by Lisa Jackson
Madeline’s eyes were open and staring straight toward the ceiling tiles. Savannah had seen a similar look on her father’s face as he entered a twilight world of unreality that just preceded his death. She didn’t know anything about this woman, but she would bet it was a matter of weeks or days before she was gone, not much longer.
“I’m Detective Savannah Dunbar,” she said, introducing herself to the silent woman. “Until yesterday your son, Justice, was a patient at Halo Valley Security Hospital. He escaped last night and is still missing.”
Madeline lay quietly, her chest barely rising and falling. No reaction to the news.
“He may try to see you.” Savvy waited, but nothing happened. The closeness of the room started to press upon her, and she experienced a roll of nausea. She was surprised to feel a physical reaction because she hadn’t believed she could be so susceptible to atmosphere; she prided herself on her professionalism, in fact, and had always been the one with the strong stomach. But now the feel of imminent death and the smells of chlorine and sweat and something sweet she couldn’t identify made her head swim a bit.
Hearing a soft beep behind her, Savvy looked to Inga Anderssen, who examined a small pager she had pulled from an inner pocket. “Are you almost done?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take this outside,” the older woman warned, then swept out. Savannah heard her make a cell phone call to someone and begin instantly berating them for their care of another patient.
She blocked out the sound and turned back to Maddie. “We’re alerting the staff here, and they’ll make sure you and the other patients are safe. If, for any reason, he should manage to contact you, press your call button. Let us know immediately.”
She waited, counting off the seconds in her head until it would be safe and prudent to leave without seeming to rush from the room. She heard Inga Anderssen winding up her call in the outside hallway and half turned toward the door herself.
“It’s a boy,” the woman in the bed said.
“Pardon?” Savvy glanced back, her heart nearly stopping. She’d thought the woman was almost comatose, but her words were clear. Maddie’s eyes had rolled to the side, pinning her in a way that was almost eerie. A ripple of unease rolled across Savvy’s arms.
“Do you want to know your future?” the older woman asked.
“Detective?” Inga’s voice from the hallway caused Savannah to jump as if goosed.
The nurse had pushed open the door farther and was frowning at her, her expression fierce. “Are you finished?”
Savvy glanced back at Madeline, whose eyes were gently closing, as if her efforts had exhausted her. She stared at the near-dead woman a long moment, before turning back to Inga. “She just spoke to me.”
One of Inga’s eyebrows quirked. “What? No.”
“She doesn’t speak?”
“Not a word.”
“Well, she did to me.”
“Must be your winning ways,” Inga said, disbelieving. “Hear that, Maddie? The officer thinks you spoke with her.”
The woman on the bed was barely breathing.
“Yeah, right. She’s a regular Chatty Cathy. What’d she do? Want to read your fortune?” Inga was chuckling, and Savvy, seeing that Mad Maddie had once again slipped into that twilight world between life and death, left, walking past the brittle nurse and into the hall. She skirted around an old guy in a wheelchair and walked swiftly toward the outside doors. The cold of the morning slapped her hard in the face, but she kept going, refusing to give in to the urge to run. So Mad Maddie had slipped out of her coma and said a few words. So what?
“Jesus, get hold of yourself.”
She was across the parking lot and had just reached her department-issued Jeep when her cell buzzed. Expelling a pent-up breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, she answered, “Dunbar.”
“Burghsmith and Clausen found the van,” Lang stated curtly. “The one from Halo Valley that was transferring Turnbull.”
“Good. And what about him?”
“No sign of the escapee yet, but it looks like we guessed right. He’s heading to the coast. The van was found miles west of Halo Valley.”
Savvy glanced over her shoulder and around the near-empty parking lot, as if expecting Justice Turnbull to leap from the shrubbery. Of course he didn’t.
Lang asked, “How’d it go with Mad Maddie?”
Frowning, Savvy glanced back to Seagull Pointe’s front doors. “She’s bedridden. Not really aware. I told her about Justice, but I don’t know how much went in.”
“She respond?”
“I thought she said something to me, but . . .” No, you know she said something! “. . . The nursing staff says she’s not responding at all.”
“Get on back here, and we’ll go to the site where they found the van together. The way it looks, I guess, is that Turnbull drove it up the mountain a ways and pushed it down a ravine. So he musta caught a ride with someone. I suppose he could’ve headed back to the valley at that point, but he woulda had to drive right past Halo Valley and all our people. And, anyway, we know he has unfinished business here. Think he’ll try to see his mother?”
“Maybe.” Again that ripple of unease slid over her, which was ridiculous. She was a cop, for God’s sake, nerves of steel and all that.
“He tried to kill her once before,” Lang reminded, sounding like he was talking more to himself than Savannah.
“The staff’s on alert, and they’re very protective of Madeline. They tried to stop me from seeing her. She should be okay.”
“What did you think of her?”
“Like I said, she’s not really aware.”
“I’ve asked people around town about her. She was apparently a pretty accurate psychic in her day.”
It’s a boy! Maddie’s words skittered across her brain.
Lang went on. “Some people are still scared of her, though I guess she was more a nuisance in her last years, before Justice came after her. We’re patrolling the area around her boarded-up motel, but nothing’s happening.”
“And the lighthouse?”
“One way in. One way out. He hasn’t tried to go there. We’ll keep watching Mad Maddie, her motel and the lighthouse, and Siren Song, and wait for him to show. But he’s in the wind, could be anywhere and too smart to go back to his usual haunts.” Lang’s frustration echoed over the wireless connection. “Anyway, get on back here and let’s go.”
“Wait! Did you get hold of McNally?” she asked, referring to the retired detective from the Laurelton PD.
“Haven’t connected yet. Found out he’s on a camping trip with his son this weekend. Out of cell range apparently. But I talked to Becca Sutcliff Walker. She and her husband, Hudson Walker, are definitely on pins and needles since Justice has been loose. I told two of ’em I would call them first, as soon as we’ve got him in custody again.”
“I hope that’s soon,” Savvy said with feeling.
“You and me both.”
Savvy hung up, closed her eyes, and tilted her face toward the sky. The air was heavy with moisture. Fog had crept down the mountains and covered the beach, darkening the morning, making everything seem less distinct.
Climbing into her Jeep, she caught the time and realized the entire ordeal with Inga, Maddie, and now the phone call with Lang, had lasted less than thirty minutes. God, it was going to be a long day! She gazed in her rearview at the building as she drove from the lot. She knew Justice Turnbull was a killer. An obsessive psychotic with a one-track mind. But if he was half as creepy as his mother, he was something more than those labels. Something as yet unnamed.
Do you want to know your future?
She shook her head and switched on the ignition.
Hell, no.
CHAPTER 13
Laura’s stomach began to growl.
After what seemed an eternity, their plates of huevos rancheros were delivered with an apology. “Mix-up in the kitchen. Sorry,” the barkeep said, as they�
��d ordered over half an hour earlier. Laura cautiously tried the food. Harrison’s gaze was on her, and she admitted with surprise after the first bite, “It is really good.”
“Told ya,” he said with satisfaction. “Worth the wait.”
“I don’t know about that.”
They tucked into their food for a few moments, and then Laura ventured cautiously, “You’re a little too easy to talk to.”
“I get it, you don’t trust me.”
“Should I?”
He laughed. “You tell me.”
“Not an answer, Frost.” She jabbed a fork in his direction. “I’m guessing this—the meal, the laid-back attitude, the easygoing smile—is all part of your own interviewing technique.”
“If it’s working, call it what you will.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.
“I know. You’re not into semantics.”
He found a bottle of hot sauce and sprinkled some over the remainder of his meal. “Tell me,” he wondered aloud, “why would the police think you’re a psycho if you told them you knew about Justice’s game plan?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” He took a bite and washed it down with coffee. “By the way, what is it?”
“His game plan?” Laura gazed into his hazel eyes, found herself slightly mesmerized. Scary. “I guess only he could really answer that.” Harrison poured them each more coffee from the pot, and she added a little more cream, watching the clouds come to the surface of her mug. “Do you believe in psychic phenomena?” she asked cautiously as she stirred and the cream dissipated. She knew she was treading on dangerous water here. He was a journalist, into the facts, things he could touch, taste, hear, and smell. He wouldn’t be into “feelings” or “sensations.”
“Not really.”
“Didn’t think so.”
He scooped a forkful of beans, tortilla, and ranchero sauce into his mouth. “Why?” he asked after he’d swallowed.
“The police don’t either.”
“You’re saying you’re a psychic?”
“Not really,” she said, purposely echoing his words. “But my family has experienced . . .”
“Experienced?” he repeated when she faded out.
“We have . . . we all have . . .”
“Yeah?”
She wondered, really wondered, if she was really going to admit this. Her heart started pounding hard.
“Something woo-woo?” he suggested.
“I knew you’d make fun.”
“I’m not making fun,” he said so sincerely and she almost believed him. Almost. “I’m just trying to see where you’re going.” When she remained silent, he suggested, “Are you saying you have some kind of ESP, or something?”
“Wow, I’m sorry I started this,” she said, meaning it. “I knew I would be.”
“Look, I might have trouble swallowing all the psychic stuff, but I’m not completely closed-minded.”
“Aren’t you?” she challenged.
He smiled, offering up that sexy grin she found ridiculously fascinating. She looked down at her plate, resisting his charm, his winning ways. “I’ll prove it. Why don’t you give me an example of what you’re talking about?”
She said, “I’m a nurse. I’m a good nurse, and I believe in science and healing through medicine. If you repeat what I’m about to tell you, I’ll deny it. I’ll flat out lie, because I’m good at my job and I don’t want my patients thinking I’m a nutcase.”
“Fair enough.”
She smiled back at him, disbelieving.
“Look, making judgment calls isn’t conducive to interviewing people,” Harrison pointed out. “I gotta say, you’ve got me on the edge of my seat.”
“I have a sister who is precognitive,” Laura stated. “She sees things in the future.”
“Such as?”
“She knew Justice had escaped before I told her.”
“Well, it was on the news. . . .”
“Uh-uh.” Laura shook her head. “No television. No outside information. They didn’t know anything but what Cassandra had told them.”
“Cassandra?”
“Don’t write that down!” she stated quickly as Harrison reached for his small tablet as the door to the restaurant opened and a group of three men entered to take a seat at a nearby table. She lowered her voice. “I’m serious.”
He lifted his hands. “I know. I get it. I was just going to ask you what all their names were. From the sound of it, there are enough of you that I’ll need to write them down.”
“I’m not giving you their names. Don’t make me sorry I told you about Cassandra.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay.” She was firm.
“What about you, then? What’s your special ability?”
She glanced at her half-eaten food and gently pushed her plate aside. She’d never told anyone. Had known not to.
You need the truth seeker.
“Ms. Adderley?”
“It’s Laura . . . Lorelei, actually.”
“Lorelei. Like in the myth?”
She stared at him, surprised. So few knew. Fewer still made any connection.
“I majored in journalism with an English minor,” he explained.
She didn’t know what to say. He kept surprising her, which made her question whether she was the one who had the prejudices. No, no. She wasn’t going to second-guess herself. If she’d learned anything from her marriage to the God of all know-it-alls, Byron Adderley, it was that she did know her own mind. She took in a calming breath, then said, “Okay, here it is. I sometimes know what’s wrong with a patient, physically. I can guess the diagnosis.”
“Is that so weird . . . for someone in the medical field?”
“Maybe not.” She pressed her lips together. She knew her ability was something special, but if he wasn’t interested in believing, she wasn’t about to push the issue. But she also wanted help in finding Justice, and so far, he was her best candidate. “But the thing is . . . the real psychic ability that I guess I want you to know . . . is . . .”
“Is?” he prodded.
She almost laughed. What good was this admission going to do for her? “Okay, it’s that I can hear Justice.”
“Hear him? How do you mean?”
Oh, God, here goes nothing. If anything would convince Frost that she was off her nut, this would. “What I mean is that I can hear his voice scraping at my brain. He talks to me.”
Harrison Frost was trying really, really hard to keep his face from giving him away. Laura could sense the effort he was putting into his act of believing her. “Well, then, what does he say?” he asked carefully.
“I knew it. You’re humoring me.”
“What does he say?” he repeated.
“He says, ‘Sssisssterrr,’ ” she rasped. “He says it with a menace so strong, it actually scratches across my brain and I know he’s coming for me.” Harrison was staring at her intently, but there wasn’t disbelief in his expression. “I’ve sensed him all my life. He’s sent messages off and on for years, although I didn’t really get what they were about until I was older. I only really fully understood the last when he was on his mission.”
Harrison’s face was sober now, his eyes darkening gravely, his jaw rock hard, not a hint of a smile on his lips. “His mission of killing people? A few years back? That’s what you’re talking about?”
She nodded. “Justice is after my family. I don’t know why exactly. He wants to kill us all.”
“And he’s sending you messages to that effect?”
“Yes.” Then, “I know what it sounds like.” She rubbed her face hard, wishing she hadn’t started this, knowing there was no backing out now. Besides, she needed someone to know that she had contact with Justice, though she supposed trusting a reporter like Harrison Frost wasn’t the best idea. “His voice is really strong right now. He knows where I am. I’m on his radar.”
“You think he wants to kill you.”
&nbs
p; And my baby. “Oh, yeah.” Of this she was certain.
“What’s he got against all of you?”
“Good question. Catherine says Mary was cruel to him when he was young. What that means, I don’t really know. People can be unkind, even brutal, or cruelty can be imagined. Even so, to the victim, it’s real.”
He clicked his pen as he frowned thoughtfully. “What about Justice’s own mother?”
“Madeline,” she said, remembering. “I—I don’t know. He tried to kill her before, though. He’s never sent me any kind of message about that, and when . . . when he reaches toward me, I block him out.”
“You mean mentally?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“So, he’s got this ability, too.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Harrison’s gaze narrowed. “So, how does it work, exactly?”
“I raise up a wall inside my mind, and he’s blocked out. I mentally visualize the wall, build it strong and tall, and it cuts him off.”
“But didn’t you say his voice is stronger now?”
“Since he escaped. Yes.” She nodded, felt the hair on her nape rise when she thought of Justice’s hideous sibilant messages. “Oh, God, this is horrible.”
Harrison stared at her a moment, then said softly, “I think I’ve got enough. No more questions for now.”
“Good.” The truth was, she was drained; dredging up all the old memories and concentrating on Justice’s malevolence was exhausting.
Harrison leaned back, caught the bartender’s attention, and signaled for the check. Within seconds, the bartender brought over the tab. Harrison left several bills on the table as she shrugged into her jacket. Together they wended their way through tables and past the bar, where, despite the early hour, the barkeep was drawing beers and making Bloody Marys.
Laura felt Harrison’s hand in the small of her back once, guiding her around two newcomers who were talking and taking up more than their share of personal space in the aisle.
