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Chasing Shadows
Excerpt
Chapter One
Hardly a kidnapper’s friend, the moon floated
round and luminous in the ebony sky. At least it could never reveal his
secrets.
Stifling a chuckle, he slipped into the
backyard, leaving the gate unlatched. Thick bushes created ghostly
shapes along the dark fence line. He scanned the tiny yard until he
found his entry point.
Honeysuckle teased his senses. Disgust bolted
through his gut. He grimaced and disregarded the childhood memories the
familiar reek evoked. Such distractions were a waste of time.
The window beckoned, inviting him through the
frilly curtains framing the panes. The young girl slept, innocent and
unsuspecting, inside the darkened bedroom.
He stared at the silent house. His body vibrated
with the hunger flowing hot through his veins. Could he climb in and out
through the window with his prize without disturbing the tranquility? Oh
yeah. He grinned. Nothing would stop him now.
Like a lover whispering his name, his treasure
inside lured him closer to the window. His pulse quickened. The full
moon—his sole witness—illuminated his prey. He gazed at the girl through
the open curtains. Another tremor of anticipation warmed his gut, adding
fuel to his fire.
Three months of preparation would soon culminate
in his final triumph. Excitement rolled through him as he touched his
gloved palm to the window.
Soon she would be his.
* * * * *
An anguished cry escaped Juliana Westwood. She
bolted upright in bed, her breath caught thick in her throat. Clutching
at the sheer scarves cocooning her bed, Juliana parted them to let air
flow inside. A throbbing started in her temples, then raced behind her
eyes.
After what seemed an eternity, Juliana’s heartbeat
steadied, her lungs synchronized. She tugged the satin sheet over her
breasts and massaged her temples with her fingertips.
There would be a kidnapping soon. She had endured
enough psychic visions in her past to know this was real. Juliana
quivered as the kidnapper’s intentions invaded her. Already a strong
psychic connection to the unknown assailant spiraled through her. She
knew his thoughts, felt his emotions.
She racked her brain to recall the details of her
precognitive dream. Oddly, even though she felt his excitement and
desire, she felt not one grain of fear.
What interest did he have in the child? Why her?
Who was she? Would he hurt her, kill her? And who was he? Juliana wanted
to scream in frustration at the lack of answers. But the truth would
surface soon enough. More dreams would swiftly follow, like waves
crashing on the beach, just as briskly receding, leaving fear and hope
in the wake. Fear that the dream would become reality. Hope that she
could glean enough clues to stop the kidnapper before he could act.
Juliana sighed heavily. The purple and gold scarves
billowed gently. She flung aside the sheet and hopped off the bed.
Grabbing the cordless phone from the night table, she headed downstairs
to look up the number to police headquarters. This would most likely be
the first of many such phone calls to the San Jose Police Department.
Walking into her office, Juliana raised her eyes
heavenward, closing them for a brief moment. God, couldn’t you have
given me some time to settle in first?
* * * * *
As Juliana walked toward the SJPD building, the
fragrance of late summer lilies eclipsed the downtown smog. Her gaze
drifted to the golden flowers growing in profusion around the stark
facade. Juliana sighed and swallowed her apprehension. The flower garden
was her last slice of heaven before she succumbed to the barrage of
questions from a typical skeptical detective.
Breathing in deeply, she assessed her appearance,
smoothing the wrinkles in her silk skirt and straightening the matching
blazer.
Juliana entered the glass and concrete building and
approached the counter separating the lobby from the squad room. The
expansive work area beyond the counter hummed with computers, fax
machines and copiers. Uniformed and plain-clothed personnel moved
briskly about their tasks.
A uniformed policewoman at the reception window
glanced at her impatiently. “Can I help you?”
Juliana dug her fingernails into her scarred
leather portfolio. “I have an appointment with Captain Hayes.”
The officer frowned and looked over her shoulder. A
man’s voice came from behind a cubicle wall. “I got her.”
The grubby brown door leading into the squad room
creaked open. Juliana turned toward the attractive, lanky man who
stepped through.
“Captain Hayes had an emergency.” He flashed a
lopsided smile. “Detective James O’Malley.” His russet crew cut and
freckled face gave away his Irish ancestry as much as his name did.
She handed him her business card. “Juliana
Westwood.”
He took the card and shook her hand, his grip firm.
She returned his charming smile, despite the renewed nervous stirring in
her stomach. She always had good luck working with Irish cops.
Without warning, Juliana’s heartbeat quickened and
an ache began behind her eyes. Strange and incomprehensible thoughts
flitted through her mind. Thoughts from someone else. As quickly as
these sensations assaulted her, they disappeared. Juliana wiped the dots
of perspiration off her forehead and rubbed her fingers on her purse.
Something wasn’t right and she suspected the looming abduction would be
problematic, more so than any other case.
She shoved the forewarning aside to deal with later
and followed O’Malley to a cramped, bleak interrogation room. Four
chairs and a gray-speckled laminate table occupied the lion's share of
space. A closed-circuit surveillance television dangled from the ceiling
in the farthest corner. A two-way mirror on the opposite wall rounded
off the furnishings.
Juliana wrinkled her nose as harsh pine cleaner
clashed with O’Malley’s citrus and amber cologne.
Her wary gaze dallied on the two-way mirror.
“There’s no one behind the mirror I take it?” She skirted the table and
sat in a battered chair on the other side, her back to the mirror.
Juliana groaned as her bottom made contact with the worn seat cushion
that mimicked a cement slab.
“No.” O’Malley shrugged. “Why?” He dropped in a
chair next to the door and pulled it closer to the table. He squared her
business card in front of him, a small white blip on the blank expanse
of gray table.
Relief began a slow crawl up her spine. “Just
wondering.” Juliana smiled and shifted in her seat, vainly seeking a
comfortable position. The concept of two-way mirrors hit too close to
home with her telepathic abilities. She’d hate someone unobtrusively
watching her, even though she was capable of doing the same in an even
more intrusive manner. It was absurd, she knew it, but it wasn’t as if
she could help being who she was.
“Your message was mysterious.” O’Malley smiled
crookedly.
His melodious voice soothed her and her body
loosened up another notch, despite the new presentiment.
She didn’t have any experience working with the
SJPD, so she wasn’t sure how tolerant they were of psychics. She
swallowed. “As I informed Captain Hayes on the phone, I’m a psychic. I
have information regarding a possible kidnapping.”
O’Malley squinted, his mouth a straight, tight
line. He pushed away from the table. “Hayes didn’t tell me you were a
psychic.”
Juliana crossed her ankles, her calf brushing
against a cold steel table leg. Shivers raced up her body. “Is there a
problem?” She kept her voice impassive, confident. Cool objectivity
afforded her the only means to maintain her sanity while engaged in a
criminal case.
“Policy.” He glanced at her business card. “A
senior officer has to sit in on first-timer psychic interviews.” His
voice was gruff with annoyance and he flicked his pen on his pad once.
After a moment of seeming deliberation, O’Malley
rose to his feet, pocketed her business card and opened the door. “Hang
tight for a sec.” He took one last, assessing look at her over his
shoulder before the door slammed shut behind him.
* * * * *
Alex MacKenzie sensed a presence in his open
doorway before he heard one. He was so engrossed in his work that his
normally astute senses had betrayed him. Glancing up from the unsolved
homicide files burying his desk, he saw James fill the doorway. “What’s
up?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, relieved to abandon the
endless research and analysis.
James leaned his shoulder against the doorframe,
shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hayes dumped a psychic on me.”
Alex laughed and tossed his pen on the desk. “And
you want me as your senior officer? You’re full of it.”
“Yeah, man. I know how you love psychics.”
James flipped him the bird.
“Why me?”
“Take a guess,” James said with a snicker. “You’re
top of the dung heap right now.”
“Damn Hayes.” Alex scowled. “He did this on
purpose.”
James grinned and jangled his keys in his pants
pocket. “Not that you give a rat’s ass, but she looks legit.
Professional, serious, nervous.”
Alex groaned and shoved his chair back from the
desk, bumping into the window frame. He made no bones about his dislike
of psychics, but he trusted James’ judgment before anyone else’s.
“Shit.” Alex sighed and stood, stretching his
cramped legs. “Let’s get it over with.”
Stepping around his desk, he grimaced at the files
that seemed to multiply as the clocked ticked. But he needed the break,
if only for the amusement factor. If he analyzed one more report on
homicidal killing sprees, he’d have to drink his lunch.
The walk to the interrogation room was silent, and
Alex had a bad feeling seeping inside his gut. He halted before the
interrogation room door and slowly turned around to face James. “What’s
her name?”
“Juliana.” James plucked a business card from his
shirt pocket. “Westwood. Financial planner.”
Alex stiffened. No. Impossible. He clenched
his hands into fists, then slowly unclenched them. Memories surged
forward. Long-buried pain rose to meet the anger he thought he’d
relinquished years ago.
“Man, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.”
“And she just waltzed over my grave.” Alex took the
card from James and studied it silently. “Damn.” He shrugged and opened
the door. There sat Juliana Westwood in the flesh. Back from the dead.
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