by Jory Strong
“You want the good news first or the bad?” his partner answered.
“Well, considering I’m looking at Winky the Dead, better give me the good first.”
“Winky’s dead? That’s convenient.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too. Looks like an overdose, but him being a possible loose end and dead is a bit of a coincidence.”
“I hate coincidences.”
“Me too, partner. So what gives on your end?”
There was just enough of a silence for Trace to stand up and turn his back on Winky. He could already tell he wasn’t going to like whatever Dylan was about to say.
“We got a lead on where the kidnapped kid might be. Miguel and I are on the way there, so is Bruner and at least one of his guys.”
Trace’s hand tightened on the phone. His heart started beating triple-time in his chest. “Aislinn?”
“Yeah. That’s the bad news. Miguel got a call from her. Somehow the boy’s mother hooked up with her.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Aislinn said the mother was on her way to where the kid might be.”
“Where?”
Dylan gave him the address. Trace said, “Soon as we shake free, we’ll head your way.”
“Oh fuck, the building’s on fire!” Dylan said. “Call it in!”
* * * * *
The scene was swarming with cops, firemen, and reporters by the time Trace and Conner got there. A hysterical woman was fighting to get loose from two cops twice her size. Trace recognized Sandra Kirby from the press conference she’d held when her kid went missing.
“Fuck. Half the building is on fire,” Conner said. “You see Miguel or Dylan?”
They began pushing their way through a crowd of tragedy-thirsty observers. Trace’s chest getting tighter with each step.
No Dylan. No Miguel. No Aislinn.
He was only a second away from going into the burning building himself.
Another fire engine rolled in, the men it carried jumping out and setting up hoses in a smooth, well-practiced synchronized movement.
“Goddamn,” Conner said, not even bothering to hide his worry. When he would have surged forward, one of the firemen yelled, “Stand back,” and Trace reflexively grabbed Conner’s arm.
A loud crack vibrated through the air and a second later the front part of the building collapsed on itself, fire shooting upward and roaring in triumph. This time it was Conner who grabbed Trace as he lurched forward.
Firemen moved in with their hoses as black and gray smoke billowed through already broken windows and new openings.
Inside the house Miguel shifted Dylan’s still form off a pressure point on his shoulder and moved into the last room. There was no time to stop and check to see how the other cop was doing, whether the blood from his head wound had slowed to an ooze or was still tracking over Dylan’s face like a fast stream. Christ, just a couple of inches to the right and the beam that rushed past Dylan’s skull would probably have crushed it rather than ripping skin and knocking him out.
Beads of sweat poured down Miguel’s face and the back of his neck. The heat was blistering, so hot that the metal of his gun was burning its imprint into his skin. The heat he could stand, at least for a few more minutes. Thank God the smoke was taking an easier way out of the house. They’d all be dead by now if wasn’t.
Last room. Last chance to find the kid.
Another wrenching crack sounded at the front of the house, followed by the roar of hungry fire. The floor shook, sending Miguel to his knees. Thick smoke rushed through the doorway just as Miguel noticed a sheet of plywood in one corner of the room.
He prayed as he crawled to it. Prayed that Aislinn was right, that the kid was under the plywood. Prayed that he could get it loose with desperation and bare hands. Prayed that there was time enough to get them all out of here.
Sliding Dylan onto the floor, Miguel reached for the edge of the plywood and began tugging.
Chapter Ten
Trace’s heart stopped for several seconds when the EMT guys suddenly grabbed their equipment and raced around the building. He and Conner followed, not caring when other firemen yelled for them to get back.
The sight that greeted their eyes was both a relief and a nightmare.
Flames were shooting from the first floor while smoke had begun to pour out of the second-story windows. Miguel was handing off a small child-sized bundle to a fireman in a bucket. As soon as it was done, he disappeared back into the building.
Trace looked around desperately for some sign of Aislinn or Dylan, his gut tightening when he didn’t see them. The building began to creak ominously.
“It’s getting ready to go!” one of the firemen yelled.
“Fuck, get out of there!” The fireman in the basket yelled toward the open window as he passed the child off to another fireman.
Another ominous crack ripped through the air. The fire truck holding the basket began to edge away in anticipation of the building collapsing.
Both Trace and Conner surged forward, unable to stand still and let Dylan and Miguel die in the blaze.
The firemen tried to buy a few more seconds by redirecting their hoses and shooting water into the area below the window where Miguel had been. Steam and smoke rose in an angry hiss of denial.
Miguel appeared again, this time with the heavy burden of Dylan slung over his shoulder. There was no time for a pass-off. The waiting fireman grabbed them both and pulled them into the basket just as the building heaved and shuddered. Seconds later the place where Miguel had been standing was a wall of flame and debris.
Storm got there in the final moments and began crying. It was embarrassing. It certainly didn’t support her badass cop image, but she couldn’t help herself. They were safe!
The EMT crew was busy working oxygen masks on the kid and the two cops even as they checked for other injuries. “How are they?” she asked, stopping next to Conner. Both he and Trace looked like they’d been to hell and back.
“Okay. They’re going to be okay,” Conner said as an emergency worker tried to get Miguel to move to a stretcher.
Miguel sucked in a deep breath of oxygen before lifting the mask. “Hey, I don’t need a stretcher.” He gave Storm a lopsided grin. “Don’t want to be wheeled out like the old guy over there.”
Dylan struggled for a second with the mask but Trace wouldn’t let him take it off. “Better watch it. Dylan might owe you one, but it doesn’t mean paybacks won’t be a bitch if you insult him.”
Miguel’s laugh quickly became a cough. He put the oxygen mask back on before somebody else did it for him.
Two attendants hefted the stretcher Dylan was on. “Time to get you to the hospital, detective,” one of them said. Storm frowned at the blood staining his face and soaking Dylan’s clothing and hair.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Trace told his partner.
Dylan shook his head slightly, this time able to get the mask off his face before someone could stop him. “I’ll be okay. Find Aislinn first.” His voice was slurred, his movements disorganized.
Trace put the mask back over his partner’s nose and mouth. His face was a study in conflict.
Conner said, “They’re pretty sure it’s just a concussion. His head is hard, he’ll be okay. I’ll stay with him. Got to monitor Miguel anyway. You go make sure Aislinn’s safe.” He looked toward the now flame-engulfed house. “We’re going to have to talk to her about this anyway.”
A muscle tightened in Trace’s face, but he nodded and turned to catch the mother before she left the scene.
* * * * *
The warm touch of the heartmate necklace against her skin contrasted sharply with the cold dread in Sophie’s chest. Where was Aislinn? Why wasn’t she back by now? Why hadn’t she called?
Getting more upset with each passing moment, Sophie once again replayed the message Aislinn had left. “She should be back by now,” Sophie muttered as she checked the clock again. Between
the time Aislinn had left the message and now, over two and a half hours had passed. Sophie had been out of the water, pacing back and forth for the last hour of it.
She was torn between calling Trace or driving along the beach and trying to spot Aislinn. She tried to think of reasons Aislinn might not be back and remembered the phone call that had come in just as she was about to take the necklace into the ocean.
Her heart did a small hopeful leap. She’d joked that it was probably Trace calling to check up on Aislinn. Maybe they’d had a fight and Aislinn was so upset that she’d just lost track of time.
“If he’s hurt her, I’m going to find somebody who can put a curse on him and shrivel his dick!” Sophie raged in an effort to shore up her courage as she dialed Trace’s cell phone number.
Trace’s voice was curt and angry. “Is she with you?” he demanded, not even giving Sophie a chance to speak first.
“No.”
“Fuck! Where are you?”
“On the beach.”
“Close to where Fontaine lives?”
Sophie’s grip tightened on her phone. “A couple of miles away. Why?”
“Get in your car and stay there. Lock the doors. Storm and I are heading that way.”
Fear ripped through Sophie. “What’s going on?”
“Just get in your car and lock the doors. Don’t argue.”
“What’s this about?”
Only silence greeted her demand. “He hung up on me!” Sophie yelled and immediately called Storm’s number.
“We’re on our way, Sophie,” her cousin said by way of greeting. Then with censure in her voice, she asked, “Did you know Aislinn was going to meet with Sandra Kirby?”
“No! We came to the beach for something else. I picked this place! Not Aislinn.”
“Well, she was at some psychic’s place and now the kid’s been recovered.”
“Madame Fontaine lives near here. We were talking about her in the car, but Aislinn didn’t say anything about going to her house.” Sophie paused. “A phone call came in just as I was getting ready to uh…do what I came here to do. Aislinn answered it. I thought it was Trace. He’s been calling my cell phone to check up on her.”
Storm turned to Trace. “When’s the last time you talked to Aislinn?”
“They were on their way to the beach.”
“You hear that?” Storm asked Sophie.
“Yes.”
“Would this Madame Fontaine know that Aislinn might be with you?”
“Sure. I guess. She and Aislinn’s godmother, Moki, are good friends. And I’ve been to see Madame Fontaine a couple of times. But not for a while. Aislinn doesn’t have a cell phone. If Madame Fontaine’s been watching the news at all she would probably guess that Aislinn might be hiding out at my place. I swear, Storm, Aislinn didn’t come here planning to go to Madame Fontaine’s house. It must have been the phone call that came in because right after that Aislinn used my cell to leave a message saying she was going for a walk while I was out in the water.”
“Well, her walk took her to the psychic’s house. Not that Sandra Kirby would tell us anything. Dylan and Miguel went into a burning building to save her kid and she repays the department by total silence. Lucky for us, Bruner had a plainclothesman on her.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yeah. But this is getting way more dangerous. The perp’s all over the map. Do what Trace said, Soph. Get in the car and lock the doors. Anybody you don’t know gets near you, drive away!”
“I’m already here. I can drive down the frontage road toward Madame Fontaine’s place and look for Aislinn along the beach.”
There was a brief hesitation before Storm said. “Could you find exactly where you parked again if you had to?”
“Sure. It’s the same place I always park.”
“Okay. Drive. But don’t get out of your car. No matter what, don’t leave your car.”
“If I don’t see Aislinn, I’ll park down near Madame Fontaine’s house.”
“We’re not far behind you.”
Storm pulled her cell phone away from her ear and waited for Trace to blast her. She didn’t have long to wait.
“I can’t fucking believe you! I told your cousin to stay put!”
Storm gritted her teeth and counted to ten. And she’d thought that she was growing fond of the macho murder cops! “There’s no way Sophie would have sat in her car and waited, especially if she turned on the news and got an earful about the kid being rescued. She’s not stupid. She’d put two and two together and get the idea that Aislinn had probably walked to the psychic’s house. At least this way we save time. And maybe we find Aislinn sooner. Sophie may be brave while she’s driving around, but she’s not going to race into Madame Fontaine’s house. She’ll lock her doors and wait.” Storm crossed her fingers. I hope.
* * * * *
Sophie knew that she wasn’t going to find Aislinn along the beach. She knew it, but she prayed that she was wrong.
It wasn’t far to Madame Fontaine’s house, not nearly far enough to account for the time that Aislinn had been gone. Aislinn walked fast. Sophie knew that from the power walks in the mall that she’d managed to convince Aislinn to take with her.
“Please let her be okay,” Sophie whispered as Madame Fontaine’s house came into sight.
Heart thundering in her chest, Sophie pulled to a stop in front of the house closest to Madame Fontaine’s small, restored Victorian. She hated that she was too afraid to rush up to the house and check to see if Aislinn was there. But the closed door and darkened interior chilled her.
Picking up her cell phone, she dialed Storm. “How close are you?” she asked when her cousin answered.
“About a mile away. You there?”
“Yes. It doesn’t look like there’s anybody home.”
“Stay put. Do not get out of your car.”
Sophie shivered, near tears but trying to hold it together. “Okay.”
A few minutes later Trace’s unmarked car pulled into the psychic’s driveway. A curtain edged back from the neighbor’s window and an old man’s face peered out.
Sophie got out of her car and called to Storm. “There’s someone home next door. Maybe they saw something.”
Storm and Trace held a hurried conversation then Trace jogged up to Madame Fontaine’s front door while Storm hustled to the house Sophie had indicated. The front door opened and Storm flashed her badge. She spoke to the neighbor and then he disappeared. “Hang on, Trace,” she yelled. “He’s got a key. Says he took Madame Fontaine to the station a couple of hours ago. Aislinn was on foot, walking away from the house when they left.”
The neighbor reappeared in the doorway and handed Storm a key. Sophie followed her back to the psychic’s house, and despite Trace’s frown, she went inside with them. If Sophie had any doubts that Trace cared about Aislinn, the rage and agony that she saw on his face in unguarded moments convinced her that she’d been wrong.
* * * * *
Fear ripped through Trace’s guts. Christ, he should have ordered her back when the second murder was discovered. Or better yet, never let her leave after the Kirby kid was kidnapped and this whole bizarre scenario started to play out for a second time.
Bile rose in his throat. Yeah, and then the kid would be toast, maybe burned so badly that he’d never be identified.
Rage tightened Trace’s body to the point that he felt like he was going to explode. He hated this psychic stuff. Hated it. If Aislinn wasn’t involved in it then she’d be safe now instead of… He couldn’t allow himself to go there. He’d had years to see what people were capable of doing to each other.
Trace closed off the thoughts. Christ, he was a cop. He’d needed to think like a cop, act like a cop.
They’d have the techs come in, dust for prints and see if any matched with people who’d been at the other two psychics’ places. It was a long shot and Trace didn’t think they had very long. His gut told him that the killer was already workin
g on his next murder scene.
* * * * *
Aislinn came to slowly, aware first of the stiff tape that sealed her eyes closed, then of the tape binding her wrists and ankles. The pain filtered in next. Her shoulders ached from being wrenched behind her back and bound to the chair she was sitting in. Her legs throbbed in time to the blood being pumped into them, but she couldn’t ease the discomfort because they were also securely tethered to the chair.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a man’s voice said. It was deep, rich, and seemed vaguely familiar to Aislinn.
Fear surged through her and for a second she gave in to the primal urge to struggle. The man only laughed.
“I’m sure you’ve got questions, but I’m afraid that I can’t risk taking the tape off and letting you speak. Still, I find myself with some time, so I’ll spend a few minutes and we’ll pretend that you’re conducting an interview.” He laughed again. “I’ll confess to being a little embarrassed that you caught me so unprepared. I’m not sure how long it will be before the proper tableau can be set up. Sandra Kirby played things a bit close to her substantial chest. As soon as she hit Oceanfront, I knew she was probably heading for Madame Fontaine’s place. I can’t say that I was shocked when you showed up, though I had planned on you being the final act. But when the good Madame took off, it didn’t leave me any choice—not with the police responding so quickly and the boy on the verge of being discovered.”
“You’ve been a surprise. I think you might be the real thing, which has certainly kept me on my toes. Your friend Patrick mentioned you when I called to set up the appointment. Poor fool, he was so excited to think that the great psychic investigator Lucca wanted to talk to him. When I showed up and told him that Lucca had been delayed, he didn’t bat an eye. So much for psychic talent.”
