Chapter 31

WHEN WORKING in the law enforcement sector, there was a thing called protocol. Protocol could stop you from making questionable decisions. Could stop you from second-guessing yourself. Protected you from any outcome. No matter what happened, you could always say, well, “I followed protocol.” Most times.

Sitting at Margaret Macmillan’s table, waiting for her to finish making tea, I was fully aware that at some point that morning, I’d said, “Fuck protocol. I do what I want.” Proper protocol did not involve visiting a suspect against your partner’s orders. Especially when that suspect had a direct line to the police. Protocol also didn’t involve drinking her tea or asking her uncomfortable questions.

That didn’t stop me from doing any of those things. I took a taxi to my sister’s place from the airport and dropped off my luggage. Then I hightailed it over to Margaret’s before I could think twice about it. Or wonder where Lieutenant Tate was going to put my body when she found out.

All in the name of information. Although… I don’t think I’d ever seen Margaret that quiet. Too quiet. She seemed to stare at me with an intent expression on her face when she thought I wasn’t looking. It was unsettling, to say the least. I looked up from my tea, and her gaze skittered away. I sighed.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I heard you found the body,” she said.

“Amy? The team did, yes.”

“I heard you found the body,” she insisted. “They found it based on your information.

What did it matter who found the fucking body? “Some of it was, yes,” I answered impatiently.

“I heard she was found in an extremely remote location. How’d you know where to look?”

More staring. Blue eyes suspicious as a well-trained dog watching a piece of your dropped dinner. “We’re not at liberty to reveal our sources in an open investigation,” I finally said, remembering my ingrained bureau-speak.

“And the others?”

“What others?”

“The Robertsons. They found them in Hellar Creek today.”

“I hadn’t heard,” I said faintly.

Danny had actually listened to my advice? I almost couldn’t comprehend that new development. “I think I should probably check in with my partner so he doesn’t worry. He’s expecting me back.”

Her eyes were trained on my face for a long moment. And then she suddenly relaxed. As though she’d made a decision. “They actually speak to you, don’t they?”

“Excuse me?”

“The article. It’s true. They actually speak to you.”

I narrowed my eyes. So that was her angle. She didn’t want to know what the department knew, she wanted to know if I was truly a ghost whisperer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally said. “Just a junk article from a trashy reporter.”

“What does she say?” She clearly didn’t buy my story.

“Nothing,” I said with a reassuring smile. “And I really should get going.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

I rose stiffly, glad when she only stared at me. I felt almost foolish as she nodded and rose to lead me to the door. What’d I expect? That she’d break out some kung fu and subdue me? Someone at least fifty pounds heavier and five inches taller? A trained agent?

Despite those facts I was relieved when I was outside. It was probably the first time in memory I was grateful to feel the heat of the sun beating down on my back. So very hot. I swiped a little sweat out of my eyes, walked to the car, and forced myself not to hurry. Only when I heard the door close behind me did I break out into a mini jog. That woman gave me the creeps.

I dialed Danny before I even closed the door. Of course the irritating man didn’t answer. When I was calling to ask what kind of chips he wanted from the store, he practically answered on the first ring. When I was calling about a murder investigation? Nada.

I dialed again and impatiently drummed my fingers on the wheel. I reached out and turned up the air so it blasted me in the face as I waited. Even in my lightweight shirt, it felt like I was burning up. I bit my lip as Danny’s gruff voicemail kicked in again. I was briefly flummoxed about what to say. I wasn’t supposed to be working a murder investigation. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be speaking to Margaret Macmillan. And I didn’t think it would matter much that she had called me.

The beep sounded, and I tried for casual. “Hey. Just checking in to let you know I’m back in town. I’m probably going to stay with my sister. Let me….” My tongue suddenly felt thick, and I swallowed a few times. “Lemme know when you get this.” I paused and thought. Wondered if I should say something else.

My brow furrowed as I kicked the air up another notch. Why was I so goddamned hot? And why was my tongue so thick and slow in my mouth? I thought furiously about what I’d eaten recently. I didn’t think I was allergic to anything.

Two things happened all at once—I heard a soft but distinct sound in my backseat. Click. And I realized that she’d put something in the goddamned tea.

The small noise made me go completely still. It’d been a while since I’d discharged my weapon—hell, probably when I squinted at a QIT-99 silhouette on my last qualifier. But I’d recognize the click of a hammer pulling back in my sleep.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, and my eyes went wide before I even felt the muzzle on the back of my neck.

Margaret smiled. “Hang it up.”