every county and city police department across the country.”
Pride seeped clear to his bones. “Can you scan a copy of the sketch and send it to my email?”
“Already done. But, Ian...there’s more. Celeste is convinced the four women we found aren’t the same ones from her dreams. She thinks we’re going to find more bodies, and possibly another killer.”
Ian flipped open his laptop and let it warm up, as another thought occurred to him. “How did John handle that?”
A chuckle filtered over the phone line. “When he first learned I was pairing him up with a psychic, I thought the boy would blow a gasket, but by the end of the day... Put it this way, he damn near growled at anyone who tried to come near her. I’m a little worried about him becoming involved with Celeste, which is why I sent him back to his motel and took her home myself. I don’t want him sniffing around her. Celeste doesn’t date much, and John will be gone once his job here is done. He breaks her heart, and I’ll break him in half. I don’t care if he’s your guy or not.”
Ian smiled at Roy’s threat. “You won’t be breaking anybody in half. John’s nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the man better than he knows himself.”
“You didn’t see the way he looked at her after she finished performing that reading on the victim’s necklace. I’m telling you, he—”
“Doesn’t become involved with witnesses, partners, victims’ families, etcetera. Especially while working on a case. He’s too bent on control.”
After what John had endured during his last days with the FBI, Ian doubted he had anything but ice running through his veins. He’d changed. He’d become edgy, distrustful, an asocial workaholic. When he’d joined CORE, he’d volunteered to take on the worst cases, almost as if punishing himself, pushing himself. He’d showed no emotion, no attachment. He would work one heinous case, then move on to the next.
“If you say so,” Roy said with a sigh. “I gotta run. The mayor’s waiting on me. I’ll call you when I have something new to report.”
After hanging up the phone, Ian finally flipped open the folder on his desk. A snapshot of Celeste, one Roy had sent him six months ago, stared back. She stood in front of the diner, with her brother, Will, who had his arm draped over her shoulder.
She truly was a beautiful woman, with wavy blond hair, a wide, beautiful smile, and sparkling blue eyes. So much like her mother’s eyes. He slammed the folder shut at the memory and the regret he’d carried for thirty years.
He downed the warm, watery scotch with one swallow, wishing in his youth he could have been more like John. Detached, unemotional, and able to resist temptation.
*
John eyed the organized chaos he’d created across the old, lumpy motel bed. Files and photographs stared back, mocking him. The blur of papers and pictures made it difficult to concentrate, to put the pieces together. Damn it, she made it difficult.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. How anxiety and horror had reflected in her eyes after the reading she’d performed in the ME’s office. She’d been so pale, so scared. She’d trembled in his arms, and as she’d clung to him, or maybe he’d been the one doing the clinging, her fear had crawled under his skin. That fear had made him want to erase whatever horrors she’d seen and protect her from the boogeyman they were after. No, make that boogey men, he amended.
As much as he didn’t want to believe in her abilities, he couldn’t discount one huge fact—she’d known that Ruby Styles had a dislocated shoulder. Carl Saunders hadn’t revealed that information in front of her, but in the hall outside of his office. Could she have heard him? Or had she actually seen what had happened to Ruby?
Curious, he reached for the notes Roy had given him earlier. Celeste’s visions. He’d been avoiding them for nearly two hours. He hadn’t wanted to read her
Pride seeped clear to his bones. “Can you scan a copy of the sketch and send it to my email?”
“Already done. But, Ian...there’s more. Celeste is convinced the four women we found aren’t the same ones from her dreams. She thinks we’re going to find more bodies, and possibly another killer.”
Ian flipped open his laptop and let it warm up, as another thought occurred to him. “How did John handle that?”
A chuckle filtered over the phone line. “When he first learned I was pairing him up with a psychic, I thought the boy would blow a gasket, but by the end of the day... Put it this way, he damn near growled at anyone who tried to come near her. I’m a little worried about him becoming involved with Celeste, which is why I sent him back to his motel and took her home myself. I don’t want him sniffing around her. Celeste doesn’t date much, and John will be gone once his job here is done. He breaks her heart, and I’ll break him in half. I don’t care if he’s your guy or not.”
Ian smiled at Roy’s threat. “You won’t be breaking anybody in half. John’s nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the man better than he knows himself.”
“You didn’t see the way he looked at her after she finished performing that reading on the victim’s necklace. I’m telling you, he—”
“Doesn’t become involved with witnesses, partners, victims’ families, etcetera. Especially while working on a case. He’s too bent on control.”
After what John had endured during his last days with the FBI, Ian doubted he had anything but ice running through his veins. He’d changed. He’d become edgy, distrustful, an asocial workaholic. When he’d joined CORE, he’d volunteered to take on the worst cases, almost as if punishing himself, pushing himself. He’d showed no emotion, no attachment. He would work one heinous case, then move on to the next.
“If you say so,” Roy said with a sigh. “I gotta run. The mayor’s waiting on me. I’ll call you when I have something new to report.”
After hanging up the phone, Ian finally flipped open the folder on his desk. A snapshot of Celeste, one Roy had sent him six months ago, stared back. She stood in front of the diner, with her brother, Will, who had his arm draped over her shoulder.
She truly was a beautiful woman, with wavy blond hair, a wide, beautiful smile, and sparkling blue eyes. So much like her mother’s eyes. He slammed the folder shut at the memory and the regret he’d carried for thirty years.
He downed the warm, watery scotch with one swallow, wishing in his youth he could have been more like John. Detached, unemotional, and able to resist temptation.
*
John eyed the organized chaos he’d created across the old, lumpy motel bed. Files and photographs stared back, mocking him. The blur of papers and pictures made it difficult to concentrate, to put the pieces together. Damn it, she made it difficult.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. How anxiety and horror had reflected in her eyes after the reading she’d performed in the ME’s office. She’d been so pale, so scared. She’d trembled in his arms, and as she’d clung to him, or maybe he’d been the one doing the clinging, her fear had crawled under his skin. That fear had made him want to erase whatever horrors she’d seen and protect her from the boogeyman they were after. No, make that boogey men, he amended.
As much as he didn’t want to believe in her abilities, he couldn’t discount one huge fact—she’d known that Ruby Styles had a dislocated shoulder. Carl Saunders hadn’t revealed that information in front of her, but in the hall outside of his office. Could she have heard him? Or had she actually seen what had happened to Ruby?
Curious, he reached for the notes Roy had given him earlier. Celeste’s visions. He’d been avoiding them for nearly two hours. He hadn’t wanted to read her
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