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

by Deanna Chase

  Claude placed a hand on Jon-Luc's shoulder. "I am very sorry, my friend. This must be a shock."

  "That's putting it mildly." He stood. "I've got to get out of here." He swallowed back bile as he raced for the door.

  "Of course." Claude gave directions to his men before he left the room. Jon-Luc waited for him in the hall. Claude slapped Jon-Luc on the back as he walked past. "Come on. We have much to discuss. Let us go down to the cafe."

  Claude ate a sandwich while Jon-Luc simply drank coffee. Although it was lunch time, Jon-Luc had lost his appetite. He'd chased a lot of deranged killers in his career, but none had become personal, until now. This fucker had no idea who he was dealing with.

  "So where were you last night?" Claude asked around a mouthful of food.

  Jon-Luc, who'd been staring out the window, turned toward his friend. "I paid a visit to Chateau Beauchamp."

  Claude's brows raised. "That explains why you were just getting back this morning."

  "Yeah, that was an accident." Jon-Luc took a sip of coffee.

  "Really. And how do you accidentally make love to a beautiful woman, hmm?" Claude smiled.

  Jon-Luc grinned back. "That part wasn't an accident, just a pleasant surprise. No, spending the night was the accidental part. I didn't intend to do that."

  "Ah, she wore you out, did she?"

  Jon-Luc cleared his throat. Claude waited for him to reply. Jon-Luc decided to let him wait.

  Claude finally gave up. "Did you go there for business or pleasure?"

  "I wanted to see Angie, of course, but that was only part of the reason for the visit. I was looking for Michael D'Arcy."

  Claude picked up his coffee. "And did you find him?" He took a drink, then resumed eating.

  "Not last night, no. But I caught up to him this morning."

  "So, it was fortuitous that you spent the night then, oui?"

  Jon-Luc barked a laugh. "I guess it was."

  "I will need to corroborate your alibi?" Claude stated.

  "Of course, I understand. Just be gentle, I don't want Angie freaked out anymore than she already is."

  "I will take the utmost care when questioning her," Claude added.

  Jon-Luc looked back out the window where he spotted Jeanette, the stewardess from the plane. His smile faded. She stood naked in the middle of the rose garden. Blood dripped down her body, pooling at her feet. She mouthed the words 'Ring me'. Then she was gone. Jon-Luc shut his eyes and shook his head as if that would erase the imagine from his brain.

  "What?" Claude's voice appeared loud.

  Jon-Luc opened his eyes and stared at him. "Nothing."

  "You don't look like it's nothing. You are pale, my friend."

  Jon-Luc nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure I am. It just makes me sick to think a young woman is dead because of me." He glanced out the window once more, but she was nowhere to be found.

  "You can't blame yourself. What did you learn about this D'Arcy character?"

  "I talked to my friend at WITSEC last night and he's not one of theirs, so I contacted another friend to do a computer search. When I talked to D'Arcy this morning, he was evasive. I did gather a bit of information though." Jon-Luc filled Claude in on the conversation. "I left a message for my friend Jake with the info, but I'm afraid he's a little tied up at the moment. He'll get back to me as soon as he can."

  "Good work. It's more than we had this time yesterday."

  "True. Do you have any news for me?"

  "Yes. I had them speed up the toxicology on our latest victim and you were right. She had no alcohol or drugs in her system. Her stomach contained a small amount of undigested fromage and bread. It is apparent she ate these things right before being murdered."

  "Bread and cheese. Like something a woman would eat who was going out drinking but didn't want to get sick."

  "Oui. Wonder why he did not wait until she was at least a little inebriated before approaching her? I would think she would have been easier to overpower."

  "Like I said, he couldn't wait." Jon-Luc stared out the window and remembered his vision. As if in a trance, he watched the images flow through his mind, heard the killer’s thoughts. He relayed them to his friend as they appeared.

  "He'd waited for her outside her flat. The moment she walked out the door, he began to follow her. Originally he'd decided to approach her after she'd had a few drinks, but the longer he watched, the more his bloodlust got the better of him. He's angry. She looks like a whore."

  Jon-Luc's words began to speed up as if in a frenzy. "She needs to learn a lesson. She doesn't deserve to live. She's approaching a busy street, too many witnesses. If I don't take her now, I'll have to wait. Can't wait. Can't wait. Can't—"

  "Luc."

  "Wait. Can't wait. Must take her now. Must be quiet."

  Claude slapped his hand on the table. "Luc!" he practically yelled.

  Jon-Luc turned toward his friend and blinked.

  "You are here with me now, oui?" Concern etched Claude's features.

  "Uh, yeah." Jon-Luc rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "What happened?"

  "You appeared to be in another world. You were talking crazy, as if you were the killer."

  24

  Claude answered his cell phone on the first ring, said a few words, then hung up and looked at Jon-Luc. "They have located the clubs where they think the first victims were taken. Come, we must go." Claude stood, tossed some money on the table and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

  Once in the car, Claude turned to Jon-Luc. "The first club is BC-Black Calvados. And you are right, my friend. It is a very exclusive place. They use your hand print to get in. One of the servers remembers Sasha Gusarov."

  "What about the killer?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "We will see."

  When they got to the door of the club, they found it locked. Claude's knocking went unanswered. Finally he took out his cell phone. In rapid French he told the person on the other end he was in front and needed to be let in. A moment later, the door opened. A uniformed officer stood aside, allowing them to enter. They followed him to a woman sitting at a table. She looked less than pleased at being detained.

  Her long blonde hair sat in a knot on the top of her head, and she wore jeans and a flannel shirt with no make up. Obviously not there to work. Dumb luck had caught her when she'd picked up her paycheck. Claude flashed his credentials and did the introductions before he and Jon-Luc sat across from her.

  "Look, there's not a lot I can tell you and I'm late picking my son up from school," the woman said, exasperated.

  "Yes, this has been explained to me. I will only take a moment," Claude said, then took out a pen and his note pad. "Your name, mademoiselle?"

  "Katherine St. Croix, but people call me Kiki."

  "I need your phone number and address." After she complied, Claude began his questioning. "So, I am told you recognized Sasha Gusarov from her photo?"

  "Yes, she has been in with the other Victoria Secret models many times. I have had the misfortune of serving them."

  "And the night in question, she was here at the club?"

  "She was here all right. Sloppy drunk and hanging all over Monsieur Francisco Javier Castillo III, you know, the billionaire? She wouldn't leave his side, so her friends left. Like a man such as he would take a woman like her seriously." Kiki harrumphed.

  "A woman like her?" Jon-Luc asked.

  The blonde zeroed in on him. "She was stupid and immature. The only thing a man like Monsieur Castillo would want with the likes of her is a good screw." Her chin jutted out.

  Jealousy radiated from her in waves. "You wanted him for yourself." Jon-Luc stated.

  "He is a generous man. He takes good care of his servers. This is all I want from him."

  "What time did her friends leave?" Claude asked.

  "About three. I heard one of them say they were going to another club."

  "And when did Sasha leave?" Claude said.

  "Sometime around fiv
e," Kiki answered.

  "Did she leave with this Castillo guy?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "I uh, I do not know. I didn't see either of them leave."

  "And where can we find this man, do you know?" Claude asked.

  "He has a place here in Paris. But I have not seen him for weeks. Perhaps he is on his yacht or has taken his private jet somewhere warm." Kiki knew a lot about the man.

  "He comes here often?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "When he is in town, he brings his friends and associates. Many Victoria Secret models, like Sasha, hang out here hoping to snare a rich or famous husband. Their time in the limelight is short and they must think about the future. Of course, Sasha was beautiful, but she was also very stupid and a messy drunk. I do not understand men being swayed by that little girl voice, Russian accent, or innocent act she portrayed."

  "Some men prefer their woman on the dumb side," Jon-Luc said.

  Kiki's eyes zeroed in on him. "I suppose you are correct." She shrugged her shoulders.

  "Did you notice anyone watching her? Perhaps from a distance?" Claude asked.

  "I did not have time to watch the patrons I am not serving. I take care of my customers. That is my job. If you are lucky enough to land a position in this club, you do not waste your time with what does not concern you."

  "I see. Can you tell me how long they keep their security tapes?" Claude asked.

  "No, you must see Mitch for such information." Kiki looked at her watch. "I can go now, yes?"

  "Yes," Claude answered, then after she stood. "Wait, take my card in case you remember something." The woman snatched the card and ran for the door.

  Jon-Luc, already scoping the place out for the manager, jumped to his feet once he'd located him in the back of the club. He pointed. "Let's grab this Mitch guy before he takes off."

  "Oui, good idea." Claude followed Jon-Luc.

  As the men approached, the manager turned. "You need assistance?"

  "Oui," Claude answered. "I wonder if you still have a copy of the security tapes from the night in question?"

  "Perhaps, but you must understand, with our clientele we must be careful with their privacy. They would not appreciate us sharing the delicate details of their lives with the public," The man stated with an air of superiority.

  "Of course, we will treat this information with the utmost discretion. But we are talking about murder here. This is very serious business, no?" Claude said in a no-nonsense tone.

  The manager eyed Claude, then Jon-Luc, as if weighing the pros and cons of the situation. "All right. I will show you the recording of that night, but if any information finds its way to the tabloids. . ."

  Claude put his hand over his heart. "I promise, all we care about is catching a killer."

  The manager’s eyes squinted at Claude, then a moment later he said, "Very well, follow me." Mitch turned on his heel and led them to a private office. He went behind the desk and his hand disappeared under a shelf.

  Jon-Luc presumed he had pressed a button because as he watched, a panel in the wall slid away, revealing shelves of CD's, hundreds of them. Mitch scanned the contents until finally selecting three cases. He pulled a disk out and popped it into his computer. "You will watch these here. They do not leave the premises."

  Claude nodded. "As you wish. Thank you for your cooperation."

  The moment he'd left the room, Jon-Luc whispered to Claude. "I wonder if he uses these for blackmail?"

  "Perhaps he is just being cautious," Claude returned.

  Jon-Luc pondered his words. "Maybe," he said slowly.

  Claude sat behind the desk and Jon-Luc pulled up a chair next to him. The recordings appeared to be taken from three separate cameras placed around the club, each CD showed a different angle. The men had been glued to the screen for several hours before Sasha's table came into view.

  As the waitress had stated, the model was making a drunken spectacle of herself. Jon-Luc almost nodded off, until Francisco Castillo stood, pulling the woman up with him. They made their way out the door, but before long, a tall man in a fedora followed.

  "Look." Jon-Luc pointed to the screen. "Same build as the guy from Crystal. That could be our killer."

  "Oui. I think you are correct," Claude agreed.

  The front of the club had only one camera. They could only imagine what happened once the figures stepped out of sight. The men agreed to watch the rest of the footage in an effort to catch a glimpse of Fedora-guy's face.

  But after hours of sitting in front of the computer, the only thing Jon-Luc had to show for it was a numb ass. When they exited the private office, employees had started to arrive for work. No one had any useful information to add.

  By the time they walked out the door of the club, the sky had turned dark. Rain pelted them as they jogged to Claude's Peugeot. Once safe in the car, Jon-Luc ran a hand down his face, then over his head in an effort to remove some of the water.

  "We need to talk to this Castillo guy. Can you find him?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "He is very famous, it should not be too difficult if he is in town." Claude took out his cell phone and made some calls. When he ended the last call, he turned to Jon-Luc. "While my guys are busy running him down, we should check out the next club."

  Jon-Luc glanced at his watch. "It's after ten, can we grab a sandwich on the way?"

  They stopped at a McDonalds and ate their burgers on the drive to the next nightclub. Claude pulled in front of Le Baron where a line of people circled the block. "This club is very trendy, another place filled with VIP's. Our second victim, Danielle Abney, was last seen here."

  Jon-Luc exited the vehicle and was met with a blast of pulsating music. He followed Claude toward the front door, pushing his way through the crowd. He couldn't hear what Claude said to the bouncer, but after he flashed his credentials, the man unhooked the velvet rope, allowing them to enter.

  Once inside, the loud music made Jon-Luc wish he had a pair of earplugs. Strobe lights flashed in time with the bass. He found himself shoving his way through the horde of people. At one point, he lost Claude. A woman vacated a chair and Jon-Luc snagged it and climbed on top to survey the heads as they bobbed to the beat of the music. He spotted Claude's bald head on the other side of the room, jumped down and made a beeline in his direction.

  By the time he arrived where he'd last seen his friend, he'd vanished. Jon-Luc did a 360 and caught the tail end of Claude's shirt going down a hall. Like a bloodhound with a scent, he dashed toward it. He caught up to Claude just before he disappeared behind a closed door.

  Once inside the office, the noise stopped. The manager obviously had the room sound-proofed. Jon-Luc's ears hurt, and his head pounded to the beat he'd left behind. With his back leaning against the door, he felt the boom boom boom and stepped away. He sank down into the lush chair next to his friend with relief. I'm too old for this shit.

  Jon-Luc looked at the man who had to be twenty years older than his thirty-two years and asked, "How the hell do you deal with all the noise?"

  The man put up a finger, as if to say just a second and pulled plugs out of his ears. " Excusez-moi, qu'est-ce que vous dites?"

  "I wondered how you stood the noise, but I see the answer in your hands." Jon-Luc pointed.

  "Ah, oui, it is very loud. How can I assist you?" The manager crossed his arms before him.

  Claude passed a picture of Danielle Abney across the desk. "One of my men came in today, he said you identified this young woman as frequenting your club?"

  The man cocked his head and stared at the photo. "Oui, she comes here quite often with a bevy of beautiful women, but I could not tell you which days."

  Claude scooted the 8 x 10 he'd printed from the computer at the last club. The subject was fedora-guy. "Have you seen this man in here as well? Perhaps with this woman?"

  The manager glanced at the picture, then back at Claude, his face scrunched up. "How can I know? I am not able to see his face?"

  "Do you mind if we ask your emp
loyee?" Jon-Luc said.

  "Not at all. I wish you luck." The man stood announcing the interview was over.

  By the time the two men made it back outside the club, the rain had slowed to a trickle. They slid into the car. While Claude checked the messages on his phone, Jon-Luc thought how the last couple of hours had been a colossal waste of time. No one had any useful information.

  A knock on Jon-Luc's window made him jump. He turned and found a young woman bent over looking at him. He rolled the window down. "Oui?"

  In French, the woman said she'd heard them talking to the bartender about the guy in the fedora. Jon-Luc invited her into the car. She quickly jumped into the backseat to escape the weather.

  "Do you speak English?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "Oui. I mean, yes," she said with a shy smile.

  Claude excused himself to his caller, hung up his phone, then swung around so he too faced the girl.

  "What's your name?" Jon-Luc asked.

  "Shelly," she said in a soft voice.

  Claude scribbled in his pad. "And your last name?"

  "Bernard." She eyed them one at a time.

  After Claude wrote down her address and phone number, he shoved Danielle's picture into Shelly's hands. "Have you seen the guy in the fedora with this woman?"

  "Yes, in summertime. July or August, I think. I had come outside to have a smoke and I saw these two arguing."

  Claude glanced at Jon-Luc, his brows raised.

  "Did you get a look at the guy's face?" Jon-Luc asked hopefully.

  "No." Shelly frowned. "He turned his head when he walked past. But when they got about a block away they started arguing. The woman was trying to break free from his grasp, and that's when she turned and I recognized her. She's a model." Her face lit up. "I have seen her in Vogue and Elle magazines. She is famous. I read later she committed suicide. I thought it might be because of that boyfriend."

  "What makes you think he was her boyfriend?" Claude asked.

  "When they first walked past, he held his arm around her shoulder and her head rested on his chest like lovers, you see? I just assumed. You mean he was not her boyfriend?" Shelly's brows arched.