Chapter Thirteen
“Listen, Jolene. I told you I made it here fine.” Lenny Johnston closed the door on his forest-green Jeep. “All the research I did paid off. Victoria Spiere has a friend who’s an artist here in Savannah. I’m standing outside the gallery right now.”
Two women in cocktail dresses swished past him, their heels rhythmically clacking over the sidewalk. The shorter brunette smiled at him.
“It’s an art show, Jolene. Both men and women are there.” He pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose, wishing he’d never called her. Since his article came out in UFO and Paranormal magazine, the woman had become super possessive. He ground his teeth while she grilled him, all but calling him a liar and a cheater. “I’m telling you the truth, baby. I’m here following up on the Victoria the Paranormal Parasite story. You can call Freddy at the office, he’ll tell you I am.”
Lenny shoved his keys into his pocket and sighed. “Well, Jolene, if you think he’s going to lie for me, then there’s no sense calling. Listen, I’ve got to get in there so I don’t miss anything. I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call amid her rants and set his phone to vibrate. How was he supposed to concentrate on his job when she was suspicious about every move he made? He took a breath to calm himself and followed an upscale couple through the gallery door.
Inside, he was out of his element. Waiters canvassed the room with silver trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Patrons clad in glitter and silk glided about the room in an elaborate dance he knew nothing about. Whisper-soft piano music fluttered from strategically placed speakers, creating a tranquil ambiance.
Lenny moved farther into the room and tried to blend. Good luck with that. Most of the stories he tracked led him into fields at midnight, waiting for a UFO to appear, or on extended camping trips in the wilderness, searching for signs of Sasquatch. Wearing a high-end, well-tailored suit wasn’t something he had much occasion for. If Jolene hadn’t made him buy it for her sister’s wedding, he would have been sorely underdressed.
He approached a painting suspended from the ceiling by micro-thin wires. The picture was an abstract, but he could almost hear the waves, smell the salt. Amazing. How anyone could elicit feelings from canvas and paint was beyond him.
“Do you see anything you like?” An Amazon dressed in a black pantsuit and spiked heels towered over him.
He tilted back his head, lifting his nose from her impressive bosom. “It all looks great.”
She smiled, her wide mouth displaying an equally impressive set of pearly whites. “Ms. Carlson works in many styles, colors. Are you interested in a particular piece?” She was either a flirt or a shark ready to eat him in one bite.
“I’m just here to write an article for a national magazine.”
“A national magazine?” Her eyes lit up, almost dancing from her skull. “Which one?”
“UFOP.”
Her eyebrows drew together, and her sparkling eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’m familiar with that magazine.”
“UFO & Paranormal magazine.”
Her expression fogged for a moment then cleared. “I see.”
He grinned. “Yes, I’m writing an article concerning alien influences on human art.”
“Very interesting.” Tilting her head, she inspected the area behind him. “Excuse me. I see a serious investor I need to speak with.” She skirted around him and joined a couple near an abstract with bold blocks of color.
Free from the Amazon, Lenny snagged a flute of bubbly from a passing waiter and scanned the room, his gaze homing in on his story’s leading lady. Victoria Spiere stood next to the artist of the hour, Rebecca Carlson. What a striking pair. Victoria was tall, blonde, and lithe, while her friend came up a good four inches shorter, had an olive complexion, and a mass of wavy black hair.
Desiring a closer look at the two women, he ambled to a surrealistic painting hanging on the wall near them. Holding up his pen, he pretended to take notes and pressed the end of it with his thumb. Click. A nice picture of the Paranormal Parasite and her next victim.
Lenny had found the camera pen online at a site called Advanced Surveillance Depot. Paid good money for it, too, considering it wasn’t the high-end grade the CIA and FBI used. But after a little practice, it turned out to be worth every penny. Easy to conceal and no one suspected. Click.
Rebecca pointed toward the entrance, a dozen gold bangles dancing along her arm. Victoria’s eyes widened with surprise. Curious who had caught the women’s attention, he stepped to the side for a better view. A tall guy with dark hair and a serious expression strode across the room. He seemed familiar, but Lenny couldn’t put a name with the face.
“Good evening, ladies.” The man stopped before the two women, his gaze lingering on Victoria. Did he find the blonde vixen intriguing?
Lenny shifted his attention to the girl who had a knack for blending in. Jeez Louise! Dressing down was the Paranormal Parasite’s modus operandi. Not this time. With those long legs and that tight teal dress, how could the guy not be interested? Lenny would be captivated as well if he didn’t already know she was a soul-stealing psychic vampire.
Vampire. Oh, that’s good. He scribbled a note to talk to Freddy about changing Victoria’s image from parasite to vampire. Parasites might fall under the alien category, but vampires were sexier. A story with pictures of her in that dress and no one would think of Victoria Spiere as a parasite. Probably sell more copies, too.
“Detective Chastain.” The artist held out her hand, and the guy took it. “So nice of you to come to my show. Though I suspect art has little to do with your presence here.”
“Ms. Carlson.” Chastain nodded in Victoria’s direction. “Ms. Spiere.”
Lenny rubbed his chin and pretended to study the painting in front of him. Chastain hadn’t just given Victoria the once-over, he knew her.
“Detective.” Victoria shifted her weight, moving closer to Rebecca. “Have you solved the case, or am I still on your list of suspects for the murder of that young woman?”
A murder? Well, well, well. The vampire has a cop on her tail. Lenny made a note to consider an alternate story angle. Murder sells. It might even make the UFOP cover. He angled his pen just so and—click—took a picture of the artist, the detective, and the vampire.
“The case remains open,” Chastain said and inclined his head toward her. “Which is why I’m here. I wanted to speak with you.”
“I’ve told you all I know.” She folded her arms over her chest. “And I’m at the opening night of my friend’s art show.”
Rebecca’s sultry full lips curved, and her tilted brown eyes sparkled. “Vicki, you’ve been here two hours. You must be bored out of your mind.”
“No, I’m not. It’s your night—”
“I’m bored to tears, and it’s my show.” She laughed, the sound music to Lenny’s ears.
The Amazon approached the group, and Lenny angled his body to conceal his identity. The chick towered over Rebecca.
“Ms. Carlson, I have someone who is very interested in your work.” She gestured toward an older man in front of a surrealistic painting of water flowing into the depths of a manhole with a great white shark poised at the bottom. Lenny almost rolled his eyes at the irony.
“Just a moment, Giselle.” Rebecca followed the Amazon but paused next to the detective, a conniving twinkle in her eyes. “You might try asking her to dinner. I know for a fact she hasn’t eaten.”
Chastain’s brow rose, and his gaze swept to Victoria. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?” She glared at him.
Man, Lenny never wanted to be on the receiving end of her evil eye.
“Dinner.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You want to ditch this joint and grab a bite or not?”
“Well, with an offer like that, how can I say no?” Her lips pressed together, forming a line, which underscored her sarcasm. She skirted around him. “Let me get my purse.”
A glimmer of triumph sparkled in the detective’s eyes. The cop got the vampire to agree to dinner. Lenny rubbed his jaw. Who would be the main course?
Across the room, Victoria’s face darkened, and she whispered something into the artist’s ear. Doubtless, the vampire wasn’t too happy about the impromptu meal. Rebecca laughed, her girlish giggle dancing in harmony with the piano music drifting from the speakers.
Chastain joined Victoria at the entrance, Lenny’s focus jerking between the duo and the attractive artist. Should he stay and speak with Rebecca in the hopes of learning some personal tidbits about her best friend? Or should he follow the star of his story, which would prove a more difficult task? Tailing a cop was tricky business.
Lenny tucked his pad and pen into his coat pocket and moseyed toward the entrance. The detective herded his dinner date out the door. With a final glance at the talented Rebecca Carlson, Lenny exited the building, sauntering out onto the sidewalk. Not wanting to attract attention, he looked around in a casual manner and searched for his targets.
Half a dozen cars from his Wrangler, he spotted Chastain on the opposite side of the street, opening the passenger door of a gray Malibu for Victoria. Lenny got out his keys and grinned. He had plenty of time to get settled in his car before the couple departed.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he jolted in surprise. After yanking it out, he checked the screen. Jolene. Would the girl ever give him a moment of peace?
Down the street, Chastain closed the driver’s side door. Jeez Louise, if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose them before the tail even started. Opening the Jeep’s door, he slid inside, the cell in his hand vibrating again. With his stubby index finger, he jabbed a button, ignoring the call.
The Malibu pulled from the parking spot, and Lenny ducked his head. He surreptitiously peered out the window as they drove past then started his car.
“Gotcha.” He grinned. Keeping a reasonable yet unobtrusive distance would still be tricky, but he should be able to follow them to the restaurant undetected.
His cell beeped. A message from Jolene. His jaw tightened with resolve. He’d have to talk to the girl, set up some boundaries regarding his job. She had a trust issue, and it needed resolution. He’d call her later, so they could hash things out. At the moment, he had a psychic vampire to hunt.
* * *
Vicki set her fork on the plate where a delicious slice of cheese quiche once rested. The meal had been delicious, but looking at the empty plate, she was more than a little embarrassed at how she’d woofed it down. He’d eaten all of his meal as well, so maybe he hadn’t noticed.
“How did you know where to find me?” She sat across from Detective Chastain in the quiet restaurant he’d chosen for their late dinner and sipped her coffee.
“Old-fashioned detective work.” Tearing open two sugar packets, he poured them into his dark-roasted brew and stirred. “Just followed up at the art gallery.”
“You checked out our alibis?” Her fingers tightened around the warm cup.
“Said I would.” The detective tapped the spoon on his cup’s rim, his face passive.
Yes, he’d told her that. But he didn’t have to be so brusque. “So, I’m still on your list of suspects.”
“Since the case isn’t solved, yes. There aren’t a lot of people who know what you know.” He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean we can’t share a meal.”
“I had nothing to do with the woman’s death.” She set her coffee down with a clatter. How can he still suspect me? Do I look like a murderer? “I had a vision. I wanted to help. And if questioning me during a meal helps you gather enough information to convince you of that, then so be it.”
“You have to understand. I’ve seen things….” His lips thinned, and for a moment his eyes clouded. “Some of the monsters I’ve tracked liked to play games. They give clues who their next victim will be just to see if anyone can stop them.”
“You’re referring to the woman in the pub.” She shook her head. “You think I told you about her because I’m going to kill her?”
He tilted his head, shrugged.
“That’s insane,” she snapped. Anger coiled in her stomach. “It was another vision. I’m trying to help save her.”
“Whoa.” River held up a hand. “Calm down.”
Glancing right, she found the people at the next table staring at her. Heat rushed to her face. She leaned toward him. “Did you even try to find her?” she whispered in a harsh tone.
“Yes.” He inclined his head, narrowing the distance between them. “But it’s difficult finding a woman I saw for ten seconds and know nothing about.”
A huff of frustration hissed between her lips. He was right. Did she honestly think he would be able to find the woman in a city the size of Savannah? She might be a tourist and not live anywhere near Georgia. Deflated, Vicki eased back in her chair.
“I asked the pub owner about credit card receipts.” He lifted his cup. “Turns out the group she was with paid cash. No way to track any of them down.”
She gritted her teeth. This was so typical. Even when she knew the signs and whose life was about to change, she never controlled the outcome.
“I know what she looks like, and you described the symbols you saw.” He drank his coffee then set it on the table. “You said stones, some cloth, moss, the number six and a pointed capital D.”
“No.” Vicki shook her head. “There’s an order to it.”
His eyes narrowed. “That matters?”
“Yes.” She fought not to squirm beneath his scrutiny. Maybe if he understood the importance of her vision, he could do something about it, affecting the outcome. “I saw Spanish moss, a six on its back, stones, white cloth, and a pointed capital D.”
At the mention of the last symbol, he flinched, and she realized why. It was the killer’s symbol. She’d seen the freaking thing three times in a row, and each time she’d wanted to throw up.
He shook his head. “The stones and moss are all over Savannah, so they’re no help. A six on its back?”
“Yeah. Like this.” She drew the symbol in the air with her finger.
“Okay. No clue about that. White cloth could be a shirt or some type of clothing. Maybe the woman works for a clothing store with a stone front, a tree with moss nearby, and the number six in its address.” His expression held doubt. “I’ll have Dauscher run a check tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“What if there aren’t any stores like that?”
“Only one thing left to do.” His shoulders rose and fell. “I guess every day for the next two weeks I’ll be eating lunch at the same pub where we saw her.”
“You’re kidding.” She searched for the hint of a smile on his lips but found none.
“It’s a long shot at best.” He toyed with his spoon, and it clanked against the table. “But it’s all I got.”
Vicki shifted her focus from River’s hand to his gorgeous face, taking care not to meet his gaze. Stress creased his forehead, but something much darker lay hidden in his eyes. How many dead bodies had he seen? She couldn’t imagine. The task of solving murders and bringing criminals to justice appeared daunting.
A bucket of guilt dumped into her stomach, and the fiery anger within her sputtered. She’d lived her entire life afraid of what she might see, and the man across the table lived a life of defiance, boldly facing whatever came at him. He’d solved crimes, jailed killers, saved lives, and given anxious families closure. He didn’t know any of those people. He did it because it was right. Her heart ached at the weight he carried on his shoulders.
Reaching out, Vicki covered his hand with hers. Warmth seeped into her fingers and palm. He looked at their hands for a moment then pulled his free to check his watch.
“It’s late. Guess I should be getting you home.” He dropped his napkin on the table and stood.
What just happened? She’d tried to show compassion, and he’d yanked away from her as though he’d been burned. With long strides, he strode toward the entrance, leaving her to stare after him.
She swallowed. Good thing he’d paid the bill when the waiter brought their coffee. Obviously, he didn’t want his suspects touching him—his point made clear from the way he’d bolted from the restaurant.
Vicki shook her head. She was a fool. He saw her the same way everyone else did—like a freak, a whacko, a bona fide crazy person. Disappointed, she followed after him.
She caught up with him on the sidewalk just outside the restaurant. He stood with his head tilted back, staring up at the night sky.
“Detective Chastain?”
He spun around, the muted streetlight revealing surprise on his face. “Vicki.”
“Are you all right?” She moved toward him, and he took a step back. Great. If I had any doubts about what he thought of me, that little maneuver just confirmed everything.
“Yeah. Just needed some air.” He gestured down the street toward his car. “You ready?”
“Sure.”
She matched his pace, the hollow sound of her heels clacking against the sidewalk filling the void of conversation. With each step, the cinders of anger in her stomach sparked brighter. How could he label her? He was a detective. Wasn’t he supposed to be impartial, gather facts, and make a judgment based on what he discovered?
He opened the passenger door for her, but she paused instead of sliding into the seat. Why am I on his list of suspects? I might be psychic, but I’m not a murderer. And I’m certainly not a freak.
Vicki turned and found herself pinned between the car, the Malibu’s open door, and Detective Chastain’s strong arms. His expression darkening, he moved closer, his warm breath flowing over her skin.
What is he doing? “Detective Chastain,” she whispered.
“We’ve had lunch and dinner together.” His gaze swept over her face, and he swallowed. “I think you can call me River.”
“Okay, Riv—”
Dipping his head, he brushed his lips over hers.
A rush of adrenaline mixed with the anger roiling in her stomach. The combination brought a flush to her cheeks, caught her breath. The ground beneath her feet shifted, her knees trembled.
“Um.” He just kissed me! Her heart banged her breastbone.
“Yeah.” River closed the car door with a gentle push, caging her against the car with both arms. His attention landed on her mouth.
One of his hands trailed up her arm, sending warm tingles low in her body. Fingers traced her jaw, slid behind her ear, and tangled in her hair. Of their own will, her lips parted, ready for another kiss. Everything around them seemed to slip away. Tunnel vision. His dark, hungry eyes consumed her. She couldn’t look away.
Leaning into her, he took her mouth. Heat seared her core, radiated throughout her body. Lips grazed, greedy, wet, and hot. A moan rose in her throat.
The world skewed and lagged. The air thickened. The sound of River’s breathing slowed, changing to a guttural growl.
No. Not now.
A high-pitched whistle pierced her brain, growing louder, almost physically painful.
His heated mouth remained frozen against her lips. She wanted to pull away, but an invisible bond kept her locked in place, their bodies pressed together. Rapture intertwined with trepidation, a kiss tainted by a vision of the future.
The dreaded pictures assaulted her, slicing into her retinas. Images, crisp and bright. A blue rectangle. A yellow oval. A black spiral. A brilliant gray circle. A red pointed capital D.
The vision released. Reality snapped back into place. Pop! The whistle in her head ceased with such sharp abruptness, her ears rang.
“Vicki.” River’s hands grasped her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Her body trembled with the remnants of the episode. Desire and fear battled for dominance, leaving her breathless. She lifted her face to his.
“Yes,” she rasped, the word coarse sandpaper to her ears. She shivered, prickly bumps racing over her skin.
A war reflected in River’s eyes. Did he believe her?
“You…you had another vision?” Doubt swathed his words, revealing the frontrunner.
Wrenching from his grasp, she spun away to conceal her distress. “What do you think?” Bitterness bathed her voice. She hated the sound.
“Was it someone in the restaurant?” He shifted behind her. “Someone on the street I can still get to, track down?”
She shook her head. Hugging herself, she let her chin dip to her chest. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and plunged to the sidewalk, smacking like a raindrop on impact.
“Who then?”
She sensed his exasperated gaze on her back. His tone exuded doubt. He was a cop— how could he believe her? It sounded crazy to her, and she’d lived with the curse all her life. But she needed to tell him. To warn him.
“You.” Vicki pivoted and, without fear of reprisal, looked into his dark-blue eyes. “Sometime within the next fourteen days, everything will change.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I saw the pointed capital D.” Her shoulders sagged, the weight of her next words all but unbearable. “River, your fate is tied to the serial killer you’re trying to capture.”