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

by Deanna Chase

  The hands returned to torment her again. "Please..." She tried to reach for him, needing him closer.

  And found she couldn't.

  Just as the sensation of wrongness returned, Sam realized her arms were caught above her head. Caught and held by one of his hands. And the clouds in mind, blurring her clarity.

  He laughed again. Dark laughter became black as his other hand, the one that had so gently cradled her breast, squeezed hard and then harder again.

  Sam arched up, screaming in agony.

  And woke up.

  Still in shock, Sam curled into a tight ball and rocked back and forth under the comforter, her hands cradling her tender breasts. She bolted upright, peering into the dark corners of her bedroom. Relief washed over her. She was alone. "Dear Lord. Thank you." It had only been a dream.

  A dream. Was it possible?

  She stilled. A dream or a vision. She shuddered, the shakes wracking her body once again. Dear God, is this what that animal was doing? Seducing his victims with their own sexuality then turning on them? No. Sam examined the memories. Something had been very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Everything had a surreal look, an overly loud and overly colored appearance to it. A thought burst into her consciousness.

  Drugs. The woman had been drugged.

  Had the other victims? Sam realized her earlier visions had started too late to be able to identify something like that. She wouldn't have noticed a needle prick amongst the other pain. Panic for her life would have dispelled the rest of the drugged dullness away from her thoughts.

  Sam started crying, quiet painful sobs of possibility. She didn't want to know any more. She couldn't deal with it. Not this. After tonight, she might never let another man touch her again – ever.

  Touch.

  She froze. The guy in her dreams hadn't worn gloves.

  Had it been him? Another asshole? Or had it truly been just a nightmare? She shuddered. It had seemed so real. A wet dream gone bad in a big way. Sliding deeper into her bed, Sam pulled the covers to her chin. Only it wasn't enough. She hopped out of bed, snatched up an old nightshirt from the box on the floor, and pulled it over her head.

  For the second time that day – she felt violated.

  9:35 am, June 18th

  Brandt strode down the hallway. One of his priorities this morning was to connect Sam with Stefan. He'd finally managed to reach him early this morning. Now all he had to do was to get Sam to agree to meet him. And he needed to talk to Sam about her past workings with the police.

  The research Kevin had brought him had been less than flattering. Still, Brandt knew that Stefan had some less-than-stellar moments at the beginning of his career as well. The article hadn't given her age and was years ago. She'd have been young and green. Not to mention untrained, which she still was. Hence his push to connect her to Stefan as soon as possible.

  Nothing he'd read had given him any reason to disbelieve her. He suspected Sam could be instrumental on his proposed task force. Not to mention many other ongoing cases. He hoped to cultivate her skills on a regular basis. Even if that meant returning to his old station. At least there, his old captain was amiable to psychics. Ideas percolated through his brain. He'd talk it over with some of his friends – and Stefan, of course.

  Brandt never had liked authority. He still didn't, but with age came understanding that those above were just doing their job to make it better and safer for everyone. Or at least it was supposed to work that way. However, just as there were good and bad guys on the streets, the same could be said of the police department. One still had to believe that most of the bad guys were outside the force.

  "Hey Brandt. Ran the fingerprints you asked for. She checks out."

  Brandt lifted his head. The youngest of the three technicians walked into his office. His name eluded him – something European like Pieter. Brandt smiled and held out his hand for the papers being offered. "Anything interesting?"

  "No rap sheet, if that's what you are asking." The tech pointed to the second page. "This might be of interest. Yeah, she was also a suspect in a missing child case in Spokane, Washington, years ago."

  Brandt's gaze sharpened on the younger man's face. "What? A suspect?"

  The tech shook his head. "Apparently she had information for the police, only they didn't believe her. The end result made her a suspect for a while, until the child was found safe and sound."

  Brandt digested that as he scanned the paperwork. "Thanks, I'll take it from here." Now he understood Sam's odd reaction yesterday. She'd already been through this. Once again at his office, he pored over the report. So, eight years ago she'd tried to help and failed – been mocked even, based on Kevin's material. This file showed she'd tried again five years ago. The Spokane P.D. hadn't mocked her; they'd made her a suspect.

  Brandt shuffled through the file. What was missing in the report was how the child had been found. Had Sam contributed to the little girl's safe return? He might need to call the detective listed on this particular case file. Grabbing a folder, he wrote Samantha's name on the tab and stacked the growing collection of material inside. Brandt leaned back in his chair, hands locked behind his head.

  Her connection to this killer bothered him. It could be the same asshole that he'd been tracking. Both of them changed the method of death, but as far as he could tell, they both favored beautiful young women between eighteen and thirty-five – and all were middle-class, working females.

  His mind flitted through the elements he knew. Sam's killer wore a ski mask, which didn't make sense. Usually the guys who planned on killing their victims didn't bother with masks. After all, there wasn't going to be anyone left behind to identify them.

  He had no way of knowing if the other cases in his files were the same. The victims were all dead. There were never any witnesses, and little forensic evidence left behind. Then there was the ring. If Sam had anything concrete, the ring might just be it.

  She was also connecting with a lot of victims. Most serial killers took time between kills. Sam's visions occurred with only days between them. Some killers went on a killing frenzy until whatever drove them, drained out of their system. Then they went quiet. Sometimes the quiet period lasted months to years. Brandt knew his best chance of catching this killer was before he went off the radar again. Who knew how long it would be before he resurfaced again.

  9:50 am

  Dillon walked into the conference room. Not only had he missed the meeting this morning, he'd also missed breakfast. He was hoping there'd be some scones or a Danish left over. Walking to the sideboard, he smiled. One huge blueberry muffin. Perfect.

  He snatched up his prize and walked toward the double doors. Several papers lay discarded on several chairs. He turned the closest one over. It was a picture of a ring. Wasn't that the one Brandt was researching? He'd heard about it, but this was the first he'd seen it.

  Walking to his desk, he muttered about the dinosaurs in the office. It was hard being a forward moving kind of guy in this place. The mantra around here was always about 'good old fashioned detective work.' Christ, who needed all that legwork? Technology was meant to be used. The same for the media. They were always helpful. At least Dillon had found them so. The Internet was, of course, the best. Why didn't the station have a website where pictures like this could be posted and give the public an opportunity to email or phone in with their information?

  Of course, this was an old argument, and he'd gone several rounds with Captain Johansen over it – and lost every one. Dillon had wanted to host a regular five-minute slot on both the local television station and the radio stations. That had been shot down, too. Still, accessing the public was the cheapest and fastest way to gain information. The department's man-hours, logged trying to find and interview people, were incredibly expensive.

  He took a large bite of his late breakfast muffin. He could understand Brandt not wanting to take that step. Like Dillon, Brandt was new here and didn't want to rock the boat. Dill
on stopped chewing as an idea formed. If he arranged everything correctly, Brandt would get the information he needed, and Dillon could prove his theory. More ammunition to take to the captain. In a way, Dillon would be doing this to help Brandt. Who knew what new information could come to light.

  He grinned. He'd have to think this through. Yet...it sounded like a hell of an idea.

  10:15 am

  Brandt rubbed the back of his neck. The screen scrolled, searching for more cases linking to his killer. Just then, his phone rang, distracting him.

  "Hello."

  "Detective Sutherland. This is Nancy from Willow Health Clinic."

  The manager from the long-term care home. He groaned silently and closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hi, Nancy. How are you doing?"

  "Umm, I guess I'm fine. The thing is I need your help with Maisy again."

  His shoulders slumped. He knew it. His mother was up to no good again.

  "What's the problem?" He winced and held his breath.

  "Umm, well..." She stopped.

  Brandt shook his head, he knew already. Checking his watch – did he have time to whip down there? "Is she causing trouble again?"

  "It's not so much causing trouble…more like she's stirring up the other residents."

  He shut down his laptop. "Would you like me to come by and talk with her again?"

  "Yes, yes. That would be wonderful. She's such a fun lady to have around. I hate to even ask you. But the Board has already stretched the rules for her several times, and I'm not sure that she can skate by on this one."

  Brandt ran fingers through his hair. "How bad is it this time?"

  "She's setting up pools again."

  Brandt grinned. "That doesn't sound so bad."

  "No," the harried woman on the other end of the phone said. "It's the subject matter that's the problem. Would it be possible to have you stop in sometime today?"

  "No problem," he said. "I'm heading in your direction soon, so I'll be there before lunch."

  "Oh, thank you. I certainly don't want to upset her. She's interjected such life here," Nancy said warmly.

  "No problem. I'll see you in about an hour." Brandt rang off. Standing, he grabbed his briefcase and coat then locked up his desk.

  Dillon stuck his head around the door.

  "Hey Dillon. What's up?" Brandt barely withheld his grin at Dillon's suit of the day. This was the classic pinstripe with a matching tie in reverse stripes. But it was in forest green, black, and white. Mafia anyone?

  "I'm just checking that you still need information on this?" He held up the sketch of the ring. "I missed whatever you said at this morning's meeting." Dillon raised an eyebrow in question.

  "I'm looking for the owner. If I can trace it to a store, sorority, or something like that, I might be able to figure out who bought it."

  Dillon stared at the sheet, frowning. "It's a simple enough design. But I don't think I've seen one like it." He turned the page slightly. "Is one of the stones missing?"

  "Yeah, the last time it was seen, one stone appeared to be missing. The others are clear – diamond or zirconium, maybe."

  "Gold, white, brass – do we know?"

  "No. Gold in color is all I have."

  "Shouldn't be too hard to track down. Have you talked to the jewelry stores here?"

  Brandt walked around his desk to stand at Dillon's side, giving the sketch another glance. "I talked to several so far, I've faxed it to several more. So far, the same thing. Not in stock anywhere and no one remembers one quite like this in the last decade or so." Brandt considered the pattern. "It could be a custom job. I'll have to contact the local designers and see."

  Behind him, Dillon asked. "Have you checked online?"

  "Yes and no. I have a couple of people working on it."

  Dillon nodded. "Okay, I'll keep an ear out and let you know if I find anything." He turned and walked toward the doorway. He stopped and turned around. "Oh yeah, while I have the chance, I also wanted to ask if the rumors were true?"

  "What rumors?"

  The younger man grinned, a perfect toothy smile. Some serious money went into that look. "That you've brought in a psychic on this case."

  Brandt refused to let irritation show. "Love rumors, don't you?"

  Dillon smirked. "Yeah. The grapevine here is rampant."

  Brandt frowned at him, hoping to quell his interest. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

  "True." Dillon turned, as if to finally leave again. "Let me know if you need any help with anything."

  "I'll be fine, but thanks for the offer." He motioned Dillon to precede him out of the office. "Time to head out." Brandt checked his watch. He was running late.

  CHAPTER TEN

  10:45 am

  Sam found it hard not to worry while she worked with the animals. It's not as if she lacked for topics. After last night's vision, she was now worried about not telling the police. Her instinct reaction had been no way. Not after yesterday. Today in the light of day, she knew she needed to tell Brandt.

  The worry about what information the police had dug up on her, nagged at her. What if Detective Sutherland contacted that deputy from Nikola County? There was a lot of ancient history there and none of it looked good for her. Chances of the detective believing her story over that rogue deputy's version were nonexistent. She already knew that law enforcement protected their own. What were the chances the deputy had forgotten her? Not great.

  "Sam, can you give me a hand?" The voice called through the swinging double doors.

  Sam quickly closed the door to the rabbit cage she'd been cleaning and headed for surgery room one.

  She pushed open the door. "Jesus." She jumped forward to help. "You could have called me earlier." She reached out to support the large, sleeping Newfoundland dog that was in danger of sliding off the small table. "Time to get a larger table?"

  The other two women laughed. "Careful with the front legs. He's got stitches across the ribs on that side." The three women carefully maneuvered the large animal onto a second table. Then waited to receive him and then move him into an even larger cage.

  Once inside, the dog's wounds were checked, his tubes adjusted for the cage walls and the door closed. Sam stepped over to look at the injured animal. He had to be a hundred and fifty pounds. "What happened to him?"

  Dr. Valerie Brown, the older of the two, smiled and said, "You don't need to whisper, he's not going to wake up."

  Sam's lip twitched. "I know. He's beautiful."

  The other woman, Dr. Brenda Torrance, stripped off her gloves. "Yup, he's gorgeous alright, only he needs to stop arguing with cars."

  Sam sent a sharp question her way. "What, another car accident?" She glanced at the sleeping animal. "How horrible."

  "We'll move him to the back room after he wakes up from his anaesthesia."

  Sam narrowed her gaze. Funny lights played over the surface of the dog's thick fur coat. Weird. Shivers raised goose bumps on Sam's skin. A vision reached into her brain and took over her sight. The dog was hurt worse than the minor repair held together by the stitches. Images crowded her – the dog up in the air, tumbling before hitting his left hip on a fire hydrant.

  "Did he get the cut from the car or from the landing?" She focused on the animal's body, searching for any clues as to what else could be wrong.

  "The front grill of the truck ripped a strip of hide off him. Why?" Valerie asked.

  Sam gazed at her vaguely. "What? Oh, his left hip doesn't look right. But I'm sure you took x-rays, so that hip must be just bruised and not broken."

  Deliberately, Sam left, as if to return to the cages to finish her job. In the other room, she stopped outside the door and listened.

  Behind her was a weighty silence.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Damned if I know. Were x-rays done?"

  A rustle of papers. "No, the owners brought him in for stitches. They saw the accident. They didn't want to
go through the expense of x-rays, if not required. A check-up was done before we came on for the day." More papers were shuffled. "What do you think, should we do x-rays?"

  "I hate taking over cases already in progress. I was told this animal just needed stitches. Shit."

  Silence except for a brush of clothing and soft muttering. Sam could only hope they were checking the dog's hip a little more closely. Nodding encouragement that they couldn't see, Sam followed their actions with one ear to the door.

  "Damn. We need to x-ray his hips. Let's call the owners."

  "She's right?"

  "I don't know, but there's something wrong. Who did the intake on this animal?"

  "I'll have to check the paperwork when we're done."

  Sam grinned. She whispered to the empty room. "There you go boy. Now you'll be fine." She listened for another moment before heading to finish her work.

  It wasn't until later that she realized this was her first vision around an animal. Sam had actually seen the energy over the injured part of the body. The goose bumps had been the first inkling of something wrong. Her heart positively lifted with joy. To be able to do something for animals would be wonderful. Now, if she could learn to control it so she could use it at will. More questions for Stefan.

  "Sam, can you run and do a pickup for us?"

  Sam spun around, her hand rushing to her chest.

  "Sorry." Valerie reached out an apologetic hand. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  Sam blew out a noisy breath, letting her hand drop down.. "I must have been miles away."

  "It's these shoes. They should be sleuth shoes." Valerie lifted her practical working shoes to peer at the soles.

  Sam waited until she had Valerie's attention. "What do you need?"

  "I need you to run over to where Lucy's daughter works and pick up an injured cat. If you don't mind. It's about fifteen minutes from here." Valerie checked her notes briefly. "You were right, by the way, the dog's hip was dislocated and the ligaments and muscles are badly torn."