Becoming Three (15 page)

Jace and Cade walked into the station to Sarah's laughter. The sound always brought a smile out of Jace that he had to try to hide. As soon as he saw Alexander Quick leaning halfway into Sarah's personal space, clearly the cause of her good mood, Jace didn't have to bite back his grin.

He did, however, have to force down a growl. The need to mark his territory only got worse when he saw the bouquet of roses.
Rich bastard. The guy had a multimillion-dollar business in Boston and probably had women all around him back home. He sure as hell didn't need to come to Quinten and sniff around their women.
Sarah's phone rang; she answered it, and Jace paused at her desk. He assessed Alex and looked right into his knowing eyes.
Son of a bitch knows why I hate him. Fuck.
“Quick,” he said by way of a greeting.
“Deputy Maxwell,” Alex replied, his tone as easy as Jace's had been curt. “It's good to see you again.”
“Sure it is.”
“Jace,” Sarah said, drawing out his name. Her tone held warning and snapped Jace's focus her way. Irritation sparked her eyes to the color of dark chocolate; they were full of a silent, righteous fire that he'd seen her shoot at him a thousand times in the past. He knew she hated his protective nature, but things were different now. They'd had sex; he'd tasted her, been inside her,
fucking slept in her bed
, holding her, for an entire night. It didn't matter that he shouldn't ever take her again; she was his to protect, no matter what, and he would. She probably needed to go ahead and start accepting that truth right now.
“I have to get going.” Alex interrupted Jace and Sarah's silent war of glares. “I just came in to say thank you and give you the flowers.” He gave Sarah another easy smile and wave as he backed out the door. “If I get any good news, I'll let you know.”
“Bye!” Sarah waved back, chipper, until she took her stare off the door and put it on Jace again. “You—”
“This is for you.” Jace put the gift bag smack in the center of Sarah's desk. “It's from Jasper.”
Her eyes lit up…for a heartbeat. Then they dimmed, kicking him right in the gut. “What? Why?” She flitted her fingers over the bag but abruptly pulled them away. “You saw him today?”
“Yeah. Out at Caleb and Jake's. He bought this for you before…” Jace suddenly clamped his mouth shut. “Anyway,” he finished quickly, “he wanted you to have it.”
“Thank you.” Setting her lips in a tight line, Sarah put the gift in the bottom drawer of her desk. “I'll open it later.”
Jace wanted to crawl back in bed and start this day all over again. “Goddamn it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this here.” He could not seem to find the right way to talk and treat her after the last twenty-four hours. He hated confusion. Made him think about reaching for a drink too fucking much. “I don't know what I was thinking.”
“It's all right.” Her phone rang again. This time her response took more than ten seconds, so Jace wandered to his desk and sat down.
Cade glanced up from his desk, which sat adjacent to Jace's. “You're getting worse and worse at that, you know,” he said.
Jace put a handful of messages down before looking at the first one. “At what?”
“Hiding how you feel about your roommate.” Cade duplicated the “fully aware” stare Alex had delivered almost flawlessly. “You're pretty much not succeeding at all now, if you want the truth. Haven't for a while.”
Opening his mouth to deny everything, Jace instead uttered “shit” under his breath. He watched Sarah efficiently take notes at her desk a dozen feet away. She chatted in that amiable, professional way he knew hid pain and a core of steel, and he just wanted to whisk her away to a warm patch of grass and live inside her for the next week.
Gritting his teeth, Jace commanded his dick back to sleep. “I have to figure out how to stop wanting her.”
“Why?”
The door to the sheriff's office swung open right then; Duke strode out, with the deputy mayor at his side.
“The mayor is going to make another statement to the press in a few hours,” Jace overheard Brian Gates say as the two men moved toward the door. “I don't know how much longer I can keep them from getting vicious toward your department if you won't release one on your own.”
“We'll get back to this tomorrow.” Duke kept ushering Brian to the exit. “I appreciate the job you're doing so far. Have a good day.”
Duke expertly finessed Brian out of the station, and then he moved to the waiting area and stopped in front of a man Jace didn't recognize. Duke said something about being with the man in a few minutes and then disappeared right back into his office.
Jace got up from his desk and wandered to Cade's. “You know anything about that?” He kept his voice low.
“Not a damn thing,” Cade answered. “Must be important, though. The deputy mayor could tell he was being given the brush-off, and you could see he didn't like it much either.”
“Got that right.” Jace went back to his desk and looked through his messages, making notes of a handful of calls he needed to return.
Within a half hour, the sheriff reemerged from his office. He walked back to the man sitting in the guest area and offered his hand in hello, exchanged a murmur of words Jace wasn't able to catch, and then the man got up and followed Duke back to his office.
The guest entered, but Duke paused at the door. “Cade. Jace.” His low voice resonated with authority across the room. “I'd like you to join us, please.”
Both men got up and followed Duke inside, shutting the door behind them. Duke offered Peter Robbins's name, as well as Jace's and Cade's, and everyone exchanged handshakes. Rather than sitting next to Mr. Robbins in the second visitor's chair, Jace leaned against a windowsill, and Cade settled against a low file cabinet.
“I just got off the phone with Mr. and Mrs. Carlton,” Duke said. He glanced at Jace and Cade, showing unforgiving eyes that made both deputies stand up straighter.
Duke then turned and put that focus clearly on their guest. “It seems Mr. Robbins is a psychic and has had”—Duke seemed to have trouble forcing the words out of his mouth— “impressions of Ginger's murder.” He steepled his fingers. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.” Peter Robbins took turns holding the stare of everyone in the room and never once blinked. “I have.”
What. The. Fuck?

Jace just managed to keep his mouth from gaping open in shock.
This guy is a psychic?
No way. By the look Duke
almost
successfully concealed, he didn't buy the claim either. Peter Robbins clasped his hands in a similar fashion to Duke's. “So, Sheriff, you called the

Carltons before speaking to me and know why I'm here,” he said, his chin holding strong. “I commend you. It actually makes me feel much better about your ability to run an investigation and catch a criminal. You'd be surprised how many people in charge in law enforcement come at me cold and end up insulting the grieving family with their dismissal of my claims.”

Jace studied Peter while Duke engaged him in conversation, searching, as he knew Cade was undoubtedly doing too, for subterfuge or outright lying. Without Duke saying it aloud, Jace knew it was why the sheriff called them into the office.

Duke leaned forward and grabbed a pad of paper and pen. “Why don't you start by telling me what you told the Carltons you saw in your vision.”
“I received two flashes,” Peter answered. “Both very powerful.” His blunt fingernails sank into the vinyl covering the arms of the chair. “The visual of the second one was so strong, it pulled me from sleep.”
His face a poker mask that would make the most seasoned professional proud, Duke shifted in his chair, pen rotating between his fingers. “What did you see and when did you see it?”
“This vision woke me up just after midnight Friday night into Saturday. I believe the first one was right before her death, although it is difficult to say for sure.”
Duke raised a brow. “You don't just know?”
“No. It doesn't work that way.” A hint of frustration laced Peter's voice, and Jace guessed if he were the real deal, he probably had to explain how it did “work” often. “I didn't know who the victim was by name or where she was murdered either,” he shared. “I rarely get that strong an impression right away on a new vision. I had the pictures flash in my head, sort of like two snapshots. I knew it was a vision of something that had happened already, because the complete stillness and silence that took me over as I saw the second picture lacked any hint of life, so I knew she was dead. I started searching for crimes in the papers and on the Internet until I found one that matched what I saw in my mind. When I found an Internet version of a story that ran in one of Montana's papers yesterday morning, I knew that was the crime I saw. I got on the first plane I could out of San Francisco this morning and came to talk to the family.”
After jotting down one quick note, Duke glanced up at Peter. “You still haven't told me exactly what you saw that brought you here.”
Pink dotted each of Peter Robbins's cheeks. “Right. Sorry. In the first picture, I saw a young, auburn-haired woman—who I know now is Ginger—getting into a pickup truck. It was night, and I didn't see it for long enough to grasp a color, but I think something in a darker shade. There was a man in the truck, behind the wheel, and there was a streak of white, which signifies blond hair to me.” Some of the color left Peter's face, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “In the second picture, it was once again dark, and I saw a pale, slender body attached to a tree in a way that made me think of Christ on the cross. That's a pretty distinctive image, so I felt confident coming here and that I have the right victim for my vision. Once I got here, in this town, I could feel it and knew for sure. Otherwise”—his voice resonated with quiet passion—“I never would have contacted the family and put myself in the middle of their pain.”
“And that's all you know, and all you've seen?” Duke asked.
“So far,” Peter said. “Now that I've seen those pictures in my mind, met the family, and am in the town where Ginger lived, I believe I will get stronger impressions of her life force as I learn more about her. More pictures will come to me.” He nodded, backing up his words as he spoke. “If she knew this person who murdered her, if he or she made any kind of impression on her soul before she passed, I will eventually sense it.”
“And if this person didn't?” Duke asked, raising a brow. “If he or she was just some random stranger?”
Peter looked as if Duke had just insulted his intelligence. “You and I both know that's rarely the case with murder. But if he—and I'm going to make an assumption that the killer is male for the moment—was a complete stranger, and Ginger had no attachment to him in any way, you will have gained something in your search by knowing that from me.”
“And I know you're not going to mind providing me with information and an alibi for yourself, so I can rule you out as a suspect.” Spoken casually, but in reality, Jace knew Duke was anything but laid-back right now. “Correct?”
“I'm used to being thought of suspiciously when I have a vision that involves a violent crime, Sheriff.” Peter didn't blanch at the spotlight shifting to him. “I expect no less from you.”
“So then you won't be surprised that I'm going to call you out as something of a mercenary in this.” Where cool aplomb had reigned in Duke's interview up to this point, a quiet inferno now burned in his eyes and voice. “You come in here, and you get right in the middle of a family that has been dealt an almost unimaginable blow, and you convince them you can help solve their loved one's murder. They're reeling from the loss and looking to latch onto anything that will help them assign blame as to why their daughter is dead.
“But you don't come here to help solve a crime just out of the goodness of your heart, do you?” Duke said with spine-shivering softness. “A search of your name in my database may not bring up any criminal record, but a Google one shows you have a half dozen self-published books with your take on crimes you've helped detectives
solve
from San Francisco to Cambridge and a half dozen other US cities in between. Now you've decided to grace
our
humble town with your gift of second sight.”
Duke clasped his hands on his desk in a loose hold, but nobody in the room—surely not even Peter Robbins—could miss the icy glint in his amber eyes. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Robbins. I can't stop you from being here, and I can't tell that family to stay away from you either. But if you hurt them any more than they already are, if you take advantage of them, fleece them, or ruin their lives as a result of anything you write, you will deal with me, and I do not give up a grudge or a fight easily. You don't come into this town and fuck with my people without raising up all of my goddamn hackles. Are we clear?”
“I don't charge the family for my time here,” Peter replied, his tone cool. “If something I give you helps solve the case, then my agreement with every family I help is that they allow me to write a book about what happened, using the victim's life and name without a fee. I have to earn a living; I don't hide from the books I write. If the case isn't solved before I have to move on, then I tell the family I'm very sorry and I don't write anything. I don't claim to be all-seeing. Sometimes, even with my strongest visions, an arrest is never made and crimes go unsolved. Nothing is perfect. Not even second sight.”
Duke just barely dipped his head, the best Jace figured he would offer as a conciliatory move. “You think you see something else that will help solve this case, you come and tell me, and I will weigh it the same as I do any other evidence or lead, and decide whether or not to pursue it. I don't dismiss your claims out of hand; I don't pretend that I understand the many things that exist in this world that we cannot see with our own eyes, but don't for one second think that means I'll give you top billing or access to our investigation just because you've ingratiated yourself with the deceased's family.”
“I understand.” Peter wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair and shifted forward to the edge of the seat. “I appreciate your being forward with me much more than bullshitting me to my face and then dismissing my visions and insights behind my back. Right now I don't have anything more to give you, but I feel certain I will soon.” He pushed to his feet and stuck out his hand. “I have to get back to the family.”
Duke shook it but simply said, “Remember what I said.”
“Sheriff”—pausing, Peter lifted his gaze and looked right in Duke's eyes—“you may believe me when I say the only thing I care about in this case right now is this family.”
“As soon as you give Deputy McKenna your alibi information, you can get back to them.” Duke didn't even have to look at Cade before he walked across the room. “He can do that right now.”
Cade opened the door. “Mr. Robbins, if you'll come this way?”
“Ah, sure.” Peter looked from Duke to Cade, and the first glimpse of surprise showed in his eyes. He looked like he had expected the sheriff to take the information himself. “Thank you again. I'll be in touch.”
As soon as Cade shut the door behind him, Duke shifted in his swivel chair and put his attention on Jace. “What do you think?”
“I think it's obvious he's dealt with law enforcement before,” Jace started. “This would certainly be easy enough to verify, which he must know, so I don't think there can be any mistaking that he has made claims to have seen victims of crimes in his mind in the past. He clearly knows what to expect from law enforcement, and I bet he has a smooth answer for every level of irritation, rudeness, or even freakish interest shown him when he makes his claims.”
“Doesn't mean he's lying.”
“Doesn't mean he's telling the truth either.”
“True. Peter Robbins can irritate me as much as he fucking wants, and I'll deal with him.” Duke laced a growl into his comment. “But I don't like that he went to the family first and pulled them into his claims of seeing our victim.”
“It's funny, but that's about the one thing where I thought he was genuine and not trying to sell himself,” Jace mused. “When he said the only thing he cared about was the family.”
“Yeah.” Duke pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed up to his forehead. “I got that too.”
“If his alibi checks out, I suppose it wouldn't kill us to humor him in case he is legit.”
“I don't want to upset the family, so I'm not going to call him out as a charlatan and turn this into an even bigger three-ring circus than it already wants to be.” Quinten had more reporters in town now than they ever had in Jace's adult memory. “That will only make the Carltons hold tighter to his claims. I've already advised them as gently as I could to be cautious, and I will continue to do so, but I think we should prepare for more
visions
”—he threw his fingers up in quotes—“from Mr. Robbins.”
“I'll research those books he's written and jot down names of the victims featured.” Jace made a note on his mental to-do list. “Can't hurt to contact the people in charge of those cases and see what they have to say about this guy.”
“Agreed.”
Jace mentally flipped back to the few actual details Peter had given about the case. “He mentioned a blond-haired man, and while I don't necessarily buy his claims, there are a couple of guys new in town—”
A sharp rap sounded at the door, and a second later, Sarah entered. “Sheriff?”
Duke swung his chair around to face the door. “What is it?”
Her gaze darted from one man to the other, and Jace only had to catch one glimpse of fear in her eyes to straighten up, going on full alert.
“We have another dead body,” she said.
Jace and Duke swore in unison, although they used different words. Duke did it again as he shot to his feet and strode around the desk, barely pausing to grab the note out of Sarah's hand.
“Another woman,” Sarah said, keeping up with Duke as he moved to a locked room and grabbed an evidence kit, folded body bag, and a set of keys for their transport van. Jace followed too, taking a camera and his own kit off a shelf, just in case they needed it.
“This woman was dumped in a ditch off the state road in front of Compton's Ranch,” Sarah went on. “Mr. Compton's keeping watch on it until you get there.”
“Okay.” Duke talked to Sarah without looking at her as they strode back to the bull pen. “As soon as Cade is finished taking Mr. Robbins's statement, give him the details and have him join us at this new scene.” Duke opened the front door, and the shock of sunlight had both men squinting. Jace paused to put on sunglasses, and Duke finished giving his instructions to Sarah. “As soon as Max gets back from checking out those motels, I want you to have her get started on a search for any books written by Peter Robbins. They'll be true-crime stuff, and he'll be featured as a psychic in each one. I want her to find out who was in charge of each case and get in touch with them, if she can. I want a better sense of who that man is, and I want it ASAP.”
Sarah nodded, already back at her desk taking new notes. “On it.”
“Field the calls and questions as best you can, and do your best to keep this new victim under wraps.” Duke looked guilty as he said that, as if he had some power over the ogling of others. “If you need help, go ahead and call in Margaret.” He mentioned the woman who worked as dispatch/receptionist on Sarah's days off.
“I'll be okay.”
Jace caught Sarah's worried glance. Even though shades concealed his eyes, he easily read the message in hers.
Please be safe
. The phone rang; she answered it, and he left to do his own work.