Chapter One
Charleston, SC
2:00 a.m.
The damp cobblestones glistened under the street lamps that fell upon Adgers Wharf, a historic city street in Charleston. The heavy knock of the man's boots thumped off the old, worn stones and echoed through the streets as he walked. The woman he followed kept glancing over her shoulder, her movements nervous. Furtive. She quickened her pace. As did he. A lone horn sounded across the water of Charleston's harbor. At this time of night, no one was around to hear her. Or help.
The woman turned another corner onto E. Bay, her shoulders almost sagging with relief when she spotted her destination up the street. One of those overpriced boutique hotels all the tourists loved. She headed toward the wooden gate built into the brick wall that surrounded the gardens of the old home, searching for refuge in the overgrown courtyard. By day the gardens would be stunning, blooming with the cloying fragrance of jasmine from the ivy climbing and pulling at the home's walls. Gardenias and camellias would be shaded by the thick canopy of a live oak, offering a sweet respite from Charleston's oppressive summer heat. But tonight, the garden lay in thick shadows cast by the light from the lone street lamp. A beautiful setting for what he had planned.
The woman stepped through the gate and into the courtyard garden, but before she could close and latch it, he pushed through behind her. Surprised to see him so close, she looked up at him, her doe eyes wide, her dewy lips forming a perfect O.
He smiled to put her at ease. "Sorry to startle you, ma'am."
She took a step back, starting the dance he loved to play. She'd go back; he'd go forward. Warring emotions would cross her face: wariness growing to concern and then moving to disbelief, which would lead to his favorite—abject horror when she realized what was about to happen. Her emotions would flash in a slideshow across her face for his amusement and enjoyment. Deep in the depths of her eyes, playing out on her lips, in the creases of her forehead, all ending with the inevitable conclusion that she was about to die.
That he was going to kill her.
It was always the same. The shock. The valiant struggle when they realize that no one was going to save them. But by then it would be too late. This one was no different. The flailing of the arms, the kicking of the feet, the impotent screams against his hand, all useless. And yet he wouldn't want it any other way. It made the kill that much sweeter. The dance culminating finally with the clawing at the thick leather of his gloves as he squeezed, pressing his fingers harder and harder into the soft white skin, with only the moon and the birds cloaked in the trees to bear witness to the miracle of this woman's passing.
The beautiful send-off from this world to the next.
As she collapsed in his arms, he held her tight and whispered, "There, there, my sweet. I did it all for you." In a quick movement, the sharp blade of his favorite knife sliced through her creamy skin, and sent her effortlessly on her way from this world to the next. He yanked a chain from her neck, a small memento to go with the others, then he kissed her forehead and laid her gently on the ground amidst the flowers and monkey grass. He crossed her hands over her chest, picked a dainty rose off a nearby bush, and slipped it between her fingers. "Another angel returned to heaven."
He quickly pulled out a pen out of his pocket and drew something on her forehead, but Jessica couldn't see what. The man stood, turned, then walked out of the garden, shutting the gate behind him.
"You're next, Angel Face. It's time for our dance," he said into the night air as he continued down the street, his boots clicking across the cobblestones, the eerie sound of his whistling hanging on a gentle breeze.
***
Jessica sat upright in bed, heart thumping, sheets sticking to her damp skin. She didn't know how, or why, but she was suddenly certain that the killer knew she was watching him. That his words were meant for her.
She shuddered for a long moment then listened to the stillness of her apartment, certain she could still hear the thumping of his boots. Was he in the house?
Right outside?
She slipped out of bed and slid open the drawer in her nightstand. She pulled out her Ruger, silently crept through the room toward her cracked door, and pulled it all the way open. She could still sense him, feel him, as if he were standing next to her.
As if he was still inside her mind.
She continued through the second-floor apartment, checking every room, but saw no one. He wasn't there. In the kitchen, she put on the kettle and took a mug and a box of English breakfast tea down from the cabinet. There would be no going back to sleep tonight.
He wasn't here, she told herself. Even if, every now and then, she could swear she caught the scent of peppermint.
Could he have been there? Watching her sleep?
A movement caught the corner of her eye. She spun and saw Lucy sitting on the top of an oversized chair in the living room, looking at her with bored feline eyes. Jessica let out a quick breath and relaxed her shoulders.
No one was here. She had to calm down.
She filled her mug with hot tea and honey, walked past Lucy to her artist's table in the corner of the room, and flicked on the lamp. She wanted this man and his sickness out of her head, and the only way to do that was to commit him to paper. She took out her pen, dipped the nib in the ink well, ran it over a fresh sheet of canvas paper, and started to create, beginning with the moon that saw…everything.
Maybe twenty minutes later, her phone rang. She hesitated before picking up the handset. Not too many people had this number, and even fewer would be calling in the middle of the night. "Hello," she answered.
"It's Vivi. Are you all right?"
Jessica pushed out a relieved breath and stared down at the black-and-white images splashed across the paper. "Yes. It's all over now. How much did you see?"
She'd met Vivi at a Lotus Circle Meeting, a gathering place for psychics to exchange ideas and have an outlet for talking with others who understood the joy and the burden of carrying these gifts. She thought maybe she would join the new chapter that had just started up in Charleston, but Vivi was the only person she'd felt comfortable talking to. Jessica wasn't ready to expose herself to others, and unfortunately, Vivi lived in San Antonio.
"I didn't see anything, but I woke with an urgent certainty that you are in danger," Vivi said. "Otherwise, I never would have called at this hour."
Something tripped in Jessica's chest. She wasn't used to having people worry about her. She looked around her living room once again, her gaze lingering on the shadows in the corners. "I'm okay," she said through a catch in her voice.
"Did you have another vision?"
"Yes." Vivi was one of a handful of people who knew about Jessica's visions. It wasn't something she shared easily. She'd learned the hard way that most people didn't want to know what she saw. The brutality of it, the ugliness.
"Listen," Vivi said urgently, "my niece, Faith, has friends that can help you. I'm going to call her."
"I don't know if I have anything to worry about. Besides, I'm not sure there is anything they can do. There isn't anything anyone can do."
"My visions are never wrong, Jessica. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are in trouble. Just talk to these people. Listen to what they have to say."
Jessica stared at the ink on her paper, at the glint of lifelessness in the dead woman's eyes, and then at the Ruger by her side. "Maybe you're right. I don't think this guy is done with Charleston. In fact, I think he's just getting started."
"And I fear his next target is you."
Those words sent a chill through Jessica that no amount of hot tea could reach.
"Expect a call tomorrow."
"Thanks, Vivi."
"That's what the Lotus Circle is here for. You don't have to go through this alone." Vivi disconnected.
Jessica hung up and stared down at the unfinished picture.
"You're next."
She shivered and stared at Lucy. "What do you think?"
The cat just stared at her.
"I don't like it any more than you do."
The last thing she wanted was people in her house, in her life. She liked being alone. Just her and Lucy. No one to judge her. No one to worry about. She picked up the pen and got back to work, all the while trying to get the smell of peppermint out of her head.