a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (11 page)

“Sorry about that. Have I overdone it with the coachy stuff, or are you really asking for my help?”

“I’m really asking. It’s a whole lot easier to be buried in mud surrounded by bad guys with weapons than it is to fall in love.”

“Um-hmm. I can see that. Okay, I think things will get better if you can bridge the gap between old Annie and new Annie. To do that, I want you to remember several scenes from your life that felt natural and peaceful. Scenes that just felt right, that you like to remember. Select a scene from childhood, from when you were an agent, your work now, and maybe from an especially good conversation with Sean. Any positive memory from different ages and experiences in your life.

Then I want you to write a brief story about Annie Stone that incorporates the four incidents. Blend the experiences into a story about yourself. It shouldn’t take very long. This doesn’t have to be a literary masterpiece, but it does have to blend the significant, positive parts of your life into a single story.”

“I’m not good with writing.”

“Do it anyway. It’ll help. Really, it will.”

She ran her hands through her new hairdo and tugged. “Okay. Okay. Go away so I can do this and still have enough time to turn myself into a knock-out bundle of femininity for tonight’s date.”

I stood up and gathered our empty cans. Annie stopped me with a touch. “Thanks. I think this is going to work.”

It had been a hell of a day.
First with the Justin North encounter, then with Mitch’s “no touching” goodbye, and finally, with solid-as-a-rock Annie having a meltdown.

I definitely needed some sanity and could think of nothing more normal than checking out the addresses on North’s list. I like houses. Do the Parade of Homes thing—only on off hours so I don’t touch a bunch of people—every year because I like to imagine how the buyers will fill them with life. It satisfies my curiosity to make up all kinds of stories about the people who will eventually buy the house. Creativity and curiosity both satisfied at the same time. What could be better?

EIGHT

My very own, personal Parade
of Homes. It had the potential to keep me busy enough to not dwell on Mitch being out-of-pocket for an undetermined period of time. There were only three addresses on the list, it’d be a very short parade, but still enough to give my curiosity a nice dose of satisfaction.

Even better, I’d be out of the immediate area while Annie got ready for her date. And I’d be contributing information to the industrial demolition case. How often did I get a chance to snoop with no fear of being arrested, and no need to practice my illegal entry skills? Well, okay so that part was a downer, but the not being arrested part would be a good thing.

I grabbed my handbag, plugged the addresses into my GPS, and drove through Chick-fil-A for a caffeine-free Diet Coke. A woman on a mission. Oh, yeah, this was going to make the day all better.

The first address was in an upscale subdivision with about fifty completed homes with a smattering of expensive cars and Private Residence signs that were readily visible. The owners must have been tired of people walking around their gardens and peering in their windows. Understandable, and okay with me since it didn’t interfere with my plans.

I drove around several curving streets until I found another section of the subdivision—about the same size houses, but these had Open House signs and little baskets of booties on the porch. Looked like the kind hospitals used, disposable but effective. I slowed down, checking out the numbers on the buildings and getting a feel for the neighborhood. There. The address matched the first one on my list. I parked in the appropriate driveway, freshened my lipstick, and tucked my iPad under my arm. The methodical actions helped me slide into the role of newly-engaged-woman-looking-for-expensive-first-home. The house would probably be empty since mine was the only car around, but it was still a great opportunity to practice my role.

Not wanting to be distracted by any images until I was ready to process them, I used the palm of my hand to turn the doorknob and kept my fingertips away from the metal. First up would be a stroll through the house so I could get the general feel of the place, and to make sure I was the only inhabitant since Sales people and contractors could do a walk-through at any time

It felt empty, but with my touch ESP being hinky, I wanted visual affirmation.

Empty. I hustled back to the foyer and did a quick brush of my fingertips along the wall, just enough to satisfy my curiosity and give me something to write on my iPad. I didn’t want to get caught with no notes in case someone questioned me. Like Marcy Blaine. She looked like the type to keep an eye on North’s properties.

My fingers barely grazed the wall, and a series of shadowy images flashed on my internal monitor—construction workers, sullen and unhappy.

A nagging, prickly eeriness crept over my skin and blossomed into goose bumps.

I blinked a few times, but the gray film covering the images didn’t clear. It wasn’t a wispy effect, like before, but it was still a long way from okay. A spark of panic clawed at my belly, but I ruthlessly pushed it away. All I had to do was relax, allow my mind to wander, and the pictures would sharpen. Come into focus. Maybe.

I dragged in a deep breath and a second before my fingertips touched the wall, a voice sounded in my head. “You don’t want to live here.”

“W-what?” I spun around looking for someone, knowing full well no one was there. The voice had been too…inanimate. More robotic than human. Dusty, dry words.

“You do not belong here.”

“What the…” My voice shook, sounding loud and hollow in the empty house.

The trembling started at my knees and hit my belly with a thud.

Deep breath. Calm down
.
This has happened to you before, Everly.

I staggered away from the wall, legs wobbling. “Who, um, are you?”

“Touch the windowsill.”

Right. Okay. Having a conversation with the wall. I inched toward a bank of windows overlooking the back yard, and lightly trailed my fingers along the molding. An image filled my mind, clear and sharp, of North and Jacobson having an intense discussion over what looked like blueprints. Jacobson’s hand rested on the unfinished framework around the window. It was a fleeting picture and didn’t give me a definite sense that anything sinister was going on...except that it was strange to see him alive and well after I’d found his body.

I licked my lips and sucked in the mother of all breaths. “Okay. So, house, am I supposed to touch anything else, or am I done here? Because I really want to be done. No offense, but talking houses aren’t my thing. Uh, thanks for the help, though. Nice image of North and Jacobson. And, um, nope. Don’t want to live here.”

Silence.

For a minute I considered touching other stuff, but before I could transition thought to action, I was out the door, had jerked off my paper shoe covers, and deposited them in the Used Bootie basket.

Not going back in that house. Not telling anyone about this. Not thinking about talking walls. Seriously. Hinky fingertips were enough ESP for anyone.

Time to hit the next address. If only I could get my fingers to stop shaking, I could get the key in the ignition.

A lingering panic had settled in my bones. I turned the radio to blasting and drowned my thoughts by singing along with an off-key rendition of an eighties tune.

It didn’t work. I gave Annie a quick call to touch base, maybe bring some normalcy into the equation.

She picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”

Definitely normal. My panic eased. “I decided to check out the three addresses North gave us this morning.”

“What? You didn’t tell me about that.”

“Well—”

“Guess I didn’t give you a chance since I needed help from Coach El. Fill me in. I have some time before Sean gets here.”

I brought her up to speed on the morning activities, leaving out the part about talking walls.

“Did you pick up any design ideas?” Annie’s voice sounded off.

“What? Who cares about the design ideas? Mitch and I aren’t really building a house you know.”

“I get that. But you always drop into a role completely. I’d be willing to bet you’ve written down some comments, probably suggestions for improvement.”

I glanced at my blank iPad. “A few.”

I’d fix the temporary lie as soon as I parked at the next address on my list.

“So where are you going next?” Yep, her voice was definitely spacey.

“Looks like the name of the development is Summer Woods Manor? I’ve never heard of it, but according to MapQuest it’s around Holly Springs.”

“Oh gosh. Sean’s here. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Stay out of trouble tonight.”

“I will, but it’s more likely that you’ll get into trouble.”

“I hope so. Oh, yeah, I really hope so.” Well, that explained her spaciness. Too much Sean, or maybe not enough.

I pushed End, tucked my phone away, sent a few positive thoughts toward Annie, and then merged into traffic for the ride to Holly Springs.

By the time I arrived at Summer Woods Manor, I was relaxed, primed, and ready to continue my adventure. Without talking walls. It had to be an anomaly, right? I’d only heard a house talk once before—that time Annie and I were checking out the scene of a murder. Since these houses were homicide-free, no more inanimate things would be chatting me up. Right? I rolled my eyes and offered a quick prayer to whoever was listening. “No more talking houses. Please.”

A bunch of winding roads ran through the development and there were no street signs, so it took me a few minutes to find the right street. These houses all seemed to be in the early stages of construction, with nothing completed but the foundation, framework, and a few walls.

Odd that North would send me to a property that left
everything
to the imagination. I left my Bug in what would ultimately be the front yard of the last lot on the block and wandered around looking for an address or a person.

This was the most deserted wasteland of a housing development I’d ever had the misfortune to explore, and the eerie sensations from the talking house regrouped and skipped down my spine leaving an irritating itch behind. Why did North give us
this
address?

I wandered down the dirt road, my shoes scuffing up puffs of dust. No sign of human or animal life, just a sci-fi wasteland appearance that was reminiscent of the demolished shopping center Adam and I had visited.

My legs wobbled, and my feet lost traction before my brain registered that the ground shook.

The sound of an explosion ripped through the air and the blast tossed me to the ground.

I struggled to drag in a breath.

No luck.

Panic lodged in my chest.
“It’ll be okay, El. Wind knocked out of you is all. Relax, girl. Let your lungs recoup.”

Heat skittered along my skin, leaving an uncomfortable tingle in its wake.

The sound of the blast hung in the air, and I shook my head trying to stop the ringing in my ears. No go.

I rolled to my side and sharp pain radiated through my right leg, arm and shoulder. I must have bounced on my side before being tossed onto my back.

It hurt.

A lot.

Oxygen leaked in when I inhaled, but I couldn’t get a full breath, and the horrible gasping sound coming from my throat unnerved me.

The scent of charred wood and chemicals burned my nose and throat, then started a coughing jag that went on forever.

Finally, I was able to lift my head long enough to focus on the devastation around me. Tears burned behind my eyes and trickled down my cheeks as I took in the extent of the damage.

The house that I’d parked my car in front of was gone.

Nothing but a pile of burning rubble.

And my car?

Toast.

My belly hollowed with the loss. Damn it, but I really liked my car. The hollowness knotted with the pain of losing my baby Bug, and empty tears dampened my cheeks.

Too tired to hold my head up any longer, I dropped back to the ground, and brushed at my tears.

Were those sirens I heard? Yes. No. The sound seemed to be getting lost in the hazy muddle that used to be my brain. Someone besides me must have heard the blast and called someone else, preferably someone with water—for both the fire and me. A bitter taste filled my mouth and my tongue was painfully dry and sticky.

The good news: I wasn’t inside the building or sitting in my car when everything blew to smithereens.

Bloody, bloody hell.

I could have been killed.

The realization hit my belly with a jolt and moved through my body leaving behind soul-shattering panic. I wasn’t ready to die, and I’d come
that close
to being nothing but a memory. Nothing but pink mist. Damn it.

It pissed me off enough to get moving. Granted I was barely sitting and supporting my head in my hands, but sitting is
almost
standing.

I pictured myself standing, walking…and kept the mind video on instant replay because no way was it going to become reality in the next few minutes.