(Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child (18 page)

"Shit." Sam hit the gas hard, pulling onto the road. She searched her pocket for her cell phone. She punched in Bandt’s number. Sam switched her gaze from the road to her rear-view mirror.

"Hello. What's up, Sam?"

"Some asshole is trying to run me off the road," she yelled as the truck zoomed closer. The driver grinned down at her. His features were little more than a white blur – vaguely familiar, only too far away to be placed.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"This truck pulled in behind me just after I left you. He started tailgating me so I slowed down to pull over, then he deliberately hit my truck. I couldn't help it. I panicked and hit the gas. Now he's on my ass and grinning like a madman."

"What kind of truck?"

"Like yours. Exactly like yours."

This time he was all business. "How far from Parksville are you?"

Sam searched for landmarks. "I think about 7 or 8 miles."

"Anyone else on the road?"

"There's been the odd vehicle. Right now the highway is deserted."

"I'm on my way. Keep driving. Don't pull over if you can avoid it. You don't know what this asshole wants."

Shivers worked down her spine. "Great. I feel so much better now."

"Hang in there."

"Then you'd better drive like hell because I'm doing thirty over the speed limit and this guy is still on my tail."

He snorted. "Don't you worry about that. I'm not that far behind you. You focus on staying alive. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Sam turned off the cell phone, keeping a wary eye on the truck staying on her tail.

The highway was flat and wide. It was also deserted. There'd be little danger of an accident if she did go off the road. Yet, the idea of having this guy stop while she was stranded out here alone, kept her foot on the gas. Her little truck rattled and shook at the high speed.

Alternately scanning the rear-view mirrors and staring out the windshield, Sam increased her speed again. A double lane opened up. She surged ahead into the slow lane hoping the truck would take off.

Nerves locked down as tight as her fingers on the steering wheel. As she watched the truck sped up. He pulled into the fast lane to drive neck in neck at her side. Sam felt the first stirring of anger. It helped to check the fear bubbling through her blood. The asshole was playing with her.

From her position, she could see the lower portion of the passenger side panel, and huge monster wheels flashing silver lights. Anger fuelled her next move.

It might not have been the smartest. Still, a compulsion unlike any other took hold.

Sam hit the brakes hard. The black truck raced past her. Sam whipped her small truck in behind the black one. It had no license plate. Crap. Fear shot skyward. Everyone honest and open had license plates.

She let the distance between her and the truck widen. She watched anxiously to see if he would slow down to torment her more or if he'd had enough. She wasn't looking for a confrontation.

The truck pulled ahead, gaining speed before racing around a corner ahead of her. Thank God. Sam settled into her seat a little more comfortably. And breathed. It had probably been a punk kid playing power games. The band around her temple loosened.

She called Brandt. "He just took off." Sam could see flashing lights up ahead.

"Did you manage to see the license plate?"

"There wasn't one. Another reason for my panic."

"Did he go straight ahead?"

Sam checked all her mirrors even though she knew the black truck was nowhere to be found. "Yeah. He's long gone by now."

"And where are you now?"

"Almost at the first intersection in town. I'm just a couple of minutes from the vet hospital."

"Okay, I should be in the parking lot by the time you're done in there."

Sam shut down the phone and proceeded at a sedate pace. The poor cat. She glanced over at the box, but it hadn't moved. There hadn't been a sound out of it either. She made a face. It had damn well better be in there. She didn't want to have to go back.

Sam kept a wary eye on her surroundings, but never saw the truck again. Once in the parking lot, she struggled to free the large box from the seat. The cat howled.

Moving slowly, she carried the cat into the first examining room and on to one of the small patient rooms. Valerie joined her almost immediately.

"I really appreciate you stopping to pick this guy up for me."

She glanced at her in surprise. "It was no problem. I was glad to help."

"Good, good. Now let's see what we've got here." She smiled at her. "Would you mind asking one of the girls to join me? I'm going to need another set of hands for this job.

Sam nodded. "Yes, you will. That cat is pissed."

The vet grinned at her. "And with good reason. Not to worry, we'll put him to rights, if we can."

Five minutes later, Sam stepped outside, not noticing the black truck until she was halfway across the lot. She stopped, her hand going to her throat.

"Sam?"

Oh thank God, it was Brandt. She blew out her pent up breath and walked toward him, relieved and comforted that he'd raced after her. "Hi."

"Hey. How are you now?"

Good question. Sam tried to take stock but found her mind shrinking away from what had almost happened. "I'm fine. Part of me thinks I might have overreacted. Yet, another part says I didn't react fast enough." She shrugged. "I don't know what that was all about."

"Could you see the driver?" Brandt stood, hands fisted on his hips, his gaze penetrating.

She frowned. "Not really, the truck was so much higher than mine. I only saw a vague blur." She hesitated, then figured what the hell. "I caught a glimpse of his face in his rear view mirror, and although I couldn't get a close enough look there was something...I don't know how to describe it. There was something familiar about him."

"Was he tall? Short? Could you see his shoulders above the dashboard? Was his head close to the top of the cab? Hair, bald?"

He fired the questions at her so fast, Sam stopped and blinked. "Tall, his shoulders were above the dash, and his head did come close to the top of the truck or it looked like that from where I was sitting. He had hair, some, I just don't know how much."

Brandt nodded. "Anything defining about the truck?"

"Yeah, no license plate." She bent down to check out the rusted back end and the bumper. "He hit me once and more than a little tap, but I don't see any paint."

Brant squatted down, inspecting the rear of the truck. "The height of the truck would determine where he hit you. His chrome bumper might show traces of paint from your truck, but not the reverse. The chrome won't leave any trace on yours. It might have left a dent – not that we'd be able to see it if it had."

Sam could see that for herself. Her truck body was a mess. There were dents and dings all over the place. Bits of colored paint plastered the truck in odd spots. Some paint showed through the truck's outer layer while some sat over top of it.

Brandt glanced sideways at her. "The techs might be able to lift something off it, but chances are good that the bump shook your paint loose, confusing the issue entirely."

"Great. So no proof again." Sam stood up. "That's the story of my life."

"It's tough. These assholes know that cops follow a set pattern of evidence and when that's not present..."

"Makes sense. I suppose that the killers of the world learn police techniques to stay one jump ahead. She pointed to the tailgate. This killer...not the asshole who bumped me, "but the
killer
– he's playing with you. He considers himself some kind of pro. A specialist that's evolved over time."

He stood up, his gaze sharpened to a laser point. "What makes you say that?"

Leaning against her truck, Sam crossed her arms over her chest and thought about what she'd said. That it felt right wasn't going to be good enough for him. Slowly, formulating her thoughts as she went, she said, "I think it's the impression I've received. I've connected to his energy once or twice when he's gotten excited."

"More killings."

"Maybe." Sam shifted, uncomfortably. She hadn't told him about last night's victim. "I don't know if it's the same or not. But I woke up inside a woman who was being seduced."

His eyebrows jumped straight up. "Is that normal – for you?"

She flushed, heat creeping up her neck. "No. I don't normally wake up in other people's sexual fantasies." She hesitated.

"What?"

"The thing is, this woman was drugged. Some kind of hallucinogenic. Everything looked bizarre and felt over the top."

"But it was consensual?"

Sam couldn't help the grimace. "That's the thing. I don't think it was. He hurt her. Oh not at the beginning. No, in the beginning he made her feel a lot, but there was some sort of resistance going on in her mind that was hard to sort out. I think it was the drugs. I don't think she'd invited him in. I still can't identify him because the drugs distorted her vision and therefore my senses and view." Sadness tinged her voice. "It's almost like he's trying out new things. Like a new drug."

"Then he might try this again?"

"No. Not the same anyway. He didn't like what it did to her. I couldn't stay until the end because she faded into some kind of drugged unconsciousness." Sam shifted uneasily at the reminder. "I don't quite know what happened. If she died at that point in time, she didn't know it. She just went comatose."

Brandt stiffened. "Can you describe her?"

Describe her. Hmmm. "Not really. Just as my vision saw really weird things, her thoughts were the same." A nagging memory touched her again. "There was something off about this. From her impression, I got the feeling she knew him."

"Which could help a lot – if we knew who
she
was?"

"I don't have many details. She could be considered a suicide. Or a drug overdose. It was just last night, so would she even have been found yet?"

Sam studied her memories. "It's possible she didn't die, but was taken to Emergency." She shifted slightly, dismay wrinkling her face. "Even worse, she could be slowly dying in her bedroom right now."

"Horrible thought. I'll follow up with the morgue and the hospitals." He eyed her carefully.

She frowned. "What?"

"I'm concerned about you." He shifted closer, peering into her face. "That was a traumatic drive home for you. I want to know that you're okay." He reached out to grasp her gently by the shoulders. "Are you sure?"

Sam gently rubbed her face, feeling the weight of the full day pull on her. "I'm fine. I still can't decide if I overreacted, or if he really was toying with me."

"It's a busy highway. To be empty for any length of time would have been abnormal. That meant the attack had been spur of the moment. Someone had taken advantage of the opportunity presented. But why?" Brandt studied her carefully. "Who would want you dead? Have you pissed anyone off recently? Not so recently? Or this could be just some crazy asshole and not a targeted hit, but on the off chance..."

Sam heard his words, but they stopped making any sense after his suggestion someone might be trying to kill her. She could feel the blood draining from her face. There was one person. Only one person who had reason to wish her dead. But why would he be after her now? She stared at Brandt, horror dawning. The police checked into her history. Could that have triggered this? What's the chance Brandt had spoken to him? Nightmarish possibilities swirled through her mind. Did she dare tell Brandt? Did she dare trust him?

Brandt frowned. "You need to tell me the truth here. We've already got a crazed killer running around. If there is a second asshole, then I need to know about him."

Sam sighed. "Do you have time? This could take awhile."

12:15 pm

"Hey Maisy, I hear your son came today on 'official' business." Bert, a retired plumber, yelled at her from the far side of the room. There might be something wrong with his hearing, but there was nothing wrong with his voice.

Raucous, good-hearted laughter broke throughout the large dining room. Maisy smiled at everyone. "He did indeed. And did you also hear – he brought his girlfriend?"

Ooohs and aaahs from the group of seniors filled the room.

"Maybe he'll finally settle down now, huh?"

Maisy made her way slowly over to her table and took her place. "I sure hope so. You should see her."

Rosie, a retired yoga instructor seated at the table behind her, asked, "Is she pretty?"

Maisy thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, not in the sense that a little girl running through a bed of flowers is pretty. She's..." Lost for words, Maisy glanced over at the colonel for help.