The Phoenix Agency_Blind Spot

by Casey Hagen

Jasmine snorted into her wine glass. He shot her a glare.

  “Yes, I do. And you’re just like the others.” Lily tossed the throw blanket aside and stood. “Why don’t you get your answers from the police? You’re asking all the same questions they did anyway, and to be totally honest with you, I’ve had about all I can take of being mocked for one night.” She set down her wine and headed for the door.

  He stood, but didn’t follow her. He had no intention of going anywhere until he had all of the information he wanted. “Are you really going to dismiss me when all I’m trying to do is help find a missing girl?”

  He could tell he had her by the slump of her shoulders just as she had begun to round the corner into the entryway.

  She turned to him, a warning glint in her eyes. “If you’re trying to find Mara, you might want to start acting like it.”

  He sat, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Okay, what do you think I should be asking?”

  She stepped back into the room, but didn’t sit, as if she figured her acquiescence to letting him stay was temporary. “You should be asking me details about what I saw.”

  “I will, but I have a hard time believing you saw anything.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She kept her bandaged foot propped on top of the other. “So what’s my motivation to claim I had a vision then?”

  He tapped his fingers against his notepad. Memories of another woman, another time, flickered in the dark tunnel of his past. “Fame, maybe you want money from the family, how the hell would I know what makes people like you tick? I’ll bite though. Tell me about this vision of yours. Just tell me what you saw, from beginning to end.” He searched her eyes for the hunger for fame and money that he’d eventually seen in Cybill, but all he saw was a woman who’d been drilled all day and perhaps a tinge of frustration. Or maybe resentment. He pushed that thought aside. If she could fake visions she could hide her drive.

  “She stood on the sidewalk in front of a sage green house…”

  He made notes as she described what Mara was wearing, where she was standing, and what she was doing when Lily spotted the guy across the street.

  “Can you describe him for me? Hair color, eye color, what he was wearing, approximate height and weight?”

  “Brown hair, dark. Shaggy. His eyes were brown or hazel. It was hard to tell.”

  “Why was it hard to tell?” he asked as he continued to jot down details.

  She twirled her hair with her thumb and index finger. “I was standing across the road and down the street from him.”

  Mason raised a brow. Interesting. “You were standing? I thought this was a vision.”

  “It was,” she snapped. “First you claim visions aren’t real and now you’re judging my vision for not meeting some sort of vision criteria. You don’t get to disbelieve the ability, but then set the parameters for the right and wrong way to have a vision,” she said, her hands waving around in her agitation as she spoke.

  “Okay. So, you were standing down the street. Any other details you can give me about the way he looked?”

  The look on her face told him that she hadn’t missed the emphasis he’d placed on “standing” and that he might just be close to getting kicked out of her house. “I’d guess he was about 5’10”. Have no idea on weight. He was thin though. Not gaunt, but trim. Kind of like a cyclist. Strong, but not bulky.”

  “Okay. What else did you notice about him?”

  “He wore a mostly black. It was warm. Mara was in a pink tank top and jean shorts.”

  She had the outfit right. He’d need to double check the details that had been made to the public. Any information that matched common knowledge wouldn’t prove squat about whether or not she really had a vision.

  “What happened next?”

  “He was smoking and threw down—”

  “Wait, smoking? Were you able to see what the cigarette butt looked like? If it was white or tan?”

  “If I couldn’t see his eye color, how would I see that?”

  “Because sometimes the contrast of colors in foreign objects against the skin stand out more. Take a minute, think back, play it out in your mind. Maybe you’ll see it.”

  She steadied herself with a hand to the back of her couch and closed her eyes. He didn’t know what she was watching, but her eyelids drifted close leaving her delicate lashes fanning out just above her rosy cheeks. He didn’t know where she went in that moment, but for just a moment, she looked as though everything heaped on those delicate shoulders rolled away. The woman before him was made for sundresses and long walks through wildflowers.

  The vision died with the tightening of her mouth and the way she squeezed her eyes tight.

  Here came the theatrics and just in the nick of time to remind him just what kind of woman she might be. He knew the game. He’d play along…for the time being.

  “What are you seeing? Right at this moment, what is it?” he asked. He needed to know what put that look on her face, the one that said she’d never forget what she saw.

  “He grabbed her and had a knife to her throat,” she said. Her voice cracked.

  “Is he right or left handed?”

  She paused, her gaze drifting off toward the fireplace without really seeing it. “Left. He’s left handed.”

  “Good. And now that he’s closer, can you see anything about his face, his skin, that’s unique. Birth marks, moles, tattoos, anything?”

  “He has a scar over his right eyebrow. Thin, shiny, and curling down his temple.”

  “Good, good. Anything else?” He hated the excitement coursing through him, but information was information. If there was an ounce of truth to her story, they’d be a few steps closer. If not, maybe in the process of finding Mara, he’d nail Lily to the wall in a way he hadn’t been able to nail Cybill.

  If Lily was handing him a boatload of bullshit, he’d turn it around and use it against her. No way would he take the bait again.

  But how the hell could he find out? Because he sure as hell didn’t want to get close to her. Nothing good could come of that. Not with the way his body reacted to her movements, her scent.

  “Just the black sedan that picked them up.”

  “What kind of black sedan?

  “A Lincoln.”

  “Did you see the plate number? The car would have been close at that point if you were standing near her.”

  “I didn’t get the plate number.”

  “None of it?”

  “No.”

  He tossed his pad and pen to the ottoman and huffed out a breath. There it was. And he wanted to believe her. Her really did, but she saw the guy’s scar, but no license plate number? He didn’t buy it.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Gee, there’s a shocker. I’ve got news for you, pal, you haven’t wanted to believe her since minute one,” Jasmine said leaning forward with a scowl.

  “Explain to me how she can see a scar on the man’s face, but not see license plate numbers.” He stood and began packing his pad and pen into his bag. “If it doesn’t make sense, it’s not true. This might all be fun and games to you, but there is a girl missing. Seventy-four percent of missing kids are dead within three hours. It’s been five days. I don’t have time to waste on stories. I don’t know what you’re deal is, but if you’re looking for some sort of angle to worm your way into the good graces of the family so you can bilk them for money, it’s not happening. Not on my watch.”

  “Hey, who the hell do you think you are—”

  “Jasmine, stop,” Lily said putting a hand up to halt Jasmine. “You want proof, Mason? Do you really want proof? Because I have a feeling you don’t. You want me to be a hack and then you don’t have to acknowledge all the things that make you uncomfortable about me.”

  “I loathe the fact that people like you even exist. This family is hurting. Mara’s mother and fa
ther go to bed at night in agony wondering every minute what’s happening to their daughter. Do you know what that does to a parent? Do you know what it’s like to almost wish your own child was dead so as to be assured whatever horrid torture you’re envisioning is not happening to them?” He snatched his recorder. He didn’t need an answer. Nothing he said would get through to people like her. People with no hearts.

  She had him there for a minute. He’d admit it. That flinch and those quivering lips—

  “This outrage isn’t about Mara. This is about Alegra.”

  His blood ran cold. Pain sliced through him on a dizzying wave of disbelief at hearing his sister’s name whisper past Lily’s lips. She couldn’t know. How could he possibly know?

  He whipped around, circled the ottoman and grasped Lily’s arm pulling her up onto her toes. “How? How do you know about her?” The sound bubbled out of him like an inhuman growl of grief.

  “Because I’ve been seeing visions of you since I was six years old,” she said while facing off with him.

  She didn’t try to pull away. It was as if she understood the violent feelings coursing through him that needed to be released and she trusted him to grab her, but not ultimately hurt her. As if she knew him and had known him for years.

  “Tell me something you saw. Anything. Prove to me you’re the real deal.” He wished she had seen his sister’s abduction. That she could provide details. The only person who ever stepped forward was Cybill and it was all a lie.

  “I saw you with your friends the day you became blood brothers. You all had Mountain Dews and you had a Swiss Army knife that you pulled out of your navy Jansport bag,” she said the words while looking him straight in the eye.

  Jasmine’s mouth fell open. “Wait, he’s the guy—”

  Lily cut a look in Jasmine’s direction that had Jasmine snapping her lips shut.

  He recalled that day with his friends. He’d just turned fourteen. It was the summer before he started high school, one of the last glimpses of his childhood. Before life and evil snatched the last vestiges of his childhood. There’s no way she could have known. None.

  A fission of fear moved through him. All of a sudden the idea that she might be the real deal, and the idea of that was a whole lot scarier than proving her a hack. “I’m the guy what? What is she talking about?”

  Lily rolled her lips inward, glanced away, and then brought her eyes back to his. “You’re the one. My boy.”

  Chapter 5

  Lily stared at the coffee pot willing it to brew faster. Despite the brain fog leftover from a turbulent night’s sleep, the way Mason looked at her the night before kept flashing in her mind as clear as the reflection on a lake on a sunny summer’s day.

  She’d been an idiot.

  She could have told him so many things: about the fist fight he got into during a game of kickball, his first date to a dance in the ninth grade where he tried to look down his date’s dress, or even his graduation from boot camp.

  Any of those memories, or a zillion others from the glimpses she had into his childhood and adulthood, would have been enough to distract him from Jasmine’s unfortunate blunder.

  And leave it to Lily to only think of those options now.

  The coffee pot stuttered and spat the last of the brew into the carafe. Lily took a deep breath as she poured the hot liquid into her favorite “Never Trust a Smiling Cat” Garfield mug. The faded, scratched mug had been a piece of her old life she’d carried into the present. A comforting reminder of hot chocolate with her nana, before her clairvoyant skills invaded every aspect of her life and complicated all of her relationships.

  All, but three relationships.

  Now the four of them wandered through their lives as if in a labyrinth where things defied explanation and weren’t always what they seemed.

  For her, she’d seen his sister. She’d seen pieces of her abduction. It was the first vision she had ever had that sat broken in her mind, like shards of glass reflecting fractured images, so many slivers, that she couldn’t piece them together, leaving her riddled with blind spots.

  He could never find out that she had visions of Alegra, of the day she was abducted. He’d demand answers and she had nothing in sequence.

  And if she told him that, he’d never believe her.

  She shook her head, shedding the thoughts, and headed for her front door. Mother nature had shown off her brazen contempt for the date on the calendar by hitting them with a rare blast of heat and brilliant sunshine.

  There was no way in heck she would venture to Patterson Park, but nothing could stop her from sitting on her front stoop with her book and coffee, soaking in the quiet calm of the morning before the world woke up.

  With her kindle tucked under her arm and her mug in her hand, she pulled open her front door. The sound of camera shutters assaulted her ears. Camera flashes barraged her eyes. She shielded her face as a pack of journalists waiting at the bottom of her porch on the sidewalk.

  Microphones were thrust in her face by what appeared to be bodiless arms squeezed between the three reporters and two cameramen in the front row.

  Her kindle slipped from under her arm, cracked against the landing, and bounced between the rails to her almost dormant flower bed.

  “Ms. Ashmore, is it true that you claim to have had visions of the abduction of Mara Wilkins?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Can you see if she’s dead or alive at this moment?”

  “No, look—”

  “Have you had any visions of what’s been done to her over the past six days since she went missing?”

  “Please, this is my home…” she trailed off as her throat closed up with unshed tears. The last thing she would do is let them see her cry. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as the questions only came faster and more furious.

  “If you claim to have visions, why can’t you tell the police where she is at this moment?”

  “Are your visions what help you connect to your callers so well on Love After Dark?”

  “Why don’t you use your gifts to help authorities solve other crimes?”

  “What do you say to the claim that this is just some trick on your part to bilk the Wilkins family out of money?”

  “What? Who made that claim?” Lily asked, her skin flushing, her hands shaking.

  “Our sources report overhearing Mason Devlin during a cell phone call claiming that you are laying the groundwork to pretend to help the family…for a price,”

  Rage exploded within her. Her heart stampeded away on a wave of rampaging fire. She’d been raised a lady in the south, but this, this tore away at the manners instilled in her and had her seeing red. She stiffened her shoulders as the blood shooting through her veins pumped an echo through her ears.

  How. Dare. He.

  After what she had told him, he still thought her a liar, a con artist. Well, they were going to get a few things straight.

  “What the hell?” Jasmine yelled as she launched herself out the doorway and in front of Lily. “This is private property!”

  Lily left Jasmine sparring with the press and made her way to her cell phone. She took Mason’s card off the fridge and dialed the number. Taking deep breaths, she hoped she could manage to answer the phone with more than a scream of frustration.

  “You’ve reached…”

  She waited out the words. Listened to how normal he sounded. Polite even. Well, she wouldn’t let that soothing baritone voice fool her. He was a snake and she damn well planned on telling him so.

  The beep pulled her back into the present. “You. You sneaky, lowdown, no good—” the phone beeped cutting off her recording leaving her nowhere to aim the barbs rising up in her throat.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Jasmine asked, wrapping an arm around Lily’s shoulder.

  “No, I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” This was her life that she’d worked for and he had made a mockery of it. She hated that he put her i
n a position of putting herself out there in order to save her reputation. The realization that this was more than just combating local bullies who had made fun of her, and instead she needed to fight for her reputation since this had gotten serious enough that it might just stick with her no matter how far she managed to run made her swallow hard.

  She’d worked too damn hard for everything she had to let Mason, or anyone else take it from her. She wouldn’t be the scapegoat and she wouldn’t slink away because at the end of the day, if she did either of those things, any shred of respect she had for herself would die.

  She pulled away from Jasmine, still seething, and jabbed a finger in her direction. “But you know what? If I’m not going to be okay, he doesn’t get to be okay either.”

  “Look at you pulling out your fighting spirit. I dig this side of you.”

  Lily curled her palms over the edge of her counter and looked out the window over the kitchen sink. “He took away my safe place. I’ve been working on being comfortably invisible for five years, and he stole that from me.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to start by giving that man a piece of my mind. Beyond that, I just don’t know.” What was she supposed to do with the memories now? He’d always been her hero, the man she’d used a ruler for all others.

  His words tarnished his shine leaving her wondering if she had just been a silly girl believing in a fairytale hero, when in truth, there were no larger than life heroes anymore. There were no gallant men. No men who lived and died by their honor.

  Lily headed for the shower, taking her cell phone with her in case he called back. There was no way she was going to leave such a heated message and miss his return call.

  She stood under the spray, peeling back the curtain every couple of minutes to check her phone until the water turned cool. The minute her foot hit the bathmat, her phone rang with the once bolstering chorus to Gloria Gaynor’s, I Will Survive.

  She took a cleansing breath and clicked to answer, just to see it was the station calling, not Mason.

  “Hello,” Lily said.

  “Good morning, Lily,” Raymond Fields, the owner of the station said.