Joe, youve had a few.
I meant that Ill drive with you to your place and take a cab from there.
Im okay, Joe. I carry Mace now, and I can take care of myself, she said firmly.
Hmm. She was touchy, she realized. Friends saw friends home all the time.
Maybe being defensive was a good thing if he thought that he needed to look after her. She definitely didnt want his pity or to have him as a guardian. She was tough enough to take care of herself. She had proven it. She had survived. And she meant to keep doing so. She had thrown herself into self-defense classes, and she spent hours on a treadmill, getting fit.
Running.
As if she could outrun the past.
I know you can take care of yourself, but Id still like to see you to your place. And Id like you to promise youll keep your mouth shut about me helping out at the accident, he said firmly.
Joe, Ill keep my mouth shut. And you can see me home, she told him gravely, if you promise to take on the case.
I dont understand why youre so afraid, Gen. Really. I simply dont believe your mother is a target.
Joe She hesitated. She didnt know herself why she was so concerned. Her mother hadnt been a close friend of the dead man. Eileen and Thorne had been casual acquaintances, at best, brought together only by their membership on the board.
But she was scared. Bone-deep frightened. It was something that had just settled over her, and she wouldnt be comfortable until the killer was caught.
Please. The cops arent getting anywhere.
Give them time.
In time, she told him, even though she herself had been thinking earlier that the press should cut the cops some slack, somebody else could die.
He lifted his hands, staring at her, shaking his head.
Eileen hasnt been threatened in any way, has she?
No.
Genevieve He lowered his head for a moment, then shook it again. Gen, its only been a week, which is no time at all. Youve been watching too much television. A murder like Thorne Bigelows isnt solved in a one-hour episode.
I know that, she said sharply.
Then
Joe, this is what you do for a living. I want to hire you.
He sighed. Id be stepping in where people are hard at work already. I dont know that I could find out anything new.
You dont know that. Maybe you could do something. Before somebody else gets killed. Thats just it, Joe. Someone else could die.
It was strange, but just then Kathryn, their waitress, came by, her eyes wide. Man, what a night for the bizarre!
Why? What happened? Genevieve asked.
Joe was studying Kathryn with apprehension.
The waitress shook her head. Theres always one in every crowd, you know? Someone who just has to stick their nose in and make a tragedy worse.
What are you talking about? Joe asked.
The psychic, Kathryn said.
What psychic? Joe demanded.
Go look at the television, Kathryn said disgustedly. Theres a reporter talking to her right now, actually. Just turn around and you can see. Its that Robert Kinley, and hes with some so-called psychic named Lori Star, who claims that some guy named Sam Layman or Latham or something was supposed to die in the accident, and that it was the Poe Killer behind it.
How could she know that? Joe asked, his expression darkening.
Kathryn shrugged. She said she just knows it. And she says she knows more, too.
See? Genevieve said.
Oh, please! Joe said.
Joe, Im telling you, it makes sense. Thats why Im afraid, Genevieve pressed.
She is convincing, Kathryn admitted. She says that in a few days, someone else will die.
A Raven? Genevieve breathed.
She didnt say. Just go watch. All she said was that the Poe Killer will murder someone else.
Genevieve slipped out of the booth first, but she was quickly followed by Joe.
The woman, who was at the accident scene talking to the well-known anchor, was attractive enough. She just seemed to be slightlyrough around the edges. Her voice was clear, though, and her grammar was good. She didnt have an identifiable accent.
She also seemed to know how to play to the camera. She was direct and dramatic, without overplaying her cards. Its true, she whispered to the camera, wide-eyed.
Most people would say thats impossible, the anchor told her. There was slight scoffing in his voice. Nothing direct. He was too professional for that.
It was as if I were there, the woman said. As if I were driving.
And you said that you felt heat and anger?
Yes. It was as if I were someone else, and I could feel that persons feelings.
Were you a man or a woman?
She shook her head. I dont know. But as I said before, I do know this. It was the Poe Killer. And I know this, as well. He, or she, intends to kill againsoon.
Thank you, Miss Star. The anchor turned his full attention to the cameras. Truth or fiction? Whats in store for New York? Well, first things first. The police are busy cleaning up the FDR, and its going to be a long ride home for anyone on that highway tonight.
Another anchor picked up from the studio, and Genevieve turned to look at Joe, but he was already turning away.
Kathryn, Ill take another beer, please, he called.
CHAPTER 3
Before he even opened his eyes, Joe winced.
His head was pounding.
What in the hell had made him drink so damned much beer? He hadnt even gone for the hard stuff, which he should have. No, he had just started inhaling the beer because of
The accident.
It was ridiculous. Hed seen lots of accidents. He should have felt good; a little girl had been saved because of him.
But he didnt feel good.
He felt unnerved.
Because a dead man had spoken to him.
And things hadnt gotten any better after that.
A psychic. A self-proclaimed psychic solving the whole damned thing while somehow not solving anything at all.
Lori Star? Like hell. She might as well have called herself Moonbeam.
He went ahead and groaned, thinking that voicing his pain might make him feel a little better. It didnt.
Hell, no. Because hed awakened thinking.
And all he could think about was the fact that a dead man had spoken to him, and then, as if that hadnt been bad enough, the news had dragged a damned psychic out of the woodwork. She knew, she just knew, that the driver of the car had been after Sam Latham.
No, they hadnt dragged her out of anywhere. Shed come forward, claiming to be eager to help the police.
She couldnt identify the car, of course. Because it was as if she had been the one driving it. She had been in his would-be head as heor shewent after Sam Lathams car. And then shed finished up with the dramatic revelation someone else would be murdered within days.
Later newscasts had delved into the truth about the woman, but too late for him. Genevieve had looked at him with her huge blue imploring eyes. And hed known right then that he was on the case.
Though he dreaded it. Dreaded it. And he didnt know why, other than that it had something to do with that freakin psychic.
Though he dreaded it. Dreaded it. And he didnt know why, other than that it had something to do with that freakin psychic.
It had turned out that Lori Star was an aspiring actress, as well as a supposed psychic. No wonder shed been so good in front of the camera. But there would be those out there convinced that it was no act, that she was right, that the accident had been no accident.
Even if she was rightand he sure as hell didnt see how she could behe was sure that all she had done was look at a few facts and take a lucky guess. She was definitely not a psychic. She just wanted her fifteen minutes of television fame.
And he was so angry because
Because he had known Leslie. And he hadnt believed in her at first, when she claimed to talk to the dead. But she had been legit.
And this girl sure as hell wasnt.
He opened his eyes. He wasnt at home, but he already knew that. He was at Genevieves. She hadnt let him take a cab; shed insisted he stay on her couch. Lacking both the will and the physical coordination to find a cab willing to go to Brooklyn at that hour, he had shrugged and agreed. And fallen asleep. Or passed out. One or the other.
Hed been doing all right last night, considering what hed gone through with Leslie and her ability to commune with the dead, until that damned psychic had shown up on television. And then hed started calling for the beers hard and fast.
Now, of course, he was ashamed of himself. Only cowards drank because theyd been spooked. And what a fool hed been, besides. As far as talking to a dead man went, there was surely a logical explanation for what had happened. One, maybe the EMT had simply been wrong and Brookfield hadnt died on impact. Or maybe, as Freud might have suggested, Joe had created the mans voice as a tool to tell him to look for survivors in the car. There. That made senseso long as he didnt think about the fact that his inner voice had known the girls name.
And the fact that Lori Star was an annoying fraud seeking the spotlight. Well, hell, that made sense, too. She was just trying to get work.
So here he was, having had way too much to drink, sleeping on Gens sofa. It was a nice one, too. Antique, but restuffed and reupholstered. She loved things that were old and had a story. She and Leslie would have been great friends.
The thought made him wince and shut his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, his face lined with tension, she was there.
Gen, not Leslie.
Thank God he was seeing the living, at least.
That caused a moments guilt to trickle down his spine. LeslieI would love to see you. Your face
But that wasnt really true. He didnt want to see ghosts.
No problem. This was Gen in front of him, and she didnt seem to be judging him for his night of imbibing, even if she probably didnt understand it.
He didnt intend to explain.
Let her think that it was because he had been a witness to such an awful accident, or because he could have died when the car blew up.
Good morning, she said gravely, handing him a glass and a couple of aspirin.
He looked at her, arching a brow.
Trust me, she said. They work for a hangover. She shrugged. And no, I dont spend my life fighting hangovers. A lot of people thought Id wind up on drugs or alcohol after the kidnapping, and this was a tip my doctor gave me.
Thanks, he said briefly, swallowing the pills with the glass of water shed provided.
He didnt really want to look at Gen. He felt too much like the dregs of humanity to want to face her.
There wasnt anything not to like about her, of course. Genetics had made her beautifulEileen, at forty-plus could still turn heads. Gen had the same perfect features, perfect skin and more-than-perfect build. She had rich auburn hair that looked more lustrous than silk and more wicked than sin. And her eyes
Just saying they were blue didnt do them justice. They were the blue of the infinite sky, the blue of the deepest sea. Blue that could hint at darkness, blue that spoke of wisdom, even though she was only twenty-odd years old.
They were eyes that had seen a lot. The child of privilege, she had wanted to help those who hadnt been born with silver spoons in their mouths. She hadnt jetted around the globe, hobnobbing with the rich and useless. She had gone to school, gotten a degree and gone into social work.
She had survived for weeks in the underground lair of a psychotic killer.
She was strong. She was
She was alive because Leslie had taken the bullet meant for her.
He pushed that thought from his mind. Genevieve sure as hell hadnt wanted that to happen, and he knew it. And Leslie had been gone nearly a year now. He liked to think that she was back with Matt, at last, but he didnt really believe it. He could have sworn that he had once seen them together on a little rise in the cemetery where they were both buried.
Again, Freud would have helped him out.
He had seen them there because he wanted to see them there.
You should feel better soon, Gen told him, breaking into his morose thoughts.
Better than he deserved, she might have said.
But of course, she didnt.
He leaned back, studying her. She was already up and showered, smelling both fresh and subtly exotic, rich tendrils of her amazing hair curling over the casual black sweater she was wearing over jeans. He noticed her handsdelicate, refined, manicured, but not fussily so; she kept her nails filed and polished, but at a reasonable length. And she wasnt encrusted with jewels; she wore a simple claddagh ring on her left middle finger, gold studs in her ears and a plain cross around her neck.
She could easily have covered herself in furs and diamonds. Instead, she didnt even buy designer sunglasses; he knew because she had laughingly told him once that she seemed to lose a pair a week, so it made sense to buy them off the street vendors.
And in fact, she knew the streets.
Once upon a time she hadnt been regularly recognized. Despite her familys wealth, shed kept far from the public eye and worked for a pittance helping to get prostitutes off the streets.
What the hell was not to like about her? he asked himself silently, wondering why the question left him feeling so irritable.
Im all right, he said gruffly.
She grinned, looking away. Right. Real men dont get loaded on too much beer.
He groaned aloud and started to rise.
Hey, Im sorry, she said quickly. Look, I know that what you saw must have been really terrible. I cant even imagine, she assured him.
Couldnt she? he wondered.
Dead was dead.
Did it matter if death came with gallons of blood, mangled steel and mangled flesh? Or a neat little bullet hole that left a person looking as if she were at peace, merely sleeping.
She had seen enough, he thought.
And she had somehow risen above it all.
He felt even more like a lout, if that were possible.
You have every right, he agreed.
That woman was a jerk, she said. Lori Star? I doubt it. I dont know where she was getting her information, but Im sure shes not in touch with helpful spirits or anything like that.
The way Genevieve looked at him, he knew that she was thinking about Leslie, too. She had known that her kidnapper had been determined to kill Leslie; shed been at the top of his list.