Cold Touch (41 page)

Jesus. He moaned, unable to make any more sound than that. The fire had started, the burning in his chest; his mind just

hadn’t caught up to the pain til now.
Real gun. Real bullets. Just silenced
.

He looked up, gasping for air, knowing something vital inside him had been hit, wasn’t working anymore. Because he

couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t even feel his heart beating.

But his mind worked. And the things he’d wanted to think about suddenly flooded it.

He pictured the faces of the people he loved, remembered the way his Dad had taught him how to fish, and his Mom had

made the best pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, and his granny had cal ed him every Sunday night to ask if he’d gone to church.

He’d missed her cal tonight and figured he’d cal her back later in the week.

She’d be waiting on that cal forever, now.
Sorry. So sorry
.

He heard heavy footsteps, barely noticing—or caring—that his kil er had gone to pick up his knife and was now coming

back. Ty knew he should look at him, should try to fil his eyes with every detail, hoping Olivia would see, would recognize the

man despite the darkness.

But he was almost gone . . . almost gone.... He didn’t want his murderer’s image to be the last thing he ever saw in this

world. And he was tired, very tired; he could hardly keep his eyes open.

So he stopped trying. He closed them and let his mind drift. His thoughts landed on one last image, one last lovely thought.

How he would have liked to have gotten to know her.

“Such pretty blond hair,” he whispered.

And then he died.

Gabe felt like he was moving underwater or in slow motion. He’d been

standing by the street, trying to dry his goddamn face before the first

responders showed up. Then something had made him glance over his

shoulder to see what Olivia was doing. From across the smal yard, he saw

her lean into the house, her hand extended, as if she was reaching to grab

something.

What is she doing?

But the thought had immediately been replaced by a sick certainty that he

already knew.

She wouldn’t. She’d promised. She wouldn’t do that, not without saying

anything. Not without asking, not without giving him the chance to say

absofuckinglutely not.

Only, she was.

“No, Livvie, stop!” he yel ed, his own voice sounding distant to his own ears.

She didn’t stop; she couldn’t—it was already too late.

He hesitated, hearing the sirens no more than a minute away. Two at most.

Two minutes ten seconds.

“No!”

He wouldn’t al ow it. This was his partner, his friend. Ty had just died. He

was stil lying in a pool of his own blood, in his own house, and Gabe hadn’t

even processed that yet. Olivia couldn’t just . . . just . . . reach out and take his

death like she had some right to it.

He felt sick. Afraid for her, furious at her. And al these feelings combined to

final y get his brain working and his feet moving. He raced toward the house,

yel ing at her to stop, almost barreling right over Julia, who stepped directly

into his path.

“Wait!”

He grabbed her upper arms and moved her out of his way.

“Damn it, Gabe, just wait a minute,” she said, pushing in front of him again.

“It’s already started. Let her do what she has to do.”

Gabe thrust a finger in the woman’s face. “She doesn’t have to do it—don’t

you get that? Al you people who cal yourselves her friends make her feel like

she does. You encourage her to do something that not only tortures her but

eats at her soul, one tiny bite at a time.”

Julia’s face paled, and her eyes widened in her face, as if nobody had ever

said such a thing to her. How could these people claim to know her and never

have realized, never have seen the truth? This so-cal ed gift was actual y a

curse, and she used it at her own peril.

“How can you not have noticed that Olivia doesn’t just experience these

deaths, that she, herself, dies a little every fucking time she does it? Now get

out of my way.”

She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and stepped aside. Gabe launched

up the steps onto the porch, even as he heard the sirens right up the block. He

grabbed Olivia, trying to pul her away.

She resisted.

Glancing inside, he saw that this time she hadn’t just made a finger-to-finger

connection. She’d actual y clasped Ty’s hand and was holding on tightly. As if

she knew Gabe would try to stop her.

Damn right.

He was about to reach in and pry her hand away when he heard her

mumble something. Olivia’s eyes were closed, her whole body shaking, tears

flowing down her cheeks. Then she whispered something else. “Tel Gabe,

‘Look at the noncustodials.’”

He froze, shocked into complete immobility.

Tel Gabe.

Ty had left him a message? Was that even possible?

His young partner had heard about what Olivia could do and had believed it

—or at least believed it was possible. Knowing that and figuring she might try

to use her abilities to find out what had happened to him, he’d used his last

coherent moments to try to help solve his own murder . . . and find that boy.

Right to his dying seconds he’d been thinking not of himself, of the life that

was slipping away with every tick of the clock, but of saving somebody else.

Olivia suddenly jerked hard, one of her hands flying to her chest. She cried

out. Gasped for air. Gabe didn’t know what the hel to do, torn between his

desire to pick her up and carry her out of here and his loyalty to his partner. He

owed it to Ty to listen to his last words, didn’t he?

It had been a while—nearly two minutes, he felt sure. It was almost over. So,

in the end, he simply knelt behind Olivia, pul ing her back against his chest but

not trying to loosen that tight grip she had on Ty. He wrapped an arm around

her shoulders, supporting her, burying his face in her hair and whispering,

“You’re okay. It’s al right. I’m here, Liv. You’re not alone.”

Please come back.

She relaxed a little, her breathing slowed to a crawl, her muscles eased and

her whimpers stopped. The first ambulance pul ed up out front, the siren

screaming. But above the din, he heard her say one more thing, something he

couldn’t understand. Something about pretty blond hair.

Then she released Ty’s hand and sagged back against Gabe.

He sent up mental thanks for a second before rising and picking her up in

his arms. As he began to carry her down the steps, Julia hurried over, and one

of the members of the ambulance crew ran up as wel . “Let us help her, sir,” he

said.

“She’s fine, she just fainted.” He gave the man his name and badge number,

adding, “My partner’s lying in the house, but you can’t help him.”

“Are you sure? Maybe . . .”

“I’m sure,” Gabe said, feeling the emotion wel in his throat again. “He’s

gone.”

As Gabe carried Olivia to Julia’s car, setting her on the passenger seat, a

police car pul ed up. “Turn on the air conditioner,” he told the brunette before

turning away to go speak to the first officer on the scene.

He knew he’d be tel ing this story again and again today, so he made it

quick, sharp and succinct. Yes, he’d been worried about his partner—they

could check his phone records, confirm that with Waczinski. His girlfriend,

Olivia Wainwright—yes, that Wainwright, the senator’s cousin—had been

worried, too, being a friend of Ty’s as wel . They’d arrived within a couple of

minutes of each other, him first. He’d confirmed his partner was dead, then

stepped outside and found Olivia and her friend there. Olivia had fainted when

she’d spied Ty’s hand. Her friend was about to take her home.

Smooth. Easy. Even almost true.

After that first conversation, it got easier. He immediately got on the phone

and cal ed his lieutenant, knowing every damn member of the squad would be

here in a half hour. The SCCPD went a little crazy when one of their own died.

And Ty was especial y wel liked.

He deserved the attention he was going to get.

Gabe was about to go talk to the forensics guy who’d just shown up when

he saw Julia waving at him, trying to get his attention. Olivia was awake,

watching him from inside the car, her wide eyes dominating her pale face.

She looked heartbroken and remorseful, and maybe even a little frightened,

as if worrying about his reaction.

She should be. With every minute his fear for her had receded, his anger

had grown. He felt like one of those parents who’d yanked his kid out from in

front of a speeding car, then promptly slapped him—furious at her for putting

herself in danger and for scaring him so badly.

Angry that she’d gone behind his back—literal y—and done something

she’d promised him she wouldn’t. He counted to ten, knowing he had to stay

calm. She was grieving, just as he was. She was also in pain, affected by the

experience.

And she had something to tel him.

Walking over, he slowed down enough to hear Julia mutter, “Don’t you be

mean to her.”

He ignored the woman, then squatted down beside the open car door and

looked at Olivia’s tear-racked face. “Are you okay?

“I’m sorry.”

His jaw tightening, he tabled that apology for discussion at another time.

“I’m gonna be tied up here for a while.”

“You can’t,” she said, her mouth trembling. “You have to go to your station,

look through Ty’s phone logs, his computer history.”

With his heart thudding, since he already knew the answer, he asked, “He

left me a message?”

She nodded. “I heard him as clear as bel . He said my name; he knew I’d

hear him.”

That much he’d already figured out.

“He told me to tel you to look in the noncustodials. Do you know what that

means?”

He did. “We’ve been trying to ID Zachary in files of kids kidnapped by

strangers. There’s another whole classification: kids taken by their

noncustodial parents. We just assumed he wouldn’t be there, that al these

kids were snatched by the same sick stranger.”

Olivia rubbed a hand over her eyes, and her voice was fil ed with disgust as

she told him the rest of it. “It wil be there. Because Ty said something else.

Zachary wasn’t kil ed by a stranger.”

The possible explanation hit him a second before she said it.

“He was kil ed by his own father. His real father.”

Stunned, he could only stare, thinking of everything she’d told him about the

boy’s death. His awful, brutal death. At the hands of his own father?

He wondered why he was shocked; he’d seen lots of horrible, abusive

parents. And he’d seen firsthand what a grandfather could do. Stil , this

seemed especial y brutal. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. He also mentioned the name John, right before . . .” She reached

up and rubbed her chest, as if feeling the impact.

Gabe knew what bul et wounds looked like. He knew how his friend had

died. He clenched his back teeth, not letting his thoughts be derailed. He’d

mourn Ty forever, but right now a low, boiling anger had begun to build within

him.

He wanted the man who’d done this. Wanted him badly.

“If you can find the right case, you can retrace Ty’s steps.”

Agreeing, he added, “And once I find out who he talked to, I’l know how the

bastard found out Ty was on to him.”

Then he’d get him. Oh, hel , yes, would he get him.

Having to ask, since they’d already come this far, he took one final step into

her dark nightmare. “Did you see anything?”

She shook her head, her fine red hair fal ing down to curtain her face.

“Nothing useful. It was dark, shadowy.” He saw the way her throat worked as

she swal owed. “If it matters, he fought his heart out. And it was over pretty

quickly.”

His eyes burning, he nodded his thanks.

It mattered.

Silent, he rose to his feet. Olivia looked up at him searchingly, as if wanting

to discuss this more. Not just what she’d learned, but how she’d learned it.

“Gabe, I . . .”

He put a hand up, stopping her. “Don’t say it. I’m not ready to hear it.”

“You can at least let me say I’m sorry. I did what I thought I had to do. And it

worked.”

Glaring, he said, “Oh, the ends justified the means, right? But how long until

those means send you right around the bend, Liv?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“Yeah, sure you are. Tel me, how do you expect to ever have any kind of

normal life—maybe settle down, get married, have kids—when you’ve got a

nightmare playing out in your brain twenty-four/seven?”

She winced when he said those words, as if that possibility—a life with him

—had been on her mind. Hel , it had been on his, too, as crazy as it seemed

since they’d only known each other a week. But it had been far too easy to

imagine.

He was fal ing for this woman, hard, and fast, heart, mind and body. And one

thing he knew for sure: They wouldn’t have any kind of life together until she