Cold Sight (10 page)

The king. The king. The king
.

He dug deep for the strength and drove harder, needing more, trying to grasp the meaning of the words. Was she saying them? Thinking them? Were they real, or literal? Was she alive, or was this some echo of the last words she’d whispered days ago?

He had to know.

But he pushed too hard. The band snapped. The cement block flew back into place, cutting the connection instantly. He went flying, too, stumbling across the kitchen until he ended up sprawled on the kitchen table with her words echoing in his brain.
The king
.

The word came with a faint whiff of gingerbread.

God help him. God help
her
, for the terror in that voice.

It took a few minutes for him to regroup, to bring his raging heart back into a normal rhythm and stop gasping in shallow mouthfuls of air that did little to fill his lungs. But slowly, minute by minute, he returned to normal, regained control not only of his body but of his mind.

Finally, when he was able to think again, he straightened and allowed the truth of it to fill in all the last doubtful places inside him. He’d heard that girl and she was in trouble. No more self-denial, no more theories. And if the reporter was to be believed, she wasn’t the only one.

Aidan hadn’t wanted to be dragged into this, or anything like this, ever again. Yet he couldn’t blame Alexa Nolan. She had brought an explanation to his door, but he’d been sucked in before he even knew she existed. Though she might have borne the news, she hadn’t thrown the rope around him and dragged him kicking and screaming into this case.

Though she didn’t even know it, Vonnie Jackson had.

Chapter 4

Friday, 9:55 a.m.

Lexie worked from home on Friday. She had a lot of digging to do, phone calls to make, and nowhere private to do any of it at the office. She’d already spoken with Walter to get his approval, and to see whether she could get any more out of him. His voice had been guarded. After their call, he’d e-mailed her to say he was doing some more investigating and would definitely fill her in on everything this evening.

She hoped Walter had a good password. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past Stan to do a little e-mail spying. He was probably having a field day over her absence, and desperate to find out what she was up to. But she had a lot more to worry about than a petty coworker. One of those worries, a broody psychic, was foremost on her mind.

She hadn’t yet heard a word from Aidan McConnell.

“He said today, not first thing this morning,” she mumbled as she forced her attention back onto her computer screen. She’d been exchanging e- mails with the school secretary over at Hoover, who’d pretty much echoed everything the one from GHS had told her yesterday. Vonnie was a great kid, no enemies, extremely well liked by her teachers and fellow classmates. And everyone was just devastated that she’d disappeared.

“Everyone except the cops.”

She put her fingers on the keyboard to type a response, but was interrupted when her Instant Messenger box popped open with a ding. At first assuming it was Walter, she had to think for a second when she saw a strange ID: AidMcC.

Yes!
Her AIM ID was on her business card, and Aidan had used it.

AidMcC: Are you there?

LexieWrts: Yes. Glad 2 hr from u! Have u bn reading?

AidMcC: Yes.

LexieWrts: Interesting, isn’t it?

AidMcC: So far.

LexieWrts: I’m right, aren’t I?

AidMcC: Are you always so cocky?

LexieWrts: R u always so cranky?

AidMcC: Touché. Have a ? for you.

LexieWrts: Yes?

AidMcC: Why include Jessie L as vic # 1? 6 mos before the others start?

Lexie stared at the question, not surprised he’d asked it. Jessie Leonard’s disappearance had been a long time before the others, which had come more frequently, one every two or three months, beginning six months later. But she’d had good reason—the victimology and the way she’d disappeared.

LexieWrts: Have u read her bio?

AidMcC: Yes. Very similar. That the only reason? She hesitated before answering. At the time, she had wondered if Jessie really was one of the victims of the same attacker. Remembering her initial investigation, she recalled one more thing that convinced her of that, beyond the fact that she was so much like the rest of the victims in every other way.

LexieWrts: The intervu w/ her mom.

She couldn’t remember the exact details, but she definitely remembered feeling Mrs. Leonard’s passion when she’d spoken about the disappearance of her only child, and how out of character it was. The woman had convinced her Jessie had been victim number one.

LexieWrts: Hello?

AidMcC: Yes. Already read transcript of that & others. Do you have actual recordings?

LexieWrts: Yes.

AidMcC: Would like to hear them. Can you burn them to cd for me?

LexieWrts: You got it. Offer me coffee & I’ll bring them over in 30.

AidMcC: Done.

LexieWrts: I take it w /cream & sugar.

But her message didn’t go through. McConnell had already signed off without another word. “Typical,” she groused, not offended at the abrupt end to their online conversation. The niceties didn’t matter as much as the fact that she’d gotten him to read the file. She just hoped that once he had finished reading it, and listening to the recordings, he’d be able to help.

Burning the audio files he’d asked for, she was in her car within ten minutes, the drive taking another ten. When she arrived at his house, she parked out front, right where she’d been the previous afternoon. Only this time, as she walked toward the house, it wasn’t with any sense of nervousness or worry about being rebuffed. The fact that he’d asked for these recordings meant he was interested in the case. Interested was one step from involved.

The door opened before she even reached the front steps. “That was fast.”

“I don’t live too far from here.”

He appeared puzzled. “Weren’t you at work?” “Not exactly.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “We have an in-house spy.”

“Ah. And he might tell someone you’re working on this story again.”

“Bingo.”

Stepping back, he gestured her into the house. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Thanks.”

“It was no trouble. I never start the day without brewing a gallon,” he said as he turned to lead her toward what she assumed was the kitchen. “I don’t sleep well at night.”

“Maybe because you drink a gallon of coffee during the day?”

He was walking ahead of her, so she couldn’t be sure, but she’d swear by the slight movement of his broad shoulders that he laughed.

The short hallway opened into a huge, modern kitchen that had obviously been recently renovated. Judging by the top-of-the-line appliances, marble countertops, and walnut cabinetry, the man obviously had a little money put by. Whatever he hadn’t updated about the rest of the house, he’d made up for with this fabulous room. “Wow. Very nice. You could cook an entire flock of Thanksgiving turkeys in that oven.”

“I can live with creaky floors, but not with forty-year-old appliances.”

Lexie leaned against a cabinet, watching as he poured her a cup of coffee, his movements smooth and easy. He seemed comfortable today, definitely less on guard, the handsome face not set in a permanent frown and those amazing eyes more blue than gray. Even the all-black ensemble didn’t seem so much dour as super-mysterious now.

By God, the man was something.

He pushed the cup across the countertop. “So I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain?”

Inhaling the strong, heady scent coming off the steaming cup, she could only nod in appreciation. She loved good coffee. The stuff at the office was about one step up from brown water. Helping herself to the cream and sugar he’d already put out, she replied, “More than.”

He held out his hand. “Okay. Have the CD?” Grabbing it from her purse, she handed the disc to him. “I took thorough notes for the transcripts.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just want to hear the voices, the tones. Catch the nuance.”

“That a psychic thing?”

He shook his head. “A cop thing.”

Her jaw fell open. Fortunately, she hadn’t just taken a sip of coffee; otherwise it would be all over her front. “You were a
cop
?”

“Well, not officially. I majored in criminology in college, then went through the police academy in Little Rock, but never put on a badge.”

She definitely hadn’t turned up that tidbit in her research, having spent much of her time reading about his recent cases. Ever blunt, she asked, “Why? Just couldn’t cut it?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, his brow rising in amusement. “Actually, I was at the top of my class. I wasn’t interested. Did it for the experience but never wanted to wear the uniform.”

“Bet the police in Little Rock aren’t too fond of you.”

He grinned, that quick, sexy grin he’d flashed once or twice yesterday. “Not as unfond as the ones in Savannah.”

She only hoped he soon became the bane of the local police force, too. Because right now, it was her and Walter against the rest of the town. They could use some reinforcements. Especially reinforcements with investigative backgrounds and psychic powers—if such things really existed. Now that she’d heard Aidan had studied criminology, she had to wonder if his successful record was more a product of really good investigative skills and excellent intuition rather than any supernatural know-how. Either way, the man’s involvement could be important.

Though she wanted to savor the excellent coffee, and also wanted to pick the brain of her host to see what he thought about everything he’d read so far, she knew better than to push. If he wanted to tell her, he’d have told her. She had only met him yesterday, but she already knew that. So she didn’t take her time, or even finish the coffee, before pushing the cup away.

“I’ve got to run. I’m heading over to Vonnie Jackson’s mother’s place.”

He crossed his arms over his big chest. “In the Boro?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

She chuckled, amused by his sudden worry for her. Yesterday he’d seemed ready to toss her off a high building. “I’ll be fine. I live in Granville and have been south of Woodsboro Avenue plenty of times. Heck, my favorite bakery is down there! You just stay here, read, and listen.” Flashing him a flirty grin, she added, “Maybe I’ll bring you back a peach pie. Theirs is amazing.”

“I don’t do sweets.”

She lifted a hand to her chest and gasped. “No!”

“ ’Fraid it’s true.”

“You just lost a lot of points, mister. There’s something wrong with a person who doesn’t like dessert.”

One of those sexy grins tilted the corners of his mouth up. “But you have to admit, I do make good coffee. Doesn’t that earn me a couple of brownie points?”

“Do you like brownies?”

He shook his head, appearing rueful.

She blew out a disgusted breath. “Well, then, no points for you. But you do make excellent coffee,” she conceded. “So I guess I’ll let you slide. Now go read.”

He held up the CD. “I want to listen first. I have a feeling there’s something important on here. Something I caught in the transcripts but can’t quite nail down.”

Following him to the door, she said, “I hope you’re right. Because that clock keeps on ticking.” Three and a half days since Vonnie had been taken. The thought made all humor slide right out of her.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, opening the door and stepping back out of the way.

She’d noticed that before, of course, that he was careful not to get too close. Now, however, she wondered whether it affected every aspect of his life. Whether he ever allowed himself to touch anyone.

Any
woman
.

Sex had to be something he was very careful about. And if he never had it, well, that was just a crime against half of humanity. Not only incredibly hot, the man was also charming, intelligent, and had a good sense of humor lurking behind all that sternness.

So, no, an abstinent Aidan McConnell was unacceptable. It would be a complete travesty.

The very idea was also something she, personally, didn’t want to contemplate any longer.

Because combining Aidan McConnell and sex in the same thought was way too dangerous for her peace of mind.

Friday, 4:55 p.m.

As Chief Jack Dunston strolled out of the police station, he had high school football on his mind, the thirst for a cold beer in his mouth, and a pleasant couple of days to look forward to. At this time of year, Friday afternoons were all about taking off early and starting the weekend the all-American way.

The street was quiet, traffic through the small downtown area light. Lots of folks would be heading home to have an early supper so they could then go out to the stadium to cheer on the Granville Giants. Football was big in this town and he didn’t know a single person who wasn’t looking forward to this particular game.

After a short nap, he’d enjoy a cold one and a Manwich, then head over to the school. Sitting on his blue and gold cushion in the home-side bleachers, he’d wave his big foam finger and smile in self-satisfaction as the townspeople cheered and enjoyed the comforting pastime—a pleasant, old-fashioned benefit of living in a place as nice as Granville.

Other people were welcome to Savannah and Atlanta, crime ridden and fast moving, filled with people who didn’t give a damn about anything but getting ahead. He’d take this place with its neighborly outlook, family values, and laid-back lifestyle any day of the week.

He’d nearly reached his squad car, parked in a reserved spot out front, when he spotted the sheet of paper stuck under his windshield wiper. And suddenly he was no longer smiling.

“Some people got no respect,” he muttered, stalking over to remove the offending flyer. His blood pressure went even higher when he saw what it was, and he immediately tore it out, balling up the offending flyer in an angry fist.