Tidings of Fear

by Ericka Scott

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

A psychic, a skeptic, and a serial killer. . . Psychic Lia Morgan sees portents all around her. Although estranged from her family, she joins the search for her missing sister. A simple case gets complicated fast when she discovers her sister's plethora of secrets includes a son. Professor Jared Trimble's world has no room for paranormal mumbo-jumbo. When asked to consult on a case involving a series of crossword puzzles, he's conflicted. Is he a suspect, or an investigator? While Lia uses her physic gift and follows signs, Jared uses his wits and experience. When the two collide, passions flare and the final clue brings them both into the bull's-eye of a serial killer's target. 53,407 Words

Release date: November 21, 2011

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 154

Sample

 

Chapter 1

 

He loved the hunt, always chock full of possibilities. His prey could come in today, tomorrow, maybe next week, but rest assured, she would come into the shop eventually.

The bell on the door jingled, and out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the mirror he kept angled toward the entrance. Foggy and cold. Only the sparkling green and red lights in the shop window reminded him it was Christmas and not Halloween. A woman ushered in a child and gave him a shy smile. Plain, rotund and dressed in a too-tight pink sweater and jeans that did, indeed, make her butt look big, his artistic soul shuddered. In contrast, her adorably plump son was all boy, toting two toy trains and hooting like a train whistle while he played.

The approaching Christmas holiday had brought in a sudden rush of customers. If he were truly in this business to make money, he would have been more than happy to see the schedule fill up. He’d been turning customers away, hoping to leave room in the schedule for her. Momentary doubt assailed him. Had he left everything too much to chance? Perhaps. Surely, the coupon he’d mailed would bring her in.

After delaying for five minutes, he greeted the woman and her son and led them to the area behind the counter he had set up as a studio. A fake Christmas tree and fireplace, the most popular backdrop this time of year, hung at the ready. Still, a few of the customers preferred the snowy evergreen scene, so he rolled that one out for display as well. The woman confided that although a pagan, her parents would be disappointed if they didn’t get a holiday shot of their grandson. He seated the little guy on a stool in front of the Christmas tree and handed the boy a ribboned box to hold.

As he worked, he chatted her up, even flirted a little. Practicing for the day, the time, when she would walk in the door with her son. The bell jangled as he took his first photo of the boy and his nerves tingled with anticipation. Was it her? From where he stood, he couldn’t see the door, so he quickly snapped two similar shots and then swung the camera display around to let the tub of lard mother pick the picture she preferred. When he glanced over his shoulder, his mouth went dry.

Glory be, she’d come! He bit back a smile as he surveyed the tall, strikingly beautiful African-American woman. A small boy fidgeted beside her.

She captured his attention so completely that he dismissed the short, fat woman from his mind. He noticed her undisguised puzzlement, but couldn’t control his impatience, and rushed her through the photo selection process.

Printing up the poses she’d requested seemed to take an eternity, and inside, he fluttered with frustration. With a squeak, the machine spit out the last eight-by-ten and the Hispanic woman and her irritating toddler left. Now he could concentrate on her.

With her finally within reach, he contrarily felt the need to delay, to savor the anticipation. He cleared his workspace, filing bundles of pictures into waiting envelopes while the backdrops whirred up to the top and into position for the next set of portraits.

The woman gazed around, her eyes narrowed. He bit back a smile. Did she sense something was off in the atmosphere of the shop? Would she guess he’d laid the snare especially for her?

She fancied herself a security expert, but he’d crack her defenses as easily as an egg. He gauged her response, waiting until she was on the verge of walking out, before greeting her. He beckoned her to the counter and then his real work began.

Adopting a clipped British accent, he greeted her and her son. “Are you in for Christmas piccys today, love?”

His quarry shook her head. “I’d like a simple portrait of the both of us, together.” She motioned toward the young boy.

Whirring a plain smoke-colored background down, he set up the lifts he’d need under a darker gray blanket.

“Have you been here long?” the woman asked.

“I’ve been working here for eight months,” he answered vaguely.

“I meant how long has the studio been open?”

“I’m not sure, mum. I’m only the shop assistant, but the owner will be in later.”

“Do you know what time?”

He gave a short laugh. “Not exactly. She doesn’t clear her schedule with me.”

The woman gave him a tight-lipped smile in response, not that he expected more. No, her bestselling book, Safe and Sane Rules for Single Women, discouraged women from sharing too much information or interest in subjects for which they had an emotional investment. Well, he had news for Miss Security Expert. People, especially women, enjoyed talking about themselves; they only needed an audience. If he asked the right questions, he could learn everything he needed to know.

As he seated and posed them on the stools, he started into his standard patter. He’d carefully gleaned the questions from her book. It would be interesting to find out if she followed her own rules. “So, have you lived in San Francisco long?”

“All my life.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here. I’d have guessed you were from somewhere back east.”

“Oh, originally I’m from here. I moved away and then came back to California for the sunshine. Too bad it doesn’t look like we’re going to get too much of that today.” Friendly, but still vague. Her phrasing of moved away didn’t come close to confirming his guess of the east coast. Interesting that she also only referred to California, not the specific city, not wanting to commit to admitting she was local and not a tourist. Well, she was good, but he was better.

He glanced down at the questionnaire she’d filled out. There were no answers in the blanks requesting last name, address and phone number.

“I have some coupons for the circus over there by the register. Perhaps you’d like to pick up a few to use this weekend when Daddy’s home from work.” He pointedly addressed this question to the little boy.

The child frowned and looked up at his mother.

“We have other plans. But thank you.”

Interesting. Her child hadn’t responded openly to his innocent questions. Had he learned from his mother’s example, or did she use her own book for bedtime reading?

After asking a few more questions and receiving non-answers, he lapsed into smiling silence. All too soon, the set of ten photographs had been snapped, and she’d decided on the package.

He printed up the first shot and gave an exaggerated sigh. Pasting a tragic look on his face, he turned to her. “Our photo printing machine is on the fritz. Did you need these photos right away?”

“In time to mail out our Christmas cards.” The woman smiled, but this time it didn’t go all the way to her eyes.

Did she suspect? Well, he knew her answer was an obvious lie. With only a few days left before Christmas, the postal service couldn’t beat Santa Claus in delivering holiday greetings to their recipients.

“I’ll call the repairman immediately. I can mail them to you as soon as they are done.”

“Will the photos be ready today?”

“Probably,” he hedged.

“We’re heading into the, um, I mean, we’ll be busy for a few hours. We’ll pick them up on our way back. Perhaps I can meet with the owner then.”

“All right.” He dragged out the affirmation. “Could I get your name so I can tell my boss she has an appointment?”

“Sylvie.”

The woman simply reiterated the first name on the form. “Oh, and your cellphone number, in case the pictures aren’t ready in time,” he added with what he hoped looked like an innocent smile.

“I have the studio’s number on the receipt. I’ll call. They’ll be done by tomorrow, for sure?”

Damn her. She had upped the stakes in this game. “Absolutely,” he assured her. Even if the pictures weren’t ready, his trap would be.

He almost held his breath as he finished up their transaction. She pulled out her billfold to pay, and just when he thought she would lose the game by default, she paid in cash.

“Ta-ta,” he called out as they left.

The boy turned and gave him a small wave and a smile.

One last item to check. She had her defense skills honed around strangers, but what about open-air security? After a full minute had elapsed, he followed the pair out of the shop and trailed them to their car. If she or her child spotted him, he had a duplicate receipt and a buy-one-get-one-free coupon to present as a plausible excuse.

Score one for him, she didn’t notice his presence. Her attention fully focused on her son, who dragged his feet, begging to go back to look at something in a brightly decorated store window. Some words were exchanged between the mother and the little boy, resulting in the little man throwing one heck of a temper tantrum.

He stood, openly watching her for the several minutes it took for her to manhandle her screaming son into the car and buckle him into his car seat. In the meantime, he savored the memory of their verbal foreplay. To his credit, he’d confirmed her weak spot—her child. And he knew exactly how to exploit that.

Oh, he did so enjoy the hunt.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

What a nightmare!

Lia Morgan rubbed her temples. Of all the calls she had ever envisioned receiving about her sister, this one didn’t come close to anything she’d expected.

When the police officer introduced himself and told her Sylvie was missing, the words almost didn’t register. Missing? Impossible. But instead of opening her mouth to argue, she’d listened.

“Yesterday morning, Sylvie and her two-year old son, Deion, left their home at approximately eight-thirty. According to statements we’ve taken, they had planned to go to Pier 39, have lunch and return home by five o’clock. When your sister’s friend, Margaret Fletcher, called at five, no one answered,” the officer stated.

He then went on to tell her Margaret had called at five-thirty and then at half-hour intervals until eight o’clock. When there was still no answer, and Sylvie couldn’t be reached on her house or cellphone, Margaret drove to the residence. Finding no one home, she’d reported Sylvie and her son, Deion, missing.

As the story unfolded, Lia’s disbelief increased. Sylvie had a son? And what had happened between Sylvie and Margaret that they were no longer living together?

“When did you last see your sister?” the officer asked.

“Seven years ago.”

A pregnant silence greeted her statement.

“My sister and I weren’t close,” Lia finally added. Now that was the understatement of the year.

“Then you wouldn’t know if she’d voluntarily left the area? Is it possible she planned to visit you for the upcoming holidays?”

“No, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know anything about her plans. But just up and leaving isn’t something my sister would do. You’re aware that she’s a bestselling author of a personal security book, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The officer intoned. “Right now, we’re considering all the scenarios.”

“Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. If you do hear from your sister—”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Lia laid the telephone receiver back in its cradle. Her thoughts were so jumbled that the sudden loud ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall made her jump. Had time really stood still? Perhaps. Something else infeasible had occurred. Her staid and respectable, older and wiser sister had disappeared.

The thought still felt foreign. For ten years, Sylvie Morgan worked as a security expert for some top secret government organization. According to the little Sylvie had been able to say, she had kept numerous presidents and foreign dignitaries safe by working behind the scenes. Whatever that meant. She knew the ins and outs, hell, she’d written the book on keeping your person and identity safe. Lia had bought it last year and taken it to heart. As a freelance photographer, she traveled a lot, and needed to not only to feel secure but to be safe. Even now, Sylvie’s book dominated as a hot topic of discussion on talk shows and sat prominently displayed in every bookstore Lia frequented. So, what had happened to her sister?

Margaret? Lia conjured up a vision of her sister’s partner, or were they ex-lovers now? Margaret was exactly six feet tall, just like her sister. Sylvie’s ebony complexion sharply contrasted Margaret’s lack of any pigmentation. Black and white bookends. To complement the comparison, they wore their hair in short bobs. Both had curves and legs that seemed to go all the way up to their necks. Many men admired the women from afar; however, none were allowed any closer.

Even if they weren’t together now, Margaret couldn’t have been complicit in Sylvie’s disappearance. According to the police, she had called in the missing person’s report. A niggle of doubt called to mind all the other cases where once lovers had murdered their partners. Lia pushed the thought away impatiently.

Instead, she focused on the other tidbit of information the officer had dropped. Sylvie had a son. Wow. What a shock. Sylvie had always professed never to want children and often joked that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. Well, something had changed.

Lia twirled on the kitchen stool where she’d perched to answer the phone. Amazing that her small efficiency apartment could be so crowded and cluttered. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes and, off to left, a pile of laundry mounded up the side of the washer. Luckily, she’d finished a photo shoot and submitted all the shots to her publisher, so she could take off at a moment’s notice. However, she’d probably better clean the place up a bit.

She picked up the receiver to place a call to the airline. With her finger poised over the buttons, a series of beeps startled her. It sounded as if someone were already dialing a number. She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Were the sounds real, or were they a sign she needed to pay attention to? Damn it, she hated when she couldn’t tell reality from a psychic impression. She picked up the receiver and again, the sounds repeated. This time, she left the phone off the hook. The call never connected, the tones simply repeated, two, perhaps three more times. Too bad she’d never memorized what sound went with which number. Perhaps if she hummed the tune, she’d remember it. She tried and then gave up.

Unexpectedly, tears flooded her eyes. Having unique psychic abilities weren’t good for anything if she couldn’t utilize the clues presented. “Dammit,” she shouted into her empty apartment. “At least give me something I can use.” She slammed the receiver down and slid off the stool. On one last hope of being able to call the airlines for a reservation, she picked up the handset. The now-familiar tune played in her ear.

With a sigh, she put the receiver down. Gently this time. Laundry, dishes, then pack. She’d make airline reservations via the internet.

By eleven that evening, Lia’s apartment sparkled. W. . .