"Whoo-eee!" the man whistled when he caught sight of her ID. "An agent with an attitude. How rare!"
He shifted so that he was standing in front of her. Behind him, some of the men snickered loudly.
Jasi's smile was deadly sweet. "Listen, you arrogant asshole. When I find the chief and report you I'll have you on desk duty for a month. Now where is he?"
The man's eyes snared hers, turning her knees to mush.
Suddenly he reached for her arm, gripped it firmly and led her away from the laughing eyes of the firefighters. She felt the heat of his fingers through her jacket, branding her as his possession.
Natassia nudged her sharply. "Jas—"
"Shh!" Jasi interrupted her, glaring up at the man whose tanned fingers still curled around her upper arm. "I could have you up on charg—"
"Check out his shoulder patch!" Natassia hissed.
Jasi glanced down. Then her eyes found the patch.
Walsh, Chief of Arson Investigations.
Her eyes traveled back to the man's face. His expression was dark and smug. For a second her composure flickered. There was something annoyingly attractive about the man.
But damned if she would let that cloud her judgement.
"Brandon Walsh, at your service," he said blandly, interrupting her thoughts. "AI Chief Walsh, that is."
Jasi ignored his outstretched hand and felt her temper rising when his eyes scoped Natassia's hip-hugging jeans and tight blouse. Men!
When he turned to issue a command to the firefighters, Jasi couldn't restrain the snicker that erupted from her throat. The back of the man's fire jacket was well worn. The lettering in some places was covered with black scorch marks.
Walsh, Chief of Ars In stig tions.
"Arse, all right," she muttered under her breath.
Abruptly, Walsh turned, piercing her with a frigid stare. Then he frowned and jerked his head.
"This way, Agent McLellan."
"Now isn't he a fabulous piece of work?" Natassia mumbled in her ear. "Check out the size of those hands."
"Natassia!"
Although Jasi had to admit, his hands were well shaped—like the rest of him.
Beside her, Natassia giggled beneath her breath. "You know what they say about large hands—"
"Shhh! Wouldn't want him to hear you. It might go to his head."
And that's big enough already!
She followed Walsh to a table standing beneath the shade of a tent.
He pulled out a chair beside his, offering it to her.
"You gonna tell me why you're wearing that mask?"
Jasi's eyes fastened on his and she took the chair across from him instead. "Allergies."
Walsh watched her for a long moment. "As the AI Chief, I've been informed of your…uh, special team. I wasn't given much info though."
"What have you got so far on the victim?"
"We've only received a few of the reports. Dr. Norman Washburn, age fifty-eight. He's the only victim. The fire originated in his livingroom where Washburn was tied to his recliner with IV tubing."
"Time of death?"
"Estimated TOD, one to two a.m.," Walsh replied. "We believe he died from smoke inhalation. We'll know for sure when the autopsy's in."
"What about neighbors? Anyone see anything?"
Walsh shook his head. "The cabins are separated by trees and bushes. He had no immediate neighbors."
"Did you ask around?" she asked impatiently.
"Listen," he said glibly. "I'm well aware that we've been ordered by the CFBI to cooperate with your team, but personally, I think AI is capable of handling this ourselves. And I don't really buy into the whole psychic thing."
She detected a trace of bitterness in his voice.
Jasi bit back her reply, frustrated.
She was sick and tired of having to defend herself—and her team. This wasn't the first time that someone had questioned the PSI's value.
"Chief Walsh, we've got two fires, three murder victims and few leads to go on. We're here to aid this investigation, not hamper it. You're not too macho to take help wherever you can get it, are you?"
Walsh laughed. "Macho? Now there's an outdated term."
Jasi refitted her oxy-mask.
She desperately wished she could tear it off her face and rip into the man before her. His attitude grated on her and left her feeling uneasy.
Walsh pointed to a Qwazi laptop and touched the screen with a stylus.
"Here's the data from the X-Disc. Have a seat and read through it. And yes, we asked around. No one saw anything. I'll go check on the other agent. Where'd he go, anyway?"
"Agent Roberts is busy drafting up a rough profile and arranging for transport to the scene," Natassia spoke up for the first time.
"Upload the data, Natassia," Jasi ordered. "I'll go check on Ben."
She cast a warning look in the AI Chief's direction. "I'm counting on your support. Don't get in my way, Walsh."
The man raised a well-shaped eyebrow. "I have no intention of getting in your way. Just stay out of mine."
She clenched her teeth. "Trust me, I'd be happy to stay away from you."
"Jesus, thanks. I think. And here I thought I was irresistible."
Jasi huffed in exasperation.
The man was insufferable. The sooner she finished her job here, the sooner she could put Brandon Walsh out of her mind.
Walsh accompanied her outside, and slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.
"Need anything else?" she asked tightly.
"Yeah. What's Agent Prushenko's role?"
"She's a Victim Empath."
The man stared blankly, his lip curling in disbelief.
"She picks up vibrations—pictures from the victims," she explained.
"Usually she sees their final moments."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed.
Jasi gripped Walsh's arm, her eyes flashing angrily.
"Agent Prushenko has empathic abilities, whether you believe in them or not. She's been a PSI for eight years, traveled worldwide and is recognized as one of the best VE's in the CFBI."
She wanted to slug the man.
Walsh grinned. "What about you?"
"I've been with PSI for almost six years. That's all you need to know."
"What do you do?"
"She reads fires," Natassia interjected, poking her head from the tent.
Wordlessly, Jasi glared at her partner.
"He needs to know, Jasi. Otherwise he's useless."
Brandon Walsh—useless?
Jasi hid a sly grin. "I can usually tell you where and how a fire started. Sometimes I pick up the perp's last thoughts or the last thing he saw."
"She's a Pyro-Psychic," Natassia bragged. "Jasi is the best there is."
"Jasi?" Walsh smirked.
"That's Agent McLellan to you!" Jasi snapped.
She'd make Natassia pay for that slip-up.
Oops, Natassia mouthed silently, raising her open hands in the air.
"Time for you to leave, Walsh," Jasi said rudely. "I'm sure there's something out there for the Chief of AI to do. Just remember we're running the show here."
Walsh's breath blew warm against her ear. "We'll see about that."
Then he hurried from the tent. "See ya later…Jasi."
With her eyes glued to his back, Jasi cursed aloud.
"Not if I can help it!"
Brandon Walsh walked away from the tent, unsure about the PSI's role. He had heard of the Psychic Skills Investigators in his dealings with various police departments, but his cases rarely required CFBI intervention. Or interference, as he thought of it.
As the AI Chief, he was compelled to assist the CFBI in any investigation involving serial arsonists. And that didn't sit too well with him—not one bit.
He'd show Agent Jasi McLellan who was boss.
After all, wasn't he the one responsible for capturing the arsonist involved in the Okanagan Mountain forest fires of 2003? He had led the AI team th
at had tracked down the arsonist and the accelerant used to set the blaze.
The press had blamed an unattended campfire for the raging fires that consumed a massive portion of the BC forest. Then a week later, it was rumored that a single cigarette had ignited the blaze. That was before the public ban on smoking became official—before people were restricted to smoking in the privacy of their homes, in well-ventilated smoking rooms.
Brandon had never believed the fire had started from a cigarette. He personally sifted through acres of destroyed forest, searching for a clue. He had explored the land until he discovered an abandoned cabin deep in the mountains.
There, he found remnants of liquid methylyte and zymene, highly flammable chemicals used in the underground production of Z-Lyte. Z-Lyte, with its sweet musky scent, had become the hallucinogenic drug of the new generation.
Public homeowner records listed Edwin Bruchmann as the owner of the cabin. An hour later, Bruchmann was in custody. When the old man was escorted into an interview room by his caregiver, Brandon was disappointed to discover that Bruchmann suffered from Alzheimer's.
Brandon's leads were slowly disintegrating—until his suspicions turned to the caregiver. Gregory Lawrence, thirty-nine, had been employed by Bruchmann for the past two years and had access to all of the old man's documents. But Lawrence denied knowing anything about a cabin.
"When was the last time Mr. Bruchmann visited his lakeside cabin?" Brandon had asked the caregiver.
Lawrence's face had registered confusion.
Then, without thinking, he had blurted, "You idiots! Edwin Bruchmann's cabin is not by any lake. See? I told you, you have the wrong person. Mr. Bruchmann's cabin overlooks the valley."
Brandon had smiled then. "I thought you knew nothing about the cabin?"
"I, uh…" the man stuttered. "Well, I m-might have heard about it once. But that doesn't prove anything!"
A knock on the door halted the interrogation and a detective passed Brandon a toxicology report.
"Maybe not," Brandon had agreed. "But this sure does."
Earlier he had recognized the sweet-smelling body odor common with Z-Lyte users. Suspicious, he offered Lawrence a can of pop. When the man had finished it, Brandon dropped it into a plastic bag and handed it over to the lab for analysis.
It came back positive for Z-Lyte.
The case was immediately closed, Gregory Lawrence locked away, Bruchmann established in a care facility and Brandon promoted to AI Chief.
All accomplished without any outside help.
And Brandon certainly hadn't needed a PSI!
This new case was no different, he reasoned. What could Agent Jasi McLellan possibly offer?
Psychic mumbo-jumbo?
He laughed suddenly, adjusting his shades.
How could the woman expect him to believe she had the power to see into a killer's mind?
I'd have to see it to believe it.
You can read the rest of DIVINE INTERVENTION at Amazon
Visit Cheryl Kaye Tardif's site: http://www.cherylktardif.com
Book 2 in the Divine series...
Divine Justice
DIVINE JUSTICE
by Cheryl Kaye Tardif
On a journey to justice for Justice everywhere,
By Mandamus of the Great Heavenly Cloner,
I wake up daily before Eos kisses the Sun,
And I stand by the tower of Justice and chant…
~Andre Emmanuel Bendavi Ben-YEHU
Prologue
Jasi McLellan drifted in and out of consciousness, her thoughts like waves lapping restlessly against the shore. When she opened her eyes, distorted faces flashed past her and indistinct words assaulted her ears. She reached for the names that belonged to those faces, but they eluded her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth and tongue were sandpaper-dry. She inhaled slowly, trying to place the smell, a mix of antiseptic and sweat.
Where the hell am I? And why is it so dark, so cold?
She blinked once and everything changed.
Before her lay a long, murky corridor. At her feet, the bare hardwood floor was polished to a reflective shine. Her sandals clicked as she headed toward the door at the end of the hall. A crack of backlighting outlined the door's shape. As she moved toward it, the door appeared to drift further away.
She paused and leaned down to look at her reflection in the gleaming floor. A face she didn't recognize stared back at her. Amidst charred skin, blue eyes blinked at her.
I have green eyes.
She cried out in terror when the face became two.
The dead girl from her closet was coming for her.
Jasi faced the girl. "Why can't you leave me alone?"
"I can't leave. You need me, and I need you."
The girl's accent was soft—from South Carolina maybe—and the pink skipping rope noose cut deeply into her lolling neck with every word she spoke.
"He keeps callin' me," the dead girl whispered.
"Who?"
The girl began to sob and Jasi reached out to touch the child's blistered shoulder. She snatched her hand back when it encountered skin that was morgue cold.
"Who are you?"
"Emily," came the soft reply.
"What do you want, Emily?"
The girl's next words turned Jasi's blood to ice.
"I want you to find me."
Confused, Jasi shook her head and took a few steps backward. "What do you mean? You're right here."
The girl said nothing.
"I've seen you ever since I was a child," Jasi said. "You've never spoken to me before. Why now?"
Emily lowered her head. "You jes never heard me before. Now you're open-minded. Now you're hearin' me fine."
A light flickered at the end of the hall and Jasi glanced over her shoulder.
"It's okay, Jasmine." Emily smiled weakly. "Go."
The girl drifted backward toward the shadows.
"Emily, wait!" Jasi cried. "How do I find you?"
"When you're ready, I'll find you."
As Jasi drifted off into a peaceful, healing sleep, she made a solemn vow to the dead girl in her closet.
I'll find you, Emily. I promise.
The dead girl finally had a name—Emily.
1
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
~ Vancouver General Hospital, Vancouver, BC
Natassia Prushenko was scared—really scared.
She looked down at the woman lying motionless in the bed. She's so pale, so still. Like death.
The door opened behind her. Someone stepped into the room.
"Is Jasi awake yet?"
Natassia glanced over her shoulder. "No, she hasn't moved an inch. I'm worried about her, Ben."
Benjamin Roberts crossed the room, bringing with him an air of calm authority. When he reached Natassia, they stood side-by-side, keeping vigil over the woman in the hospital bed.
It had been nearly two weeks since their partner and team leader Jasmine McLellan had taken a bullet high on her left arm. She'd been doing well, was even out of Vancouver General Hospital for nearly a week, but then she'd taken an unexpected turn for the worse. Her arm had swelled painfully, the bullet wound festering. Without warning, a blood infection invaded Jasi's body, causing serious complications and a sudden trip back to the hospital. That's where they discovered she had a concussion and mild swelling of the brain, probably from when she hit the ground after an explosion during the last case.
Natassia stared down at Jasi. "I don't think she's getting any better, Ben. She looks like she's barely breathing." She reached out to touch Jasi's arm, but snatched back her hand as if she'd touched a hot flame.
Ben raised a brow. "Natassia…"
"You know what can happen if I touch her. After all she's been through, the last thing she needs is me poking around in her mind. Anyway, we already know what happened during the Gemini Murders. It's not as if we need to know any more."
She studied the woman in the bed, taking in the ta
ngled mane of shoulder-length auburn hair and the sprinkle of cinnamon freckles that appeared much darker against the creamy whiteness of her face.
"It's up to Jasi now," Ben said quietly. "We both know how stubborn she is."
He turned away, but not before Natassia saw tears in his eyes. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"I want to check on her status. I'll get her doctor."
Natassia felt a void in the room as soon as he was gone. She couldn't help but feel a little better when he was around. If there was one thing she'd learned, Ben knew how to take care of things—especially the people he cared for.
She watched Jasi. "And he sure cares a lot for you, my new friend."
Although she'd only known Jasi for about three months, she'd grown fond of her. The slender redhead had a lot of spunk. That was something she could appreciate.
Natassia had spent a few years consulting with a Russian agency similar to the Canadian Federal Bureau of Investigation, which had been formed in 2003. As a Victim Empath capable of receiving cryptic flashes from the minds of victims, she was responsible for bringing down some notorious criminals. After a brief scandalous affair with a married field agent, Natassia was 'traded' to Canada's CFBI. Recently, she'd been assigned to the PSI Division and relocated to Vancouver, B.C.
"Remember when we first met, Jasi? You thought I was an escort hitting on Ben." She laughed. "The poor guy practically fell over in his chair when I sat down with you two."
It had been an awkward first meeting.
Natassia let out a sigh.
She still felt like the new kid on the block, having only been a Psychic Skills Investigator with the CFBI for the past three months. As a PSI, her gift of reading victims, live or dead ones, had helped crack the last case. But not before Jasi had been shot. Natassia hadn't been able to prevent that. Or Jasi's subsequent heartbreak.
She pulled the chair up to the side of the bed. "Get well, my friend. We've got cases to solve, murderers to catch and good-looking men to tease."
There was no answer.
She leaned closer. "Jasi? Can you hear me?"
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