by C. M. Sutter
Premonition
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction by C.M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in the Midwest, although she is originally from California.
She is a member of numerous writers’ organizations, including Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers Online.
In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog. She is an art enthusiast and loves to create handmade objects. Gardening, hiking, bicycling, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes. Be the first to be notified of new releases and promotions at: http://cmsutter.com.
C.M. Sutter
http://cmsutter.com/
Premonition: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller, Book 4
Nightmares about horrific murders have North Bend’s local psychic, Kate Pierce, frantic with worry. The dreams are reoccurring and far worse than usual.
Robert Lynch, a knife-wielding lunatic, is about to be released from an Atlanta prison after being incarcerated for ten years. The connection between Kate and Robert is deeply personal, and she remembers his threats. Kate fears he’ll find her and take her life.
With local law enforcement regarding Kate as nothing more than a carnival joke, her pleas of impending danger fall on deaf ears. When word gets out that a killer with a fascination for knives is heading their way, North Bend’s finest finally sit up and take notice.
To stop this murderer in his tracks, Sergeant Jade Monroe has a dangerous plan to save Kate’s life, even if it means putting her own at risk.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 1
Kate
She ran for her life as soon as she got her footing. One shoe had come off during the fall. The ride she accepted on the lonely stretch of road that cold night was a horrible mistake, and that split second of bad judgment could very well be her last. The hard fall momentarily knocked the wind out of her when she hit the gravel and tumbled. She had no other choice. Fall and run, or get killed in that psycho’s truck. While traveling at thirty miles an hour, she grabbed the door handle and jumped.
Sharp gravel stones from the road’s shoulder tore open her hands and face and embedded themselves in her flesh. She heard the truck screech to a stop then the sound of the shifter being ground into reverse. She was already running for cover, and her knees ached from the impact.
Should I scream for help or stay quiet and hope he doesn’t find me? She heard the truck door open and slam closed. He’s after me! I have to run!
Her frantic, gasping screams echoed through the dark fields, but the panicked cries went unheard, except by the man closing the distance between them. She had hoped the cornfield, still unharvested, would give her cover, but instead, the dried stalks taller than she was scraped against her skin and crackled with noise. Their sounds gave her away as they slapped her face and poked her eyes. The furrowed row tripped her, and she stumbled to the ground. She waited motionless and hoped he’d give up—she wasn’t ready to die.
Her only chance at survival would come from the cover of night. Remaining still was difficult; she knew he was only feet away. She heard him call out—taunting her. He promised to find her and end her life. Her nostrils flared and her lungs burned as she sucked in much-needed oxygen. Nothing but acres of corn lay ahead. There were no farmhouses or beacons of hope to run to, and her only ray of light was the crescent moon. Movement several rows back perked her ears—she held her breath. He was too close. She felt the cool smoothness of a rock in the dirt and wrapped her fingers around it, grasping it tightly in the palm of her hand. She threw it with all her might, hoping for an extra twenty feet between them.
Did he turn left?
It was now or never—she had to run. If she stopped, she would most certainly die. He was closing in, and he had a knife.
She thought about the deadly mistake she’d made only twenty minutes earlier. After sputtering for the last mile, her car had slowed to a stop. Half asleep and worn out from the drive, she had forgotten to fill it with gas when she passed through that last town. Now, after being detoured off the interstate by construction, she was stranded on that desolate two-lane road in the middle of farm country, out of gas at nearly three in the morning. Darkness surrounded her as she stepped out of the car and slammed the door. She panned the surroundings for house lights but saw nothing. Anxiety and the late-night cold clouded her judgment. Those approaching headlights were a welcomed relief when the truck slowed to a stop. She was thankful—the driver who offered her a ride was a godsend until she climbed in and they disappeared down that long stretch of road.
The sounds closing in brought her back into the moment.
Focus! Run! There’s no time to think.
She stumbled when the cornstalks hit her from behind. He was only steps away—and it was too late. She felt his hot breath on her neck and fell to the ground when the knife sliced through her throat. Her life slipped away seconds later.
The alarm buzzed its loud, annoying sound on the side table, and the nightmare
abruptly ended. Kate’s eyes bulged open with fear. Her heart thumped triple-time in her chest—she could hear it in her ears. Once she got her bearings, she realized it was a dream and that nonstop buzz in her head was the clock. She rolled to her left and turned it off, then squinted at the numbers—7:00. With a heavy sigh, she sat up and ground her fists into her eyes. Her temples pounded out her heartbeats. She wiped her clammy forehead with the back of her hand. Her flailing in bed mixed with perspiration had tangled her normally beautiful black ringlets into a knotted mess. The pillowcase, with its ivory crocheted edge, was wet to the touch. She stripped it from the pillow and dropped it to the floor. Was the nightmare just that, or a premonition? The detail made it seem so real. As she sat on the edge of the bed, Kate needed a moment to regroup, then she rose and slipped on her white chenille robe. In the bathroom, she turned the cold water handle on the faucet and held a washcloth under the stream. She squeezed the cloth and pressed it against her face. The sharp cold diverted her anxiety for a second, then she sighed.
Kate had lived in North Bend for only a few years, and that furnished efficiency apartment above the hardware store downtown worked well enough for her needs. She hadn’t decided whether or not she’d stay and put down roots in this bedroom community forty minutes north of Milwaukee. So far, friendships hadn’t come easily. The conservative town of under thirty thousand people had plenty of skeptics. Atlanta had been Kate’s home for her first twenty-three years, but as a cautious person, she knew she couldn’t remain there anymore. She needed to be somewhere safe and far away from the reach of Robert Lynch and his associates.
The North Bend Sheriff’s Department personnel had scoffed last year when she’d offered her services as a psychic investigator on several of the county’s missing-person cases. She explained to them how she had been instrumental in assisting with cases in Nashville and most recently Chicago—she had the newspaper clippings to prove it. In Washburn County, the buttoned-up nature of North Bend’s law enforcement won out, and her help wasn’t encouraged or welcomed. Kate’s sole income in the last few years had come from one-on-one private readings in her living room, lectures, and psychic booths she operated at local fairs. Other than the lectures, which were usually offered twice a year and held in Milwaukee or Madison, the readings and fortune telling were considered sideshow amusements and hardly taken seriously.
She dried her face on the towel, pulled her hair back in a barrette, and left the bathroom. Her shearling slippers were warm and silent against the hardwood-floored hallway as she walked to the kitchen. She cinched the belt on her robe a little tighter when a shiver fluttered up her spine. The windows in that old brick building were in serious need of replacement, and they chattered when the wind blew in from the north. Next month she would tape plastic over them to keep out the winter chill.
The galley kitchen was compact, and with her arms outstretched, she could touch the walls on either side. An off-white Formica countertop covered with tiny mid-century modern blue and yellow starbursts held the coffee pot and a mixer she never used. Covering much of that space were rings of coffee stains that wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scrubbed. The apartment-sized refrigerator, two-burner gas stove, and the single sink with barely enough room to set a dish drainer on the counter filled the rest of the kitchen. A place setting for four was all she had space for in the cupboard above the sink, and it was all she needed, anyway. The cabinets consisted of a silverware drawer, towel-and-hot-pad drawer, two cupboards above the sink for dishes and glasses, and two cupboards below the counter for cookware and large bowls. A broom closet in the corner incorporated a small makeshift pantry and held three shelves for food storage. Kate was thankful she lived alone in that small space. In that tiny apartment, she could live on the cheap and still have the ability to make a speedy exit if the need ever presented itself. Mr. Myers, the building owner, had collected the first and last month’s rent, as well as a security deposit, when she moved in. She never understood why—the apartment was far from a nice place to live.
With the paper filter in place, Kate pulled the plastic lid off the coffee can and dropped three scoops of Colombian roast grounds into the basket. She thought about the dream again as she turned on the faucet and filled the carafe with six cups of water, then poured it into the reservoir and flipped the switch.
As she sat at the kitchen table, Kate picked up the yellow legal pad that was always within reach. She jotted down the date and what she remembered from that dream. She massaged her forehead and dug deep into her mind’s eye. She briefly saw orange road-construction barrels and a detour sign. She wrote that down.
The color of the car was white or tan—or possibly pale yellow.
Void of any street lights, that dark road and inky black night made the car’s color hard to distinguish, but she was certain it was light.
Was it large or small—two-door or four?
Kate closed her eyes again and saw the young woman exit the vehicle and zip up a fleece jacket while she paced and took in her surroundings. The car was a two-door with a hatchback. She wrote that down then tried to focus on the car’s plate number, but it was in the shadows.
Steam rose from the coffee Kate poured into the poppy-red ceramic mug. She took a sip and tried to recall what the woman looked like. With her eyes pinched tight, she saw anxious fingers twisting long blond hair. The woman wore a turquoise-and-silver ring on her right index finger, and she had coral-colored acrylic nails. The fleece jacket popped back into Kate’s mind—pink with an embroidered crown on the left front.
Where did she run out of gas, and where did she come from?
Kate heard music playing, but it could have been the car’s radio meant to keep the woman awake at that late hour. For the last time, she closed her eyes and pressed her temples.
What did the man look like? What color was the truck he was driving?
She scratched out what she could remember and looked over her notes. With her memories on paper, she made the call.
Chapter 2
I turned into the sheriff’s department parking lot and glanced at the clock—seven thirty on the nose. I killed the engine, pulled my travel mug from the cup holder, grabbed my purse off the passenger seat, and exited the car. The cold morning air bit my cheeks, and the wind swirled in my hair. I walked to the building at a quickened pace, my head down and my shoulders stiff and raised. I wasn’t fond of the cold—never was, never would be. Since my dad had moved to southern California, living in Wisconsin had lost a lot of its appeal. I missed him more and more every year. As a child, we’d rake leaves together in late October and drink hot cider. In November, we’d have the huge Thanksgiving spread and eat leftovers until nearly Christmas. December would bring the snow and ice. Dad and I would bundle up from head to toe, then trudge outside, looking like the Michelin Man, and build a snowman. Other times, we’d go ice skating at Regner Park. As an adult, I justified living in the Midwest during the cold months because of those two family holidays—Thanksgiving and Christmas. I wanted Amber to have a sense of family unity. After the holidays, all I wanted was heat. I wasn’t an outdoor enthusiast anyway, unless curling up in the sun like a snake and basking for hours counted. Maybe I could do that in my next life. So far in this one, I hadn’t had the luxury of time.
Jack hadn’t arrived yet, and his parking spot was still empty. He’d started making an attempt to get to work before eight a few months back and even beat me there on several occasions. I was impressed, but he was slowly slipping back into his old habits. It must have been the cold. Lingering in a warm bed didn’t sound half bad, now that I thought about it.
I entered the building with the wind at my feet. Dead leaves swirled through the first set of doors and settled in the corners of the vestibule. Inside, at the reception and dispatch counter, I chatted with Jan and Peggy for a bit before punching the security code into the panel next to the door and entering the bull pen. I did a quick scan of the room. Jamison and Horbeck were packing
it up. Their shift was over, and Billings had already arrived. Through the wall of glass, I saw Clark sitting at his desk. Behind the closed door, he read the morning paper and held a Styrofoam cup of coffee between his hands. The steam swirled above the cup. This was his fifteen minutes of normalcy before the beginning of our workday, which oftentimes turned hectic. He looked up and nodded a good morning through the glass. I nodded back.
The mountain of paperwork on my desk multiplied daily. I could barely remember the color of the desktop buried under that mess. I had already made up far too many excuses, saying it was organized clutter—but nobody bought it. I needed to dig in.
Jack and I had to head over to the courthouse at ten thirty to appear in front of Judge Cocker as witnesses for the prosecution in the Mandy Blakely case. Her trial was scheduled for eleven o’clock, and as usual, the media was in a frenzy preparing for the event. Mandy had been locked up in our jail for the last two and a half months, awaiting her trial, and I was sure she would plead insanity when all was said and done. No matter what, I felt bad for her. Under the influence of her mentally unstable mother, Mandy had been brainwashed into killing. Even though three deaths were at her hand, I felt she was somewhat of a victim herself.
The beeps of someone entering the security code sounded from the other side of the door. I looked at the clock—7:45. If it was Jack, I’d be impressed. Clayton entered and headed for the beverage station. I snickered.
“What’s with the snicker?”
“Nothing. Maybe someone should be assigned to pick up Jack for work.”
“Like a school bus?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, like that.”
