Blinded

by Teyla Branton

  My martial arts training kicked in, and I began to struggle. The man behind me gasped as I elbowed his stomach, but the barrel of a gun jabbing into my side gave me pause.

  “Don’t move,” a whispered voice growled. A second man.

  Instinctively, I tried to look in his direction, but the man holding me kept my head still. The second man shoved a wad of cloth into my mouth, following it with a strip of tape plastered across my face. I could barely breathe. Another piece of cloth cinched tightly over my eyes and around my head.

  Guess I’d found what I was looking for. There must be something forensics could find on the rug that would incriminate someone—and perhaps that person had stashed the rug here, hoping it would be overlooked. But how did that person know about my ability, or that I was working for the cops? With my jeans, my bare feet, and my short-cropped brown hair, dyed auburn on top, I didn’t look official by any means. Paige did, and even Shannon might be pegged, but I looked like a legit bargain hunter

  “What now?” asked one of the men.

  “Here.” A hand pushed me face first into the rug. The edges curled around my body, and I mentally berated myself for not fighting back. I might have survived a bullet, but if they got me out of here and someplace alone, I’d be in worse trouble. Besides, since being locked in a root cellar at a commune during one of my other cases, I’d become claustrophobic. Just thinking about being closed in brought on the panic.

  As the rug squeezed tighter around me, the imprint began again. My arm or maybe my cheek was touching the place where it had been left.

  I crouched in a dark hallway, lifting the edge of the rug. Just a tug and it would be over. My muscles tightened, ready to pull.

  Footsteps in the darkness. A glimpse of pale feet. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting

  Now. I pulled hard. A hoarse cry pierced the quiet night, followed by a loud crash. One more thud and then nothing.

  All finished. Wait. My finger was bleeding on the rug. I needed to get out of the house before someone saw me.

  Some part of me knew I was Autumn and that I was rolled in a rug. That part knew I had to struggle and fight so Shannon and Paige could find me. But I was caught in the imprint, the memory that wasn’t mine. Caught reliving again and again a murder in the dark.

  They say your greatest strength can be your greatest weakness, but I never really understood that until I began to read imprints. Psychometry might be the name for my ability, but right now psycho might be a better one. I was trapped more surely by the imprint than the rug.

  I pulled the rug again. The same crash and the same helpless scream.

  I’d give a lot at this moment to be as blind as the rest of the world.

  I never saw anything new when I experienced imprints for a second or additional time. Never. Sometimes I might forget something after seeing it only once, but the imprint itself didn’t change. What I saw came through the eyes of the person actually imprinting on an object, filtered through their experiences and intelligence. That meant imprints could often be misleading.

  Not this one. Intent to harm was present. Determination. The act. What I couldn’t know, because the person hadn’t been thinking about it, was his motive or identity. It was so dark in the imprint that I couldn’t see anything besides the rug and a pale flash of feet down the hall, perhaps at the top of a staircase. I might be witnessing the homeowner’s cause of death.

  I yanked the rug again. My victim fell.

  No, it wasn’t me. I was Autumn—not whoever had left this imprint. That person was only worried about their job. About the blood.

  Nausea threatened to choke me.

  Why hadn’t the murderer destroyed the rug? Or if he worked for In Loving Memory, why hadn’t they discounted it and placed it in a prominent location so it would sell fast? The police obviously hadn’t considered the rug as evidence at the time of the owner’s death, but now that complaints had been filed, the murderer should be covering his tracks. It didn’t make sense to overprice the rug and hide it in the attic.

  More important, why abduct me? Because I could feel that I was being carried down the stairs. Across a room.

  I pulled the rug again.

  My panic grew. Please, Shannon, I thought. Find me.

  The tips of my toes jabbed into the stomach of one of the men, the rug not quite large enough to hide all of me. Would someone notice, or were the men wearing bulky enough clothing to hide what little of me emerged?

  The moving stopped. “What a great choice,” a woman said. “I hope you realize, though, that this is a cash-only sale.”

  I tried to scream, but I was too busy waiting for the flash of pale feet. Wait. Maybe I could use the imprint to my advantage.

  Now! I lurched with the movement in the imprint, pulling the rug not only in my mind but also jerking my whole body.

  My feet slammed against hard muscles, and then I was falling head first. Still firmly trapped inside the heavy rug.

  “Oh, my,” the woman said to one of my captors. “Are you okay?”

  “Just tripped,” the man grunted.

  Again I waited in the dark. Waited for the pale feet.

  A tear skidded down my cheek. My breath was hot.

  My stomach heaved. I was probably going to suffocate. I jerked again with the pull of the rug, but this time my abductors were prepared.

  “Thank you so much,” the woman trilled. “We hope you’ll attend one of our events again in the future. We have a sign-up sheet here if you’d like to be notified of other estate sales. No? All right. If you change your mind, please visit our website.”

  Then we were moving again. I gasped for breath, willing myself to be calm so I wouldn’t suffocate. A little hard to do when reliving the thoughts of a murderer plotting to kill someone.

  I heard a door open and felt the sensation of being dropped. My body seemed to be level, so the vehicle was probably a van.

  “Hurry,” said a man’s voice.

  “Shouldn’t we check her?”

  “She’ll be okay. You felt the way she was moving.”

  I saw the pale feet and jerked the rug again.

  This time the action was less real, disembodied. Further away. I didn’t feel the roughness of the rug on my fingers. I did hear the crash and the scream. My head tumbled through black space as I fought to retain consciousness.

  Chapter 2

  The crash wasn’t inside my head or in the imprint. Because this time it ended with the squeal of brakes and another crash. More screaming. Then I heard a loud boom! Something heavy fell on top of me. My lungs tried to suck in air, but there seemed to be none available.

  My panic exploded into dark nothingness.

  Blissful nothingness.

  “Autumn? Autumn?” Shannon’s worried voice came at me with annoying repetition.

  Why didn’t he leave me alone? I really needed to sleep. I’d have to remind him that sneaking over to my apartment in the middle of the night when he was under cover was jeopardizing his mission. He’d listen to that. He was a stickler for rules.

  Wait a minute. He wasn’t undercover anymore, except at the estate sales, which didn’t really count as undercover. And it wasn’t my soft mattress under me but hard tarmac. I could smell something burning.

  I forced my eyes open to see Shannon’s rugged face close to mine. Even in their worry, his eyes were the most beautiful I’d ever seen in a man. Something in the green-blue color or in the heavy frame of brown, slightly curly lashes made them stand out. Those eyes alone could make criminals confess, especially female criminals. Before we began dating, I’d purposefully avoided looking into his eyes as much as possible, but now there was no reason not to drown in them.

  Except I couldn’t quite focus. Or breathe, for that matter.

  “She’s still having problems.” Shannon glanced upward at someone who stood nearby, casting a shadow over us.

  “The ambulance is here.” It was Paige, her voice tight with exhilaration. I knew that mean
t she’d gotten to use her gun. That was the only thing besides talking about her new boyfriend that cut through her usual calm composure. “They can take her to the hospital.”

  That got me awake. “No ambulance. I’m fine.” My damaged bank account certainly couldn’t afford any more medical treatments.

  Ignoring me, Shannon waved someone over before moving to my other side, every movement of his compact form undeniably graceful. His hair was that color between brown and blond, just beginning to show some of the lighter streaks the sun painted liberally in his hair during the summer. He’d recently had it cut after finishing his undercover work, so the ends were sadly missing the curl he normally sported. I loved those curls. I wanted to rub my hands through them. It was just as well the curls were missing, though, since my hands wouldn’t obey me.

  The next second, a paramedic arrived and something plastic was shoved over my face. I breathed in, relieved to feel my lungs expanding with oxygen.

  Shannon pulled my head onto his lap. “Is that better?”

  The pain in my chest was diminishing, and this close I could definitely see him better. The sun prematurely crinkled the skin around his eyes, giving him a healthy, wholesome glow. Since he hadn’t been working overtime the past few days, he was clean-shaven. His eyes watched me intently, demanding an answer.

  I nodded and struggled to sit, though I left the oxygen mask on, just in case. I felt as weak as I had after a serious bout of the flu. When I was finally sitting upright, I briefly pulled the oxygen mask away from my face to speak.

  “I’m fine. Just a little winded.” I looked around, noticing for the first time a gray van burning some distance away.

  “They’re gone. They had backup waiting. A sedan. Jumped into it when they saw us pursuing. They hit the van with something big as they drove away. Paige got the license plate number, but it’s probably bogus.”

  This time I pulled the mask to the side of my face, holding it there so I could speak and still benefit from the oxygen. “You let them get away?”

  He gave me a flat look. “Hmm, let’s see. It was either that or let you burn to death in the van.”

  “Oh, in that case, good choice.”

  The hint of a smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Fortunately, that rug had you well-protected from the fire, though it almost smothered you before I got you out.”

  “Where is it?”

  “The rug?” he shrugged. “Still in the van. I loosened it just enough to pull you free. Paige was covering us so we couldn’t grab the entire thing with you in it. Why, was it important?”

  I shuddered, remembering the horror. “I’d just discovered a very strong imprint about a murder when they jumped me. And there might be some blood on it. The rug might have been used in the death of the homeowner.”

  Shannon nodded at Paige, who took off toward the firefighters on the scene, presumably to enlist their help in preserving the evidence.

  “I doubt there’s going to be anything left,” Shannon said. “It’s clear those men didn’t want to leave evidence.”

  Me included, apparently. “I didn’t even get a look at them before they jumped me. Did you see them?”

  He shook his head. “Only the basics. Dark dress shirts, slacks. Brown hair. Average height. Looked like half the men we’ve seen at these things. What I don’t understand is how they’re connected to our case. If someone’s been murdering old people to sell their estates, that’s one thing, but these guys felt different. Experienced. Prepared. Not many people would dare to do this much damage in broad daylight.”

  “Organized crime?”

  Shannon set a hand on my arm, as though driven to touch me. “That’s what it seems, but it has to be related to our estate investigation, or why would they take you right after you discovered the rug?”

  “How would they even know I could read imprints?”

  “Well, you said there was blood. Maybe they thought you knew more than you do. Or maybe you were just in the way.”

  I could tell he wasn’t satisfied with the explanation, and neither was I. In Loving Memory might be dirty, but the company didn’t seem prosperous enough to afford muscle that blew up their own vehicle in the middle of a police chase.

  I was still feeling winded and light-headed, but I took one more deep breath of the oxygen and pulled off the mask, handing it to the paramedic hovering nearby.

  “Will we be transporting?” the man asked.

  I shook my head, narrowing my eyes at Shannon. He breathed a heavy sigh. “No,” he said. “But thanks.” He waited until the man left before adding, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  There was tenderness in the words, and I leaned into him. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

  “If I hadn’t caught a glimpse of your bare feet when they dropped that rug as they left the house . . .” He left the statement unfinished, which was fine with me. “Anyway, I didn’t make it to the curb in time to stop them from leaving, but I made sure they didn’t get far.”

  A lump formed in my chest, an emotion too big to examine. I kept my face impassive. “The important thing is my antique desk and mirror. When you chased after me, were they damaged?” The bulge of my wallet in my back pocket informed me that the store’s mortgage money that I’d planned to borrow to pay for the items was miraculously intact.

  Shannon gave a warm chuckle that made me feel marginally better. “I hadn’t loaded them yet, so they’re still with the lady in charge, who, by the way, is one of the company partners. But besides that tidbit, I didn’t get a scrap of useful information from her. If she knows anything, she hides it well.”

  “What does your gut say?”

  He hesitated. “Never mind my gut. Do you have your sister’s drawing? You look like you need a recharge.”

  He was talking about Tawnia’s hand-drawn copy of the first picture someone had taken of her and me together less than two years ago. Tawnia had made it especially for me, smoothing each line while thinking about us and our relationship and the miracle we both felt at finding each other after being raised in separate adoptive homes. The small drawing held positive imprints, which gave me strength, and I normally carried it with me to counteract any strong negative imprints I might run into.

  I shook my head. “She’s making me a new one. Remember that imprint on that steering wheel you had me read last week after that hit and run? Well, I touched the drawing after to get rid of those feelings, and I left an imprint of my reaction.”

  It was one of the rare times it had happened, me detecting my own imprint, even though I’d used the drawing to regain my strength many times before. Imprints were fickle that way; everything depended on a person’s state of mind. Reliving the experience of an angry driver killing someone with a car had affected me differently than other imprints I’d read. Of course, that experience was now a part of me like all the other negative imprints, each stealing a tiny piece of my well-being. A small price to pay if it meant protecting people.

  “I don’t have my watch today,” Shannon said. The watch in question had been a gift from his grandfather years ago and held several strong imprints imbued with love. “We’ll have to get you some protein on the way back to the estate sale. I sent officers there, but I want to question anyone they find myself.”

  “Guess our cover’s blown.”

  “Yep. Or mine and Paige’s at least.”

  Paige sauntered over. “So, are we going back to question everyone?”

  “I’m ready.” I tried to stand, but my knees wouldn’t hold my weight, and my chest was hurting again. I was going to be angry if I’d broken another rib. But I suspected the real weakness was from that repeat imprint. I needed time and a lot of protein to recover.

  “I’ll have someone drive you home,” Shannon said, helping me to the curb. “You need to rest. And until we get a handle on what happened here, we’ll have a police detail watching your place.”

  I was about to protest—something I sometimes did just to keep him in his place�
�but another wave of dizziness prevented me.

  “At least put on your rings for now,” Paige said, as Shannon sprinted off to talk to the uniformed officers now canvassing the scene.

  “Right.” I dug in my pants pocket for the antique rings I normally wore every day. They buzzed with mildly pleasant imprints, which had many times softened the shock of a sudden negative imprint I stumbled on accidentally—usually while shopping or running errands. I’d taken them off before the estate sale so they wouldn’t interfere with any new emotions I might detect, but I needed them now.

  Except the buzzing from the rings was strangely muted. Maybe even missing altogether.

  “Is something wrong?” Paige said, noting my frown.

  “I’ve had these rings a long time. I think maybe the imprints are losing potency—and they were never strong to begin with.”

  “Which was why you could wear them. It was bound to happen.” Paige’s hand went to the V of her navy suit. “Well, I’d let you touch my new necklace, but then you’d probably experience what I did after Matthew gave it to me last night.”

  I shook my head. “No way do I want to see you lip-locking with Matthew—however cute he may be.” I felt a stab of jealousy as I spoke. She’d been able to pursue her relationship these past months while Shannon and I’d been in limbo.

  Paige laughed. “His parents are coming to town, and we’re all going to dinner.”

  “Must be really serious.”

  She held up a hand to reveal crossed fingers. “I hope so. They may totally hate me, though.”

  The idea wasn’t as ludicrous as it might sound. Paige often came across as too serious, especially when talking police business. It was all she’d ever known. Her father and brother were police detectives, and her grandfather was a retired detective. Following in their footsteps, her life’s main goal had always been to serve on the force. The first time I’d met her, I’d thought her eagerness a little vulture-like. Now it was endearing.

  “If they hate you, I’ll send them some really bad herbal tea.” I held up my hands as she began to protest. “I know, as a punishment it’s not much, but it’s all I got. You’re better with a gun than I’ll ever be. Seriously, Paige, if they have a problem, it’s their loss, and Matthew will still be crazy about you.”