Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (78 page)

Irrational rage from a rational
mind.

"Okay, we're ready to move the body."
One of the CSI team spoke to them.

Brandt nodded. "Thanks. How's the
scene? Are you going to be able to get much?"

The investigator shook his head. "Not
much. The scene is clean. We might find something when we run our
tests, but I'm not counting on it."

"Her name was Mandy Saxon," said
Brandt abruptly. Her purse sat on the kitchen table, unopened and
undisturbed, along with a briefcase of work she'd brought home.
She'd been an accountant, a thirty-year-old junior member of a
successful firm here in Portland, with her whole life ahead of
her.

Now it was all behind her.

Stone-faced, the detectives watched
two men bag and load the body onto the gurney before wheeling it
out the door. Brandt would catch up with her at the morgue
tomorrow.

Turning back, he caught sight of the
coroner leaving.

"James, have you got a time of
death?"

The grizzled coroner answered, "The
best I can do at the moment, is between two and five." James shook
his head. "I'll have more after the autopsy." The coroner walked
out after smacking Adam's shoulder.

Turning back to the crime scene,
Brandt watched as one of the CSI officers picked a tiny object off
the carpet with tweezers. He waited until the item had been bagged
and tagged.

"Stanley, what did you
find?"

The man stood, holding the bag aloft
for Brandt to see. "It appears to be a diamond or a zirconium. Have
to wait until I get it back to the lab to know for
sure."

Brandt stared at the tiny twinkling
object. "Earring?" It could be the right size. He turned toward the
open doorway. The stretcher had long gone. He'd have to wait to
check what jewelry the victim wore.

He walked over to the open jewelry
box on the dresser to rummage through the few quality items inside.
All the settings appeared intact. None matched the
stone.

Stanley, who'd worked alongside Kevin
and his team for over a decade, joined him. "I'll run it through
some tests. It's pretty small, probably part of a
design."

Like a four leaf-clover design?
Brandt couldn't remember the exact details of Ms. Blair's
statement. Had the ring always been missing one jewel or only the
last time she'd seen it? Had she even mentioned that detail? He'd
have to wait until he got back to the office to be sure – but it
felt right.

That waif's story sounded beyond
wild, but that look in her eye had been real. Whatever demon drove
her, she believed in it. Staring down at the tiny jewel, Brandt
realized he couldn't discount it either.

"Okay, keep me posted."

Stanley nodded and headed back to his
kit with the evidence bag.

It took another hour before the room
emptied, leaving only the brutal evidence of death behind.
Bloodstains perpetuated the smell of death. Vestiges of violence
remained behind. Brandt swore he could almost see and hear the
play-by-play of her death from the scene laid out before
him.

He didn't have psychic abilities in
the normal sense, still, like many of his coworkers, he had a
strong intuition. Whether it had developed through his years of
police work or through his long friendship with Stefan, didn't
matter. He'd learned a long time ago to listen to it.

And right now, it was
screaming at him.

***

2:20 pm

Kevin Bresson pulled into the station
parking lot. Lunch was over and the place was packed as usual.
Around the back of the building, he found a spot and parked. "Home
sweet home," he said to Adam, who was sitting in the passenger seat
beside him.

"If you say so."

Kevin glanced over at him. "Can't be
cynical at your age. Come on, you haven't been on the force long
enough for that. Give it a decade or two like me – then you've
earned the right to be sour."

Adam got out and closed the door of
the black SUV. He waited while Kevin grabbed his bag before walking
to the rear entrance.

"I'm not being cynical, exactly. But
it's a little hard to stay positive when you come from scenes like
that one."

Kevin's normally stern face darkened.
"I know what you mean."

Adam held the door open for him. "Do
you think Brandt is right? That there's a serial killer working
here?"

Kevin's pace never slowed as he
headed for the elevator that would take them to their third floor
offices. "I don't know. I've only seen some of the evidence. It
would take more to convince me fully. Still, he has got a couple of
valid arguments. Too many to discount his theory."

"He thinks this is another
one."

"And that's possible. We'll work on
it the same as every other case, and either he'll pull it for his
list or he won't. We have enough work to do without keeping tabs on
what he's up to."

"Right."

Kevin entered the waiting elevator
with Adam on his heels. He was tired and fed up. The last thing he
wanted was for Brandt to be correct and that a serial killer had
been operating under their noses for decades. Just as the door was
about to shut, a yell went up.

Kevin stopped the doors from closing
long enough for Dillon Hathaway to get on.

"Thanks Kevin."

Dillon grinned that affable smile
that always pissed Kevin right off.

"I hear you caught another bad one
this morning. Let me know if you need any of my expertise to close
this for you."

Kevin stiffened. Just because the
'kid' had a couple of college degrees didn't make him better than
the veterans on the force. Now if Dillon had some experience to go
with that piece of paper then people might be more inclined to
listen. As it was, Dillon, in his late twenties, had only about six
months of experience. Kevin wondered why he hadn't gone into
business. He had that wheeling dealing kind of attitude and dressed
the part too. He'd have done well.

Covertly, he studied Dillon's
designer suit and lavender shirt. No wonder the guys in the
department laughed at him. Although, it was his insufferable
know-it-all attitude that made everyone want to kick his
ass.

Adam wouldn't stay quiet. Kevin shot
him a warning look, but it was too late.

"I think we can handle it. Other
people, beside you, know how to do their jobs, you
know."

Grinning, Dillon put his hands out in
front of him in exaggerated supplication. "Hey, no problem, Adam.
Just wanted to let you know that you can call on me any time. But I
understand pride. So just trundle along in your usual
way."

Kevin clenched his jaw and rolled his
eyes. He did take pride in the number of cases he'd closed over the
years. But no matter how many he solved or how many assholes he put
behind bars, there were always a dozen more ready to take their
place. If Brandt was right, they were in trouble. A serial killer
with the skills to stay undetected for decades was just bad news –
for everyone.

But working with Brandt was a
different story than asking this young upstart for help. Brandt
might be new to the department, but Kevin respected the man –
unlike Dillon. Brandt was a straight up kind of guy who you could
count on in a tight spot. What made working with him hard was his
special assignment status. Not that he played the maverick card,
but he worked with his own agenda.

Kevin wasn't sure what Brandt did all
day exactly, only that he showed up for their meetings and any
crime scenes that fit the parameters he was searching for. Cushy
job if you could get it. As long as he stayed out of Kevin's way
then he could work on all the task force preparations he wanted to
– no harm done.

The elevator opened. Kevin, already
focused on his job at hand, pushed all worries of Detective Brandt
Sutherland from his mind.

Chapter 4

3:45 pm

Sam hit the next rut hard, bouncing
across it before she had a chance to maneuver her truck to the
left. Her driveway had more potholes and grooves than drivable
surface – a free bonus with the cheap rent. Her little pickup shook
hard with the next hit and never had a chance to stop trembling
before it bounced again.

Sam grimaced. She'd soon be black and
blue just from the trip home. Great, more bruises. As if she needed
more pain. Turning the last corner, she leaned forward to see her
favorite view.

The tree line opened to the full
valley and lake. Glittering water glistened for miles. She lived
for this moment. The hills and mountains in the horizon bled into
wonderful shades of blue and the trees...the greens and yellows, an
oil canvas of joy. She smiled. This vista sustained her soul as
food never could.

Parking the truck, Sam hopped out.
Off to the left she could see her small cabin nestled just far
enough back from the shore to give a front yard. She realized once
again how blessed she was to have been given a chance to live
there. A perfect place to stop running.

When she'd found it, the owners – an
older couple – hadn't wanted to rent it out. She'd been in dire
straits and once they'd sensed that, their attitude had
changed.

Sam appreciated their change of
heart. Life had dished out a couple of bad months. She winced. Who
could talk in terms of months? Her life had been a cesspool for
years.

The sun twinkled overhead. She smiled
at the sky. Opening the driver's door, she started to hop back in
when pain lashed through her. Black tentacles reached inside her
skull and clutched her brain, dropping her to her knees.

She cried out, her hands cradling her
temple. She doubled over, rocking back and forth, as darkness
filled her mind. Her chest constricted. She struggled to breathe.
Then she started to panic.

Just before she lost control, the
curtain of blackness ripped aside. Sam breathed hard, struggling
with the new images. They weren't of her truck or of the woods
around her.

She stood outside a coffee shop in an
area she didn't recognize. The only familiar thing came from behind
her. A feeling, a gaze, an energy. Comprehension hit her slowly.
"No," she cried, her hands covering her eyes. Pain seared her heart
as her mind finally understood. Nothing could stop the tears from
welling up and tumbling down her cheeks.

The killer had just found
another victim.

***

3:55 pm

Brandt preferred to gain information
in a less formal way, yet his badge did loosen tongues. Or it had
until Parksville. The rotund postal clerk hadn't recognized Sam's
name until Brandt gave her a description. She'd clammed up
immediately, to stare at him suspiciously. When he brought out his
badge, she became even more belligerent – if possible.

"You can ask your questions over at
the vet hospital as she works there part-time." She turned away to
speak with another customer.

Dismissed, Brandt left – his
curiosity aroused. He walked across the street to the Parksville
Veterinarian Hospital and asked his questions there.

"Sorry, we don't give out personal
information on our staff." The older woman was striking in her own
way, except for the waves of protectiveness rolling off her. Odd,
she too saw him as the enemy. Not an unusual reaction from the drug
runners and hookers on the streets, but from someone who looked
more at home dishing out apple pie and lemonade – very
strange.

Brandt turned his badge her
way.

She raised one eyebrow, yet didn't
relax. Instead, she held out her hand. Brandt passed over his badge
and watched as she wrote down the information before passing it
back.

"Now, can you provide me with her
address, please?" he said in his most official voice.

She appeared to consider his words.
What required consideration he couldn't begin to understand.
"Excuse me," he snapped. "Does she work here or not?"

"Yes, that's true. She does." The
dragon smiled as if happy to be able to answer him.

"Good.
I
need
her address
and her phone number." Using his well-honed eagle eye, he stared
her down.

To no effect.

"I don't think she has a phone." She
assessed him again, with that same calculating look of his
grandmother. "Why the interest?"

"It's personal, ma'am." Brandt had
been thinking to save Samantha unnecessary questions about the
police looking for her. Then he saw her knowing glance and groaned.
Heat flooded his face.

The older woman smiled.

Brandt shuffled his feet as if still
in high school himself.

Her smile widened.

Shit. Brandt couldn't believe it. He
shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to regain control of
the wayward conversation.

"Police business," he clarified,
hoping to get this conversation back on the right
direction.

After another long look, the dragon,
as if realizing he couldn't be put off, walked toward the desk,
wrote something on a small scratch pad, and held it out to him.
"Here you go – her address. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to
take care of our customers." She motioned to several people waiting
behind him. "Hello Mrs. Caruthers. What's the problem with
Prissy?"