She rested her elbow on the corner of the detectiveâs desk and leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. âYou understand that I donât always see evidence in the same way you do, Mr. Banning.â
His green eyes filled with skepticism. âSo Iâve heard.â
âI donât dream this stuff up, Detective. I possess a psychic ability to sense things. When I put my mind to it, I can see things especially clearly. When I touch people or objects, I pick up emotions, memoriesââ
âYou predict the future.â
Kelsey bristled. âLook, Banning, do you want to know what I saw or not?â She waited for his prompt to continue. âI believe Iâve accidentally come across an object that has something to do with one of those prostitutes whoâve been murdered around Christmas and New Yearâs over the past decade.â
âNine murders in eleven years,â he clarified. âDonât tell me youâve found the murder weapon?â
âNo. But itâs something one of the victims touched. Iâm sure of that.â
âSo youâve found some object that somebody touched, and you think it will solve the case for us?â
Mr. Uptight, Suit-ânâ-Tie wasnât going to cut her a break, but she wasnât about to back down. Lives were at stake!
For Denise OâSullivan.
Iâve worked with many people at Harlequin over the years, but youâve always been thereâon the front line or in the background, watching over me like a guardian angel.
We share a love for Intrigue and dark, tortured heroes. You answer my rambling e-mails kindly and precisely. You donât see anything wrong with my penchant for blowing up things and stabbing people .
And you taught me the valuable lesson that itâs all about the reader.
Thank you.
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldnât express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident âgrammar goddess.â This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at PZ. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
Detective Thomas Merle BanningâOnce the rookie computer geek of the Fourth Precinct, brains, hard work and a couple of gunshot wounds had finally earned him some respect. So why was he being partnered with a psychic consultant to solve a cold-case murder? And why did somebody want her dead?
Kelsey RyanâThe Flake. With a nickname like that, how could anyone, especially the cops, believe sheâd âseenâ a grisly murder?
Rev. Ulysses WingateâHe runs a mission in downtown Kansas City for those in need.
Doc SiegelâSomeone has to graduate at the bottom of the class.
ZeroâA prince among pimps. Or so he claims. His girls might have a different opinion.
Rebecca PageâThe crime beat reporter wants to finish the story her father never could.
Patrick HalliwellâHe gave money to reputable causes. And some not so reputable.
Ed WatkinsâHeâd worked the Fourth Precinct for a lot of years.
JezebelâEleven years ago, sheâd known how to show a man a good time. Sheâd paid for her expertise with her life.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
âI beg you. Please. Donât.â
She backed away as far as she could go, giving a soft, startled yelp when she hit the hard, dark wall. Trapped.
Splinters of rough wood caught in her hair, scratched the bare skin of her shoulders. She crossed her arms in front of her, but there was no place to hide, no way to shield herself.
âIâm sorry. I didnât know there were rules.â
But there were no words to placate the anger she saw, no words to assuage the hatred. She was cold. Shaking. Crying.
He was coming.
âSorry about the gift, big boy.â Fear dulled her reasoning, made her grasp at the first thought that flashed in her mind. âBig boy. You like that?â She reached out, but he wouldnât take her hand. She curled the rejected fingers into her fist and clutched it over her naked breast.
She tried to smile, but her lips quivered. The tears kept falling. The wall was cutting into her back and she was afraid.
âI can call you that. Big boy. I can do whatever you want.â
Her breath caught in her chest and couldnât seem to get past her pounding heart. He didnât care. Sheâd laughed.
She shouldnât have laughed.
âMost men bring cash. I didnât understand. Iâm surprised, thatâs all. It doesnât mean I donât like it. I can learn to appreciate it.â