Haunting Whispers

Possibility, love, vigilance, even fear can be captured in a whisper. But what if it’s the only clue to solve a crime? Detective Rae Butler inherits a series of assaults that seem to have no connection beyond the suspect. But when she encounters Audrey Everhart and her unexplainable insights, Rae is torn between what she knows and how she feels.

Mayoral publicist Audrey Everhart is haunted by nightmares and by the cop determined to invade her privacy for answers.

Is Audrey’s nightmarish vision the answer to Rae’s prayer?

Haunting Whispers

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Haunting Whispers

© 2012 By VK Powell. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-629-8

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: February 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Shelley Thrasher

Production Design: Susan Ramundo

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

Haunting Whispers

Justifiable Risk

Fever

Suspect Passions

To Protect and Serve

To Len Barot, publisher extraordinaire, and all the wonderful folks at Bold Strokes Books—thank you for making this process so amazingly enjoyable and painless every time.

Brenda Allen—thank you for the expert advice and insight on issues beyond my mortal understanding.

My deepest gratitude to Dr. Shelley Thrasher for your guidance, suggestions, and kindness. You help me view my work through fresh eyes. Working with you is a learning experience and a pleasure.

For Sandy—thank you for your time and priceless feedback. This book is better for your efforts.

To all the readers who support and encourage my writing, thank you for buying my work, visiting my website (www.powellvk.com), sending e-mails, and showing up for signings. You make my “job” so much fun!

TLP, for your assistance and support on this project,
thank you!

The militia group moved in just before dusk and blocked Arya’s path to the extraction point. In less than an hour the team would leave without him, assuming he’d been captured or killed. They wouldn’t look for him, couldn’t even acknowledge he existed. Their orders had been clear, standard for clandestine ops in the shadow war against Iran: covert insertion, target elimination or recovery, and covert extraction. Anything else was unacceptable and created major repercussions for the US government. For the first time in his life, he had failed a mission—to move the wife of a high-ranking Iraqi official to safety—risk his life and his fellow operatives for a
woman
. He wouldn’t make it out this time.

His body burned from the sand he’d burrowed under to conceal his location. The miniscule particles permeated his clothing like water and gnawed at already raw flesh. His lips ached and bled from three days’ slow travel on foot through extreme temperatures. The little water that remained in his CamelBak was hot and couldn’t quench his thirst. He sipped from the tube and let the liquid rest in his mouth, savoring the wetness and wishing it was ice cold and abundant. He’d need to ration what was left to fight off heat complications—in case he escaped. With the insurgents settling in around him, that seemed unlikely.

Some of the rebels prepared a campfire while others fanned out to plant mines and IEDs on the perimeter of their location. Arya held his breath as the men dug and carefully sowed their deadly seeds in the sand surrounding him. Then he waited for his partner, darkness, to arrive. The campsite eventually quieted, the fire died, and the night provided his only opportunity.

He’d tried to memorize the number of footsteps between explosive devices as the men prepared their traps, but without visual confirmation his estimates were merely guesses. Slowly he snaked his left hand through the sand and slid it easily until he met resistance. The metal had assumed the ambient temperature of the ground, but the consistency was unmistakable. He inched right and down before encountering another. His body was drenched with sweat, and the intensity of the process drained his energy. Hours passed before he located all the units in his immediate area. He was boxed into a six-foot space with barely enough room to maneuver.

Darkness had turned to the dull gray of morning before he’d inched far enough away from the devices to crawl on all fours. Arya rolled over the top of a dune and glanced back toward the camp. Dawn was breaking in their direction so he still had the advantage of darkness as he headed farther west toward the border. The pickup time had passed. His only chance was to make it across the Iraqi border and locate some friendlies.

He stretched his legs to relieve the cramps from hours of restricted movement and rose to a crouch. With one last look toward the militia camp, he ran. Perhaps panic finally registered or maybe he simply wanted relief from the sand, heat, and dehydration. He was trained to survive anything with practically nothing, but the days of exposure had wilted his resources and played games with his mind.

As the sky brightened with morning light, Arya pictured himself training with the other recruits. He was the gold standard against which everyone else was measured. His chest puffed with pride and discomfort as he pulled for breath in the dry desert air. How long had he been here? He’d stopped counting. And now he might die because of a
woman
.

He kept putting one foot in front of the other. Then a tremendous pain riddled his body, and he was flying through the air. He had no sensation below the waist other than the certainty that he was still running.

Arya jerked awake, the memories and pain from two years ago returning as violently as the explosion itself. His heart and lungs raced to see which would collapse first. As he stroked the injured and missing parts of his body, his rage returned anew. His original plan had been altered, but his determination to see it through never wavered. He’d waited so long to find his beloved, even following her to this dry-gulch town in the middle of nowhere North Carolina. The past would not deter him from having her once and for all.

“This might not have been the brightest idea I’ve ever had.” Audrey Everhart mumbled under her breath as she circled the cinder-block Grantham Homes Community Center. The apartment buildings with boarded windows and graffiti-marred sides looked like one-eyed, tattooed pirates. Young men gathered on the street corners, making quick exchanges with passers-by while children played in close proximity. Clothes drying on an outside line flapped in the fall breeze like a warning.

She questioned her decision as disheveled men drinking from a bagged bottle gestured in her direction. Their unfocused stares followed her as she scouted the location for the mayor’s press conference. Mayor Downing probably wouldn’t approve of her coming here alone since the feds had endorsed his grant based on the amount of crime in this development. But Audrey didn’t wait for others to take care of things. Her independence and resourcefulness had served her well so far. Besides, it was afternoon and she’d felt reasonably safe, until now.

A feeling of uneasiness settled like the gray clouds overhead, and she listened for anything odd or disturbing—white noise. She heard only the hollow echo of her own breathing, almost as if she was deaf to anything except the sounds of her body. Blood rushed through her arteries and veins, muscles contracted and extended as she walked, and her heart pounded more quickly as she understood the reason.

Danger. She’d felt this particular sensation only one other time in her life. In a matter of seconds her senses would shift into full alert and the stimuli of the outside world would rush in. Was it already too late? Hurried footsteps sounded behind her. Men, several of them, were coming for her. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? The white noise grew louder.

She ran from behind the back of the community center and headed toward the front parking lot. A few steps later she heard a crackling sound and a sharp pain shot up her back. The ground appeared solid, but the soft grass under her feet gave way. Her muscles twitched and convulsed. She had no control. The crackling noise again, more pain, and another surge pierced her body like lightning. She tried to catch herself as she fell, but her arms wouldn’t cooperate.

*

Audrey’s skull still throbbed and the loud echoing voices nearby, one male and one female, weren’t helping. She felt disoriented and unsafe. Her body ached, and she had no idea where she was, though the smell indicated a hospital. Why was she here? She recalled leaving the pavilion—no, an apartment complex. She kept her eyes closed, trying to block the voices and remember what happened.

“You know who this is, don’t you?” The man’s voice.

“Yeah, Audrey Everhart, the mayor’s publicist. Though I have no idea why a town this size needs one. Why the hell was she at Grantham alone? I can’t wait to get to the bottom of
this
one.” The woman’s voice, strong and professional, full of determination.

Only a cop would have such an immediate need for answers and justice. But cops also dug into people’s lives, welcome or not, until they satisfied their curiosity. She had no interest in being a specimen for their dissection. Gathering a breath from deep in her aching chest, Audrey hissed through dry lips, “Shush.”