Tightly Wound by Mia Dymond

I need to concentrate.”
    Brett paused at Matt’s chair and extended a hand. “Brett Steele, by the way.”
    Matt grinned and shook his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
    Claire waited until Shadow and her brother sat at the kitchen table then crossed her legs indian-style. “Okay. Give me one item at a time.”
    Matt passed her a shiny, gold object. Waves of authority and respect seeped into her skin. Gabe’s badge. She placed the metal flat against her palm and closed her fingers on top. Courage vibrated her nerve endings and almost rattled her teeth. Bravery roared so loud her eardrums protested. And then thin ribbons of fear crept through her fingertips. Pain and heartache strangled her. A shadowy figure lurked at the edge of despair, laughing at the top of his lungs. Claire opened her fist to block any further reading.
    “He kept this in his pocket,” she told the detective as she passed it back.
    Matt nodded and extended a black t-shirt. She grasped the soft cotton material with both hands and lifted it to her face. Before she opened her mind, she took a deep breath through her nose and then frowned.
    “Gabe didn’t smoke cigarettes.”
    Detective Brooks only nodded again in agreement.
    She inhaled again and this time a whiff of peppermint burnt her sinus passages. She lowered the garment and smirked.
    “You contaminated the evidence, Detective.” She tossed the shirt into his lap. “I thought you quit.”
    “Damn.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I did until about an hour ago. Since I drove my own car, I figured what the hell.”
    Claire dodged the blades of his frustration. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
    “Yes, it has.”
    She motioned to the last object he held. “What else?”
    He handed her a gold pen and she twirled the cylinder between her fingers to allow the emotion a wider path. Her fingers heated as the pen glided over her skin and she traced several slight indentions in the barrel. Tiny, electrical shocks of pain traveled the surface, building in intensity, until suddenly a wave of pure torture broke free and raced through her veins, exploding in her head. A wave so large and dark she could only call it death.
    She closed her eyes, dropped the pen, and placed her fingers against her temples in an effort to dull the sensation. Her blood pulsed and threatened to loosen her eyes from their sockets. She pulled air across her starving lungs until the sound of marching combat boots assaulted her eardrums. Then the ebony darkness faded, replaced by sunshine and the distinct tart odor of lemons.
    She opened her eyes to find Shadow squatted next to her, his facial features blank, his mind closed, but his overwhelming healing power reaching for her.
    “This is ridiculous.” She eyed the object like a venomous snake. “Gabe was not murdered with this pen.”
    She expected questions, ones she could not answer. Yet, not one of the three men spoke.
    She moved her gaze to Matt. “It’s engraved. Who gave it to him?”
    Something between caution and confusion caused his brow to furrow. “I did.”
    “Did he carry it with him that night?”
    “No. I found it when I cleaned out his desk.”
    Claire sighed. “I need to think about this.”
    Matt raised himself from the chair. “I don’t understand how the pen is connected.”
    “It may not be connected at all.” His immense worry caused her stomach to turn. “Sometimes I can’t help much.”
    “I trust you, Claire.” The detective scrubbed a hand over his five-o’clock shadow. “Take the next couple of days to process and then we’ll put our heads back together. Maybe forensics will have something else.”
    Claire gave a slow nod. “Do you mind if I keep the badge and the pen?”
    “No, go ahead. Anything to find this bastard.”
    Brett closed the door behind Matt. The deadbolt snapped in the silence.
    Shadow straightened and helped her to her feet. “What’s with the pen?” He bent to pick it up and then pushed it