Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (88 page)

Sam smiled, whispered, "Good night
guys," and headed to her bedroom and a good night's
rest.

That night, her dreams were wild and
even more colorful than usual. The scenes were brighter than
normal. They screamed at her overloud and overbright – overwhelming
her in their sensory onslaught. A sexual haze had her twisting and
moaning as her body moved to an internal heat she'd never
experienced. Large capable hands stroked upwards over her belly,
caressing the smooth contours. Slowly the fingers slid higher and
higher.

Sam caught her breath when the hands
stilled, the tension coiling tighter inside. She wiggled closer,
trying to move into his hands. Warm laughter tickled her ear. She
groaned, not understanding the driving need that had overtaken her
body. A part of Sam struggled to clear her mind. She didn't have a
lover.

His hands moved again. She sighed
with relief, her breath floating out into the blackness of the
night. That small part of her rational mind questioned the unusual
sexual overtones and the wild colors floating through her
mind.

The rest of Sam's awareness centered
on the tormenting fingers and sparks igniting along her nerve
pathways. Sensations burned as fire seared over her skin. She
churned with an inner heat, a heat that built to the point of pain.
Finally, the hands reached the swell of her breasts – and stopped.
Sam couldn't help herself, she tried to shift into those magic
hands, but they gripped her ribs, stopping her. A groan
escaped.

"Shhh," whispered the dark voice. "We
have all night."

Sam shuddered at the promise. The
promise and something else. Something wrong, something off. It
bothered her, except she was too caught up in the sexual tension to
want to figure it out. She arched high off the bed as he cupped her
full breasts and squeezed gently. They coaxed then relaxed then
returned to torment her again.

Sam cried out.

Dark laughter wafted through the
room.

She shivered. There it was again.
That nebulous feeling of something wrong. What was it?

The hands returned to torment her
again. "Please..." She tried to reach for him, needing him
closer.

And found she couldn't.

Just as the sensation of wrongness
returned, Sam realized her arms were caught above her head. Caught
and held by one of his hands. And the clouds in mind, blurring her
clarity.

He laughed again. Dark laughter
became black as his other hand, the one that had so gently cradled
her breast, squeezed hard and then harder again.

Sam arched up, screaming in
agony.

And woke up.

Still in shock, Sam curled into a
tight ball and rocked back and forth under the comforter, her hands
cradling her tender breasts. She bolted upright, peering into the
dark corners of her bedroom. Relief washed over her. She was alone.
"Dear Lord. Thank you." It had only been a dream.

A dream. Was it possible?

She stilled. A dream or a vision. She
shuddered, the shakes wracking her body once again. Dear God, is
this what that animal was doing? Seducing his victims with their
own sexuality then turning on them? No. Sam examined the memories.
Something had been very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on
it. Everything had a surreal look, an overly loud and overly
colored appearance to it. A thought burst into her
consciousness.

Drugs. The woman had been
drugged.

Had the other victims? Sam realized
her earlier visions had started too late to be able to identify
something like that. She wouldn't have noticed a needle prick
amongst the other pain. Panic for her life would have dispelled the
rest of the drugged dullness away from her thoughts.

Sam started crying, quiet painful
sobs of possibility. She didn't want to know any more. She couldn't
deal with it. Not this. After tonight, she might never let another
man touch her again – ever.

Touch.

She froze. The guy in her dreams
hadn't worn gloves.

Had it been him? Another asshole? Or
had it truly been just a nightmare? She shuddered. It had seemed so
real. A wet dream gone bad in a big way. Sliding deeper into her
bed, Sam pulled the covers to her chin. Only it wasn't enough. She
hopped out of bed, snatched up an old nightshirt from the box on
the floor, and pulled it over her head.

For the second time that
day – she felt violated.

***

9:35 am, June
18th

Brandt strode down the hallway. One
of his priorities this morning was to connect Sam with Stefan. He'd
finally managed to reach him early this morning. Now all he had to
do was to get Sam to agree to meet him. And he needed to talk to
Sam about her past workings with the police.

The research Kevin had brought him
had been less than flattering. Still, Brandt knew that Stefan had
some less-than-stellar moments at the beginning of his career as
well. The article hadn't given her age and was years ago. She'd
have been young and green. Not to mention untrained, which she
still was. Hence his push to connect her to Stefan as soon as
possible.

Nothing he'd read had given him any
reason to disbelieve her. He suspected Sam could be instrumental on
his proposed task force. Not to mention many other ongoing cases.
He hoped to cultivate her skills on a regular basis. Even if that
meant returning to his old station. At least there, his old captain
was amiable to psychics. Ideas percolated through his brain. He'd
talk it over with some of his friends – and Stefan, of
course.

Brandt never had liked authority. He
still didn't, but with age came understanding that those above were
just doing their job to make it better and safer for everyone. Or
at least it was supposed to work that way. However, just as there
were good and bad guys on the streets, the same could be said of
the police department. One still had to believe that most of the
bad guys were outside the force.

"Hey Brandt. Ran the fingerprints you
asked for. She checks out."

Brandt lifted his head. The youngest
of the three technicians walked into his office. His name eluded
him – something European like Pieter. Brandt smiled and held out
his hand for the papers being offered. "Anything
interesting?"

"No rap sheet, if that's what you are
asking." The tech pointed to the second page. "This might be of
interest. Yeah, she was also a suspect in a missing child case in
Spokane, Washington, years ago."

Brandt's gaze sharpened on the
younger man's face. "What? A suspect?"

The tech shook his head. "Apparently
she had information for the police, only they didn't believe her.
The end result made her a suspect for a while, until the child was
found safe and sound."

Brandt digested that as he scanned
the paperwork. "Thanks, I'll take it from here." Now he understood
Sam's odd reaction yesterday. She'd already been through this. Once
again at his office, he pored over the report. So, eight years ago
she'd tried to help and failed – been mocked even, based on Kevin's
material. This file showed she'd tried again five years ago. The
Spokane P.D. hadn't mocked her; they'd made her a
suspect.

Brandt shuffled through the file.
What was missing in the report was how the child had been found.
Had Sam contributed to the little girl's safe return? He might need
to call the detective listed on this particular case file. Grabbing
a folder, he wrote Samantha's name on the tab and stacked the
growing collection of material inside. Brandt leaned back in his
chair, hands locked behind his head.

Her connection to this killer
bothered him. It could be the same asshole that he'd been tracking.
Both of them changed the method of death, but as far as he could
tell, they both favored beautiful young women between eighteen and
thirty-five – and all were middle-class, working
females.

His mind flitted through the elements
he knew. Sam's killer wore a ski mask, which didn't make sense.
Usually the guys who planned on killing their victims didn't bother
with masks. After all, there wasn't going to be anyone left behind
to identify them.

He had no way of knowing if the other
cases in his files were the same. The victims were all dead. There
were never any witnesses, and little forensic evidence left behind.
Then there was the ring. If Sam had anything concrete, the ring
might just be it.

She was also connecting with a lot of
victims. Most serial killers took time between kills. Sam's visions
occurred with only days between them. Some killers went on a
killing frenzy until whatever drove them, drained out of their
system. Then they went quiet. Sometimes the quiet period lasted
months to years. Brandt knew his best chance of catching this
killer was before he went off the radar again. Who knew how long it
would be before he resurfaced again.

***

9:50 am

Dillon walked into the conference
room. Not only had he missed the meeting this morning, he'd also
missed breakfast. He was hoping there'd be some scones or a Danish
left over. Walking to the sideboard, he smiled. One huge blueberry
muffin. Perfect.

He snatched up his prize and walked
toward the double doors. Several papers lay discarded on several
chairs. He turned the closest one over. It was a picture of a ring.
Wasn't that the one Brandt was researching? He'd heard about it,
but this was the first he'd seen it.

Walking to his desk, he muttered
about the dinosaurs in the office. It was hard being a forward
moving kind of guy in this place. The mantra around here was always
about 'good old fashioned detective work.' Christ, who needed all
that legwork? Technology was meant to be used. The same for the
media. They were always helpful. At least Dillon had found them so.
The Internet was, of course, the best. Why didn't the station have
a website where pictures like this could be posted and give the
public an opportunity to email or phone in with their
information?

Of course, this was an old argument,
and he'd gone several rounds with Captain Johansen over it – and
lost every one. Dillon had wanted to host a regular five-minute
slot on both the local television station and the radio stations.
That had been shot down, too. Still, accessing the public was the
cheapest and fastest way to gain information. The department's
man-hours, logged trying to find and interview people, were
incredibly expensive.

He took a large bite of his late
breakfast muffin. He could understand Brandt not wanting to take
that step. Like Dillon, Brandt was new here and didn't want to rock
the boat. Dillon stopped chewing as an idea formed. If he arranged
everything correctly, Brandt would get the information he needed,
and Dillon could prove his theory. More ammunition to take to the
captain. In a way, Dillon would be doing this to help Brandt. Who
knew what new information could come to light.

He grinned. He'd have to
think this through. Yet...it sounded like a hell of an
idea.

***

10:15 am

Brandt rubbed the back of his neck.
The screen scrolled, searching for more cases linking to his
killer. Just then, his phone rang, distracting him.

"Hello."

"Detective Sutherland. This is Nancy
from Willow Health Clinic."

The manager from the long-term care
home. He groaned silently and closed his eyes, his fingers pinching
the bridge of his nose. "Hi, Nancy. How are you doing?"

"Umm, I guess I'm fine. The thing is
I need your help with Maisy again."

His shoulders slumped. He knew it.
His mother was up to no good again.

"What's the problem?" He winced and
held his breath.

"Umm, well..." She
stopped.

Brandt shook his head, he knew
already. Checking his watch – did he have time to whip down there?
"Is she causing trouble again?"

"It's not so much causing
trouble…more like she's stirring up the other
residents."

He shut down his laptop. "Would you
like me to come by and talk with her again?"

"Yes, yes. That would be wonderful.
She's such a fun lady to have around. I hate to even ask you. But
the Board has already stretched the rules for her several times,
and I'm not sure that she can skate by on this one."

Brandt ran fingers through his hair.
"How bad is it this time?"

"She's setting up pools
again."

Brandt grinned. "That doesn't sound
so bad."

"No," the harried woman on the other
end of the phone said. "It's the subject matter that's the problem.
Would it be possible to have you stop in sometime
today?"

"No problem," he said. "I'm heading
in your direction soon, so I'll be there before lunch."

"Oh, thank you. I certainly don't
want to upset her. She's interjected such life here," Nancy said
warmly.

"No problem. I'll see you in about an
hour." Brandt rang off. Standing, he grabbed his briefcase and coat
then locked up his desk.

Dillon stuck his head around the
door.