Midnight Investigation. Sheryl Lynn
suffering smoochies from an overly enthusiastic auntie. “Everybody else likes him. Guess it’s only fair to wait until he actually screws up before I jump down his throat.”
Another lightbulb blew. Spike twisted. His claws hooked into her arm and she yelped, dropping him.
“Damn it!” She glared past the breakfast bar into the now-dim kitchen. She winced at the scratches where beads of blood formed on her skin. Shaking her head in disgust, she went upstairs to find the antiseptic.
U NSETTLED , B UCK FROWNED at the phone. On the one hand he was relieved to have made up with Desi. On the other hand, a most unpleasant sensation prickled his scalp. He’d felt something when she said the lightbulb blew. A brief feeling, a micro-instant of knowing. Sourness filled his mouth and settled in his guts.
Alec said the Moore house was cleansed of spirit activity. Even so…The prickling worsened, and Buck dragged in a deep breath.
Dark Presences. After his encounter with their malignancy in the past, Buck had vowed to never allow one to notice him again. Like all ghosts, Dark Presences had unfinished business and they had an eternity to finish it. Unlike most other ghosts, Dark Presences had the power to manipulate the physical world. They had the power to manipulate people.
Whether she meant it as a joke or not, Buck feared Desi had opened a doorway to something very bad.
S QUINTING AGAINST SUNLIGHT , Desi grabbed the obnoxiously ringing cell phone. If Gwen was calling at this ungodly hour of the morning, Desi was going to strangle her over the airwaves. In case it was a business call, Desi forced brightness into her tone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Desi. This is Buck. Sorry to wake you.”
It struck her that he sounded certain he’d reached her. He’d done that last night, too. She glanced at the clock. It was barely noon.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I can call back later.”
“It’s okay. What can I do for you?” She pushed Spike off her foot. He gave her the stink eye then headed back to sleep. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, the headed downstairs for coffee.
“I wanted to ask you about Kirlian photography. It takes pictures of auras.”
She started to make coffee. “It’s bunk. All it takes pictures of are water molecules reacting to an electrical charge.” She scooped an extra spoonful of coffee into the filter. She hadn’t gone to bed until five this morning. “Dallas has collected a lot of research about auras and aural photography. Anything you want to know about the subject is on the Web site.” She started the coffee brewing and yawned. “Why are you asking about Kirlian photography?”
“I caught part of a TV show about psychic healers. It mentioned Kirlian and I was wondering about it.”
There were millions of Web sites on the Internet with information about aural photography. Buck didn’t need to ask her about it. She had to admit it was much nicer to wake up to Buck’s warm voice than it was to hear about her sister’s latest haunted treasure or to get a call from a panicky client with lost receipts or a bounced check.
“I’d look it up on the Internet,” he said, “but my laptop is an antique and the connection is so slow it drives me crazy.”
She opened the pantry door and studied the contents.
“Or I’d go to the library, but I’m working. Do you mind me asking questions?”
A crash made her jump and she almost dropped the phone. At the sight of the coffee can on the floor and coffee spilled everywhere her jaw dropped. “That damned cat!”
“What happened?”
“Spike just knocked a whole can of coffee on the floor. I hate that cat sometimes.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the breakfast counter. Spike had disappeared. The coward. “I have to clean up this mess. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Later.”
She set the phone on the counter and cursing the cat, began sweeping up the mess. She’d opened the can only two days ago. Ten dollars down the drain. Spike was darned lucky she’d already started a pot brewing, or he’d have to face her caffeine-deprived wrath.
By the time she had the kitchen floor cleaned, Spike still hadn’t shown up. Usually he took great pleasure in watching her clean up his messes. She began to worry that maybe the coffee can had struck him and he was hurt. She went looking for him.
Sound asleep, Spike lay curled in the same spot he’d been in when she got out of bed.
B UCK PARKED THE PATROL CAR in the space next to the little red Subaru. He got out and watched Desi crossing the parking lot. She lugged a box of paper. She frowned at his approach, but willingly allowed him to take the heavy box. She pointed a remote at the Subaru and popped open the trunk. She looked him up and down, taking in the uniform.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and stepped aside so he could put the box in the trunk.
He pointed at Garden of the Gods Road. “This is my beat. I made my quota of speeding tickets, so thought I’d take a break and say hi.”
He sensed a shimmer of energy around Desi. The entity felt female, motherly, and he got the distinct impression she noticed him. It would be easy to make contact. Easy that is, if the entity weren’t attached to Desi Hollyhock.
“How…?” She looked around the parking lot of the office supply store. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He’d stopped worrying about the source of his knowing a long time ago. “I was cutting through the parking lot and saw you come out of the store.”
She closed the trunk, her face wary. “And you just happened to park right next to my car?”
He shrugged. He listened to a call from dispatch coming through the radio earpiece. Nobody needed him. “Your license plate number.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s a gift.”
“A psychic gift?”
“Only if all cops are psychic. We tend to notice license plates.”
She wore a black peacoat and a cream-colored knit cap. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her eyes were bright, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. They rivaled the winter sky. She was so pretty, he could stand here and look at her all day.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “Especially since I don’t usually shop at this store. They’re having a big sale. If you need computer paper, now’s the time to get it. Can I ask you a question? What do the people you work with think about your abilities?”
“Do you admit I have abilities?”
She smiled. “No.”
“I don’t tell them.”
She looked surprised. “Huh.”
“You don’t want to know what cops really think about mediums. Every time there’s a big crime, especially a murder or missing child, 911 is flooded with calls from people who’ve had visions and dreams.”
“I see.”
“I wish I did. See, that is.” He hunched deeper into his coat against the cold. “I figured out I’m a freak a long time ago. Different. I still don’t know what it means. I still don’t know why me and not everybody. I spent a lot of years trying to hide from it.”
He sensed her uncertainty, read it in her expressive eyes.
“I’ve done some good with it, helped some people. Some bad things have happened, too. Rampart looks like a good opportunity to figure myself out. Maybe if I know what I’m doing, I can do something useful.”
“Get your own television show?”
“Ouch.”