Hide'n Go Seek (3 page)

This new understanding reenergized him. That's why nothing he'd ever done had made a difference - he'd been doing the wrong type of work. He hadn't understood.

He walked over to where Adam slept. So stupid, so careless of the life he'd been graced with. No appreciation.

"Hey, Adam, wake up!" The Texan nudged Adam with his foot. Adam moaned and rolled over, his snoring continued unabated. He kicked harder.

Adam opened a bleary eye. "Huh?" At that moment he sneezed, a thick black wad of tobacco-reeking snot splattered onto the Texan's work boots.

Staring at Adam, the Texan scrunched his face up in loathing. "That's disgusting." His leg lashed out, the tip of his steel-toed boot connecting with Adam's chin. Adam's head snapped back. He groaned once, then fell silent.

Kneeling, he studied Adam for a long moment. This was almost too easy. Shoving the brush to the side, he slid both arms under Adam and rolled him over and then over again. It took several more rolls before Adam's unconscious body settled at the bottom of a shallow ditch at the edge of a small hillock. Using his hands, he cascaded dirt and rock on top of the prone man.

Adam moaned as small rocks bounced off his cheekbones and forehead. His eyes opened, then slammed closed as dirt rained on top of him. He flipped his head to the side, sending dirt flying. Getting his arms under him, he tried to push upward. Bigger rocks pounded his back. He lurched lower under the blows. "Wha...t?" A small boulder crunched hard on his shoulder, sending him flat to the ground. Adam shook his head as if to clear it. He turned to stare, pain and confusion evident in his gaze. "Why...why are you doing this?" Blood trickled from his temple and scratches razed his neck.

"You weren't meant to survive. You were meant to go home."

Another large rock hit Adam’s skull, dropping him in place. The dirt piled higher. Adam could still draw a breath, but blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth.

The dirt pile, now a large hollow gouged from one side, collapsed, sending yards of dirt tumbling onto the still form below. Not satisfied yet, Texan kicked, shoved, and scooped the balance of the small hill until it reformed above Adam.

His chest heaved when he finally stopped, sweat rolling off his face and soaking his back. The summer heat sweltered, thickening the air, making it hard to breathe. Dust filled his nostrils and eyes. He bent over to regain his breath. After a couple of minutes, he turned to search the area. It was deserted.

Of course, it was.

God was on his side.

What was that old saying, ashes to ashes, dust to dust? He'd sent Adam home - where he belonged. Underground.

He smiled, a beatific reflection of the new glow surrounding his soul.

He'd passed his initiation. Now his vocation could begin. Satisfaction permeated his being. He'd found his calling.

Simple, reasonable, perfect.

Six months later

K
ali came to a sudden stop, staring at the deserted landscape.

Dust whirled around her on scorching dry wind, adding yet another layer of filth to her face and clothing. Lord, it was hot. She lifted her hard hat to wipe the ever-present sweat from her forehead. Her nostrils flared at the smell of decomposition and despair. Moving carefully, she stepped over a broken plastic doll, its head crushed by rocks. A table leg jutted from under a cracked window half covered in construction paper depicting a hand-drawn map.

This pile of rubble had once been a small school. Now death surrounded her. A week ago, school children had laughed and played here, smiling their joy to the world. Bodies of twenty-two children had been recovered since.

Her lower lip trembled. She gripped Shiloh's harness even tighter. Children's deaths were the hardest. Especially after Mexico. Before that disaster she had been able to keep death at a distance. She might as well have been wrapped with cotton batting, protecting her, giving her space to function in the face of so much pain. Now the images of her past pulled at her, keeping her awake at night. The cotton no longer insulated and distanced her.

Everything was worse after Mexico.

Especially The Sight. Stronger, clearer, more insistent.

The instinctive pull had morphed into a knowing she couldn't ignore. It demanded her attention. Sometimes she saw dark-colored ribbons. Other days she saw shadows. There appeared to be little in the way of consistency. The only definite here was that it was changing. And whatever was happening was getting stronger.

Kali pulled her drenched tee-shirt away from her breasts as sweat continued to trickle. Grabbing her water bottle, she took a healthy swig. The place had a desolate appearance to it with gray dust coating everything and everyone. A landslide in the Madison River Canyon had taken out part of the town center of the small community of Bralorne, Montana.

Most volunteers were working on the other side of the hastily established rescue center serving as a command post, refreshment/medical center. She had chosen to search in this direction. The Sight hadn't given her an option.

A loud
whup whup whup
rose in crescendo as a helicopter crested the treetops and approached her. Drawn by the propeller, dirt was swept into a swirling storm until it engulfed her.

"Shit." Kali dropped to a crouch, wrapping her arms around Shiloh, tucking both their heads low as the chopper passed. The dust settled slowly, still Kali stayed hunched over. Their eyes would suffer the most from the filthy air. Normally, the helicopters didn't come in so close. Her safety vest should have alerted the pilot.

Straightening, Kali reached for her water bottle again, this time pouring some into Shiloh's mouth as she lapped it up. Carrying a recessive gene, Shiloh was an odd long-haired purebred in a world of short-haired Labradors. Another reason the two had bonded instantly. Both were oddities in their respective worlds.

Taking a firm hold on her frayed emotions, she closed her eyes and tuned into the weird energy calling her. She'd given up calling 'it' intuition now. It had morphed into so much more. Right now, the ribbons were twisting. Dark tendrils beckoned her. She caught her breath. The murderous threads, black and violent, rustled in the space between life and death. More North. Taking several large steps forward, Kali stopped again to listen to the whispers.

Stop.

Kali bowed her head.

Facing her lay something she found all too familiar - with a twist. A twist she'd only recently started to better understand since Mexico. If there was ever a defining moment in her life, that had been it.

The whispers spoke again, calling to her. Insisting she follow them. It was rare for The Sight to be this strong, this insistent. She shifted her feet, easing the ache from standing too long. At least her heavy, steel-toed work boots grabbed the uneven ground with the solid grip of experience.

Glancing around, she filled her mouth with water, rinsing the new grittiness inside.

Shiloh whimpered at her side. Death depressed her. Kali frowned, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. Didn't it depress everyone? Kali stroked the top of Shiloh's silky head.

"It's okay, Sweetheart. We can't help him anymore, but we
can
bring him home to his family."

Him. Kali tilted her head in consideration. Yes, the victim was male. That knowledge sat confidently inside her soul. Another fact. Her intuitive hunches had become reality - something she could count on as fact.

She'd had no trouble finding this victim. She didn't understand how her skills worked or why. Kali also didn't know how to use them properly or how to shut them off. She could only accept that they were there and refused to be ignored.

Kali had morphed into a divining rod for violence - man-made violence.

And this poor man had been murdered.

Grant Summers leaned back against his high-backed office chair and rubbed his temple. Working for the FBI always meant tons of paperwork. Some days it went smoothly, he could burrow in and dig himself out. Then there were days like today. Delay after delay. He'd yet to get anything off his desk. Instead, dozens more red-flagged problems had joined the pile. He'd be lucky to be clear by the weekend.

His stacked inbox caught his eye. Big, brown manila envelopes, too many to count, white business envelopes, too many to care, and a magazine. Now that he could handle. Grabbing it out of the stack, he plunked his feet on top of his desk and grabbed five minutes for something not case-related.

It was the latest edition of
Technical Rescue
, compliments of his brother in Maine. Rob wanted him to return home and continue doing the type of work they'd both done once long ago. Choosing to stay up-to-date on the industry let Grant know that the idea percolated in the back of his mind. Maybe one day...

Turning to the Table of Contents, he scanned through the listed articles. He paused. His breath caught and held as his fingers raced through the pages to the name that had caught his eye. A picture in the center of the page.

Kali Jordan.

The same damned baseball that had hit him seven years ago socked him in the gut again. Time hadn't diminished the impact. His breath whooshed out on a long sigh as he feasted on the picture. Fatigue dripped from her features, dust coated her from her work boots to her hair drawn back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Obviously photographed on a disaster site, her dirty rescue vest dominated the picture. Tired, proud, Kali stood strong on a boulder, her dog at her side. A sunset colored the background.

Damn she looked good. Older, sure, but then so did he. Was her hair darker? He remembered a sun-kissed gold layer over deep rich brunette locks. And long. God, he loved long hair.

She wore a pained I'm-doing-this-for-the-cause type of smile. She had heart, that girl. And as he recalled, she was anything
but
a media hound. He'd first met her years ago at a conference where she'd been a guest lecturer.

He'd been fascinated. The stomach punch at the first sight of her had been illuminating. He'd been new to auras and chakras and had never understood the various terms for the different psychic abilities back then, but even he couldn't have missed the merging sensation of rightness between them.

But
she
had.

It had been hard. In his head, the rightness of it was natural, automatic. She'd been
the
one. The perfect match. The synergistic yin to his yang.

Except - she hadn't been free.

That realization had stunned him. How could anything so perfect not work out?

He shook his head at the painful memories.

For seven years he'd had that gut feeling that it wasn't over. It couldn't be over. It might not have been the right time back then, but there would come a time when it would be right. Yet what if he was wrong? Had he let life pass him by while he waited - for something that might never come?

He stared at the picture and wondered. Would that time
ever
come? He'd avoided committed relationships, always wondering...always waiting.

His cell phone rang, yanking him out of his reverie. He reached into his pocket and checked the number. Stefan. Of course. Stefan slept when he wished, painted when he wished, and channeled incredibly strong psychic abilities the rest of the time.

Grant leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet to rest on top of his desk. What did his wily friend have to say today? "Hey, Stefan."

"You're wondering right now if you're going to see her."

Grant slammed his feet down on the floor as he leaned forward. "Shit. What?" He closed his eyes in frustration. His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose. Being friends with Stefan meant his mind was his friend’s to read. Sometimes that became very irritating.

"But not today?" Stefan snickered.

"Oh, shut up."

"The answer is yes, you are. And soon."

Grant loosened his tie, swallowing heavily. His mind spun at the endless questions forming.

"She has The Sight but has no idea how strong she is. Ask to see her paintings."

With that cryptic statement, Stefan rang off. Grant frowned. Damn. Stefan was right 99 percent of the time. What’s the chance that this one time - the one time he was desperate to have Stefan be right - he was wrong?

Kali swallowed, her throat rasping like aged sandpaper as she avoided looking at the mounds of rocks and crushed building around her. While she was stuck in Bralorne, hours filled with organized chaos had slipped away since she'd located the buried victim. Kali had continued to search for survivors, always keeping an eye on the crew and gathering throng. Now she'd finally allowed herself to be drawn to the drama like the rest of the crowd.

Shiloh whined. Kali tore her gaze from the heavy equipment sitting beside the open pit. The smell of death was hard to get used to - even for a dog. Knowing what it was didn't help. In fact, it almost made it worse. Still when it was your life's work, what choice did you have?

Except to wear a mask and breathe through your mouth.

Tugging Shiloh's bright orange lead once, Kali took several steps back. The crime scene people needed more space. At least that's what she thought they were. Their white coveralls carried no labels, but proclaimed them official. Still, she was grateful they'd arrived to take over.

The crowd immediately swarmed forward to fill the gap she'd left.

"When did this crowd arrive?"

Kali twisted to face Brad. "Just after you left." She offered him a tired smile, wiping the dust from her eyes. "What took so long?"

Brad held out a tall take-out cup. "I was waiting for Jarl to show. I don't know where he took off to. That guy's a bloody ghost when he wants to be. Besides I brought this back for you. Forgive me?" He wafted the full cup under her nose. "Tall, dark and black?" The warm cup changed hands.

Kali moaned in delight. "Coffee. Oh, thank God. I'm so cold."

"It has to be 92 degrees. How can you be cold?"

With her fingers hugging the coffee cup, Kali blew at the steam coming through the small opening. "I'm exhausted," she admitted. "I don't seem to have much energy these days." She shot him a worried glance. "Jarl's gone missing? Again? What's with him? He's been acting different lately."