Hide'n_Go_Seek Page 15

  Grant joined her a few minutes later. "We're done here. The email was sent through a special server and that account has been closed already. I doubt we'll get anything from it." His voice shifted, becoming brisk. "I need you to take another look at your sketch to see if you notice anything else we can use."

  "Damn it, Grant, I've stared at it for hours already. I thought it was Julie. Honestly, I'm still afraid it is - or will be - Julie."

  Silence.

  "You think she's the next victim?"

  Kali turned, propped one hip against the railing, and closed her eyes, her head bowed in thought. "I don't know what to think." That was the truth. At least as far as it went. She'd refrained from telling him one tiny little detail. He'd freak.

  "Yet something is bugging you."

  She gave him a sideways look. "I think it's fair to say that a lot is bugging me."

  He narrowed his gaze. "You know what I mean."

  Wrinkling up her nose, she admitted, "I might not have told you everything."

  That same eyebrow shot up. His cheeks hollowed as his chin firmed. When she didn't speak, a glint came into his eye. "Speak."

  Kali didn't know how to begin.

  "Kali? Please."

  She nodded. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the strands, collecting her thoughts. "It's about my painting."

  He glanced in the direction of the studio. "That painting?"

  "Yes."

  She hesitated, then the words erupted from her mouth. "I painted it before I went to Sacramento."

  He blinked. Then he got it. "Precognitive painting?"

  Kali stared at him. "Is there such a thing?"

  With a half laugh, he asked, "You tell me?"

  "It was only when I got home from that trip and took a closer look that I understood."

  "Except we don't know when that victim was kidnapped. Does the rest of the painting fairly represent the scene you found down there?"

  Mute, she considered the question. "Yes, it does. So now I have to wonder if this Julie sketch is something similar. I'm just too new to this psychic stuff to know."

  "Has this happened to you before?"

  "Drawings like this? No. Never!" Or had it? She frowned pensively. Would she have recognized other paintings for what they were? Not likely. "At least I don't think so? I've drawn for years, like I told you. I've never mentally connected the image to a specific event before. Especially not something like this."

  "Could they have been precognitive in nature?"

  "I don't know."

  "Maybe you should check?" He studied her features curiously.

  Kali spun around and headed to the small studio, Grant at her heels. Opening the door, she walked in. "Uhmm, I don't know what I still have. There should be some around here somewhere." As she talked, Kali opened cupboards and drawers. The big storage closet held her overload of art supplies and it was full, very full.

  "Wow. Maybe check your artwork from the last couple of years. Your precognitive skills could have been developing for a long time."

  The smaller closet contained an organized stack of her sketchbooks. "Maybe when this mess is over and I get a minute." She turned to face him. "Still if I'm right, Julie could be the next victim."

  Grant's eyes narrowed, his focus shifting inward. She could almost see him tick off each point in his head. "We'll talk with her."

  Kali closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you. I should have considered it earlier, but, honestly, it only crossed my mind before you arrived."

  He snorted. "And when were you supposed to think of it? You drew the picture last night. We found the trucker within hours and you've caught a few hours of rest. There hasn't been any time. Stop with the guilt trip. We'll speak with her."

  He strode to the front door. "I'm going back into town. I'll call you later."

  Kali felt torn as she watched him leave. Grant represented the nasty turn her life had taken, yet he was comforting to have around. He'd become a rock in her world of quicksand.

  She hadn't thought she'd be willing to lean on anyone else again after so many years alone. True, it was a rare disaster where she didn't break down at least once. Death and hopelessness did that to a person when blended with exhaustion. Stan had lent his shoulder a time or two, as had Brad. Her heart swelled. God, she missed him. Though she wasn't as tough as everyone assumed, she always pulled up her socks and carried on. She was no quitter.

  So what now? Grant had set up security, surveillance but she hadn't asked him about new locks. That she could do. The last thing she wanted was another visit from this asshole. She should have done it earlier. Kali picked up her phone and by promising to pay extra, she secured the locksmith's promise to come out within the next hour. Then she made some calls to two local security companies. That done, Kali noted down things she had to do.

  Talk with Julie.

  Catch killer.

  Figure out what she wanted from Grant.

  But no pressure, Kali!

  ***

  Julie wandered through her town home, hating the sense of vulnerability. It was hard to believe last night could have gone so wrong. Her nosebleed last night had been so bad she’d gone to the hospital. She hated hospitals. She hadn't even been able to drive herself there.

  And to come home to have an officer waiting for her...

  She sighed. Surely she had a forgotten bottle of wine stashed somewhere. It didn't matter what time of day it was. Finding out everyone thought she'd gone missing was bizarre, and Stan's explanation had been over the top.

  Kidnapped, for heaven's sake. They'd really lost it with that assumption. And what about coming in and searching her place? In a small way she felt violated. Better make that in a big way. It no longer held the same comfortable hominess. Her house was full of energy - their energy. She'd need her feng shui specialist to clean it out properly.

  Stan had been so apologetic that he'd made her laugh. He reminded her of her own father, coming from the right place, even if he often appeared to have lost his head. He was the epitome of the forgetful professor. Harmless.

  Kali was downright scary. How she could do the type of work she did with such eerie calm? Julie shook her head as she opened her fridge.

  Wine. That would take the edge off. She popped the cork, breaking off a little into the bottle in the process, and poured herself a hefty glass. Carrying it out to the porch, she chose a seat in the shade.

  A sparrow hopped through the garden, pecking away at the ground. Julie smiled at its antics. She'd like to be so carefree. According to her shrink that wouldn't happen until she 'made peace' with herself. Julie snorted before taking another hefty swig of her drink. Hence the irresistible lure inherent in the SAR center. A connection to what she'd experienced. Most people couldn't understand, the people at Second Chance did.

  As far as she was concerned, she didn't need a shrink, she needed a new life. And she'd been hoping that was in progress.

  Until this.

  Julie shuddered.

  Men in her house. Going through her drawers, her bedroom, her papers, and her life. Yuck. She knew they believed they had just cause. It was supposedly for her benefit, still - her personal space was everything to her.

  Checking her watch, she realized it was time to get dressed. Her new man should be here soon. They were going out for lunch and to the conservatory. She hadn't yet decided if this would be the night. She'd held him off so far, wanting him to work for it a little. In her opinion, women gave in too easy these days. Then the guys became spoiled and expected the same treatment all the time. Julie loved a good romp, but not because it was expected. Besides, the guy was married. It's not like he wasn't getting it on a regular basis.

  Julie preferred her men married. Short term and private with no complications. Her phone rang. Checking the caller ID, she smiled. "Hi," she sang into the phone. "Are we still on for lunch?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Damn drawings. Since when had her barely existent extrasensory s
kills extended to paranormal artwork? Was there even such a label? Or did she have the dubious distinction of being the only weirdo who created kidnap art?

  Kali reached for the cold iced tea sitting beside her on her patio table. Grant had been gone an hour, and her thoughts had already dropped into chaos.

  Her phone rang. Grant.

  "Last night's victim died of a heart attack," he said brusquely. "He'd most likely been comatose for hours."

  "What? What about the head trauma? Being buried? Lack of oxygen from the dislodged mask?" Kali had a hard time taking it all in.

  "All of that would have sped up the process, but what I'm saying is you couldn't have saved him. He was a dead man anyway."

  Relief and pain washed over her. Poor guy. At least he wouldn't have known what was happening. Shit. "So, if he hadn't had that heart attack, he'd have been there waiting for us." Relief vanished. Shakes wracked her spine. God, he could be still lying there, waiting in agony and terror, wondering if his life was over. Understanding hit. "We weren't meant to find him that fast."

  A heavy sigh slid through the phone lines. "I'm thinking the same thing. That's why the killer felt safe being there. We were supposed to look for the owner of the earring."

  "How does he think I'm going to find these people?"

  "What's the chance he knows about your paranormal skills?"

  "Not likely. I don't talk about it. At all."

  "Feel free to contact Stefan if you want to talk."

  Right, the psychic who worked with the police. Grimacing, she asked, "Do you think he'd mind?"

  "No, he won't. Have you got a pen?" He rattled off the number as Kali jotted it down on her notepad. She had Stefan's card somewhere. This was easier.

  "Have you spoken with Julie?"

  "Not yet."

  Kali stared around at the old fir trees on her property. "I'll call her again in a few minutes. I was hoping you had contacted her."

  "We're working on it. She was told to check in this morning and hasn’t yet. We don’t know if she forgot, didn’t feel like it or..."

  His businesslike tone of voice told her nothing. Did they have any idea where Julie was? What were they doing to try and find her? So many questions. Yet she didn't feel she could ask any of them. He was doing what he could. That things weren't moving fast enough for her didn't mean Grant was sitting on his ass doing nothing.

  "Right. I don’t imagine she was pleased about last night." Kali massaged her forehead. "She's probably fine. We don't even know if he's after her." And they didn't. She'd glommed onto the idea based on her pictures. Stupid. "I can't get rid of the idea that he's targeting disaster survivors. However, that only works if David is a survivor himself."

  "We haven't found anything like that in his history so far."

  Then why him? She couldn't begin to understand the methodology, the craziness of a killer's mind. Especially a killer like this. "He has to be picking his victims somehow."

  "Is there a registry or something for survivors?" The sound of a pencil scratched as he took notes.

  "I don't think so. There are support groups where people go to deal with the guilt of being the person who survived." She thought about it. "Both online and in-person."

  "So he'd have had no problem finding out who belongs to these groups?"

  "Maybe initially, but once he tapped it, there'd be a huge supply of victims."

  "We can ask Julie about new members to her online group. She’s been told to stay in touch, so she’s not likely to be too far away. If you reach her, let me know immediately," Grant said, his voice brisk and focused. "Meanwhile, we'll work on finding the connection between these victims."

  Grant rang off, leaving Kali to stare at the dead phone. She dialed Julie again.

  Julie didn't answer. Again dread rolled through Kali. She'd been out of communication for too long. Even for someone who valued her privacy. She dialed Stan next.

  "I can't reach Julie. Do you know if she belongs to groups or associations involving other survivors?"

  "She did therapy afterward, and still belongs to at least one online group. I don't know which one." The fatigue in Stan's voice worried her. Stan's health had been slipping before this mess.

  "Right," Kali said. "Grant wants to talk to her. This killer has to have a way of selecting his victims, a pool to choose from. It could be a support group."

  "Oh, God."

  She hung up.

  Tension ran through her and into everything she did. Like fine wire tightened too far. Anything more and she might snap. She straightened magazine stacks, reorganized her almost empty bedding closet to keep busy.

  When the phone rang, she dropped everything. Maybe Stan had good news for a change. Unknown caller. She frowned.

  "Hello."

  Laughter answered her. The same voice punched her in the gut. Shit. Anger burned away the shock. "Stop it. Quit calling me and quit killing people, you asshole."

  Kali slammed the receiver down. Grant’s men should have picked that up, too. There. It rang again. She thought it was the same monster but she hadn't written it down. She did this time and refused to answer. Then doubts crept into her mind. "Shit."

  She snatched up the phone and answered it.

  The same laughter answered her.

  "What do you want?" she screamed into the receiver.

  "You missed one."

  "What?"

  But Kali was talking to a dead phone.

  "Shit."

  Fingers trembling, she had to dial twice before she punched in the right numbers. Grant answered on the first ring. "He just called. We missed one." She started crying. "He said we mis-

  "What?" Sharp tension shot through the phone. "Kali, calm down, take a deep breath."

  Choking back a sob, Kali released a shuddering breath. She wiped her eyes.

  "Sorry," she whispered. "Just a second." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled back the tears.

  "Better? Now again, slowly, please."

  After a slow deep breath, Kali repeated what she'd said. "I've been trying to reach Julie, I'm only getting voicemail." Kali glanced over at the clock frowning, her stomach knotting. "It's early. I want to believe her cell phone battery is dead, but..."

  "Now you're afraid she won't be coming home." His grim voice added to her queasiness. She could hear him talking to someone in the background, asking for a copy of the call. She vaguely remembered him saying he’d put a trace on the phone. Good, maybe they’d catch this asshole after all.

  "I don’t know what to believe," she whispered. The horror of the previous night rose to clog her throat with tears again. She walked outside into the early afternoon sun. Her slippers clicked on the cedar slats. Shiloh joined her, nudging her nose against Kali's bare legs. Bending down, Kali hugged her close, needing the comfort as much as giving it.

  As she straightened she looked surreptitiously across the property. "You're sure there's surveillance on the house? I’d hate to have to stay inside, but it feels weird out on my deck."

  "Go in and stay in when you’re alone. We don’t want to give him any opportunity." His voice sharpened. "And yes, there’s a team watching. Twenty-four hours a day."

  That helped. Rotating her shoulders, easing back the tension, she could look around without tearing up again. It truly was a beautiful day. Sun, blue sky and a warm breeze, she took a deep breath of the salty tangy air. That helped, too. Now she'd follow orders and go inside. Refocusing, she asked, "I'm really hoping he's referring to the round two victim. I'd hate to think there's another one we don't know about."

  His silence was agreement enough.

  Soberly she asked, "What now?"

  "We're working on it."

  "Great. The waiting game." Kali couldn't stop the sarcasm from slipping into her voice. "Please call me with any development."

  Kali hung up the phone. This asshole had to be stopped. A thought glimmered in the back of her mind. She didn't know if it would work or not, but she neede
d to try. Gathering her art stuff, she poured herself a cup of coffee. This might take a while.

  What she really needed was Grant's friend. What was his name? Stefan? Yes, he could be a big help.

  ***

  Stefan leaned against the front grill of his beamer and watched the seagulls floating on the wind. The sense of freedom from the physical plane was a sensation like no other. He understood the feeling. He'd come to crave it after all these years. Being a sensitive, a psychic, meant he was often buffeted by factors other people couldn't imagine.