A Glimpse of the Dark Side: Adult Paranormal Erotic Romance Collection Page 2

  January smiled at the memory.

  And then others came in a sweet, sad flood.

  She let them come... Lori dressed up as a pirate for Halloween, sneaking into the boys' bathroom. The trip their families took to New Orleans together, where Lori goaded her into eating a raw oyster, then held her hair all night as she threw up. The necklace Lori made for January from sand dollars when they were in sixth grade, still hanging from a nail on the bedroom mirror, worn smooth by the departed years.

  Tears fell from her eyes, but she brushed them away.

  "Hi, Lori," she said to her friend for the last time...

  Chapter Three

  THE POLICE DETECTIVE stood by the fireplace and watched January as she talked. His partner was sitting on the couch, taking notes in a very official-looking notepad.

  Have Morrison mom and girl committed, January thought, and stifled a mad giggle.

  She didn't think laughing right now would work in her favor, considering what she and her mother had just told the detectives.

  "So you're telling me that Lori Daniels' body is buried under an abandoned Volkswagen in a vacant lot just northwest of Holly and Industrial Roads," said the detective with the notepad. "And you know this because," he checked his notes, "you have some kind of connection to..." he stopped.

  "You can use the word 'ghost' if you want to," January's mother said. "Please, detectives, can you just go look? If we're wrong, we're wrong." She shrugged her shoulders. "Can you really afford to ignore any leads at this point?"

  The detectives exchanged glances. "Look, Mrs. Morrison," the other detective said, not unkindly, "It's not as simple as that. Lori's family still suspects that January had something to do with this. They're pushing for a full investigation of you and your daughter. Until now, there has been no cause for that, but surely you can see how your new ...information... changes things." He turned to January. "Things are about to get very complicated for you, January. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?"

  January's mother looked at her. Your call, her steady gaze seemed to say.

  January stared back at the detective. "I'm sure," she said. "Please, find her."

  THEY FOUND LORI'S body exactly where January said it would be.

  Every detail was spot-on. Everything she'd told the policemen were seen or found in the crime scene. By this time, Jan was already too numbed to think of what-could-have-been. She had already accepted Lori's death, and she just wanted to go home, to be at peace.

  But everything changed after that. Lori's family had already blamed January for Lori's disappearance and now they became relentless in trying to connect her to Lori's death. There were months of interrogations and meetings, grueling rehashes of the same threadbare information. The discovery of Lori's body had not yielded any new clues as to the identity of her killer, and the investigation just kept going in circles.

  January's parents were forced to hire a lawyer. Finally, the police decided there was not enough information to implicate January and the case was officially ruled unsolved.

  But by that time, the damage was done.

  At school, everyone avoided her. She became the subject of rumors and hushed conversations. The ones who believed in her unusual talents were scared of her, and the ones who did not thought she had something to do with the murder. Even teachers did not know how to act around her.

  One day she went to her locker and found that someone had spray-painted the word FREAK on it in huge red letters. They were still wet, and came off in messy, red streaks on her fingers.

  Someone laughed. She looked around wildly, but everyone looked down and pretended not to notice.

  Down the hall, she caught Aaron looking at her. He started, and looked like he was about to walk toward her, then looked around and stopped.

  The look he had on his face before he looked away was full of pity.

  She would rather it had been hate.

  That day, she went home and told her parents she was not going back to school. They tried to reason with her at first, but even they could see that she was right. They arranged for her to be homeschooled for the remainder of her senior year.

  She did not go to the prom. She did not even attend her own graduation.

  After the summer, she went to a small college across the country, where no one had even heard of her hometown. Soon after that, her father got a job in upstate New York, and her parents moved their home there. She liked the pretty, hilly town they lived in.

  After college, she moved to another town close by.

  She never went back to Ohio again.

  "MARTIN WANTS YOU to know that he's fine now and there's no pain any longer. He loves you and misses you, but he's with you all the time. You've probably noticed little things throughout the day that remind you of him. That's him showing you that he's still around. Do you see?"

  Linda was dabbing her eyes and nodding as she listened to January talk.

  "Yes, January, I do know exactly what you mean! Our wedding picture keeps moving around on the table and I just know that he's moving it. And, yes, there are other little things that I've noticed. I knew it had to be him! That's why it never scared me. Oh thank you so much, January! This has made me feel so much better!"

  She smiled at her. "You're very welcome, Linda."

  Martin, a pleasant-looking middle-aged man dressed in a golfing outfit, was standing just beside his wife. He bent down and whispered in January's ear.

  "Martin also wants me to tell you that there's a man who will be asking you to dinner next week. His name is Darren. Martin says the two of you have a lot in common, and that it is okay if you go to dinner with him."

  Linda looked surprised, but January just shrugged her shoulders.

  "He doesn't want you to be alone, Linda. Always remember that. The two of you had a wonderful life together, but it has been a year now, and you must continue to live your life. It's what he wants. Do you understand?"

  January looked at Martin. He had his arm around his wife's shoulder now, even though Linda did not feel it.

  Linda sighed, then smiled through her tears.

  "Yes, yes, I do understand, January. Darren, eh? Well, that's going to feel pretty strange, but if Martin wants me to, then I'll do it. I'll go to dinner with him. This has been such a wonderful session, January. You don't know how much this means to me."

  January smiled at Linda and took her hand.

  "Yes, I do know how much it means to you, Linda. You know you're welcome to come see me anytime you want to. But," she squeezed the other woman's hand, "you also need to start moving on. Even Martin says it's time. You've mourned long enough."

  Linda looked down at the floor. Her eyes filled with tears.

  January held Linda's hands even tighter. "Linda, listen to me. Life is an amazing, precious thing. It's all we have. Martin knows this now. He knows that the only way to be thankful for it is to live it. To open yourself up to it, to grab it while you still can. That's the gift he is giving you with these visits. Take it. Take this gift."

  Linda nodded and wiped her eyes. "You're right, January. Of course, I know you're right." She regarded her. "You understand so much," the older woman told her. "The people in your life are very lucky to have you."

  January smiled and said nothing.

  Linda slipped out the door, leaving a folded check on the table in the entryway.

  Chapter Four

  JANUARY WATCHED THE door close behind Linda. Martin had nodded his thanks to Jan, and left with his widow. January suspected he would be with Linda until he knew she didn't need him anymore. She stood for a moment, thinking how wonderful this session had been. She went outside to retrieve the week's pile of mail, and then walked back into the house.

  Well, her life has to move on, too.

  Most of the mail went into the trash. She smiled. There was a Valentine's Day card from her mother, punctual as always. January had forgotten Valentine's Day altogether this year.

  The card was dec
orated with crinkly little tissue paper hearts. Inside was a picture of an eight-year-old January hugging Daisy, the family's golden retriever. Guess how much I ruff you! The card read. It made her laugh. Her mother had been sending homemade cards lately, always with pictures of January as a little girl.

  She frowned a little. Something about this bothered her. If her mother had some problem with how she was living her life, Jan wished she would come right out and tell her, instead of weaving it into elaborate arts-and-crafts projects.

  January placed the card gently on a display shelf, which was otherwise empty. She decided she was probably reading too much into the cards. If there was one thing she had learned about people, it was that they had trouble letting go of the past.

  She went into the kitchen to make some tea before her next appointment. She always scheduled them at least forty-five minutes apart, to give herself time to regroup. In the ten years since she had discovered her abilities, she had learned a lot of things by trial and error. One of them was that using her talents took a lot out of her.

  The day was unseasonably warm, so she carried her tea onto the back deck and sat down. There was a light breeze, and the silver wind chimes were making a soft jingling music. She stared out over the neatly-trimmed lawn. Perfect for a garden, she thought when she had moved into the big, rambling house. Now it was three years later, and the little plot of grass was as bare as on the day she had made her first down payment. Next year, she kept saying, when the spring comes.

  When the spring did come, she could never bring herself to plant anything. She didn't want to put a lot of work into something that was just going to die.

  She caught her reflection in one of the mirrored panes of the wind chimes-a small, airy woman with smooth, dark hair, held out of her face by a mother-of-pearl hair clip. She was young and, she supposed, attractive-looking at the age of twenty-four... except for the light, almost silvery eyes that looked out from behind black wire-rimmed specs-those were the eyes of a much older woman.

  So when her mother argued she was beautiful, Jan would look at her and smile. And her mother would shake her head and would tell her that she shouldn't try to look wiser than her age or she would never find "an exciting boyfriend." They would sometimes argue about it. Who needed an exciting boyfriend when she already had a fulfilling career?

  And her mother would counter that Jan would need an exciting husband who would not get spooked by the less ordinary aspects of her "fulfilling" career.

  Is there really such a man? Jan had often wondered if there was, but she never voiced that thought to anyone.

  She was wearing neatly pressed khakis and a plain white blouse. More than one client had told her at their first meeting that she was not what they expected, but when pressed to explain what they "expected," none of them could.

  She suspected they were picturing a flowery matron with long, curly locks, quick to hug or laugh, maybe even to cry. Maybe a graying herald of the New Age, a tie-dyed, head-band-and-Birkenstock relic from the Summer of Love. No, not this tiny person who would have looked at home in an architect's office or accounting firm.

  She was careful with words, even stingy, a better listener than a talker; when she spoke, her soft words usually met their mark. She was a true psychic who never had the need to pose as one. At the end of a session, none of the clients ever wanted their money back.

  January sipped her tea and tried to clear her mind.

  Her doorbell rang. She frowned and glanced at her watch. Her next appointment wasn't due for another twenty minutes. She tried to ignore the doorbell, but after another ring or two, she realized that whoever was there did not plan on going away. She went back inside, setting her mug down in the kitchen on the way to the door.

  A man and a woman, both in suits, were standing on her front porch. The man was raising his hand to ring the doorbell again. The two of them had a very downstate look to them.

  "You don't have to keep ringing the doorbell," she said softly. "I can hear you."

  "My apologies," the man said, and studied her carefully before continuing. The woman did the same. There was something very particular about the way they looked at her, and January recognized it immediately.

  "How may I help you, officers?" she asked.

  "I'm Agent Ashton Sterling, FBI," the man said, and motioned to his partner. "This is Agent Carrie Talbot. We'd like to speak with January Morrison, please."

  Her spine stiffened. FBI. What are they doing here?

  "I'm January," she said, knowing full well they already knew what she looked like. "How can I help you?"

  "May we come in, Ms. Morrison?"

  She made them show their badges, then stepped back to let them in. She led them into her sitting room, which doubled as her clients' waiting area.

  "Please, sit down," January said. When they did, she remained standing. "What can I do for you?"

  "We know that in the past, you've been called in to help law enforcement find missing persons," Agent Sterling said. "We have a case that we think you could help us with."

  January studied him evenly. Her face showed nothing, but she was feeling a hot mix of anger and sadness. She hoped to have seen her last of law enforcement, but her life seemed to keep bringing her into contact with them.

  They were all the same. They treated her like a curiosity; a silly joke they were forced to listen to. Then when she turned out to be right, they were terrified and wanted to be rid of her as quickly as possible.

  "Yes, I have helped locate some missing people in the past. But it's not something I normally do. For one thing, it's usually the families that contact me, and as you may or may not know, I don't charge them for what I do."

  "We're familiar with your record, Ms. Morrison. That's why we're here," replied Agent Talbot. She was a tall woman with glossy red hair cut in a flattering shag-very NYC. She was thin and well-toned, and her creamy skin glowed with good health. January wondered when an FBI agent had time to take such good care of herself. She supposed it was part of the job.

  "Does the family know you're contacting me?"

  "We didn't want to mention it to them before we'd had a chance to speak with you," Agent Sterling replied.

  January studied Agent Sterling. He was unusual looking. Not conventionally handsome, but striking all the same. He had black hair, unwavering slate-gray eyes and lips with a slight sensual curve. He had a sureness about him, a sense that nothing he did was accidental or out of his control. He moved with a mesmerizing grace.

  She had a sudden, mad impulse to reach out and touch his face.

  "Ms. Morrison?"

  Agent Sterling was speaking to her. She shook herself out of her daze.

  "Yes, I'm sorry. Please, tell me more about this case." ?

  Chapter Five

  "A SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL by the name of Lianna Morgan went missing three days ago from her home in Elizabeth City, North Carolina. You may have heard about it," Agent Sterling explained.

  "Yes, I did see something about it on the news," January answered. She kept her voice casual, though the news story had upset her deeply. She had switched the channel before she heard any of the details. "So what it is that you would like me to do?"

  "We're familiar with your special abilities when it comes to finding missing people, and we thought you may want to lend your expertise to help find this girl."

  "And do you also know that most of the people I'm able to find are no longer living?"

  "Yes, we are aware of that. But you have found live people before as well."

  She shrugged. "True, but the odds of that are rather slim."

  She decided to relieve her curiosity. "Agents, I just have to ask. Why would the FBI come to me for this case? They've never approached me before." She smirked. "My abilities don't seem to be the kind of thing the FBI really wants to associate itself with."

  The two agents exchanged looks, and Agent Talbot smiled.

  "You've got us pegged pretty well," she admitted. "
It was actually the girl's family that asked us to contact you," she said. "They had heard of your past work and thought you might be able to help. But, as Agent Sterling said, we didn't want to tell them we would contact you until were sure you'd accept."

  Agent Sterling broke in urgently. "A girl is missing, Ms. Morrison. She could still be alive. We're more concerned with getting her back to her family safely than with the FBI's reputation. He looked at her with his steady gray eyes. "Now please...will you help?" he asked.

  January had known she would help all along, even though the thought filled her with fear and pain. When it came to helping to find a missing person, she knew she did not have a choice.

  But there was something different about this one. Agent Sterling's eyes were an additional incentive. They were sincere and urgent; as if he really would try to move heaven and earth to get that girl home. Those eyes-she couldn't say no to them.

  And that bothered her a bit. Okay, it bothered her a lot.

  She nodded as she abruptly looked away from him. "Alright. I'll need a day to sort out my clients."

  "We were hoping to take you back with us today." Agent Talbot said. "We have a plane waiting at the airport right now."

  "I can't do that," January said firmly. "I need twenty-four hours. I have a business with regular clients. I can't just take off without any notice. Surely, you can understand that."

  Agent Sterling interrupted. "Ms. Morrison, we can give you a few hours, but no more. Each minute we waste is another minute Lianna could be harmed."

  "I'm very aware of what can happen," she said through gritted teeth. She wished they would leave so she could start preparing for the trip. "I'll try to sort things out quickly, but I can't give you a definite time."

  They stared at her.

  She rolled her eyes."Fine! Give me an hour to make some phone calls and pack," she said in resignation.

  They didn't need to speak to let her know that was exactly how they wanted it.