Brandt turned to see Dillon standing there, waiting. He smiled. "Hey Dillon. Your turn." He nodded at Captain Johansen and walked out. "I'll get to work, if there's nothing else, sir?" Without waiting for a response, Brandt walked out. Feeling like he'd just barely escaped, he headed to his desk.
Once there, Brandt sorted through the sizeable stack of files on his desk and pulled out two. He tried to focus on them, only his thoughts refused to organize. They kept returning to the news broadcast and the person responsible. Who could have done that?
Still, of bigger concern was the case itself. Picking up the phone, he continued to work down his list of jewelry stores.
***
10:30 am
That was close. How the hell had his name come up – and so fast? Self-consciously, he glanced around to see who might be watching. No one appeared to notice as he poured a cup of coffee and walked to his desk. Captain Johansen hadn't known much so maybe he was doing a check on everyone. Dillon grinned. Good thing he had such an honest face.
Besides, what was the big deal? So what if anyone saw the stupid sketch. After all, the whole point was to learn more about the ring. Who cared if the media asked the public for information? It was more or less a problem regarding chain of command. The captain was pissed because he hadn't known about it. Dillon smirked. Damn well time someone shook his goat. The old man was a control freak.
What had the department come to? What a joke. A psychic for God's sake. She was a joke. A pair of anorexic eyeballs. Talk about someone who should have been shown the door the minute she walked in.
He had to admit, there was an opportunity to cement his reputation here. He didn't know what form it would manifest, but he wanted to make the most of it.
Then there was Brandt. As far as anyone knew, he was here only temporarily. Dillon didn't think so. Brandt had plans he was keeping close to his chest. Dillon could respect that. He did the same thing. Yet, he wondered what was brewing. Brandt had managed several private meetings with Captain Johansen.
Plans could involve the psychic. Whatever she had going for her, Brandt seemed interested. And that was just as ludicrous. Unless mercy fucks were this month's good deed. Dillon chuckled. Yet, she had something to offer or Brandt wouldn't waste his time. Dillon quickly pulled a notebook from the left side drawer and wrote some notes on what he'd found out about her so far.
He didn't have much, just bits and pieces of gossip gleaned from hanging around Kevin's team. Adam was a great source, and of course the office grapevine. That had kicked in days ago. In a place like this, it could usually be counted on for accuracy. It was a start. He'd source out her history and all the rest soon. Very soon.
The bottom line? She needed watching.
***
10:35 am
Brandt spent the rest of his day following up leads. He'd put several phone calls out to hospitals and morgues, checking for anyone fitting the right age and sex of a victim that had been brought in with a drug overdose or as a suicide. He'd found one possible – in a coma at Portland General Hospital. Asking the doctors to let him know about any change on that woman at the hospital, he carried on with his phone calls.
The city morgue offered a second possible victim. This one had little to no paperwork at this point, as she'd just been brought in and would still need to be autopsied for cause of death. He asked to be notified as soon as they knew anything.
Brandt frowned. Thanks to Sam, he had a very good idea of a time frame. Sam. He had trouble explaining his interest. She pulled at his heart, his mind, his emotions. He felt a dull pain in areas he didn't know existed. She made him ache for better times, for happiness, for a life filled with joy.
Spending time with her was like a drug. He liked the effect while under, and hated the sensation when it wore off. After his head cleared, he wondered why the hell he kept going back. Except he knew. He'd been intrigued since the beginning. Sex had never been his goal. He'd long since outgrown his adolescent hormones. He certainly wasn't searching for a mate to have the little white house with a picket fence and the customary two-and-a-half kids like so many of his friends.
When attraction slapped him up the side of the head, normally he ran with it. This time, the way forward held a few roadblocks. Still, he didn't think they'd stop him.
Sitting at his computer, Brandt checked his watch. He had a few minutes before his five o'clock appointment at the university.
***
5: 25 pm
The sun dipped behind the mountain, casting golden beams rippling across the lake. Sam tilted her head sideways, wincing as the pounding inside her head increased. The sun's rays twinkled and disappeared under the water. Mother Nature had outdone herself. Exhausted, she lay in numbed limbo. The sun warmed her jean-clad legs. She was still dressed in jeans and t-shirt because she hadn't had enough energy to go for a swim this afternoon.
For someone who preferred her own company, she'd been overwhelmed by people, recently. She had to watch out and keep centered.
Animals offered a respite for her senses. They exuded calm, peaceful energy waves.
People, on the other hand, lived on emotion. They constantly projected erratic bursts of painful energy. The larger bursts from strong emotions hurt her the most. Happier,
lighter emotions were easier to tolerate. But when people were angry or upset, overwhelmed in grief or even sometimes when they were ecstatic, they exploded with energy. For Sam, these waves became almost solid walls pounding against her.
Everything impacted much more when she was tired. At those times, on top of lowering her defenses, her own talents increased because her ability to keep them shut down was weaker. Her energy both bled outward and sponged inward.
Working at the vet hospital had allowed her to make gains on her protective shields – in part, due to the animals and their energy. Stefan had given her hints on how to release the energy afterward. She should be euphoric at what she'd accomplished, instead she was too exhausted to feel anything except the headache clawing the inside of her head.
