a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure)

by Charles, L. j.

  “Not really. But then my life has been crazy busy.”

  “Please sit,” I said as I settled into a chair and pointed to the end table. “There’s a cold bottle of water for you. I can’t believe it’s this hot and heavy so early in the summer.”

  “I know,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “I heard it’s going to rain later tonight, break up the heat wave we’ve been having.”

  I curled both legs under me and gave Katelan my full attention. “Your smile tells me how well things are going. You’ve moved through the divorce, and that’s good to see.”

  Katelan nodded, grinned. “I have. My life has taken an amazing turn. I found a fantastic job as an interpreter for The Barton Group. It puts my knowledge of Chinese to good use, and keeps me busy traveling between here and Mainland China.”

  “Umm. I’m not familiar with The Barton Group or what they do. Is the company based here in the Triangle?”

  “Oh, no. San Francisco. Which is where I live when I’m not traveling. We negotiate contracts between Pacific Rim and European, or sometimes American companies. I’m only back here for a few months to work on a contract negotiation with a Raleigh company.”

  Her fingers were busy with the cap on her water bottle, and her eyes were focused off in the distance. Her attention slowly came back to me, and she took a deep breath. “I want you to teach me how to access my intuition, to use it wisely.” The words rushed from her mouth, unsteady.

  An odd shiver passed through my body.

  Katelan wanted a teacher.

  “Me?”

  “Of course, you. We talked a little about your extra-sensory fingers when I was going through hell with Kevin, but I was in no condition to fully appreciate how you work.” Her voice filtered through the fog of my apprehension.

  I pressed my hand tightly against my mouth. The silence hung heavy. You have to say something, El. Words would be good here. Seriously, you need to find some words.

  Katelan put the water down, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “The time I’ve spent in Asia studying Eastern traditions has made it clear that I have strong intuitive ability.”

  She stood, strolled to the window. “I don’t know if it’s been activated because of my daily Tai Chi practice, or because I’m finally at peace with myself, but I’ve been using my intuition when I work with the negotiating teams.”

  “Sounds like you’re progressing well on your own—”

  She whirled to face me. “Not like I could with you as my teacher. You blend your gifts with the rest of your life and I want to be able to do that. I usually sense what’s needed before it comes to the negotiation table, and I use that knowledge to augment the discussions. But when I stop and think about it, I get scared. So far everything has gone smoothly, but what if I make a mistake?”

  A mistake. My biggest fear when I worked with clients.

  Katelan dropped back into her chair. “El?”

  Right. Me. She needed answers from me, not a discourse on the fear of screwing up.

  I cleared my throat, took a swallow of water, and hoped the words I’d found were the right ones. “It can be frightening when you first start to sense things others don’t see. We all have the ability to use what I call subconscious wisdom. It’s just that some people access it and some don’t.”

  My index finger strayed to the diamond nestled in my navel. “Apparently, you’re going to be one of those who listens to that wisdom.”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly so. Can you help me to be more comfortable with this, teach me what I need to know? I’m not sure why or how I think you can help, but I know you can.”

  Katelan had more faith in me than I did—especially since I was still reeling from the past twenty-four hours. Coincidence that she just happened to be sitting in my office? Not a chance. And now I was about to become The Teacher. Right when I’d suddenly bumped into a lack of faith in my own subconscious wisdom.

  Damn it all to perdition.

  “You know, Katelan, I’ve never taught anyone before. There has to be someone better suited—”

  “No, I want you.” Excitement and enthusiasm sparkled in her energy field. “We can learn together.”

  I took a deep breath and let go of the pressing desire to run as far and fast as my bare feet would carry me. “All right. Let’s see what the universe has in store for us.”

  Katelan dug through her tote, pulled out a pad and pen and waited, pen poised, to write down my every word.

  It scared the bejeezus out of me.

  “Where should I start? What’s my first assignment?”

  Damn. I had a student. Right here, right now, waiting for some incredibly wise words. I paced to the window and back, frantically praying for guidance. Thought back to that long-ago seminar where I met my teacher.

  Okay. I could do this. “Your first assignment is to go to the mall, sit on a bench and watch the people that walk by. Select someone who seems interesting to you, someone who doesn’t seem to fit into his or her body comfortably. Let your mind take a video of that person, focusing on how they move, then write down the characteristics that catch your attention. Watch and listen to conversations. This will teach you to read body movement and facial expression, and how to balance what your intuition senses with what your rational mind understands.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, her pen flying across the paper. “I didn’t know what to expect when I asked you to help me, but somehow I thought it would be more metaphysical. This seems so practical.”

  “It is—” I nodded— “and when you use your intuition wisely, it’s always balanced with practicality. Think about being in one of those negotiations at work when things aren’t exactly clear and you get conflicting information between what your gut and mind are telling you. That’s when fear pops up and you second-guess yourself. When you don’t know what to do, whether to rely on your gut or your mind, your belly is most always right. It will put your mind at rest if you can substantiate your gut feeling with a physical sign.”

  She sat quietly, brought her hand to her abdomen, then tucked the pad and pen away. “Okay. I’m armed and ready to invade the mall.”

  “Another thing. If you’re in doubt, mimic the body language of the person you’re watching. Becoming them, in a sense, will help you understand the body-mind-spirit connection in that person.”

  I sent Katelan on her way, my mind spinning.

  My plan: revisit the demolished shopping mall, sit and observe just like Katelan was doing, only then I’d follow up by touching whatever caught my attention. And I’d keep touching stuff until I figured out what was causing the foggy image syndrome.

  It was past time to deal with my touch malfunction, and what better place than the construction site that had become my nemesis. I dressed for the occasion in loose black pants and a long-sleeved, lightweight, black shirt, and then tucked my hair under a black ball cap.

  Ready, set, detonate.

  FIVE

  A little TNT went a long way. Dark had settled snugly around what was left of the deserted wreckage, the vacant parking lot…and me. I pushed the seat back in my Bug, pulled my feet up under me, and opened the window. The air was heavy with the promise of rain and the stinging scent of ozone. The quiet pressed against my ears, and free-floating panic skittered along my nerves. Not that there was anything to be afraid of. The demolished site sat at the edge of a ritzy residential area—a very low crime neighborhood.

  Okay. So it was a big deal to have my sense of touch out of whack and I probably shouldn’t have avoided dealing with the problem for this long, but finding Jacobson’s body had put everything on hold.

  I got out of the car and picked my way toward the surreal skyline of the wreckage, started to circle the perimeter. With each step the panic shifted—sometimes barely tickling the edge of my consciousness, sometimes suffocating me like wet wool.

  The strongest smothering sensation was coming from a spot near the parking lot. There was a titch of grass
there, big enough for me to sit on comfortably. The moon was full, playing hide and seek with the cloud cover. A single, bright beam of moonlight touched the ground right where I wanted to sit. Thank you, God, because no way would I plant my backside without knowing that nothing smelly and unattractive littered the ground. Still, I got a blanket out of the car to sit on. Creepy crawlies came out in the dark. Enough said.

  I kept my hands on my lap, fingers lightly curled. My brain ached with the sensation of panic that had settled in to keep me company. I closed my eyes to block out the wreckage of the construction site and let my mind wander. Images of Jacobson, Mitch, and Katelan played on my internal movie screen.

  As my mind relaxed, I opened my eyes and scanned the moonlit reality of the landscape. The grey edges began to clear from my vision, and I allowed my fingertips to brush the ground. The hum of mother earth tingled along my nerves, warm and comforting. Yes, this was the right thing for me to do. I alternately fisted and flexed my hands a few times, and then rested my fingertips on the ground.

  There was a rush of new images, and with them a sigh of relief moved through my body. Now I had some viable information to share with Adam—a description of two guys. And I was beginning to understand what had gone wrong with my sense of touch.

  In order for my intuition to purr along in good working order, I couldn’t pre-load it with expectations and preconceived ideas about what I was going to see. I had to let go of the structure my mind created, as well as any of those annoying emotions that colored everything, in this case, with grey edges.

  Mission accomplished, I made it home in record time and snuggled into the corner of my sofa with a glass of my favorite cabernet. It was cozy and safe, and should have been the perfect setting for me to record the impressions I’d gotten at the construction site. But, no.

  Several sips of wine later, I still hadn’t written anything in my notebook. Nada. This wasn’t working. A glance at the clock told me it was ten. Probably not the best time to phone Adam, but I could text him, or better, send an email. Two minutes after I hit Send my cell rang.

  Had to be Adam. Damn. He was awake and on the computer. Not good. I didn’t get as much as a “hello” out before he laid into me.

  “You went off by yourself? Again? And you inform me in a text?” His words were coming at me, battering. “Bet you didn’t tell anyone where you were going.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “You didn’t. Damn your curiosity. It’s going to have me pulling your body out of a dumpster someday. I thought you’d be busy tonight. Where the hell is Mitch, anyway?”

  Another silence. No way was I reporting back on my love life.

  He inhaled a deep breath. “Okay. I’m over it. What’d you find?”

  “Didn’t you read the email?”

  “Skimmed it. I want to hear it. Makes a difference as to how I process the information.”

  No way could I argue with Adam’s hinky traits, not when I had to live with the magic finger syndrome. “Well, the first thing was overwhelming panic. It took a while to get through that—”

  Adam chuckled. “Probably you panicked because you knew I’d be pissed.”

  “I thought you were over it.”

  He huffed, sharply. Must be something big brothers learn at an early age, and apparently Annie had taught him well.

  “So,” I continued, “I sat down on that patch of grass next to the parking lot and picked up two images. The first was of a man, about five-ten with dark brown hair, chunky, felt like he was in his late forties or early fifties. He was well dressed in a suit and tie, looked like the business type. The image of his face wasn’t clear so I didn’t get any distinguishing features, but the sensation of panic—his, not mine—was overwhelming.”

  “Doesn’t tell me a lot,” Adam broke in. “There could be any number of suits that stood there checking things out. And how do you know it wasn’t your panic, you know, generating a fake image or something?”

  Irritation whipped along my nerves. Not the time, El. It’s really bad timing for a fight with Adam.

  “I just do.” My words crackled with impatience. “The important thing here is that the shopping center was still standing, still under construction. This dude was looking at the site, full of panic because the work was moving along nicely. That was part of the impression—the work was moving along as projected. I would have thought if he had a financial interest in the project, and the image felt like he did, he’d panic at the sight of the demolition not the construction.”

  “I can’t arrest anyone because you have a feeling.”

  “I know.” My impatience quickly hiked to barely controlled anger. “But you gotta admit it’s weird.”

  No comment.

  “Do you want to hear about the second image?”

  “Yeah, that’d be good. I’m not trying to be critical here, but no way can I put feeling shit in a police report.”

  “I know that, Adam, and I’m doing my best to give you something useful.” Deep breath. “The second image was of the person setting the explosives.”

  “All riiiight. I like it better already. What’d he look like?”

  “Sorry. No image of his face. I can tell you that he likes his work. Really enjoys seeing things blow up. His head was covered with a watch cap, so I didn’t pick up on hair color. He was bent over a device, I’m guessing whatever triggered the blast. I couldn’t discern body shape or height, other than he wasn’t obese. He was wearing a t-shirt, dark, grungy green, and beat up blue jeans. I know it isn’t much for you to work with, but it’s a lot more than I was able to get yesterday.”

  “Okay. I know you’re doing your best, but this is a cluster and I need something concrete to give the chief. How about we meet at seven?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll make coffee.”

  I turned off the lights and went to bed, my mind busy trying to bridge the chasm between how I see the world and how the police need to label the world. Only conclusion I came to—it was a deep chasm.

  I woke up to light rain and temperatures cool enough to wear my usual jeans, t-shirt, and boots. Adam knocked on my kitchen door at exactly seven, dressed like my twin except he’d added a windbreaker.

  “Morning, Adam. There’s cinnamon coffee. Thought we’d need the extra spice.”

  “Morning, and you added cinnamon because you love it,” he said with a grin.

  I gulped down some coffee, scalding my tongue.

  He watched me flapping my hand in front of my mouth for a minute, then continued.

  “There’s a change of plan for today. Bomb threat was phoned in a few hours ago on one of the North Construction projects. Crime scene techs just finished with it, so we’re good to go.”

  “A bomb threat? Has that happened before? With the other incidents, I mean?”

  “Nope. This is a first.”

  I set our mugs in the sink, flicked off the Mr. Coffee, and locked the kitchen door behind us. I skipped down the back stairs, still thrilled with their newness. Annie and I had our new connecting deck built after a Molotov cocktail took out my old deck and part of the kitchen. It was much easier for us to navigate between our townhouses now.

  Adam opened the car door for me and a grin softened his face. “Guess you’re happy with the new deck?”

  “It’s great. Beautiful. Useful. And no more sticky energy hanging around from the fire.”

  He closed the door on me and circled to the driver side of the dark blue Crown Vic. “I’m not liking this new twist. Bomb scare doesn’t fit the MO of the case, and these guys aren’t given to warnings, just go for the bang. “

  “Anything else different about this site? Bombs and explosions seem pretty similar to me.”

  He shrugged as he merged into the morning traffic on Route 64. “Engineering isn’t my forte, but the result has been reconstruction of some walls, stuff being off skew, floors not aligning properly…” his voice trailed off.

  “Okay. I’m getting the
idea. What did North say? You talked to him about this, right?”

  “Justin North denies knowing anything about shoddy construction. Their plans, the blueprints, the permits and zoning papers, whatever, are all in order.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in an annoying rhythm.

  I reached over and patted his hand, gave him my best raised eyebrow stare. “Know anything about this North guy’s reputation?”

  “He’s been in business about three years. I’m guessing he jumped into the housing boom with the intention of making a killing. His dad was in construction, ran a solid company in the Charlotte area. Word is Justin is different. More about the money, less about quality.”

  “Will he be on site?”

  Adam shook his head. “Not likely. Mr. North tends to enjoy his corner office and prefers to focus on his young, sexy secretary than on lumber, nails, and cement.”

  We pulled into a parking slot in front of the building, made a run for the front door, and ducked under an overhang while Adam fiddled with the lock. A gust of wet wind chased us into the shelter of the unfinished building and eerie silence closed in around us. The tip of my finger searched for the diamond nestled under the fabric of my t-shirt, and then I bent to shake the water out of my hair.

  “Hey.” Adam jumped back. “I’m wet enough, thanks.”

  Guess I must have been a bit too vigorous. “Sorry. Just trying to shake off the eerie feeling in this place.” I gathered up my damp mass of hair and secured it as best I could with an elastic band.

  The building was empty and the bare beams and wiring looked otherworldly in the shadowy light. It smelled musty, the dampness cloying. My clothes would reek of mildew if we stayed in here very long. Not a happy thought.

  “Let’s make this quick, huh, Adam. I’m positive mold spores are setting up housekeeping in my wrinkles… there’s something off about this place.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why we’re here.”

  I shivered and curled my fingers around Adam’s arm. A rush of images spilled into my mind, but I pushed them behind my thoughts so they’d be nothing but white noise. Still, I couldn’t ignore the haze surrounding them. Damn, but my fingers still weren’t working right.