Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  Sam glared at him before slowly retaking her place.

  "If you two are finished, can we get at it?" Irena glared at them both. "We're just about done."

  Brandt walked around to stand behind the artist. He gave a quiet but deadly whistle. "Wow."

  2:34 pm

  Irena shot him a look. "I'm not done yet. Get lost."

  Brandt glanced over at her. He reached for the picture beside her on the table. "Is this yours, too?"

  Irena took a quick peek in between her strokes. "Yes. We started with that one."

  Sam slid lower in her chair under Brandt's intense gaze. "Why?"

  "I do that sometimes. I started with a strong visual to help her to focus on the details. Why?" Irena frowned at him.

  Brandt didn't answer. He studied the diagram. Something twigged, but he couldn't place it. The detail depicted was incredibly scary. Christ, she was good. Inside, he turned cold. His team members were going to have a heyday with this. Anyone would point out the three possibilities – either she was an incredibly gifted psychic, had a deadly twisted imagination, or she'd been there. He knew which one Kevin would lobby for.

  He studied Sam, slouched in the chair. She lay with her eyes closed; gray smudges underlined her eyes, accenting her translucent skin and the fatigue.

  The picture disturbed him. Irena was good. In this piece of work, she'd been damn good. The eerie details made it come alive – or appear even deader. In fact, the picture was damned near perfect. Tossed bedclothes, half on and half off, portrayed the violence with uncanny accuracy. The pool of blood on the mattress and the overturned lamp on the night table added to the impression of a great wrong having been committed. She'd given a death scene a terrible sense of life.

  Softy, he questioned her further. "Sam – this level of detail?" He paused shaking his head. "Did you tell Irena about the blood dripping down on the mattress or the lamp overturned?"

  Stretching her arms over her head, Sam shook her head. "I knew the bedding had been tossed around and that there was massive blood loss. I thought the lamp had dumped because the light came from the floor region. The layout details are all from Irena."

  "You realize this level of detail is what will bother the other detectives?"

  Sam bolted upright to stare at him. "Bother them, how?"

  Pulling a chair up beside her, Brandt laid the sketch down. "They're going to say this picture has been envisioned from someone in the room, not from someone in the body, because if you were to see from her eyes only, you wouldn't have these details in your viewing area."

  Sam peeked at Irena, who was listening to the conversation. "I gave her some details, her years of experience in this job allowed her to fill in the rest. But make no mistake, that picture…" She stabbed the sheet once again in his hand. "Is from one of my visions." She ran her hand through her hair. "Sorry, maybe I'm just overreacting from this morning." She turned to Irena who'd kept working, her pencil swiftly forming and pulling visions off the page.

  Silence ensued in the large room. Brandt knew they were the center of attention. He cleared his throat and cast a glance in Irena's direction. She was studiously working on her drawing, keeping her head down.

  "I didn't mean to imply anything. But for anyone who doesn't really understand how your abilities work, this...stuff seems, well I guess it's a little freaky, and they're going to question it."

  She nodded, refusing to face him.

  "Brandt, Captain Johansen wants to see you."

  Damn. He glanced around at Adam, who tilted his head in the captain's direction. Brandt shook his head and motioned toward Sam.

  Adam grimaced. "That's why."

  Great. Cops preferred to work with what they could see, hear, and touch. That's why he'd brought Sam in today. For these pictures. That, and to hopefully shake loose more details from Sam's psyche.

  "Now. And you're to take the picture with you."

  Brandt glanced around the room only to find everyone suddenly busy – heads down. He glanced at Sam's bent head. "Don't panic. I'll talk to him. Everything's going to be fine. I promise."

  Her eyes said she didn't believe him.

  Frustrated, picture in hand, he strode past the younger detective to Captain Johansen's office. It felt like walking a gauntlet as everyone openly watched. He rapped hard on the closed door.

  "Come in."

  Brandt pushed the door aside and entered the room. The shades were now open, showing the heavy storm clouds of Portland beyond. Tall office buildings mixed with high-rises in the skyline. A busy world operated out there and for once Brandt wished he could join it.

  "Sit down."

  "I'll stand, sir." He stared straight at the captain and handed over the picture.

  "What do you think?"

  Surprised, Brandt could only stare at him. The captain glared up at him. "I think the two of them did a hell of a job."

  The two men exchanged hard glances.

  "Did she add anything new?"

  "Not to this one. They are working on the next picture right now."

  He nodded. Taking his time, the captain examined the picture in detail. "Does the photo match the crime scene?"

  "I haven't had a chance to compare it yet. Still it lines up with what I remember."

  The captain nodded again. "Does Stefan Kronos know her?"

  That threw Brandt off balance. "I haven't asked him."

  A keen glance came his way. "Maybe you should. Kevin doesn't feel this woman is to be trusted. In fact he puts her at the top of the list of suspects."

  "He would." Brandt couldn't hide his disgust. "Kevin has yet to listen to her seriously."

  "What makes you think she knows anything?"

  Brandt pointed toward the sketches. "That."

  The captain stared at the black image again, his lips pursed. "The question is whether the picture is too exact?"

  "I'd have to compare it to the crime scene photos."

  The captain nodded once. "Then do that. While you're at it, get her fingerprints and if she's willing, her DNA. That will either clear her or implicate her. She's either who she says she is or she's a suspect." He handed the sketch back. "Make sure we know which."

  Brandt couldn't believe what he'd heard. "You might want to remember she came in willingly. She doesn't have to be treated with suspicion."

  "Then don't. Just ask her. If she's innocent she won't mind." The captain's lips twitched into a wolf smile that made the hairs stand up on Brandt's neck. He returned to the stack of papers on his desk, clearly dismissing Brandt. "Now get those fingerprints and DNA and get her out of my station before I have a mutiny on my hands."

  Brandt pulled open the door and shut it quietly behind him. Fingerprints weren't out of line; the DNA was.

  Somehow, he had to gain Sam's cooperation.

  Thankfully, she was still focused on the pictures. He watched for her reaction as he asked, "Would you mind offering your fingerprints so we can convince the naysayers that you weren't involved?" He tapped the paper for emphasis. "Like I said, some will take this the wrong way," he added in a low voice.

  Sam froze. Irena even stilled for a long moment before her pencil returned to scribbling furiously.

  Once again, Sam straightened. Calmly, she studied him. Once again, Brandt felt like a lowlife. It didn't matter that this was needed to rule her out, and it was only commonsense. No. It was the right thing to do and would stop the many conjectures and innuendos that were going to fly. Still, he felt like he'd kicked a puppy. Or maybe a cornered barn cat. "It's common to take fingerprints to rule out people."

  "Only when they've been at the crime scene." Her voice was low and troubled.

  Brandt tried again. "I know you're telling the truth. I've just finished telling the captain that exact same thing. That doesn't change the fact that some people here aren't going to believe anything you or I have to say."

  That brought a sharp glance his way.

  "If you do this, it quiets the talk and shu
ts up those that want to put you as the prime suspect."

  "No, it won't," she scoffed. "It will rule out that my fingerprints match those you have on file, but anyone who wants to disbelieve is still going to say that I could have worn gloves."

  Damn. He was hoping she wouldn't figure that out so quickly.

  She hopped to her feet. "I have nothing to hide. I came here to help so take my damn prints." She walked over to stare out the window, her face lean and hard, hurting.

  Brandt hated feeling like a heel. It would help if he could explain it further. This wasn't the time or the place.

  "I'm sorry. This really is the best way."

  "Whatever. Just take the prints and let me go home."

  "Fine." Brandt knew his irritation was unreasonable. She had a right to be dismayed, upset even, but this tired out acceptance upset him. Now that she'd agreed, how could he approach the idea of DNA? He hesitated, wondering how to start.

  She gave him a long flat stare. "What?"

  He sighed and rubbed the top of his head. "The captain would also like your DNA while we're at it."

  She closed her eyes and swayed unsteadily.

  "Easy. Don't faint on me. This is just a Q-tip in the mouth kind of thing. It's not major." He studied her pale face. "Did you eat?"

  Her eyes opened, showing black unreadable pools. "Not much."

  "Let's get this over with so you can get some lunch."

  Sam checked her watch. She was so tired. She'd probably need food before making the drive back to Parksville. Right now, though, all she wanted was to be home alone.

  "Make it fast. I need to return to the clinic."

  Where she felt loved and supported, he had no doubt. He understood how she felt. "By the way, have you called Stefan yet?"

  "No. But it might be the first thing I do when I get home."

  He nodded. "That's probably a very good idea."

  CHAPTER NINE

  4:14 pm

  For about the hundredth time, Sam wiped first one hand and then the other on her jeans. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. Weariness still pulled on her, although much less so. Going to work for a couple of hours had helped some. Especially considering she'd managed to sneak in, take care of the animals, and sneak out without seeing anyone. The last thing she'd wanted was company.

  Moses lay in his usual place, his tail wagging. There was no sign of Soldier. Sam parked and went inside.

  She scrubbed her fingers, up one side and down the other, then she washed them all over again. Using a tea towel, she dried her hands and inspected them again. That there'd been no fingerprint ink to wash off, didn't change the fact she saw it every time she looked. She shivered and tugged her worn sweater around her tighter. Even though the sun shone high overhead, her bones were chilled. It had been a hell of a day.

  Sam could only guess at what Brandt and the other detectives were learning about her now. She reached for the hot water and soap again.

  4:25 pm

  Brandt refused to feel guilty. He'd done his job. That's all. That picture of hers changed everything – and had cemented the captain's opinion. At least he'd agreed to make good use of what she had to offer, with the caveat to keep him in the loop.

  He pushed his chair away from his desk and reached behind his head, locking his fingers together. The captain was right. Brandt needed to ask Stefan about Sam. He'd give Sam another day to contact Stefan on her own, then he'd bring the two of them together, regardless.

  He'd worked successfully with Stefan for years. He knew good psychics could offer invaluable help unavailable through traditional police work. He also knew they were unusual people. They didn't see the world the same as the rest of the population. Senses overloaded easier and they retreated to spaces that soothed their raw souls.

  Sam had her home at the lake for a physical retreat, did she have anything else? Stefan had a beautiful log house, yet his real solace was his art. His stunning, but tortured paintings were known the world over.

  "Brandt."

  Brandt frowned. Kevin. He sighed inwardly. "Kevin. What's up?" He eyed the other detective warily. They hadn't spoken since the meeting in Captain Johansen's office. Right now, Kevin sported a huge smirk on his face.

  Kevin walked to the desk, holding out a sheaf of papers. "Just some research for you. Maybe this will convince you she's not quite what you want her to be."

  He dropped the papers on Brandt's desk and walked out.

  The top fax was a newspaper article. Brandt checked the date, March 10, 1998. The headline read Young Psychic Leads Police on Merry Chase.

  Shit. Brandt sat down for some heavy reading.

  4:45 pm

  Kevin couldn't help feeling satisfied. Damn that felt good. Vindication. Now maybe Brandt would get that witch off his mind and off this case. And the same went for himself. Since this morning's meeting, he'd had a hard time focusing.

  Finally, he'd broken down and researched Ms. Blair's background

  He'd gotten lucky. After just an hour, he'd managed to get enough information to convince anyone – even Brandt. At least it should be enough. As a precaution, he'd copied them and given one set to the captain to read as well.

  Handing the papers over to Brandt felt good. Damn good.

  This woman was treacherous.

  He didn't want her anywhere near his cases.

  8:25 pm

  Waning light flashed on the ripples in the lake. Sam swam effortlessly through the flickering rays. The evening was silent, except for the splashes as her arms cleaved through the water. The long shadows drooped after the heat of the afternoon, dipping deep into the lake for the refreshing coolness. Even the birds were silent.

  Sam continued to swim for another twenty minutes. Tired and content, she dove under the surface before rolling over to float on her back. She closed her eyes and rested. The serenity of the evening slipped under her anger and pain, gently tugging them free to disperse amongst the ripples. Deprived of all else, but the sensation of water lapping on her heated skin, Sam lost herself in the moment. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed deeper. How healing. A heavy sigh, coming from nowhere, released into the air.

  A short bark cut through the tranquility. Sam rolled over to see Moses at the end of the dock, waiting for her. He barked again and jumped around, wagging his tail. Sam laughed, slowly swimming toward the dock. "I'm fine Moses. Don't worry, I'm coming in."

  Moses barked once more before lying down to watch her approach. She'd almost reached him when Moses sprang to his feet and turned to face the house. He barked once.

  Hugging the dock, Sam peered through the shadows. A shadow slowly separated from the tree line. Soldier. Sam watched in wonder as the big dog limped toward them.

  Tears of pride melded with droplets of the lake as Sam hopped out of the water. "Hey, Soldier. Good to see you on your feet, boy."

  She stayed at the end of the dock, her feet dangling in the water and watched his progress anxiously. "You can do it, Soldier. Just a little more." He seemed so weak. Head down, his spine hunched in pain as each foot touched down. Still, he kept coming. He stopped at the end of the dock and lowered his haunches. He stared down at them and whined.

  Moving slowly but confidently, Sam stood up and walked the few steps over to the dogs. Soldier curled his lip, although he didn't growl. Sam bent over and patted him gently on his shoulder. His fur was stiff with dirt. She glanced at the fresh water all around them. It would be a bad idea.

  Soldier glared up at her, his lip curled higher.

  "Yeah, I hear you. Not quite ready for a dip in the lake are you? Maybe in a couple of days, okay?"

  She picked up her towel and dried off. Wrapping it around her, she slipped into her sandals and calling to the dogs, she walked up to the cabin. Single file, they trooped behind her. At the front door, she waited for Moses to come in. Surprised, she watched as Soldier ambled in behind Moses. She felt honored. He'd obviously decided this was home.

  Sam smiled, whisp
ered, "Good night guys," and headed to her bedroom and a good night's rest.

  That night, her dreams were wild and even more colorful than usual. The scenes were brighter than normal. They screamed at her overloud and overbright – overwhelming her in their sensory onslaught. A sexual haze had her twisting and moaning as her body moved to an internal heat she'd never experienced. Large capable hands stroked upwards over her belly, caressing the smooth contours. Slowly the fingers slid higher and higher.

  Sam caught her breath when the hands stilled, the tension coiling tighter inside. She wiggled closer, trying to move into his hands. Warm laughter tickled her ear. She groaned, not understanding the driving need that had overtaken her body. A part of Sam struggled to clear her mind. She didn't have a lover.

  His hands moved again. She sighed with relief, her breath floating out into the blackness of the night. That small part of her rational mind questioned the unusual sexual overtones and the wild colors floating through her mind.

  The rest of Sam's awareness centered on the tormenting fingers and sparks igniting along her nerve pathways. Sensations burned as fire seared over her skin. She churned with an inner heat, a heat that built to the point of pain. Finally, the hands reached the swell of her breasts – and stopped. Sam couldn't help herself, she tried to shift into those magic hands, but they gripped her ribs, stopping her. A groan escaped.

  "Shhh," whispered the dark voice. "We have all night."

  Sam shuddered at the promise. The promise and something else. Something wrong, something off. It bothered her, except she was too caught up in the sexual tension to want to figure it out. She arched high off the bed as he cupped her full breasts and squeezed gently. They coaxed then relaxed then returned to torment her again.

  Sam cried out.

  Dark laughter wafted through the room.

  She shivered. There it was again. That nebulous feeling of something wrong. What was it?