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

by Deanna Chase

  "Is what true?"

  "She saw this victim as she died, didn't she?"

  Brandt groaned and closed his eyes. "Shit, did I slip up and say something to Adam? God I must have been really tired to have done that."

  Kevin snapped his fingers, almost laughing out loud. "Yeah, that might have been who told me."

  Captain Johansen's door was ajar when Brandt arrived. He knocked and pushed it open.

  "Come in, Brandt. Take a seat." The captain gestured toward the single chair not piled high with file folders.

  Closing the door behind him, Brandt made his way to the lone chair and sat.

  The captain glanced at him. "Brandt. What's this about your psychic and another murder?"

  Brandt said, "It's true. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to catch you up on the latest since coming in from the crime scene."

  "You know what will happen if this gets out?" Captain Johansen always had the department's image on his mind. "How close was she?"

  "Spot on."

  "Damn."

  Brandt understood how he felt. "It's not as if we're the first department to have used psychics." Brandt swept his arm toward the wide expanse of glass. "Besides, this is department stuff and the media shouldn't ever know – unless someone tells them."

  Captain Johansen glared. "What about her? How are you going to stop her from stepping into the limelight? She could make a huge promo out of this case."

  "Sam's not the type."

  Brandt watched in fascination as Captain Johansen's beetle brows crinkled, almost meeting in the center of his forehead.

  "Everyone is the type. You just have to have the right circumstances to bring it out."

  Brandt stared out the window, refusing to be drawn. Captain Johansen was a hard-ass who'd apparently run the department fairly for many decades. His beliefs were little enough to put up with.

  "Well, I'm saying that Sam isn't like that – but believe what you want."

  The captain shuffled the papers on his desk. "So what did she see and what did she miss?"

  It took a few minutes to give him the rundown. He finished with the one thing Sam hadn't seen. "She didn't mention the trophy. And we don't know why her ear was cut off or where it is."

  "That's how it works with psychics. They get some of the information right and they get a lot wrong." Captain Johansen doodled on a notepad in front of him, obviously deep in thought.

  "True enough." Brandt leaned forward. "This isn't for discussion with anyone else, but I actually saw her go through a vision." He gave a brief version of what he'd seen at Sam's cabin that night. The memories of the cuts appearing on Sam's fragile body haunted him.

  "You saw these cuts appear and disappear – and you weren't drunk?"

  Brandt stared into Captain Johansen's eyes. "God's truth. I swear I watched the cuts appear and then disappear. There was blood everywhere. Jesus, I panicked."

  "Why didn't you call 911?"

  Brandt's lips twisted. "I almost did. I managed to get through to Stefan first."

  The captain squinted up him. "That would have helped. Did Stefan have answers?"

  Brandt nodded. "And thank God he did. I would have caused more damage if I'd touched her. Maybe permanently."

  "I don't know what to think about this stuff, however, I know several good cops that swear by Stefan."

  "Sam isn't as strong or as secure in her abilities as Stefan. The good news is he's going to help train her. Sam's fragile. She needs to learn to protect herself." Brandt geared for the blow. "And that includes being protected from this department."

  The captain leaned forward, glaring at Brandt. "What does that mean?" Larger than life, the captain never backed down from a fight. He had no trouble calling a spade a spade, and he always stood by his men. At six-foot-six, he was built like the football player he used to be.

  Brandt glared back. "I can't forget about the ring diagram incident. Someone could also take it into his head to release personal information about Sam." He paused.

  "But why?" The captain pounded his fist. "It wouldn't be someone from here. They'd know the damage something like that could cause the department."

  "More likely to discredit me."

  He waited a beat. "There's another possible complication."

  The captain leaned forward. "Let's hear it."

  Brandt quickly related what he knew about Deputy Brooker and what had been done to Sam, years ago. And the couple of incidents in the last few days.

  The captain very clearly, very succinctly, said one word, "Shit." He shifted his great bulk deeper into his chair. It took another few minutes before Captain Johansen spoke again. "Bring her in. I think it is time I met this person."

  "And how am I going to do that?"

  "I don't know. That's for you to figure out. Just do it."

  Ten minutes later, Brandt reached Sam by phone. "When?" Her tone somehow managed to convey weary acceptance. Damn she sounded tired.

  "Today. Now would be good." Now that she'd agreed, he didn't really care, just the faster the better.

  "I'm at work. I have roughly another hour-and-a-half before I'm done. Say about 1:30 pm. Does that work for you?"

  'That would be great."

  He hung up the phone and then remembered. Crap. His mother. He glanced at his watch. He was going to be late. Ah hell. Grabbing his keys, he locked his office and ran.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  1:07 pm

  Sam sat stiffly in her chair in Brandt's office. As soon as she'd arrived, Brandt had excused himself. What the hell was up with that? He'd mentioned something about the captain wanting to speak with her.

  Hearing a noise, she turned to watch as one of the clerks walked in, smiled, and dropped a stack of mail onto Brandt's desk. Of course, there was no Brandt.

  Just when she'd determined to go searching for him, Brandt walked in, followed by a huge man who dominated the small office.

  Sam shifted to the side, slightly intimidated at the outright bulk of the two males. She tucked her fingers under her thighs, hoping to still the nervous rapping on the chair.

  "Sam, this is my boss, Captain Johansen."

  Surprised, Sam could only smile and nod. She shifted to the one side of her chair again.

  The captain gave her a gentle smile that was at odds with his size. "It's nice to meet you, miss." He sat down on the chair beside her.

  Sam could feel her eyes grow wider. She struggled against the nervousness threatening to overwhelm her. The captain smiled again. It didn't make her feel any better.

  "What can I do for you, Captain?"

  "I've spoken to Detective Sutherland here." Captain Johansen glanced at Brandt. "And he's told me a lot about you."

  Sam whipped around to stare at Brandt. "Did he now?" Her eyes bored a question into the hapless target. When he nodded slowly, she slumped into her chair and closed her eyes, just barely holding back a groan. "Great," she whispered barely above an audible tone.

  "Now I'm not saying that I agree with all this stuff, but I'm willing to trust Brandt. He says you have some impressive data. The problem is, I don't really want the public to know that you've been helping us."

  That made sense, sort of. "Good. Neither do I."

  He pursed his lips, gave a decisive nod, and continued. "Then we agree on that." The captain fell silent, Brandt stayed quiet, and Sam didn't know what to say.

  "Why are you're telling me this?" She felt suspiciously under attack again.

  The captain gazed at Brandt, one eyebrow raised.

  "Stop it. No silent conversations between you two. Talk to me," she snapped. She glared at the two men.

  Brandt hid his smile.

  Captain Johansen opened the discussion. "We'd like to be able to use any information that you have for us. Like the ring. You know about the ring sketch on the news, right?" At her nod, he continued, "That wasn't supposed to happen. Still, it is bringing in tips on our hotline. There is a slight possibility that other information was acce
ssed at the same time, but only a very slim chance."

  She didn't know what to say. "Am I in danger?"

  Again, the two men exchanged glances.

  "I don't think so. Your address is a PO box and not a house address, so that would slow down anyone searching for you," said the captain. He took one of her hands in his. "I just need you to be careful until we get to the bottom of this."

  "That's a little hard when you don't know what the threat is or where it's coming from."

  Captain Johansen spoke up. "The killer doesn't know about you – does he?"

  That was a horrible thought. "No I don't think so. Unless someone told him, or he's psychic, too. The chances of that aren't great."

  He nodded. "Right. So just be careful."

  Paper rustled as Brandt casually sorted the stack of mail on his desk. There was a small padded envelope in the stack. Grabbing scissors, he cut the tape.

  Sam watched him. "An early Christmas present?"

  Brandt snorted. "Not likely. The paper came off and the top of the box followed.

  "Ohh, God. What is that?" Sam cried out as a nasty odor permeated the room.

  The captain dropped her hand and damn near pounced on the parcel. Bits of paper went flying. The lid was slapped down and both men donned gloves from a box sitting on the filing cabinet. As Brandt reached for the box again, the captain held his arm and nodded in Sam's direction.

  Brandt, realization coming into his face, nodded and walked around the side of his desk. He put an arm around Sam's shoulders and urged her out the door. "Sam, come sit out in the hallway. I'll get you a coffee. There might even be a fresh pot, if you're lucky."

  Before she had time to register the offer, she'd been seated outside, and he'd already returned with a hot cup of coffee and a stack of magazines. "I'll be right back. Sit tight."

  Sam, her hands burning with the heat of the Styrofoam cup, sat in numb silence. For all their efforts, there was no way to hide the smell or the fast glimpse she'd seen. She couldn't be sure, but she thought the box contained an ear: a bloody ear, still wearing an earring.

  Several men came in and out. She watched, blind to most of it. The office swelled with people. Someone dropped a stack of paper on the chair beside her, someone else came and picked it up. Sam saw a small piece of paper on the floor. Not bigger than a half inch and was mustard colored like the package. Surely, it was important, too. She couldn't let the idea go as people walked over it and beside it – yet always missed it. Taking advantage of a lull, Sam snatched up the tiny piece, before plunking down on her chair again.

  Instantly, the station disappeared as an unexpected door opened. She couldn't think. She couldn't focus. She couldn't see. She was lost in a black haze. Her hand holding the hot coffee ceased to hurt. Her surroundings ceased to exist. She walked in a grey fog, pulled down a path she'd never walked before.

  Evil called to her, laughed at her, and even caressed her arms as she travelled. She knew there was something she had to do. Some reason for being here. But what? She didn't want to be here. It was dark, scary, and so very cold. The smell, God, the smell resembled a garden planted full of decomposing bodies. She felt compelled to walk forward. The fear and uncertainty diminished. The need increased. By now, the blackness soothed even as it hypnotized. She walked forward, uncaring where she went.

  Then she heard it.

  Mocking laughter filled the air, her ears, and even her soul.

  Sam screamed.

  1:30 pm

  Jesus. Sam.

  Brandt bolted in her direction and still came in behind the group filling the hallway. Where was she? Her high-pitched scream shut off abruptly. Brandt wrestled through the crowd to her side.

  The captain was already yelling at everyone. "Give her room. Come on everyone, move back."

  The crowd grumbled, giving way under his orders – slightly. Brandt spun around and glared at them. "Come on. Give her some air for Christ's sake. Sam? Sam, are you alright?"

  This time several of the spectators broke away and headed back to their own duties. Only a few of the braver souls remained.

  One of them asked, "Do you want us to call for an ambulance?"

  Brandt checked Sam over. Pallid whiteness defined her face. Blue veins pulsed steadily down the gentle line of her throat. She was breathing slowly, evenly. She was either right out from a vision, or she was comatose from an injury. As she hadn't been on her own long enough and there were no visible signs of injury, he presumed she was reacting on a psychic level. Her hands gripped a piece of brownish-gold paper clenched in one hand.

  Not sure if he should be touching her at all, Brandt plucked the offending piece out of her hand and took a closer look. It appeared to be a piece from that grisly package. If so, it could explain her fugue now. Turning around, he found only the captain and Kevin remained.

  "Is she okay?" Kevin stood to one side, doubt and confusion in his eyes.

  "What's the matter with her?" whispered the captain, crouching down beside him.

  Brandt opened his hand to show him the paper. "I think she touched this, unwittingly, and it's sent her in a psychic state."

  "What does that mean?" The captain studied her. "She's awfully pale. Is she okay?"

  "I think so. I don't really know."

  Her position looked so uncomfortable. Her body slouched sideways. She'd fall any minute. His office wouldn't offer anything more comfortable. The captain was obviously thinking along the same lines.

  "Can we get her into my office? We can lay her on the couch there."

  "Only we're not supposed to touch her."

  "But we can't leave her here. She's going to hit the ground in a minute."

  Decision made, Brandt slipped his arms under her legs and back and carried her to the captain's office. Once there, he gently laid her down, her head on a pillow. She moaned with the jostling movements.

  "Sam. It's okay. Take it easy."

  Her eyes flickered. Brandt eased back in relief. She was waking up. He didn't know what had happened, though he could make an educated guess. She really had no control. When visions took her over, it was as if she stepped out. He couldn't protect her – not from her own abilities. Not an easy thing to admit. He admired her guts. But he was damn sure he could not live her life.

  Sam's eyes had a glazed look as awareness slowly returned. She glanced around the room, a frown wrinkling her face. "Where am I?"

  "This is the captain's office. We moved you in here so you could lie down. How are you feeling?"

  "Huh? Did I have another vision?" Her frown turned pensive as she thought deeply. "There was such blackness. The world smelled dead." She turned to him, a wave of sadness making her eyes huge wells of pain. "It was her ear, wasn't it?"

  At the reminder, Brandt winced. "I'd hoped you hadn't seen that."

  "Just a glimpse." She rolled her head against the couch. "That was enough."

  "I'm sorry. You should never have been exposed to that."

  She grimaced. "Really, what do you think my nightmares are like?" Bitterness tinged her voice, melding with the sadness. Brandt managed not to wince again but just barely.

  Staring around the room, he found the captain sitting at his desk, listening in. Kevin stood beside him, watching, a deep frown of concentration across his forehead.

  "Did you..." Brandt hesitated, "Did you learn anything useful while you were in this place? Wherever it was." He studied her reaction.

  "I don't know where I was either. I think..." she hesitated.

  "Go ahead."

  "I think I connected with the killer this time. But I can't be sure." She looked at each man, one at a time. "I think I was inside his mind. A black pit of darkness that lost its way a long time ago. He thinks you're all useless idiots and that you'll never catch him."

  Kevin butted in. "That covers every criminal out there."

  Brandt nodded, but kept watching Sam. "Anything else?

  "He's old energy. He's been doing this for decades. H
e won't ever quit. You'll have to kill him."

  "My pleasure." And Brandt meant it. He'd bring him to justice if he could. However if not, well sometimes that was the best way all around. "Do you know anything about what he's planning next? Where he is? What he's doing?"

  Sam's eyelids drooped and a faraway look came over her pale features. "He's waiting. He's rubbing his hands gleefully and imagining your face, your reaction when you open the gift."

  "Why? That gift doesn't make any sense. We already have his victim. The ear makes no difference." The captain spoke up for the first time.

  A large tear welled up in the corner of Sam's eye. Brandt reached over and gently wiped it away.

  "It's not her earring. It's her ear, yet another woman's earring."

  "Another woman?" Captain Johansen surged to his feet. "What, there's another victim?"

  "He thinks you won't figure it out. It's an older victim. His trophy from the drugged one. He doesn't want to keep it. She's not a memory he wants to honor. She was a failure for him."

  "Sam." Brandt gently tapped the side of her head. "Sam, wake up."

  "Is she aware of what she's saying?" Captain Johansen came around his desk to bend over and see for himself.

  Kevin jumped in. "Do you think she was telling the truth?"

  "The truth as she knows it. Yes." Brandt stroked her cheek gently, willing her to come to awareness. It took another moment before she opened her eyes again.

  "Please quit doing that, will you? It scares the hell out me." He was rewarded with a half-smile. "Are you back now?"

  It was weak but it was a nod.

  "Then sit up," he said and half tugged her upright to lean against the overstuffed couch cushions. "Maybe now you won't go under again."

  Sam curled into a small ball, huddling with her knees to her chin. A blue color highlighted her cheekbones.

  "Jesus, you're freezing." Brandt searched the room for something to cover her. Captain Johansen walked over to a coat stand in the corner and pulled down a large wool overcoat. Sam gratefully snuggled under the warm material.