Cold Touch

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Cold Touch Page 29

by Leslie Parrish


  “How can you not have noticed that Olivia doesn’t just experience these deaths, that she, herself, dies a little every fucking time she does it? Now get out of my way.”

  She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and stepped aside. Gabe launched up the steps onto the porch, even as he heard the sirens right up the block. He grabbed Olivia, trying to pull her away.

  She resisted.

  Glancing inside, he saw that this time she hadn’t just made a finger-to-finger connection. She’d actually clasped Ty’s hand and was holding on tightly. As if she knew Gabe would try to stop her.

  Damn right.

  He was about to reach in and pry her hand away when he heard her mumble something. Olivia’s eyes were closed, her whole body shaking, tears flowing down her cheeks. Then she whispered something else. “Tell Gabe, ‘Look at the noncustodials.’”

  He froze, shocked into complete immobility.

  Tell Gabe.

  Ty had left him a message? Was that even possible?

  His young partner had heard about what Olivia could do and had believed it—or at least believed it was possible. Knowing that and figuring she might try to use her abilities to find out what had happened to him, he’d used his last coherent moments to try to help solve his own murder . . . and find that boy.

  Right to his dying seconds he’d been thinking not of himself, of the life that was slipping away with every tick of the clock, but of saving somebody else.

  Olivia suddenly jerked hard, one of her hands flying to her chest. She cried out. Gasped for air. Gabe didn’t know what the hell to do, torn between his desire to pick her up and carry her out of here and his loyalty to his partner. He owed it to Ty to listen to his last words, didn’t he?

  It had been a while—nearly two minutes, he felt sure. It was almost over. So, in the end, he simply knelt behind Olivia, pulling her back against his chest but not trying to loosen that tight grip she had on Ty. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her, burying his face in her hair and whispering, “You’re okay. It’s all right. I’m here, Liv. You’re not alone.”

  Please come back.

  She relaxed a little, her breathing slowed to a crawl, her muscles eased and her whimpers stopped. The first ambulance pulled up out front, the siren screaming. But above the din, he heard her say one more thing, something he couldn’t understand. Something about pretty blond hair.

  Then she released Ty’s hand and sagged back against Gabe.

  He sent up mental thanks for a second before rising and picking her up in his arms. As he began to carry her down the steps, Julia hurried over, and one of the members of the ambulance crew ran up as well. “Let us help her, sir,” he said.

  “She’s fine, she just fainted.” He gave the man his name and badge number, adding, “My partner’s lying in the house, but you can’t help him.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe . . .”

  “I’m sure,” Gabe said, feeling the emotion well in his throat again. “He’s gone.”

  As Gabe carried Olivia to Julia’s car, setting her on the passenger seat, a police car pulled up. “Turn on the air conditioner,” he told the brunette before turning away to go speak to the first officer on the scene.

  He knew he’d be telling this story again and again today, so he made it quick, sharp and succinct. Yes, he’d been worried about his partner—they could check his phone records, confirm that with Waczinski. His girlfriend, Olivia Wainwright—yes, that Wainwright, the senator’s cousin—had been worried, too, being a friend of Ty’s as well. They’d arrived within a couple of minutes of each other, him first. He’d confirmed his partner was dead, then stepped outside and found Olivia and her friend there. Olivia had fainted when she’d spied Ty’s hand. Her friend was about to take her home.

  Smooth. Easy. Even almost true.

  After that first conversation, it got easier. He immediately got on the phone and called his lieutenant, knowing every damn member of the squad would be here in a half hour. The SCCPD went a little crazy when one of their own died. And Ty was especially well liked.

  He deserved the attention he was going to get.

  Gabe was about to go talk to the forensics guy who’d just shown up when he saw Julia waving at him, trying to get his attention. Olivia was awake, watching him from inside the car, her wide eyes dominating her pale face. She looked heartbroken and remorseful, and maybe even a little frightened, as if worrying about his reaction.

  She should be. With every minute his fear for her had receded, his anger had grown. He felt like one of those parents who’d yanked his kid out from in front of a speeding car, then promptly slapped him—furious at her for putting herself in danger and for scaring him so badly.

  Angry that she’d gone behind his back—literally—and done something she’d promised him she wouldn’t. He counted to ten, knowing he had to stay calm. She was grieving, just as he was. She was also in pain, affected by the experience.

  And she had something to tell him.

  Walking over, he slowed down enough to hear Julia mutter, “Don’t you be mean to her.”

  He ignored the woman, then squatted down beside the open car door and looked at Olivia’s tear-racked face. “Are you okay?

  “I’m sorry.”

  His jaw tightening, he tabled that apology for discussion at another time. “I’m gonna be tied up here for a while.”

  “You can’t,” she said, her mouth trembling. “You have to go to your station, look through Ty’s phone logs, his computer history.”

  With his heart thudding, since he already knew the answer, he asked, “He left me a message?”

  She nodded. “I heard him as clear as bell. He said my name; he knew I’d hear him.”

  That much he’d already figured out.

  “He told me to tell you to look in the noncustodials. Do you know what that means?”

  He did. “We’ve been trying to ID Zachary in files of kids kidnapped by strangers. There’s another whole classification: kids taken by their noncustodial parents. We just assumed he wouldn’t be there, that all these kids were snatched by the same sick stranger.”

  Olivia rubbed a hand over her eyes, and her voice was filled with disgust as she told him the rest of it. “It will be there. Because Ty said something else. Zachary wasn’t killed by a stranger.”

  The possible explanation hit him a second before she said it.

  “He was killed by his own father. His real father.”

  Stunned, he could only stare, thinking of everything she’d told him about the boy’s death. His awful, brutal death. At the hands of his own father?

  He wondered why he was shocked; he’d seen lots of horrible, abusive parents. And he’d seen firsthand what a grandfather could do. Still, this seemed especially brutal. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. He also mentioned the name John, right before . . .” She reached up and rubbed her chest, as if feeling the impact.

  Gabe knew what bullet wounds looked like. He knew how his friend had died. He clenched his back teeth, not letting his thoughts be derailed. He’d mourn Ty forever, but right now a low, boiling anger had begun to build within him.

  He wanted the man who’d done this. Wanted him badly.

  “If you can find the right case, you can retrace Ty’s steps.”

  Agreeing, he added, “And once I find out who he talked to, I’ll know how the bastard found out Ty was on to him.”

  Then he’d get him. Oh, hell, yes, would he get him.

  Having to ask, since they’d already come this far, he took one final step into her dark nightmare. “Did you see anything?”

  She shook her head, her fine red hair falling down to curtain her face. “Nothing useful. It was dark, shadowy.” He saw the way her throat worked as she swallowed. “If it matters, he fought his heart out. And it was over pretty quickly.”

  His eyes burning, he nodded his thanks.

  It mattered.

  Silent, he rose to his feet. Olivia looked up at him
searchingly, as if wanting to discuss this more. Not just what she’d learned, but how she’d learned it. “Gabe, I . . .”

  He put a hand up, stopping her. “Don’t say it. I’m not ready to hear it.”

  “You can at least let me say I’m sorry. I did what I thought I had to do. And it worked.”

  Glaring, he said, “Oh, the ends justified the means, right? But how long until those means send you right around the bend, Liv?”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Yeah, sure you are. Tell me, how do you expect to ever have any kind of normal life—maybe settle down, get married, have kids—when you’ve got a nightmare playing out in your brain twenty-four/seven?”

  She winced when he said those words, as if that possibility—a life with him—had been on her mind. Hell, it had been on his, too, as crazy as it seemed since they’d only known each other a week. But it had been far too easy to imagine.

  He was falling for this woman, hard, and fast, heart, mind and body. And one thing he knew for sure: They wouldn’t have any kind of life together until she got this monkey off her back. She was like a heroin addict who was never gonna be made whole and well and strong until she kicked the habit.

  “It’s not always . . .”

  “Like hell it’s not. You live in a horror movie all the time. It’s wrong, it’s unhealthy and eventually it’s going to make you want to put a bullet in your head.”

  He heard her gasp, saw her jerk a little and realized he’d done exactly what Julia had asked him not to do. He’d been too hard on her, not that Olivia didn’t need to hear these things, but now wasn’t the time, and this sure as hell wasn’t the place.

  Feeling like an utter shit, he muttered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’ve obviously given it some thought.”

  “Well, I’m not thinking too straight right now.” That was certainly true. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. My lieutenant’s going to order me off the scene as soon as he gets here. He’ll probably tell me to go home for a few days. I’ll make an excuse to go by the precinct first and track down everything Ty’s been up to.”

  She nodded once. “That’s a good idea. Will you please call my office and let somebody know if you need help?” She sounded as though she didn’t think he’d trust her enough to call her directly. “Promise me you won’t do anything without backup.”

  No backup. Yeah, right. He didn’t have a partner anymore; Ty was gone. That reality was going to sink in any minute now. Or any decade, maybe.

  “I won’t,” he told her. “Now, let Julia take you home. Try to get some sleep. I know you need it.” He wanted to reassure her, tell her he hadn’t meant the things he’d said. But how could he do that? He had meant them. He regretted having said them now and in that way, but he’d meant every one of them. He loved her, deep down, he truly suspected he did. But damned if he would ever stay by her side and watch her kill herself a little at a time.

  In the end, though, he simply said, “Take care of yourself. I’ll come soon, and we’ll talk.”

  Before he could leave, she reached for his hand, saying, “Gabe? I’m so sorry about Ty.”

  He squeezed her fingers, thanking her for the sentiment and silently offering her the reassurances he couldn’t verbalize just yet. “Yeah, so am I, Liv. So am I.”

  Johnny had figured Olivia would be alone at her house at some point today. Sooner or later her boyfriend was gonna find out his partner was dead, and she’d come back here to be all sad by herself while he played superhero crime solver.

  That partner—the thought of him still made him ball his fists in impotent rage. “Dirty fighter,” he snapped, still sore from where the man had punched him in the back. Bastard had been strong; he had bruises as big as dinner plates on him. “Shooting was too damn easy for ya.”

  At least he was gone, that particular threat eliminated.

  He wasn’t stupid enough to think he was in the clear. The cop could have told his partner what he’d found out, so Johnny was probably gonna have to kill him, too. But the woman just had to go first. He wanted to take her, terrify her, then cut her throat.

  Johnny sat in his van, the one he used to haul around his landscaping equipment. The one everybody in Olivia’s neighborhood had seen a hundred times parked in dozens of driveways. Right now, it was parked in the one beside her house, and from here, he had a perfect view of her balcony. Olivia was home, upstairs in her room. Alone.

  She’d looked like shit when her friend had helped her into the house, half-dragging, half-carrying her. The flashy brunette had helped her up the stairs to her room, and when she’d left, she’d closed the front door softly, like she hadn’t wanted to wake anybody up.

  An afternoon nap. Perfect.

  It wasn’t an ideal situation. It was daylight, for one thing. And the woman might not be totally out. Yet he couldn’t wait. He was running out of time, needed to finish this, enjoy her while he could, then put her in the ground. A quick packing job, then he and Jackie would be on their way to who knew where to lie low for a while.

  He’d promised he would go away for a while, and he tried to keep his promises, though he wasn’t always successful. Aside from the promise, he couldn’t take one more frantic phone call, one more interrogation from somebody who should have learned years ago to stay out of Johnny’s business. Then again, his cousin’s phone call about that cop had come at a pretty good time yesterday. If not for that call, Johnny might not’a knowed Wallace was on to him.

  His cousin was the one who’d asked him to leave town for a while . . . the one he’d made the promise to. She was all worried about him, thinking his mind had split apart when he’d lost Jackie.

  Ha. If only she knew Jack was safe and sound, tucked in the camper.

  Knowing he had to act now, before people started getting home for dinner, he headed into the neighbor’s backyard and then leapt over the fence. A dash across a few feet of open grass, and he was on her back patio. He’d already tested her locks and knew exactly which door to jimmy.

  “No alarms,” he mumbled, “not like when you was a kid.”

  Not that the alarm had been a problem—hell, he’d had the code, hadn’t he?

  He was inside ninety seconds after he’d left the van. Reaching the stairs, he suddenly hesitated, sure he’d heard something. A creak, or rustle. He peered into the room he’d just come through, then into the one closer to the door, seeing a curtain moving.

  An air vent. Had to be. It was cold as a pig’s ass in here. Hell, right now he felt a chill washing over him like somebody’d dumped a bucket of cold water down his shirt.

  Johnny turned to the stairs, lifted his foot, and suddenly stumbled forward, like he’d tripped over something, though nothing was there. He almost fell, but managed to right himself.

  “Get on with it,” he whispered, climbing the steps with slow, cautious determination. He ignored the strange feelings this place brought out in him—the feeling he was being watched—and went straight into her room.

  She was, as he’d expected, on her bed, sound asleep, curled up on her side with her hands clasped under her chin. He stared at her, Johnny’s nostrils flaring and the black rage building inside him as he thought of what she’d done, what she’d cost him. Jack. Oh, God, Jackie-boy . . .

  He crept closer. The woman on the bed hadn’t made a move or a sound. Nor did she, not until he slapped his hand over her mouth.

  Then she came awake right quick.

  She launched up, grabbing at his hand, her eyes about popping out of her head. But unlike the last time, when terror froze her, she fought hard, scratching and kicking. So he couldn’t enjoy her moment of panic.

  He simply had to lift the gun he was holding and slam it down hard on her head.

  Though still angry at him for saying whatever he’d said to hurt Olivia this afternoon, Julia couldn’t help feeling very sorry for Gabe Cooper. He’d spoken in a moment of horrible stress, in the midst of trage
dy, and she had no doubt he regretted it.

  Because the man loved her. She could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. She’d known it the minute he’d nearly ripped her head off for letting Olivia touch Ty’s remains.

  Concern like that didn’t come out of liking someone. He’d fallen for her friend in a big way, just as Julia believed Olivia had fallen for him.

  There was something else: For the first time since the day Olivia had walked into her office and offered her services, Julia had stopped to think about exactly how much those services were costing. Not in terms of dollars but in terms of Olivia’s well-being. Everyone was always very solicitous of her, asking her to do her thing only when there was no other choice, knowing it had to be awful. But nobody realized just how awful—that it could be killing her little by little. Nobody but Gabe Cooper, whom she hadn’t even known a week ago.

  She eyed the man, watching him dump a bunch of printed-out pages onto the conference table. He’d just arrived, loaded with files, looking grim and determined.

  The first question he’d asked had been about Olivia. Julia let him know she was home, sleeping. The second was whether they’d help him, since he’d been ordered to go home and stay away from the investigation into his partner’s murder. Standard operating procedure, she knew.

  And not damned likely to happen. No more than she’d stayed out of Morgan’s.

  Quickly introducing Gabe to Aidan, whom he’d not yet met, she asked, “So what have you got?”

  “I think I’ve found our boy,” he said, tapping a printout on the table. “I did just what Ty must have done: dug into the noncustodials. I used the dates we had, rough information about the victim and the names Zachary and John.”

  He had made copies of a basic info sheet, and he dealt them to everyone sitting around the table. “John Zachary Traynor. Only child. Kidnapped by his mother at age three.”

 

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