Beautifully Unnatural: A Young Adult Paranormal Boxed Set

by Amy Miles

  He gave me an odd look, then pulled out a memo pad from his back pocket. “I guess we should get started.”

  “Of course we should.” What was wrong with me? We had a kidnapper to find and I was comparing Trip to Edmond Dantés? “Okay, do you have a plan or something?”

  Trip sat on the arm of our dingy sofa and flipped open the pad of paper. “We need a reason to arrest Bishop. Let’s start going over everything from the beginning to see if there’s something we’ve missed.”

  I sat on the recliner, opposite of him, and pulled my knees up to my chest. “Didn’t we already do that at lunch?”

  “Indulge me.”

  I wondered if there was a double entendre there. “Um, what?”

  “Start at the beginning. Again.”

  Oh, right. The case.

  His flashy green eyes held mine, unwavering. “What was the first thing you saw in your head when you read Bishop’s mind?”

  Apparently he’d gotten a grip on the fact that I could read minds. Didn’t seem nervous at all, in fact. Probably bluffing again. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his arm.

  He didn’t flinch.

  Wow. My stomach warmed. Major difference from his jitters earlier today. Maybe there’s hope yet that the world won’t think I’m a freak.

  I stared at my hand, curled around Trip’s well-muscled forearm. Maybe I’d actually have a relationship with a guy some day. Maybe this guy. After all, he knew I could read minds and hadn’t pulled away when my hand touched his arm . . . oh my gosh. My hand was still on his arm! My eyes flicked up to his.

  He watched me with an even stare, studying me.

  My face flushed as I released him, finally—not to mention regretfully. My palm felt tingly and warm. “Uh, sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  His mouth twitched.

  I rolled my eyes, cheeks still hot. “You don’t have to look so smug.”

  He chuckled, and his eyes lit up. “I’ve adjusted to the situation.”

  A zing went through my body. For the first time, he wasn’t talking shop. “Mind if I shake your hand then?”

  His smug look faded. “What are you hoping to find out?”

  “Whatever you want to keep secret,” I said, raising an eyebrow. Was I flirting? Properly?

  He smiled. “You mean like my credit card numbers? My ATM code?”

  Wowzers! Now he’d cracked a joke. We were actually having fun. “Maybe I’d just find out how Officer Collins knows my dad.”

  Trip’s smile dissolved, his eyes went dark, and he shifted in his seat.

  Odd. “Or, something else?”

  Not exactly quick on my feet.

  “We have a lot of ground to cover.” He clicked open the pen and steadied it over his pad. “Tell me what you remember about your read with Bishop. Don’t leave anything out.”

  All business again. Darn. Where had my flirting failed? I threw my gaze toward the ceiling. I’d never get a handle on the guy-girl thing. Obviously.

  “You seem uncomfortable,” he said.

  Good call, but I didn’t answer.

  Trip moved off the arm onto the sofa cushion, crossed his ankle over his knee, and held it. “Maybe it would help things if we talked about what exactly occurs when you read minds.”

  “Huh?” What did that have to do with anything?

  “Can you describe the experience? I read in Sam’s notes that you put your right hand in Bishop’s, and then it looked like you squeezed. What happened next?”

  Nobody had asked me for details on my peek-a-boo brain before. Well, only my dad, Sam, and Blondie Cop knew what I could do, but still. Discussing it openly felt like an invasion of privacy or something. I wanted to crack a joke but couldn’t come up with one. Mind don’t fail me now.

  “Perhaps, it’d be best for you to imagine we’re back at the station. Reenact the event. Put yourself back in the very moment you put your hand in Bishop’s. It might make it easier to remember the details.”

  I closed my eyes and squirmed, hugging my legs tight against my chest as I relived the encounter with Bishop. Slashing pain in my arm, neck, and head. The sick feel of his palm. Amanda being tossed carelessly over the rocks. The phantom feelings were way too real. My eyes popped open. “I’m not sure I want to do this.”

  Trip uncrossed his leg and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. It’s got to suck suddenly having this kind of ability thrust on you, but maybe it happened for a reason.”

  I put my palm to my forehead and rubbed, swallowing the lump that forged in my throat. It sucks? That was the understatement of the year. My eyes burned, and I squeezed them shut. I’d gone from a normal teen, to a mind reader, and now . . . who knew what I was? Besides different.

  And alone.

  Alone? Where’d that come from? Blinking quickly, I contemplated how Trip—a guy I hadn’t known existed two days ago—could make me realize how lonely I felt? Not to mention scared. Gee, the crappy feelings just kept on coming.

  Maybe I should open up to Trip. But, could I trust him? I mean, there was the whole Scout’s honor thing.

  “It might help Amanda if you talked about it,” he said.

  My neck tingled. He was right. If there’s a chance it would help that sweet, innocent, little girl who’d been beaten to just short of death . . . I needed to suck it up, and do it. For some reason, it took all my effort to barely whisper the words, “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter Six

  Baring my soul wasn’t exactly the norm for me, despite the fact that my dad was a psychologist. Or maybe because of it. All his poking and prodding into my brain over the years must’ve locked a door or something—made me clam up.

  My heart beat a million miles per second at the thought of revealing personal info to Trip. “If I’m going to open up to you about mind reading, mental telepathy, or whatever you want to call it . . . first, I want some ground rules.”

  “Ground rules.”

  He said it like a statement, but I took it as a question. “I mean, whatever we talk about in here is just between us. Right?”

  He raised his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Sorry, bad joke.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes and averted my stare. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  Was he nervous, too?

  He cleared his throat and then met my eyes with a straight face. “Anything you tell me about you is just between us, Kylie. I swear.”

  “No taking notes.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t.”

  “You never know who might break into them.” Okay, maybe I needed to lighten the mood, too.

  The corners of his mouth turned up, and his green eyes brightened.

  My heart was still pounding, but something in his eyes told me I could trust him. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Fair enough.” He was quiet a moment. “Why don’t I ask you some questions?”

  “Okay.” I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the thumping in my chest. This was for Amanda. I could do this. “Go.”

  He fiddled with his fingers. “How do you do it?”

  “How do I read someone’s mind?” That was an easy one. “I put my palm against their palm and images flash in my head. Next.”

  “Either palm?”

  I started. Who knew? I’d only read six minds so far, not like I was an expert. “I’m right handed so that’s what I’ve always used, but scientifically, I can’t be sure unless I try my left. Want to test it?”

  “No.”

  I shrugged. “See if you ever get another offer to have your mind read. What else have you got?”

  “When did it start?”

  “Wednesday morning.” I remembered Mark Hernandez and his sad sales techniques. That guy will be waiting for my mom’s call for a long time.

  “Did something happen, to cause the . . . ability?”

  That’s exactly what I wondered. “Not as far
as I can tell.”

  He nodded.

  Something still bugged me. “So, how does Blondie—er, Officer Collins know my dad?”

  “It’s, uh, kind of private.” He glanced away, sheepishly. “Besides, I’m supposed to be asking the questions.”

  I frowned. What ever happened to tit for tat?

  Trip stood up, walked to the edge of our living room, and then came back. “Wednesday morning. Why was that the day you started reading minds?”

  I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Trip steepled his hands under his chin. “Whose mind did you read first?”

  “Mark Hernandez’s.”

  His hands dropped and his brows knit. “Who’s Mark Hernandez?”

  “Some sales guy who knocked on our door.”

  The creases between his brows went away. “What was he selling?”

  Trip stood by quietly while I racked my brain. “You know . . . I . . . don’t remember.”

  “Encyclopedias?”

  “No.”

  “High-speed Internet service?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what?”

  I blinked. “How should I know?”

  He gestured with his hand. “Well, you said he was a salesman. If you don’t know what he was selling, what makes you think he was selling anything at all?”

  My eyes burned.

  “Kylie?”

  My arms tightened across my chest and I tried to stare him down, but he refused to blink. The air in my lungs thickened. “He asked to speak with my mother.”

  Confusion blanketed his face. “And?”

  “She died when I was four.” I blinked several times to keep the tears at bay.

  His expression turned to shock and he swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  “So, I figure the sales guy got her name off an old magazine subscription list or something. He wanted her to call him. He sounded pretty desperate.”

  “Did he leave his phone number?”

  I nodded and sniffed, tears subsiding. “He asked me to give her his business card.”

  “Where is it?”

  I thought about it a second and then remembered putting it in the back pocket of my jeans. “In my room.”

  He followed me down the hall and into my bedroom, where my jeans were still on the floor by my closet where I’d taken them off. I fished the card from the pocket. “Here.”

  He read the card, eyes scanning from left to right, then he frowned. “He’s not a salesman, Kylie. This says he’s a private investigator.”

  “What?” I grabbed the card from his hand. “Mark Hernandez, Private Investigator. But, he was asking for my mom. Why would he do that?”

  We were quiet a moment, then Trip snatched the card from my hand, and flipped his cell phone open. “One way to find out.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. My mom had psychic powers, I suddenly had psychic powers, and Mark Hernandez was looking—somewhat desperately—for my mom. What if those things were somehow connected? “Wait—”

  He turned his back to me, punched in the numbers, then held the small black phone to his ear.

  Suddenly it was all too much. Mind reading. A little girl with my birthmark. A private detective. We needed to stop so I could think about this. I reached around him to grab the phone.

  “Hang on.” He twisted away from me, then stepped up onto my bed out of my reach as the phone undoubtedly rang.

  I jumped up after him and launched myself onto his shoulder. “This is completely against the ground rules!”

  Struggling against my attempt to tackle him, he switched the phone to his other ear. “Mr. Hernandez? This is Trip Williams returning your call for . . .” He shoved the mouth piece into his chest. “What was your mom’s name?”

  Yeah, right. Was I not being clear enough? “Hang up the phone . . . NOW!”

  I thrust my leg out, swiped his ankle, and then, still attached to his shoulder, threw my weight down.

  He fell.

  Right on top of me.

  The phone flew out of his hand and smacked against the wall. I grabbed it, pressed the OFF button, and would’ve breathed a sigh of relief if Trip’s weight wasn’t crushing my lungs.

  He pushed himself up on his elbows, his face mere inches above mine. “It wasn’t against the rules,” he said, in a serious tone.

  I breathed hard. “What?”

  “I wasn’t going to share anything you told me, just ask him questions. I got his voicemail, but I doubt he’ll know to return my call with the half message I left.”

  He? Who? It was hard to think with his mouth so close to mine. These feelings for Trip were too confusing and I didn’t know how to handle them.

  I squirmed my way off the bed, and moved a safe distance across the room. “You have to leave.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  I crossed my arms. “This was none of your business. You had no right to make that call.”

  He swung his legs off the bed until he was sitting up. “We’re trying to solve a case. Mark Hernandez could be connected to Amanda.”

  “You don’t know that.” Especially since he didn’t know about Amanda’s birthmark. I held my hand out. “Give me his business card back.”

  He fished his hand over my comforter until he located the small white card. “This could be a clue.”

  “I’ll give you a clue.” I strode to my door and pointed down the hall. “The quickest way out is that way.”

  The look on his face said that my harsh tone had struck a cord. He handed me the card. “Fine, it’s your choice. But, a kidnapper is walking the streets and you’re refusing to help find him. All we had was Lynn’s word that Bishop had threatened her daughter and that wasn’t good enough to hold him. If he took her once, what’s to stop him from doing it again? We need something solid. You should think about that.”

  Without another word, he got up and brushed past me. A moment later I heard the front door slam. I should’ve felt relieved that he’d left. But, a cold emptiness enveloped me instead.

  ****

  My dad came home from work and I shoved a plate of spaghetti into his hands. “I cheated on a test today and it’s your fault.”

  Owning up to your mistakes was overrated. It’s much more practical to blame someone else.

  “What are you talking about?” Dad dropped his briefcase on the counter, put his plate on the table across from mine, and then removed his coat.

  I took another bite, hoping it’d help erase the guilt. “My Trig teacher surprised us with a quiz today. He gets off on catching us unprepared. It’s totally inappropriate and brings down my grade. And I know how you expect me to keep up my GPA.”

  “It’s not the grades I care about, it’s that you learn. All I ask is to do your best.” He sat down, put his napkin on his lap, and slid his fork into the red noodles.

  “Well, I got an A. A-plus, actually. I . . . pulled the answer key from the depths of Mr. McKay’s teen-hating head.”

  Dad’s face bunched up and he dropped his fork, which clanked onto his plate. “You did what?”

  I pointed a finger at him. “Don’t give me that you’re disappointed in me look when I know for a fact you’ve been lying to me.” Turning the tables is a great way to get out of a jam. “You sent me to find Amanda for a reason and it’s high time you clued me in.”

  Dad avoided my eyes. “Who told you her name?”

  “Does it matter?” Yeah, I was pissed off at Trip, but that didn’t mean I’d rat him out. “Why did you send me to find her?”

  Dad writhed in his seat and didn’t answer.

  Unbelievable. He still wouldn’t come clean. “All these years it’s been just you and me. Now, you blatantly lie to my face?” I sent him daggers with my eyes. “You promised you’d tell me what’s going on.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve decided it’s better that you don’t know. Safer.”

  “You promised and you will stick to your word.” I shot to my fee
t and thrust my hands on my hips. “Why does she have the same birthmark I do?”

  Dad rose abruptly and his face turned white. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes.” I crossed my arms so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “You said we’d always tell each other everything.”

  “I’ve thought about it, kiddo.” He didn’t say kiddo in his affectionate tone. He said it more like a warning. “All yesterday and today. Bottom line is, I need to do what’s best for you. And that’s to keep you out of danger.”

  He paused and my eyes burned.

  “I’ve decided the less you know, the better.” His voice was resolute. “I want you to forget yesterday. Forget you can read minds. Forget all about it.”

  With that, he got up and left the room.

  Just forget the fact that I can read minds? After all I’d been through in the past forty-eight hours? Had he gone bonkers? I ran after him and grabbed onto his arm. “Wait—”

  “I said forget it.” He brushed my hand off and headed for the couch.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?” I ran into the living room after him. “I read the mind of a killer yesterday. Do you know what that felt like?”

  His face changed then, his eyes growing large and full. “If you’d like to talk about your feelings, you know I’m always here for you.”

  “What I want is answers. From you.” My voice had gone hysterical, but I didn’t care. “I scrubbed my hand for an hour last night. An hour, trying to get rid of the filthy feel of his palm on mine. I read his mind for you and this is what I get?”

  “Calm down, Kylie.” He reached for me. “Let’s do our deep breathing.”

  “Don’t waste your counselor talk on me,” I snapped. “I’m not one of your patients. I’m your daughter. I can read minds. And I want to know why!”

  “Raising your voice isn’t helpful.” He started doing his deep breathing. “I have to do what’s best for you and shouting will not change my mind. Now, why don’t we get ourselves composed like the rational beings we are—”

  “Screw rational!” I’d had it with his psycho-babble. “I need to know what you’re keeping from me, and I’m going to find out right now!”

  His eyes bulged behind his wire-rimmed glasses.