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She met Mrs. Thompson at the kitchen door and took the saucer from her unsteady hand. “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Thompson? Sheriff McClintock left a piece of paper on the table for you to jot down Holly’s male friends.”
She helped Mrs. Thompson take a seat, placing her glass of liquid comfort on the table in front of her. Balancing her cup and saucer, Dana settled next to Rafe again. She inhaled the fragrant tea before taking a sip. Mrs. Thompson must have gotten the tea from Auntie Mary because it tasted and smelled like her own special blend.
Rafe asked, “Did your daughter seem worried about anything the past few weeks? Did she complain about anyone following or harassing her?”
“My Holly never worried about a thing. She was a high-spirited girl who liked to have fun.” Mrs. Thompson sniffled and took another gulp of bourbon.
“Did she keep a diary? Have a computer? Send e-mails to friends?”
“She spent a lot of time on the computer. Would you like to see it? It’s in her room.”
They followed Mrs. Thompson as she weaved down the short hallway, the cat threading between her ankles. She threw open the door to a small room, crowded with furniture and plastered with posters of tattooed singers and grungy-looking bands.
Dana stepped into the room. The heavy perfume of the wilting roses by the window saturated the air, and Dana massaged her temple against a sudden pain. She hoped her allergy to cats wasn’t kicking in.
Photos lined the edge of the dresser mirror, and she bent forward to study the smiling faces. Holly had a lot of friends, and a lot of those friends included men. If they planned to track down all of these guys, they had a huge task in front of them. But they could start with Brice.
Mrs. Thompson backed out of the room. “You two can look around. I’ll start working on that list.”
Dana noticed her empty glass and figured Mrs. Thompson probably needed a refill, or maybe she just couldn’t face her daughter’s bedroom.
“Are you surprised that Brice was seeing Holly?”
“Not really, but I’m surprised he didn’t mention it. I’ll be having a conversation with Brice about his relationship with Holly and about police protocol.”
Rafe straddled the chair in front of the computer and brought up Holly’s e-mail. “It’ll take a while to go through these. I suppose Mrs. Thompson will let us take the computer with us, or we’ll get a court order to confiscate it.”
“I’m sure she’ll let us have it without a court order.” Dana flipped up the lid of a small pink box on the dresser and a tiny ballerina sprang to life, spinning to Tchaikovsky. A warm flush spread across Dana’s skin, and she lifted the back of her hair and fanned herself. Where’d that cat go?
Rafe tapped a few keys on the keyboard and said, “I wonder if she has one of those My Space pages. Your cyber crimes unit could probably get us a password.”
“Mmm.” Dana smoothed her palm along Holly’s bedspread, and her hand tingled. Must be a little static electricity in the room .
She sat on the edge of the bed and rummaged through the nightstand. Didn’t look like Holly kept a diary, but she did have a variety of sex toys and a few condoms. Dana picked up a decorative hairbrush with strands of long, dark hair clinging to the bristles.
Running her fingers across the bristles, she closed her eyes. Her breathing deepened, and Rafe’s voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away.
An unseen force jolted her body and her hand curled around the carved handle of the brush as an explosion of lights flared behind her closed eyelids. The roaring in her ears blocked out all her other senses. Her body went rigid and then floated, weightless, timeless.
Then the vision took control of her mind.
Chapter Four
“All these password-protected files are beyond my computer skills, but I’m sure your guys can get in.” Rafe clicked the mouse a few times to shut down Holly’s computer. He pulled open a desk drawer and grabbed a handful of loose papers and photos. “At least there’s no shortage of pictures to study. I don’t see any of Brice.”
A soft moan brushed the back of his neck, making the hair there stand on end. He jerked his head around and drew his brows over his nose. “What are you doing? Taking a nap?”
Reclining on Holly’s jungle-print bedspread, Dana clutched a hairbrush to her chest, her wide eyes staring at the ceiling. Her lips moved as if repeating a phrase over and over, but Rafe couldn’t hear any sound.
“Dana!” His voice exploded in the room, but Dana didn’t move a muscle except for her mouth forming silent words. Rafe charged to his feet, Holly’s papers and memorabilia scattering on the hardwood floor.
He reached the edge of the bed in two steps and clasped Dana’s arm, crossed over her chest. Alarm raced through every cell in his body as his fingers tripped across her rigid, cold flesh. Her eyes, directed toward the ceiling, held a vacant look, but they flickered back and forth as if she followed some action only she could see.
A vise gripped Rafe’s chest. Was Dana having some kind of seizure? Should he try to move her? Rubbing his hands along her stiff arms, he murmured her name over and over. Her breath, deep and steady, reassured him.
But only for a moment.
She choked and her eyes bulged from their sockets. As Rafe scrambled for his cell phone to call 911, Dana snatched her hands from his, bringing them to her throat. With a wrenching cry, she sat up straight, coughing and sputtering.
Rafe dropped the phone and gripped her shoulders. “Are you all right? What happened? Should I call an ambulance?”
Her gaze cleared and focused on his face. The color ebbed back into her cheeks and she shook her head. “I—I’m fine.”
“You were not fine one minute ago.” His hand slipped to her back where he rubbed it in little circles. “Did you have an asthma attack or something?”
Although her strange posture and skittering gaze didn’t resemble any asthma attack he’d ever seen.
“You were choking. Can you breathe okay?” He skimmed the back of his hand across her cool, dry forehead.
She raised a hand to her slender throat and encircled it with her fingers, a frown marring her smooth skin. “I can breathe just fine.”
Dana may be breathing just fine, but his galloping heart had his breath coming out in short spurts. Hunching over, Rafe retrieved his cell phone from the floor. “I’m calling 911.”
Her hand shot out and she captured his wrist in a strong grip. “Don’t.”
He narrowed his eyes while he tapped the phone against his palm. “If you can’t tell me what just happened in here, I’m calling you an ambulance. Your body was as stiff as a block of wood, and you were completely unresponsive.”
“I’m not exactly sure what happened, Rafe.” She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “I blacked out for a moment.”
“Blacked out?” He swallowed hard and slid up his cell. “That’s it. I’m calling 911.”
Her eyelids flew open. “I blacked out and then I had a vision.”
“A vision?” His jaw dropped as an avalanche of questions, thoughts and fears buried him. Feeling like the village idiot, he snapped his mouth shut and shook his head as if to clear it.
Dana nodded slowly, the points of her hair skimming her collarbone. “I had a vision, courtesy of the Redbird family. I’ve only ever had visions a few times, mostly when I was a child. Before I learned how to suppress them.”
She’d just given him the worst possible news. He didn’t much relish the idea of Dana Croft traipsing around dead bodies as an FBI agent. He sure as hell didn’t want her involved with a serial killer on this level.
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots, welcoming the pain. “I thought you said the gift passed you by?”
“I lied.” She shrugged and rolled off the bed.
Rafe zeroed in on the hairbrush on the middle of Holly’s colorful bedspread. He didn’t believe in UFOs or Bigfoot, but he’d spent enough time with the Ute tribe and its traditions to have a healthy respect for its culture.
“Did that trigger the vision?” He pointed a surprisingly steady finger at the brush on the bed.
“It was Holly’s hair that did it.” Dana tucked her own hair behind her ears. “That contact with a part of her opened a gateway for the vision.”
“You couldn’t suppress it this time?”
Dana dropped her lashes while folding her arms across her chest. “It’s harder to block it when I’m in a highly emotional state myself.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes as he studied the curve of Dana’s dark lashes and the soft blush that rose to her cheeks. Had his appearance in Silverhill caused her emotions to run high? He’d had the advantage. He knew she was on her way to Silverhill and the reservation. She’d had no warning he’d be here too. Maybe she cared more than she let on with her tough talk.
“Why are you in a highly emotional state?” He raised his brows. Would she finally admit that working together on this case had them both on a roller coaster?
Her eyes widened as she waved her arms around. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably has something to do with a serial killer running around the reservation.”
She didn’t fool him. From what he knew about FBI Agent Dana Croft, she was a professional through and through. But he’d play her game…for now.
He dragged in a deep breath and held it, delaying for a moment the question that had been on his lips since she came out of her trance. The question that could take this investigation in a new direction.
The question that could endanger Dana’s life.
“What did you see in your vision?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? I thought you had an otherworldly moment?”
“I told you, I’m not very good at this clairvoyance crap.” She took a spin around the room, her hands shoved in her pockets as if afraid to touch anything else in Holly’s bedroom. “I saw a dark shape. I tasted spearmint. I felt a tightness around my throat.”
“You were choking.” Rafe extended his hand, intent on protecting her from even imaginary madmen.
Ignoring his hand, she raised her shoulders. “That’s it. I didn’t see anyone’s face. I didn’t hear anyone’s name. We already know the women died by strangulation. Not much use, this vision thing.”
“Did you try to block it before it got going, before it could reveal anything?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her jaw tightened into a hard line and her dark eyes glittered dangerously.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. When had Dana gotten so prickly? As far as he remembered, their high school romance ended amicably enough. She was the one who broke things off and even though their friendship ended with the romance, he never bore her any ill will. Obviously, she didn’t feel the same way. She’d been pushing him away with both hands ever since they reunited over Holly’s dead body.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Dana. If you tried to suppress a vision of a killer coming at you, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. If you’re already accustomed to blocking these trances, your mind and body probably kicked into gear.”
She sighed, her lower lip trembling, and Rafe had to dig his heels into the floor to keep from going to her and wrapping her up in his arms.
“I suppose I did try to block it. I felt Holly’s fear and panic. I didn’t want to feel that anymore.”
He reached out and rubbed her upper arm. Feeling the tremble ripple through her body, Rafe clasped her hand and her fingers curled around his.
“Are you two finished in here?”
Rafe jumped back from Dana like a teenaged boy caught in his girlfriend’s bedroom after school. His gaze darted to Dana’s face before shifting back to Mrs. Thompson leaning against the doorjamb, glass in hand.
He didn’t want Dana to tell Mrs. Thompson about the vision. He didn’t want her to tell anyone.
“She has a lot of stuff on her laptop.” Rafe jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Can we take it and turn it over to the FBI? They can retrieve her e-mails and review any Web sites she visited.”
Mrs. Thompson’s bloodshot eyes drifted from Rafe’s face to the back of Dana’s head as she bent over the nightstand drawer to drop the brush back inside.
“Sure. Take it. I got that list on the coffee table.” She pointed to the papers scattered on the floor. “Don’t leave a mess in here.”
“I’d like to take those photos with me if you don’t mind.” He crouched on the floor to gather up the papers and pictures.
“I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll pack up the laptop too, and we’ll get out of your way.”
Mrs. Thompson pushed away from the doorway, and Dana looked up. She whispered, “Do you think she heard us before?”
“I don’t know. She’s getting drunker and drunker by the minute. This room’s in the back of the house, and we weren’t exactly shouting.” He walked to the laptop and snapped the lid shut. “You realize the importance of keeping this incident to yourself, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I buried my head in the nightstand drawer? But maybe Mrs. Thompson already knows, or at least she was hoping I’d have a vision of her daughter’s murder.”
“Why do you say that?” Rafe cocked his head while he slipped Holly’s laptop into the case he’d found beneath her desk.
“The tea. She offered me some of Auntie Mary’s special blend of tea. Auntie Mary swears that tea relaxes her, making her susceptible to visions.”
“And you think Mrs. Thompson gave you the tea to kick start your special powers?”
Dana shot a glance at the doorway. “Didn’t she have an expectant look in her eyes when she walked in here?”
“How would you know? You never even looked at her.”
“Maybe it was her tone of voice. I was afraid she’d see something strange about me.”
“There’s nothing strange about you, and I don’t think she suspected a thing.”
Dana nibbled on her bottom lip. “Maybe I do owe it to Mrs. Thompson and all the other families to give it a try, Rafe.”
Rafe trained his eyes away from her lips while he massaged her shoulders, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. “I don’t think you should be putting yourself in any more danger than you already are investigating this case. Leave it. If the visions come, they come, but don’t go seeking trouble.”
She briefly laid her cheek against his hand, her touch igniting a fire in his belly. “I guess you’re right. The gift never brought anything but trouble to my mom.”
He ran his thumb along her jaw. He remembered Dana hated comparisons to her mother. Her mother had died before Rafe met Dana, but he’d heard stories, mostly from Pam, that Ronnie Croft had slept around and couldn’t even identify Dana’s biological father. Not that Rafe cared.
Dana’s refusal to acknowledge she had the gift puzzled Rafe initially. She’d never pushed away her Southern Ute culture before. Now he understood that her reluctance to explore her gift stemmed from the fact that she shared it with her mother. She wanted to distance herself more from her mother than her culture.
Not that he wanted Dana to immerse herself in visions of a serial killer. He’d rather use old-fashioned police work to solve this case than put Dana’s life in danger.
She slipped out of his grasp and bent over to smooth the wrinkles from the bedspread with her palms. Her hair hid her expression as it slid across her face. “Grab the laptop and I’ll turn it over to Steve. Maybe Holly has something on there that can help us out.”
Rafe hitched the laptop case over his shoulder and shoved open the door, gesturing Dana through first. They walked into the living room together where Mrs. Thompson slumped on the sofa, her head tilted back, eyes closed.
A dull pain throbbed at the base of Rafe’s skull. He didn’t have children, but he couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially to murder. When his niece was kidnapped, his brother, Ryder, was almost deranged until he got her back.
Rafe kept his voice low, soothing. “Mrs. Thompson.”
