“What about you, Olivia?” Lexie asked the quiet, red-haired woman, whose ability was the only one that remained a mystery. “What do you do?”
Olivia stared back at her, her smile remaining where it was—not widening, but not disappearing either. Still, there was something a little sad about her. Though not as forbidding as Aidan had been at first, she definitely didn’t seem the type to invite people to ask questions.
Lexie was about to apologize for being nosy when the woman answered. As if admitting she occasionally forgot to take out the trash, Olivia said, “What Mick does with things, I do with humans. He touches objects and knows their history. I touch corpses and feel how they died.”
Feel, as in experience? God.
Lexie snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, wishing she’d minded her own business. There was no laughter this time. How could there be?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was none of my business.”
“Thought people in your profession made everything their business,” Julia said, staring at her, though more in an assessing way than a judgmental one. Considering the woman was Aidan’s friend, and was therefore probably fully aware of what he’d gone through last year, Lexie didn’t blame her. In fact, she liked her for her loyalty.
Aidan answered before she could say a word. “Lexie’s not your average reporter.”
“Oh, we’re calling them reporters again?” Julie asked, her tone sharp but amused, as if she and Aidan were sharing some private joke. “Not ‘lying, manipulative media cockroaches’?”
Gaping, Lexie stared at the man behind the wheel.
He shrugged uncomfortably, but she’d swear a hint of a grin was teasing those masculine lips. “That was before I met you. And to be fair, since we’ve known each other, you have called me cranky, callous, cowardly, and an asshole,” he pointed out.
“Keep score much? Besides, I didn’t call you an asshole. I said I was thinking about you as a bucketful of assholes when you slammed the door in my face.”
The others in the back were silent for a second; then all three of them began to laugh, soft at first, then louder, desperately needing it after the tension of the day.
Mick seemed the most amused. “You’d better watch out, my friend. You are never going to get the last word with this one.”
“I like her, Aidan!” Julia said.
Even Olivia’s reserve seemed to have melted and her eyes twinkled merrily in the dimly lit vehicle. “How long, exactly, have you two known each other?”
Lexie and Aidan answered in unison, exactly the same words, at exactly the same moment. “Fifty-two hours.”
Julia gaped. “Not thinking about each other too much, huh?”
Which just made everyone laugh again. Embarrassment warming her cheeks, Lexie faced front, staring out the window as they came into town. For the entire evening, she’d been totally focused on the story, the case, and hadn’t thought about everything else that had occurred between her and Aidan.
Now she did, unable to think of much else, since his well-meaning friends had pointed out that the two of them seemed to have become pretty well obsessed with each other in the short time since they’d met. There was a lot to dwell on: The dream. The embraces. The tender words. The connection that had started immediately, built in a heated, nightlong fantasy, and solidified with each and every hour they’d spent together.
Nothing like it had ever happened to her before. Like most women her age, she’d had the occasional one-night stand as well as the infrequent long-term relationship. Since she had those experiences to draw on, she was already able to determine that what was happening between them was not much like either, but a little like both.
Physically, in terms of pure sexual attraction, oh yes, she’d have wanted to go home with Aidan McConnell if they’d just met in a bar. Sparks had danced between them from the very first, and she’d been aware of his sexual appeal from the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
But it was more than that. They’d known each other for such a short time, but she already knew whatever was happening between them wouldn’t be resolved with a simple one-night stand. The attraction wouldn’t be extinguished once it was satisfied; it would only build.
More than all that, she knew she liked him. A lot.
It was too much to digest. Especially under the watchful eyes of his observant friends. Hardly fair, really, to get involved with a guy who palled around with psychics and mind readers and, well, whatever Olivia was.
Involved
. Funny word. But it fit. They were involved, whether either of them had intended it that way or not. There was no if, no maybe, no could be. It was a done deal; even the three relative strangers in the backseat knew it.
The only thing she didn’t know was how Aidan felt about it. Seventy-two hours ago he’d been a growling, semiretired loner. Now he was hip deep in a case, surrounded by people, and engaging in flirtatious banter with
her
, a woman who worked in a profession he hated and didn’t have, as he called it, an off switch between brain and mouth.
They were nothing alike, completely mismatched, absolutely wrong for each other in every way. And yet . . .
And yet . . .
They were involved.
Saturday, 10:10 p.m.
Like most of the teenagers in Granville, the Kirby twins had spent a good bit of Saturday talking about the previous night’s game. Or, at least, the half-time portion of it, when students from both schools had taken a stand in defiance of their coaches and teachers, demanding attention and justice for Vonnie.
It had been incredibly cool. It had also been Taylor’s idea, and she was proud of herself for having thought of it. Jenny had participated, too. She was the one who’d written the speech the guys had delivered. Which had, quite simply, rocked.
So much for it being just her dad and Lexie trying to do something about all the recent disappearances that everybody knew were connected but nobody wanted to acknowledge. Now the whole town was talking about nothing else. She had heard from friends who said their parents were setting up neighborhood watch meetings, and others who were volunteering to do searches or go door-to-door passing out flyers. The usually-douchey principals of both schools were supposedly organizing a rally after school Monday, and she’d heard the phone lines at the police station had been jammed.
Everybody wanted to be involved. Finally.
Adults always accused kids her age of being spoiled, not caring for other people. Well, they were learning better now. It might take a while to get her generation moving in one unified direction, but once they had, they could be an unstoppable force. Chief Dunston and his skeevy friends couldn’t tape closed thousands of angry mouths all screaming for justice.
The whole thing almost made Taylor feel better about the lie she and her twin were continuing to perpetuate about which of them had really been the last one to see Vonnie Jackson Monday night. Almost.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Jenny asked. “Not too tired? I saw you falling asleep halfway through the movie.”
“No kidding,” she said as they left Granville’s pathetic little two-screen theater, heading for Taylor’s car in the dark parking lot. It was almost totally empty of other vehicles, the few remaining ones probably belonging to the workers who were inside cleaning up. All the normal, rational moviegoers, who’d gone to see a good film—the one Taylor had wanted to see—had gotten out forty minutes ago.
The movies had both started at seven. They’d just had the misfortune to see the excruciatingly long one, filled with scene after scene of sad-faced whiners crying about how miserable their lives were. If she could have climbed up into the screen, she would have gladly put them out of their misery.
“Come to think of it, I am exhausted. So you can drive,” she said, tossing her keys to her sister and moving to Jenny’s right, so she could head not toward the driver’s side of her Beetle but the passenger’s one. “If you’re wondering why I’m sleepy, it’s because that was the boringest flick ever made. You, Jenny Kirby, have the worst taste in movies. Geez, did you not notice that other than that couple who looked like they went to school with George Washington, we were the only people in the whole entire theater? And
they
had the good sense to get up and leave halfway through!”
“Everybody says it’s going to win the Oscar,” her sister replied, sounding lofty and prim in her oh-so-Jenny way.
“Okay, well, maybe it’ll win the Oscar for putting the audience in a coma, but as for Best Picture? I’ve seen more exciting stuff growing in my gym locker.”
“That’s disgusting,” Jenny said, playfully punching her upper arm.
“Next time, I pick. The preview for that 3- D slasher flick looked way cool,” Taylor added. “You can’t fall asleep when there’s a knife aiming at . . .”
Her words were cut off by a sudden sharp, vicious blow to her head. She flew forward, crashing to her hands and knees, crying out in pain. She couldn’t think for a second, couldn’t process what had happened, what could have struck her, why she’d fallen.
Then she heard a scream. Jenny collapsed onto the ground a few feet away, landing hard on her stomach. Her twin’s body was limp, her eyes closed. One pale hand was extended toward Taylor, as if she’d reached for her as she fell.
“Jenny?” she whispered, but another sharp pain sliced through her and she was unable to speak further. Tears of agony spilling from her eyes. Nothing made sense, nothing seemed real.
Jen?
She tried to reach out, tried to touch her sister, the person with whom she’d spent every day for the past seventeen years. But her hand felt heavy. So heavy. She couldn’t hold it up, having to let it fall onto the blacktop close to Jenny’s.
As it dropped, she realized she’d somehow managed it. She’d gotten so close, the very tips of their middle fingers touched.
It was one infinitesimal brush of skin on skin between two people who’d shared a womb. And it was what she most needed at that moment, just as she’d always needed to feel that unbreakable bond with Jenny at the most stressful times of her life.
Taylor stared at their hands, the seam where their skin met, and thought they must be lying like perfect mirror images, finger-to-finger, face-to-face. Tears filled her eyes, she stared so hard, and soon it became too hard to stare. Because for some reason her tears had turned red.
Not tears. No.
She finally realized the red she was seeing was the pool of blood separating her from Jenny.
She just couldn’t figure out, before blackness descended completely, whether that blood was hers, or her sister’s.
Chapter 12
Sunday, 5:55 a.m.
Aidan had fully intended to drive Lexie home the previous night. He really had. So why he’d cruised past her neighborhood and gone back to his place, rather than taking the simple detour down her street, he honestly couldn’t say.
It was as if he’d been on autopilot. His mind was churning with everything he’d experienced at that house, not to mention all the rest of the day’s events, and he’d zoned in on home and hadn’t let anything else stop him from getting there.
Once they’d arrived, of course she’d stayed with the group. Everyone was tired, and he knew Lexie’s throat was hurting her—she’d taken a couple of over-the-counter pain pills, not wanting to muddle her thinking with anything stronger. But hunger outweighed fatigue and he’d ordered some pizzas, not wanting Julia and the others to make the drive back to Savannah without having a bite to eat.
When they were leaving, at around ten, Julia had offered to drop Lexie off on her way out of town. Since the house wasn’t on the way, though, Aidan had insisted it was no problem to take her home. And it wouldn’t have been a problem—she lived a few minutes away. Only, when he’d gone into his living room to see if she was ready, he’d found her sound asleep on the couch.
Staring down at her, he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to wake her up, for two reasons. First, those bruises on her throat stood out like her assailant’s fingers had been dipped in neon paint. The idea of taking Lexie home and dropping her off there, to spend the night alone, when they knew a psychotic killer was on the loose, had made him sick to his stomach.
Second, he liked having her here. Hard to believe, hard to know why. But it was true.
So he’d simply covered her up, turned off the light, then moved to a chair to watch over her, the illumination in the room growing, then dimming, as the moon moved across the sky during the night. He’d spent the night hours as he always did, drifting into short bouts of sleep; more often, drifting out of it.
There had been no shared dreams. He’d put up that mental wall to guard against them. The one they’d shared might have been hotter than hell, but it didn’t mean the woman wanted him slipping into her sleep like a Peeping Tom.
Still, even without his front- row, center seat, he knew when Lexie started dreaming again. This time, judging by the sounds she was making, it wasn’t a smooth, sultry interlude playing in her head. It was a horror movie.
“No, don’t,” she whispered, jerking on the couch. He’d been awake for about a half hour, lost in thought, focused on Vonnie and the other girls. On that house. On Lexie and the blast of energy she seemed to have brought back into his life.
Her tiny cries grabbed his attention; the pain and fear in her wounded, husky voice as she tried to stop some unknown assault, kept it.
“Please!”
He slid off the chair and knelt by the couch, brushing her hair off her brow. “Shh. It’s okay, Lex. It’s just a bad dream.” He’d whispered the words, hoping to simply reassure her back into sleep. But instead, she awoke. Her eyes flickered, then opened, and she stared up at him.
Given her nightmare, he would have expected her first reaction to be one of fear at finding a man kneeling above her in the shadowy, predawn darkness of the room. Lexie, though, slowly smiled, as if she’d seen exactly what she’d hoped to see the minute she opened her eyes.