The Last Echo (17 page)

HER PARENTS HAD MET THEM AT THE FRONT
door, and as much as Jay might have wanted to bolt, Violet was grateful that he’d stayed by her side. If she thought the police were thorough, it was nothing compared to the barrage of questions she’d faced at home.

And in the end, when all was said and done, Violet couldn’t stop her mom from blaming Sara and her team for what had happened to Violet.

“Mom,” Violet interrupted again, not wanting to have this conversation now—or ever, really—as she tried, once more, to explain. “It wasn’t Sara’s fault.” She collapsed onto the couch, too tired to do anything else as she glanced up at her mother. “It could’ve happened to anyone,” she said, still trying to convince herself it was partly true since she still didn’t know where her purse was.

“Mugged? Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me this had nothing to do with one of the cases you’re working on? That this was some sort of
coincidence
?”

Violet thought about that, sagging deeper into the cushion. Technically, James Nua was never her case. Or Sara’s. She’d just run into him at the police station after she’d been caught in Antonia Cornett’s apartment. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Violet answered, trying not to choke on her own words. “The case we’re working on had nothing at all to do with this.”

Jay frowned at Violet over the top of her mom’s head, but Violet ignored him.

“Sara came as soon as she knew there was trouble,” Violet added.

Maggie Ambrose sighed, her shoulders drooping as she knelt down in front of her daughter. “Mugged, Violet? Come on. I don’t have to be ‘special’ to know you’re keeping something from me. Both of you.” And then she took both of Violet’s hands in her own. “You can’t blame us for being worried—or even upset. You’ve asked us to trust you and we have . . .” She met Violet’s gaze, but even though Violet didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say, it didn’t stop her from continuing. “At some point you have to trust us.”

“What . . . what are you trying to say?”

“I’m not saying anything yet. I’m just saying your dad and I need to talk things out. We need to think about what happened and what it means.”

Jerking her hands from her mother’s grip, Violet folded them tightly in her lap as she stubbornly blinked back tears. Her cheek ached, as did almost everything now. But nothing as much as the ache in her chest.

There was no way she could stop working with her team . . . not now that she’d finally found them.

Having Jay there with her was the best kind of medicine. Once they were alone, he was both sweet and attentive, and more gentle than Violet would have thought possible.

“I can’t believe this happened to you. When are you going to stop putting yourself in danger?” His voice was laced with outrage. He was furious that someone—anyone—had laid hands on her, had hurt her in that way. He sighed heavily. “I wish I’d’ve been there, Vi. I would’ve never let him hurt you like this.”

Violet didn’t tease him about his threats to stand up to a gang member; he was too serious, and she was still too dazed to make jokes about it. The only thing that made either of them feel better was that Violet was certain James Nua was dead.

Jay brought her a hand mirror from the bathroom, and together they curled up on her bed and began exploring her injuries, each of them running their fingers carefully over the bruise beneath her eye, testing the feel of her swollen skin, and examining each scraped finger.

When he was finished, he climbed down from the bed and sat on his knees, leaning over her. He gently unclasped the necklace Krystal had given her, and Violet was glad he didn’t ask her what it was or where she’d gotten it. She didn’t want to talk about her team right now.

She watched as he lifted the hem of her shirt so he could look for bruises beneath, and she smiled, doubting he wouldn’t find any, but was awed by the reverence she saw on his face. By the time his eyes lifted to hers, his expression was calm again, reassuring.

He flattened his hand lightly over the surface of her stomach, softly letting his palm glide over her skin in a feather-soft caress. He brushed lightly across a scrape along the side of her rib cage, from where Nua had dragged her while she’d struggled against him. Jay’s fingers just barely grazed it. And then he bent forward, letting lips touch the tender abrasions. He took his time, his mouth—and his warm breath—giving her goose bumps. Violet sifted her fingers through his soft hair, tugging him closer until she was torn between two very different kinds of agony—the kind just below her skin’s surface, and the one that came from deep within her.

When she realized she was only torturing herself, she released the soft waves of his hair. “Are you almost done?” she breathed raggedly.

Jay grinned, raising only his eyes to hers. His lips moved lower, until at last he found the faintest bruise at her hip. It was where James Nua’s foot had clipped her.

She felt his lips then, tenderly—so,
so
tenderly—press against it. His tongue flickered lightly over her skin’s surface. Heat surged through her, making her nearly forget there was any pain at all. Then he moved all the way up and kissed her lips, more firmly than she would have imagined she could bear, one final time.

“Now I’m done,” he retorted, one brow raised as he scrutinized her glazed expression with complacent satisfaction.

He stood and Violet felt a stab of panic. “You’re not leaving, are you? It’s barely five o’clock.”

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?” He was grinning again, and his hair was a wild, tangled mess. She hated how desperate she sounded.

“No. If you have to go . . .” She sulked, wrapping her arms defensively over her chest, pretending it wouldn’t bother her to see him walk out the door.

Jay half-frowned, half-smiled, a look that only he could manage and still be disarmingly handsome. “Of course I’m staying, Vi. I’m not sure I’m ever leaving you alone again.”

Violet sighed, a relieved sound that came from deep in the back of her throat. “Whatever. I’m pretty sure this is a one-time thing you’ve got goin’ on here. The only reason my parents gave you an all-access pass to my bedroom is because they’re pretty sure we can’t mess around. I mean . . . look at me. After tonight, it turns back into an isolation chamber.”

It was almost hard to believe that they’d once been given free rein to her bedroom, with closed-door privileges and all . . . especially considering they’d now been relegated to the public areas of the house only. Not that she blamed her parents, really. Back then, before Violet and Jay had been a couple, the worst her parents had had to worry about was how much junk food they were sneaking before dinner. Or whether they were actually doing their homework or just playing around on the internet.

Now there were other things they could be doing when no one was watching.

Either because of Violet’s injuries, or because they felt guilty about trying to force her off the team, tonight was different. Not only was Jay in her bedroom, but the door was closed.

And Violet was too hurt to make it count.

Jay crossed the room to her dresser and pulled the top drawer open. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you’re kind of a mess,” he teased, pulling a T-shirt out and tossing it onto the foot of her bed. “Besides, you should probably put something more comfortable on.” He was just pushing the drawer closed again when he paused.

Violet saw the bottle in his hand when he turned back around to face her, the transparent brown pill container he held. “What’s this?” he asked, his tone serious now.

She shrugged. “Dr. Lee gave them to me. I was having trouble sleeping.”

“Maybe you should take one now,” he said, glancing pensively at the bottle.

She thought about how fuzzy she’d felt when she’d taken them before. “I don’t think so. I’m fine . . . really.”

“Come on, Vi,” he implored as he drew her curtains closed, his brows raised. “Stop trying to be so tough. I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering ever since I picked you up. It seems like sleep might be exactly what you need.” He read the handwritten label and shook one of the white caplets into his palm.

Violet didn’t argue when he offered it to her. She knew he was right. Her body ached and she was exhausted. And the doctor
had
prescribed them for just that reason. She reached for the water on her nightstand and swallowed it. Then she climbed beneath the covers, grimacing as she rolled onto her side, trying to get comfortable.

Jay turned off the overhead light, leaving just the light coming in from between her curtains as he crossed back to her bed. He tucked the covers around her before climbing on top of them, curling his body around her.

As his heavy arm draped over her gently, she heard herself ask, “Why not under the blankets?”

His arm tightened, just the barest of squeezes, and she felt his breath in her hair. “Because there’s no way I’d ever be invited back if your dad caught me
in
the bed with you.” And then his lips brushed the back of her head. “Now, go to sleep, Violet.”

At some point Violet was aware Jay was no longer in the bed with her, even though she’d never actually heard him telling her good-bye or felt the shift of the bed as he’d gotten up to leave.

But, now, hours later, as morning approached, she became distinctly aware of the fact that someone else was in her room with her.

Shuffling footsteps found their way through the blackness of her bedroom, and she forced her eyes to stay shut. There was the soft clink of glass on her bedside table and then the sound of pills clattering inside a plastic bottle. Violet thought of the pills tucked away in her dresser drawer, the ones Jay had given her earlier, and realized she still felt hazy. But the effects were beginning to wear off, if only slightly. “I brought you some more Tylenol,” her mother’s voice said softly. “In case you need them . . .” There was a heavy sigh, and then her bed dipped.

Her mom’s hand reached out and gently brushed her cheek, so lightly that Violet almost didn’t feel it at first. “You understand
why
we’re worried, don’t you, Vi?” she asked softly.

It didn’t matter why, Violet thought, bracing herself against her mother’s explanations. Their reasons didn’t change anything; they were talking about forcing her to give up the one place she felt . . . normal.

“I know you do.” Her mother went on, not seeming to care—or even notice—that this was a one-sided conversation. “I can’t let anything else happen to you. I’ve been second-guessing my decision to let you do this . . . with them . . . since the very first day. And every time you walked out that door. Do you know how many nights I’ve lain awake, waiting until I heard you come in again? Do you think I ever slept until I knew—for sure—that you were safe?” There was another pause, but it was brief.
“This,”
she said, her thumb moving gently to the bruise beneath Violet’s eye, “is nothing.
This
isn’t my biggest fear and you know it.”

There was a long pause, a weighted, expectant pause. Violet held her breath, waiting for what was coming.

“Sara called to say they found Casey Atkins. They got a call that she was in a warehouse downtown, just like the other girl.”

Her mom didn’t have to say that Casey was dead. Violet understood. She lay there, silently mourning for the girl, wishing she’d been able to do something for her. Wishing she’d been able to find a way to stop her killer.

Wishing her parents weren’t thinking of pulling her from her team.

“I can’t lose you.” Her mom’s voice sounded steely. Determined. “I won’t.” She stood then, and again Violet forced herself not to groan against the discomfort of her bed shifting.

When she thought she was alone again, Violet opened her eyes, but her mother was propped against the doorframe, light filtering in from the hallway behind her, outlining her like an apparition. “I knew you were listening.”

Violet’s expression was wooden as she answered. “Just because I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I have to accept them.”

VIOLET WASN’T SURPRISED THAT NO ONE HAD
come in to wake her. She’d assumed her parents were letting her take a sick day.

But it was worth it. The last thing she wanted to do was to explain her black eye each time she changed classes. And what was she supposed to say, anyway? That she got beat up by a gang member? One who’d been killed by a former FBI agent, the lady who ran the team of psychic investigators Violet worked for?

Maybe she’d just say she ran into a door; that seemed infinitely more plausible than the truth.

She came downstairs to an empty house. Her mom had been working more now that summer was approaching—her busy season, when the seasonable weather brought shoppers out to the local farmers’ markets in droves. She was already out in the converted shed she used as an art studio. Violet worried about trying to eat anything, her stomach still churning in the same way it had after the first time she’d taken Dr. Lee’s sleeping pills. Eventually she settled on some dry toast, choking it down with hot tea.

She took a sip and thought about Casey Atkins. Ever since her mom had told her about the girl, Violet couldn’t stop thinking about her. She felt terrible, both helpless and useless. What good was her ability if she couldn’t help anyone with it?

Her phone alerted her to a text, and as she checked it she realized she’d missed several messages. She felt her stomach knotting tighter and tighter as she scrolled through them. She didn’t know if it was good or bad that she was getting used to the pangs she felt whenever she avoided Chelsea and her other friends, but reading the texts inquiring as to why she wasn’t at school sent a fresh surge of regret coursing through her.

But there was also one from Rafe:

I hope you’re okay
.

It was just that single message, but it reminded Violet that she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt. With everything that had happened yesterday, she’d nearly forgotten about Rafe.

She punched out a quick response:

Don’t worry about me. I’ll come see you as soon as I can.

Closing her phone, she poured a glass of milk and tried to swallow the guilt that burned more than the stomach acids reaching up her throat. And then she grabbed her mom’s car keys and rushed out the front door.

Violet felt strange sitting in Dr. Lee’s office without an appointment, like she was breaking some sort of grown-up protocol. Fortunately for her, no one really considered her a grown-up yet.

Nervously tapping her foot, she listened to the music coming through the speakers overhead. She recognized it as the same looped CD that always played in Dr. Lee’s waiting room.
Dull
was the operative word for his musical selection, Violet thought, but she assumed that was sort of the point. It was meant to be background noise . . . probably meant to be calming and unremarkable.

When Dr. Lee opened the door to his office, Violet jumped to her feet. “Um, hi, Dr. Lee.”

His bushy brows gathered at the bridge of his nose. “Violet? What are you doing here? We didn’t have an appointment, did we?”

“No. I, uh . . . I was hoping I could, um, talk to you for a few minutes.”

He examined her face, the way everyone did now, and she tried not to bristle beneath the scrutiny. It was natural, she supposed, that kind of curiosity. “I’m sure I could spare some time for you.” He stepped aside, his professional voice ushering her inside. But once the door closed behind them, that tone changed. Instead of taking his usual seat, he moved to stand in front of her, frowning sympathetically. “I heard about what happened, but this is . . .” He took a breath, screwing on his shrink face again. “Well, it’s hard to look at.”

“It’s better than it looks.” The words had become like a running mantra for Violet, her way of telling everyone she was okay. But then she shook her head as she dropped onto the leather couch, a spot she’d always purposely avoided, deciding this wasn’t the time for false assurances. And the truth was, pretty much everything sucked right now. When she opened her mouth, her voice came out sounding tearful and pathetic. “I got my butt kicked by a gang member. And I think my parents are making me quit the team . . .” Tears stung her eyes as her words tumbled over one another. Dr. Lee passed her a tissue. “I don’t blame them, really. Look at me. If I were them, I’d probably blame Sara too. But it wasn’t her fault.” She blew her nose.

Dr. Lee waited, crossing his legs.

“But the thing is, I’m not sure I can listen this time. I’ve always been so good . . . or at least I try to be. But this time . . . this is different. I mean, sure, I’m a little banged up.” She let out a watery laugh. “Okay, a
lot
banged up. But I just don’t think I can
quit
the team.”

Dr. Lee uncrossed his legs but remained silent.

Violet didn’t pause. “I need them. When I’m with them . . . it’s the only time I don’t feel like some sort of . . . freak.”

“Freak.” He repeated the word—her word—letting it linger between them.

“Yeah.” She nodded, letting her hands fall into her lap, her fingers clutching the tissue. “When I’m with them, I feel like . . . I’m not alone. That someone . . .” She shrugged. “Gets me.”

Dr. Lee nodded, slowly and noncommittally, not giving Violet any indication of what he was thinking. Of whether he was on her side or not.

His next question didn’t clear her confusion any. “Do you think that’s enough of a reason to disobey your parents? To feel like someone
gets you
?”

Violet frowned. There was more to her connection with them than that, wasn’t there? She owed them, she supposed, for saving her life. She understood them, sort of. And she was comfortable there. But was that really enough to say she belonged there? “Can I ask
you
a question?” Violet crumpled the tissue into a ball, wadding it tightly as her eyes met his. “Who do
you
work for? I mean, I never filled out any paperwork and you never asked for my parents’ insurance cards or anything. I know you see most of us on the team, for one reason or another, so does that mean you work for Sara? Do you tell them what I tell you? And if you do work for her, shouldn’t you be trying to talk me into staying with the team?”

Dr. Lee smiled. It was the most composed smile Violet had ever seen. More so even than her dad’s, and that was saying something. He handed her another tissue, and Violet took it, wiping her nose. “This might be hard for you to believe, Violet, but just because you want something doesn’t always mean it’s the best decision.”

Violet sat there quietly, considering Dr. Lee’s words. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself—and the team—and wanting her to remain part of their group. Or if he was talking about her threats to defy her parents.

Somehow, she felt like he meant both.

After a long moment, she spoke again, her voice faint. “You didn’t answer my question.”

His patient smile never faltered. “Which question was that, Violet?”

“Who do you work for?”

Dr. Lee exhaled. “I work for the same people you work for. The people who run the Center.”