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he prodded when she didn’t continue.
“She talked to me this time.”
He pulled back, his eyebrows twitching upward.
“I know it sounds crazy, but she heard me. She talked back. That’s never happened before.” Maybe because Lily had spent most of her life running from the visions, she’d never really explored the limits of her ability. She still couldn’t think of it as a gift, not like her sisters’.
“You get migraines when you have visions?”
“Except when I don’t fight them.”
He picked up a pencil and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. He jotted something on the page in his tight, illegible scrawl. “That’s right. You mentioned something like that before you zoned out.”
“Before I had a vision.”
“Uh, yeah.” He twirled the pencil between his fingers. “You said you fight them because they scare you.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“How long have you been having visions?”
“Of Abby?”
He shook his head. “In general.”
“Since I was little.” The visions had been part of her life for as long as she could remember.
“And you’ve always had headaches?”
“Not always.” Before her father died, she’d never had the headaches. But before then, she’d never had to fear her visions, either. “When I was younger, I didn’t have headaches. But I didn’t know to fight the visions.”
For the first time he looked genuinely surprised. “They didn’t scare you then? Why not?”
A flash of blood on jagged steel flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes, pushing it down into the dark place inside her. “I hadn’t seen the bad things yet.”
“Like what?” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Monsters?”
Was he making fun of her? He looked serious, so she answered. “I see people hurt. Killed. People in pain.”
People like her father, bleeding to death on a bed of bloodstained sawdust…
“How do you know you don’t have headaches when you don’t fight the visions?”
“I had one the other day and didn’t fight it. I didn’t have any pain at all.”
He cocked his head. “How can you know that’s why?”
She sighed. “I suppose I can’t. Does it matter? I’m going to keep trying to have them even if they hurt.”
“Why would you put yourself through that?”
“Because Abby’s still alive. I can still help her.”
McBride looked at Lily for a tense moment. “Why are you having visions of Abby Walters? Why you in particular?”
“I don’t know.” The suspicion in his voice made her stomach cramp.
“When did they start?”
“Friday, at the school.” The memory of those first brief glimpses of Abby remained vivid. Frightened blue eyes. Tearstained cheeks. Tangled red hair. A terrified cry.
“Did you have the vision before or after you talked to me?” McBride touched the back of her hand, trailing his fingers over her skin, painting her with fire.
She swallowed with difficulty, resisting the urge to beg him to touch her again. “Before.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How soon before?”
“Just before, I guess.”
He met her gaze for a long, electric moment, his eyes now a deep forest-green. “What did you see that first time?”
She related the brief snatches of that vision, then told him about later seeing Abby in the car. “I think they were moving her to wherever they are now.”
He tapped his fingers on the table mere inches from her hand. She watched them move, wishing they would touch her again. Her fingers itched to close the distance between them, but she resisted, forcing herself to look up at him, away from that tempting hand. But the smoldering emerald of his eyes did little to cool the heat starting to build inside her.
She licked her lips and tried to focus. “Is it against the rules for you to tell me how Abby’s mother died?”
He didn’t answer.
“I don’t need details, I just…” She sighed, trying to explain the sensations she’d felt when talking to the kidnapper. “The man who called was desperate. I know he made a ransom demand, and maybe that’s what they wanted all along. But I don’t think they originally planned on a ransom call.”
McBride cut his eyes toward her.
“He sounded scared. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Mrs. Walters wasn’t supposed to die.”
He caught her wrist. “Why do you say that?” His voice was tinged with suspicion, his eyes turning mossy brown.
“She fought, right?” Lily couldn’t say how she knew that, but she did. “They didn’t think she’d fight them. Maybe they don’t have children of their own and don’t know what a mother will do when her child’s in danger.”
He let go of her, but the heat of his touch lingered. She rubbed her wrist, trying to wipe away the tingling sensation his grip had imprinted in the tender flesh, as if every nerve ending had suddenly come alive. “That’s how it happened, isn’t it?” she asked.
He leaned toward her across the small table, close enough for her to breathe in his warm, spicy scent. “Why are you really interested in this case?”
She lifted her chin. “I keep seeing that scared little girl in my mind. I have to try to help her.”
“You can’t,” he said bluntly.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because she’s already dead.”
Sharp-edged and stone-cold, his words slammed into Lily like a physical blow. She shook her head. “That’s not true. The kidnappers just called—”
“What makes you think it wasn’t a crank call?”
“I recognized the voice.”
“So you say.”
Lily shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out his words as easily. “I know it was him.”
“I’ve been a cop for sixteen years. I’ve investigated five nonparental child abductions over that time.” Weariness crept into his matter-of-fact tone. “Kidnappers don’t take five days to make a ransom call. They know it gives the cops too much time to get involved.”
Lily opened her eyes but saw nothing but blackness. A soft, pain-wracked voice filled the darkness.
She’s gone!
The darkness dissipated, the familiar decor of her kitchen coming back into focus, the echo of those two heartbroken words fading into the hum of the refrigerator behind her. Lily found McBride staring at her, his forehead creased with a frown.
He rose, his chair scraping against the tile floor. “I’ve put a patrol car outside to keep an eye on this place tonight. Tomorrow, with your permission, we’ll tap your phone in case the man calls again.” He didn’t wait for her answer, making it halfway to the living room by the time Lily got her legs to work.
She followed him to the door, still shaking from the brief vision. Where had that woman’s voice come from, pitched low with misery? Coming as it had in the wake of McBride’s bitter words, was it connected to