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“Hey, I think I found something.” Trent called out from the other side of the room.

  Erica turned to her left. He stood there with a journal or appointment book. She quickly made her way to his side and was a few steps away when she tripped over a pair of heels. Trent reached out to steady her at the same time she moved to grab his hand. Instead of his hand, she grabbed hold of the journal. In a flash, she watched the last moments of Gina’s life play out like a horror movie scene. Because the victim’s energy was at the highest at the moment of death, it was one of the first things that came to her. She saw it all just as Gina had.

  At first Erica was confused over what she was seeing. Loud music played, and she couldn’t hear herself think. It was some kind of dark room. A musty smell filled her nose, almost like a wet cellar or a basement. The unfinished room had bad lighting, visible pipes, and drywall mid-construction. The coldness of the room made her shiver. That’s when she looked down at her body.

  She was strapped to a bed that was positioned in an angle. Tight belts bit into her skin, holding her down. She didn’t know why she was naked, but panic started building inside her. A sound made her turn and squint into the darkness. A tall, dark, covered figured watched her. He was big, wearing dark jeans and a hoodie. Gina’s vision was blurred. Erica knew Gina had been drugged, but it wasn’t until then she realized how heavily.

  When he shifted, she blinked and squinted harder, but the view of him grew fuzzier. He held something in his hand. A scalpel. Gina’s heart started beating so fast she thought she was going to throw up. Fear took over and made it even harder to think clearly. The hooded figure laughed when she started screaming to be let loose. She struggled against the binds holding her in place, but it was no use. He’d strapped her so tight she couldn’t even feel her arms or legs.

  The figure moved closer, lowering his head by her ear and whispered, “You’re going to regret your choice.”

  He sounded excited. As if he were enjoying admitting that to her.

  A sharp blade cut into her stomach. Raw pain filled her mind. She screamed at the top of her lungs, begging for him to stop.

  Erica jerked her eyes open. The first thing she saw was Trent’s concerned face.

  “Erica?” He called her name, his voice rough with emotion. “Sweetheart, please tell me you’re OK.”

  They were in the living room of Ms. Lipkin’s boarding house, along with Ms. Lipkin and Ramirez, who were watching her with worried frowns.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she added when he gave her a dubious look. “I need a pen and paper.”

  She sat up and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She knew she sounded deranged, but she had to make notes and talk to Brock before the details she’d gathered turned into one blurry nightmare.

  “Please?”

  “I’ll get it.” Ms. Lipkin patted Ramirez’s arm and left the room.

  She dialed Brock while Ramirez stared at her in confusion. Trent scrutinized her, more concerned than angry, which she was grateful for. The last thing she needed was him pissed at her for passing out on him again.

  “Erica?” She placed a hand over the mouth piece on her cell phone and addressed the others in the room. “If you don’t mind, I need a few moments please?”

  Ramirez and Trent moved through the open door into an adjoining salon. She could still see them and they her, but she was able to speak softly and keep things between her and Brock.

  “Hi, we’re at Gina’s apartment house. Here’s what I gathered. She knew the person who killed her. Which is a big break. He drugged her, so it was hard to see clearly where he took her, but I got the sense the location was isolated. There was a strong musty scent, so I think he had her in a basement or cellar, or some other place that can smell of water. He is big.” She ran a hand through her drooping ponytail. “The man we’re looking for is tall, muscular but not a body-builder type, and he’s into hurting women. He carved those words and laughed, actually laughed while doing it.”

  She pulled the elastic band off her hair and tied it back up into sturdy ponytail, all while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. “He tortured them for a while before finally bringing it all to an end. I couldn’t see his face clearly. This wasn’t random; this was a grudge. Hell, this was more like his personal vendetta. I think maybe they rejected him somehow, and this was his way of getting back at them.

  Ms. Lipkin returned with a pad and pen and gave Erica a glass of water. “Are you OK?”

  “Thank you, yes. Just low blood sugar. I forgot to eat.” She lied. Guilt nagged her since the poor old woman had been so kind. Ms. Lipkin returned to the other room and chatted with Ramirez. After sipping some water, Erica started taking notes of what she remembered. Still holding the phone to her ear, she wrote and spoke to Brock. She knew everyone was staring at her from the other room like she was some kind of freak, but she was used to it.

  Her entire life she’d been different. Even her mother had gotten rid of her because she couldn’t handle Erica’s “gift.” Erica had smashed her give-a-shit-o-meter a long time ago and knew how to block people out so they wouldn’t hurt her. She lifted her gaze to connect with Trent. He nodded sharply and continued to watch her quietly. She focused on the conversation again.

  “We are on our way and should be there by late this afternoon or early evening. Make sure you don’t touch anything else before you get some rest. You need to stop overdoing it. If you don’t I may send you on medical leave.” Brock’s voice was strained, his worry tightening his vocal cords.

  “We don’t have time for me to wait.”

  “What did the ME report say?”

  “He didn’t sexually assault any of the victims, but still... Brock, this person is out there. He knows we’re looking for him.” She stood and walked to the window overlooking the entrance. She lowered voice some more. “I can feel his interest in the investigation. I have a bad feeling he’s going to up the ante and do something bigger soon.”

  It was more than a feeling. Normally she wouldn’t touch during a murder investigation unless absolutely necessary, but this time she was touching a lot more than she had anticipated. Her heartbeat sped when she remembered the laugh, the satisfaction he gave off when he had hurt Gina. She’d gotten a glimpse into the evil that consumed the predator. Because he was a predator. He got off on making women hurt, and he wouldn’t stop until she caught him.

  Trent glanced around the dining room table and was glad Ms. Lipkin had offered them lunch. Erica appeared ready to fall over from exhaustion. He still didn’t know exactly how her profiling worked, but he had a feeling that by touching things she got an idea of what happened to the victim. It made her an indispensable part of the team and was probably why Brock made her his second in command on this case. What she did was already way more involved than what he had expected. He had no idea she had some kind of psychic power. Clearly she was some kind of empath.

  “Thank you so much for lunch, Ms. Lipkin.” Erica smiled at the older woman.

  “Oh, please, you’re more than welcome. It was no problem to add a few more plates. We always have an excessive amount of food in this place. Kids are always coming in and out, and we need to make sure everyone is fed.”

  Color slowly returned to Erica’s face. Trent started feeling better once he saw her hands stop shaking. It was obvious she needed rest, and he’d be damned if he would let her work herself into an early grave. His wolf growled. He’d find the killer and then take his mate on a much-needed break.

  “Did Gina speak to you about any of her boyfriends?” Erica leaned close and gave Ms. Lipkin a conspirational wink.

  Trent hadn’t thought to ask the old woman that, but it was a good question.

  Ms. Lipkin pursed her lips and passed the coleslaw to Ramirez. His face creased with disgust, and he handed it on to Trent. Trent, who had never been a fan, gave it to Erica. She didn’t even look down and passed it straight back to Ms. Lipkin.

  “Not really. She only ever mentioned
one guy. Derek Holmes I think was his name.” She passed the rolls around the table, and after everyone had grabbed one she smiled and continued. “She went out with him…” She shrugged. “…but then so did most girls in this house. Poor Gina didn’t realize he was a ladies’ man. After a few dates she saw through his playboy act, but before she had a chance to confront him, he broke up with her. He’d found a new one who was ready to ignore his womanizing ways. Trust me when I tell you, I’ve had a few girls whose hearts he broke while they were living here.”

  Ms. Lipkin sighed and shook her head.

  “Ms. Lipkin, did Derek ever try to communicate with Gina after they broke up? Maybe pursue her again with the intent to get back with her?” Ramirez placed two pieces of fried chicken on his plate.

  Trent stared at the dish with fried chicken and almost drooled. It smelled so good he wanted to keep the chicken, but when he looked up Erica was glaring at him, hand outstretched, waiting for the platter. He grinned, grabbed two pieces, and passed the large plate to Erica.

  “No. The boy is much too in love with the idea of girls chasing him. He’s a junior at the college. His younger brother is a lot more serious from what I understand, but I’ve never heard of him getting chased by all the girls. Derek is always with a different girl and loves it.” Ms. Lipkin appeared genuinely disgusted with Derek’s actions, but didn’t seem to be holding anything back.

  Trent made a mental note to see the ex-boyfriend and find out more about him. The picture was starting to look pretty clear to Trent. There were two dead women. Only one man had dated both girls. And they had no other suspects. It was too much of a coincidence in his book. He was about to take a bite of his chicken when he happened to look at Erica. He stopped mid-bite. She had just put a piece of chicken into her mouth, closed her eyes, and moaned.

  “Oh, god. This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.” She groaned and slowly opened her eyes. He gulped and stared. She glanced straight at him and licked her finger, twirling her tongue around the digit slowly.

  He was ready to take the rest of the chicken back to the hotel, strip her, feed her, and then bring her to orgasm with a different piece of meat. He tried to remember she’d fainted earlier, but his cock didn’t give a shit. He wanted her, and if he didn’t have her soon his balls would probably fall off. She was doing it on purpose, but he couldn’t seem to get his brain to tell her to cut the torture and eat like a decent girl. Of course, the sexual tension they’d both been under was making him feel like every move she made was intended to torture him.

  “Don’t you just love some good meat?” Ms. Lipkin grinned at Erica and then at him.

  What the fuck? Was the old lady helping Erica in her cruel game with his mind and, well, his cock? Because he fully believed Erica was trying to work him into a state of blue balls, though at this point it was more like purple balls. He’d gone way past blue after the massage from the night before.

  “You have no idea how hard it is to find good meat, Ms. Lipkin.” Erica blew him a kiss.

  Holy crap he was going to hell. Straight there with a first-class ticket, because he wanted to fuck Erica on the dining room table right in front of Ramirez and the old lady. Screw sensibility, he needed to get Erica out of her clothes. On a bed. Or in a car. Or a wall…or pretty much anywhere they could be alone. And fuck her until his cock no longer hurt from pent-up arousal.

  Trent glanced at Ramirez, but the idiot was so involved with his food he’d completely missed the entire thing.

  “So, er…Ms. Lipkin, do you have any idea who would want Gina dead?” He tried to bring the conversation back to the victim and help his brain and cock get back under his control.

  Ms. Lipkin snickered, knowing what he was doing, and decided to take pity on him. Thank god. “No, she was really pretty but also really popular. She wasn’t stuck up like a lot of the girls that come from the city. Her family is from the Bronx, and she was the first to go to college, so they were all chipping in to help her with her expenses. She babysat on weeknights for the college professors in the area.”

  Erica’s gaze lifted from her plate. “Do you know which professors she babysat for?”

  Ramirez seemed to come back to the present and added his own two cents. “I’ll find out and also see if maybe any of them are connected with Lisa Summers.”

  Trent nodded and finally started eating. Now that everyone’s attention was back on the case, it was easier for him to get his appetite back. His appetite for food, that is. His appetite for one sexy, curvy brunette never seemed to go away. In fact, it felt like it was growing stronger and much more desperate by the minute.

  After lunch they went back to the motel to discuss their impressions of Gina Torres. They met in Erica’s room, since it was the only one with a table to spread their victim information out on. Notes and files littered the entire table and bed surface. The motel room was much smaller than they had anticipated.

  “Okay, so here’s what we know,” Erica started, taking charge, “Gina and Lisa both went out with Derek Holmes. Gina was killed first, but Lisa was found first. Both show the same type of wounds, at the same exact locations on their bodies. Except Gina had some extra wounds that Lisa didn’t. Which leads me to believe he was still hesitant went he killed Lisa. But with Gina…he went further. He added wounds and carvings that Lisa didn’t have. But they are still the same type of wounds, and I can tell by the style that both women were definitely killed by the same person. Not to mention I know they were both killed by the same person,” she said absently and stared at the picture of Lisa’s body.

  His gaze connected with Ramirez’s, who frowned at her last sentence. Trent’s next item on the agenda was finding out more about how she got her information. The dark circles under her eyes indicated she was exhausted, but her voice and speech were clear and concise. He had the urge to grab her and hold her. She looked so vulnerable, staring at the dead girl’s photo.

  “We also know that Gina babysat for professors at the college on certain nights.” Ramirez bounced on the bed. What, was he four?

  “Right,” Erica said, snapping out of her trance. “So what we need to find out is if any of those professors were linked with both victims. I know we have an ex-boyfriend we need to go question, but I want to know if there is anyone else the girls might have in common.”

  Trent could see the wheels turning behind her tired eyes. If the killer wasn’t the ex-boyfriend, who else could have access to both women and have a motive to kill them?

  “Alright.” Ramirez put the papers back in the files on Erica’s bed. Once he’d cleaned the bed of the multitude of pictures and notes, he placed the remaining documents on the chair by the stacked table. He walked to the door. “I’m going to go make some calls. Find out more and give Donovan a shout-out to see if she’s got anything on the social media side.”

  Trent watched him leave. Once the door shut behind Ramirez, he turned back to Erica. She stared at Gina Torres’ photo. Because she’d been staring at it, Ramirez had left it behind on Erica’s bed when he’d cleaned up. Thankfully she hadn’t decided to touch the thing.

  Trent took a deep breath and decided to ask the question that had been burning his tongue for the past two days. “So how exactly does it work?”

  She lifted her gaze from the photo and blinked at him with a puzzled look. “How does what work?”

  “Whatever it is you do to find out about the victims.” He saw her start to shake her head in a negative and continued, “I know it has to do with touching their things, but I can’t figure out what it is you see.” He grabbed the photo and placed it back in the corresponding file. Somehow he knew if he left it out she’d continue to stare at it.

  She gulped and clenched her hands into fists. Finally after a few moments, she looked back up at him. The anguish he saw in her eyes made him go to her, grab her hands, and hold them in his own.

  “Tell me.” He drew circles on her palms with his thumbs, hoping to help calm the distress he saw
on her face. The scent of her anxiety diminished with each stroke of his thumb.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s very simple, really. I touch something of the victim’s, and I see their last moments alive. It could be anything from how they got killed to who killed them. Whatever they saw, I see. If it’s a missing person who’s not dead, it’s usually their last lucid memory from a few hours past. I don’t see things in real time, which is why it’s so important that when I see someone still alive, we try to find them that way.”

  He thought about what she said for a moment. “Do you feel their pain too?”

  She jerked, turning back to him, and nodded. “Yes.”

  Fuck. No wonder she’d been crying every time she touched the victims’ stuff. She was reliving their deaths in full color, complete with a side of physical and emotional torture.

  “How long have you had this…ability?” He wanted to know more about the woman who fascinated him like no other ever had. He needed to get to know her before he bound her to him.

  “Always.” She pulled her hands from his grasp and started to pace. He was sure she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

  “Is that why people think you profile?” That was what Brock told everyone in the department. That Erica was the profiler in the team, and she led every investigation with whatever she pieced together. No wonder they depended on her so much. She knew what happened, but it came at a pretty hefty price.

  She continued to pace to the door and back toward the bed, stopping only to look at him and then slowly turning away. “Yes. Only Brock knows what I can see. He’s…he’s aware I’m more than just a profiler.”

  Jealousy made his blood burn. She was his. His woman. His mate.

  “What’s the side effect of this…this ability of yours?” He knew sleepless nights were a given. She’d never looked as exhausted as she had in the past forty-eight hours.

  Face scrunched in thought, she hovered by the bed. “What do you mean side effects?”

  “What does it do to you to see what you see?”