a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (34 page)

Fifteen minutes hadn’t passed before I stood in front of C.J. Construction with my lock picks in hand. Life was good. Now if I could just get the lock…got it in one! Was I getting good or what? I’d have to thank Pierce next time I saw him. I wrapped up the tools and dropped them in my handbag.

After closing the door behind me, I flexed my fingers a few times. What to touch first? I didn’t want to start in his office. The residual energy from the murder would still be strong and would make it more difficult for my fingers to pick up subtle stuff—like clues in the reception area.

I brought the tips of my fingers near a chair next to the front desk, pulled back. No gloves. But did it matter? The crime scene tape was gone, so they’d already dusted.

I trailed my fingers over the chairs and tables. There were the expected images of North, Clyde Winston, Marcy Blaine, and unknown clients. Whoa. Marcy Blaine? I whipped out my cell and left a text for Adam about Marcy. Then I made my way down the hall to Jacobson’s office.

I took my time, touching random areas along the wall, but didn’t find anything worth another text to Adam. There was a small office off the left side of the hall. It looked like half was used for storage, and there was a desk—maybe for his foremen to work if they were in the office instead of at a site. It must not have been occupied recently because my fingers didn’t pick up a single thing.

I faced the door to Jacobson’s office and flexed my hands. Prickly neck syndrome had set in, beads of sweat slipped along my spine, and my stomach knotted around the blueberry muffin. This wasn’t a good idea. I checked my cell for a message from Adam. Surely he should have gotten back to me by now.

I shook off the creepies chasing along my skin and reached for the doorknob. Images of the police coming and going and the now-familiar image of the killer flooded my mind. I inhaled, long and slow, and consciously tried to probe deeper. Some faint images of Calvin came through. It was strange to see him alive and moving around. He looked older than I expected, and his shoulders drooped as though the years had weighed heavily on him. I let the door swing open, then stepped over the threshold.

Do not start with the chair he was killed in, Everly
. I shouldn’t have needed to tell myself that. Should have been a no brainer, but my fingers hovered over the back of the chair. I jerked my hand back.

His desk, maybe? No. Not ready for that yet, either. The bookcase. Perfect.

Bottom shelf on the left. Calverton College class yearbooks. I recognized them from my trip to the library, hunkered down, slid my handbag off my arm, and pulled out the oldest book. Thumbed through it. No images danced across my mind, but that wasn’t surprising since several years’ worth of dust had accumulated on the binding.

The photos were interesting. Calvin made a strikingly handsome twenty-something. I thumbed through the books, setting them aside without finding anything of note. Until I got to his senior year. Calvin Jacobsen was the president of TNT.

I scooped the book under my arm and pulled my cell out to text Adam. Where the hell was he anyway? I did a mental shrug. There were enough messages stacked up that he couldn’t accuse me of not keeping him informed. I set the yearbook down on the corner of the desk so I could take my time going through it and peeked at the chair.

Blood had seeped into the fabric, leaving a dark stain behind. Eerie. Didn’t take much for my mind to dredge up the images of Jacobson’s body I’d picked up from touching Pierce. I knew exactly what I’d see if…
when
I touched the chair. No point in pretending it wasn’t going to happen. It was.

I forced my attention back to the yearbook. Turned a few pages, then my focus unwillingly moved back to the chair. I was
not
going to touch it until Adam got here to provide moral support—and to catch me if the images knocked me on my ass.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The quiet was deafening. I crossed my arms and tucked my fingertips in close to my body while I stared at the chair. No. My curiosity wasn’t going to win this one. I uncrossed my arms and fluttered my hands at the chair, mentally pushing it to the back of my mind. The motion caught the edge of the yearbook. It tipped off the desk and landed on my toes.

More precisely, on my right baby toe.

Pain shot through the little dude, and I reached down to…who knows what. Why in hell hadn’t I swapped my flip-flops for sneakers before I left the house? I grabbed the book, impatient with my clumsiness, and a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. I caught it between my index finger and thumb. A faint image of North and Jacobson touched my mind. The image barely had time to leave an impression when a soft click sounded in the silence.

I glanced up.

The door to C.J. Construction was ajar.

TWENTY-FIVE

Fear zinged through my body
and rooted me to the floor. I hunkered down and peeked around the corner of the desk. “Everly,” Adam yelled, strolling in and closing the door behind him. “Where the hell are you?”

I stood and carefully set the book and sheet of paper on Jacobson’s desk. “Here,” I called except no sound came out. He’d scared me speechless. That had
never
happened before. I stomped toward him, hands fisted on hips. “What took you so long?”

He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Day off. How about I arrest you for breaking and entering?”

“It’s not my fault I had to break in. You wouldn’t give me one of those special key things.”

He uncrossed his arms and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Do you work at giving me headaches, or is it an inherent ability?”

“Born with it. Besides, I did exactly what you asked me to do,” I said, cocking my chin at him. “I called before I left the house. I left messages detailing my every move.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’d you find? You’ve got that look?”

“What is it with everyone suddenly being able to read my face?” I’d seriously have to work on that.

He grinned.

I spun around, marched back to Jacobson’s desk and held up the yearbook. “Calvin Jacobson was the president of TNT in his senior year.”

Adam grunted. “I got that message. What else?”

I turned to pick up the folded piece of paper, but he grabbed my hand. “Gloves.”

“I already touched it, but okay. “Look what it says.” I pointed to the cramped writing.

Adam squinted at the words. “
Tollo nunc tacitus
.” He pronounced each syllable aloud, then glared at me.

“Why’d you touch this?” It was more an accusation than a question.

Damn, I hate screwing up. “Well—”

“I know. You’re gonna tell me CSU was done.” He jammed his hands in his back pockets.

I did a half-hearted shrug. “It’s been a while. The yellow tape was down. You’re not going to trick me into feeling guilty, because it is definitely
not
my fault your officers missed it.”

His glare would have killed a lesser woman.

“Can I open it?” I asked, sliding the edge of a paper clip between the folded edges.

He pulled on a pair of gloves, snatched the sheet of paper from my hand, flipped it open, and focused on the words.

“Gimme.” I grabbed his sleeve and peered at the page. “No way are you getting first crack at this. I’m the one who found it.” I ignored the images of his “day off” that flashed across my mind since there was nothing noteworthy…except for that hunk of a guy he was with. Probably someone he worked with. I shrugged it off.

Adam moved the paper out of my reach and pinned me with a look. “Illegally. You don’t get dibs when you find something illegally.”

I folded my arms and tapped my flip-flop. “There was an image.”

That caught his attention. I could tell because his jaw clamped shut. “Are you threatening to withhold evidence?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Nooooo.” I reached for the paper, wiggling my fingers.

He shook his head, flipped the page open, and held it so we could both read at the same time.

“Holy shit,” I said, reading the first few paragraphs. “This is a contract to be initiated into TNT. Justin North sent Shauna Blaine on the camping trip. The one that killed her.”

Adam pointed to a signature farther down the page. “You see this. Both of them signed the contract. North and Jacobson.”

I moved my fingers against the edge of the paper, barely touching it. Shook my head at Adam. “How about if you let me hold this?”

He moved it out of my reach. “Tell me about the image first.”

“There wasn’t much of an image. I barely had a second before I…heard you come in.”

He stepped back, looked me over. “Scared you, huh?”

I licked my lips. “Well, yeah. I was all alone here,” I said, swinging my arm toward The Chair. “With that chair hovering over me demanding to be touched.”

His gaze centered on the chair, and the heel of his hand hit his forehead with an audible thud. “Shit, I can’t believe I didn’t think to have you touch the damn chair before this.”

“I pretty much stuffed all those urges into oblivion myself. It’s been a little crazy.”

He tossed me a pair of gloves. “Touch the chair.”

I dragged in a shaky breath. “It’d go better if you don’t yell.”

He turned his head away from me and blew out a sigh. “Right.”

I stared at the chair looming in front of me. Black crept around the edges of my vision. I slammed my eyes shut and willed the fog away. How bad could the images be? I’d already seen the body. I slid a sideways glance at Adam. Red trailed up his neck and stained his cheeks. He was definitely going to explode if I didn’t touch the damn chair.

I approached my nemesis with measured steps, then eased behind it—where the killer must have stood. I took in the desk, the chair, Adam running his hands through his hair. “Come stand next to me, Adam. If this throws me for a loop, I want you to catch me.” I pointed to the bloodstains on the carpet. “Not an appealing place to land.”

He sidled next to me. “You want me to hold on to you?”

“No. Best if you don’t touch me, but grab me if I start to fall.”

He took a half step back, hands at the ready.

“Is this where the killer stood,” I asked, twisting to see his expression.

Blank face. Clipped nod. “Why?”

“Well, to get behind Calvin and stand here, he’d have to be a friend…or something.” My mouth was dry so the words croaked.

I ducked around Adam to check out the office space behind the desk. “Bookcases. No exit. No place to hide and wait, so the killer couldn’t have surprised him.”

“Uh-huh. Just touch the chair.”

I blew out an impatient huff, ran my hand through the air about an inch above the headrest, and energy jumped up to tickle my palm. “Great,” I muttered.

“What?” Adam asked sharply.

“Nothing.” I bit down on my lip. “Lots of energy. That’s all.”

“Huh.” The single syllable contained an entire sentence. Went something like: Touch The Damn Chair.

So I did.

The energy bounced against my palm, knocked me back a few steps. Adam caught me around the waist, stood me solidly on my feet. “What’d you see?” he asked, letting go of me to pull out his notebook.

“Just the body. Give me a minute. Have you thought about getting an iPad. Seriously. Much better than a tablet and pen.”

Adam glared. “No. Get on with it, huh?”

I inhaled—one of those breaths that comes from the core of the earth—and rested my fingertips against the headrest. Images crashed onto my internal monitor. A flash of the knife. The sensation of anger so intense it ripped through my head. His hands closing around her arm, clawing. “Jacobson…didn’t die easily.” I spun to face Adam. “Why didn’t you tell me she had to slice him twice. The first wasn’t deep enough. She had to have claw marks, bruises from where he grabbed at her. Did you check suspects for scratches?”

I started to sink down to the floor, grabbed at Adam, catching his shirt in my fist. He wrapped his arm around me, pulled me against his chest and pried my fingers loose. “I’m sorry,” he offered. Gave me a couple uncomfortable pats on the back, then stepped away and tapped his notebook with the tip of his pen.

“You said
‘she.’
Who you talking about?”

“Don’t know. She had on that dark outfit with the hood. It felt like a woman,” I said as I let the images play through my mind again.

I glanced at Adam. “Dark hair. There were some loose strands showing from under the hood.”

“Marcy Blaine has dark hair. Did your image feel like Blaine?”

“I don’t know, Adam. And I won’t guess.”

“Okay.” He nodded at the chair. “You need to touch it again?”

“Not in this lifetime.” I shuddered and eased from behind the desk. “With all the black, and the hood—” I paused until I had his full attention— “there’s no way he would have let someone dressed like that stand behind him. Unless he was insane.”

Adam picked up the TNT contract, tapped his fingers against the edge.

“What are you thinking?”