Page 9 of The Gift
“Through touch, as I mentioned. When I hit puberty, that’s how it started.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if hormones had anything to do with it, but it strengthened as I grew older. Touch is still the strongest conductor, but now the dreams and visions are often broadcast to me.”
“Like a radio signal?”
Her lips compressed to contain a sigh. He didn’t sound skeptical, and his expression was neutral, but she knew what he was thinking when he looked at her,complete and utter whack job.
“It’s not a predictable gift. I wish it were because it often wakes me up at night or strikes when I least expect it.”
He looked at the articles covering the table. “You’re saying that’s what happened here, and tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never met Cheyenne Wilson?”
“No.”
“Never been inside her home?”
“No.”
He leaned forward slightly. “You mentioned her tattoo. That detail wasn’t in the photo I showed you. Had you seen it before when she moved around the neighborhood?”
Challenging her previous statements to trip her up was a common technique. She didn’t argue or get angry. There was no point. “I saw it in the mirror,” she reminded him.
Silence stretched between them. Then he sat back and crossed his ankle over the opposite knee. “Gotta be honest. This is a stretch for me.”
“I know. You want tangible proof,” she said tiredly.
“I want the truth.”
“That’s all I’ve given you.”
“I’m not sure what I believe yet.”
“At least that’s honest.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. Am I free to go, Detective?”
“It’s Lieutenant. But how about you call me Coop?”
“Okay, Coop.” She exhaled, rubbing her forehead. “I’m tired, and you are obviously a skeptic, so, allow me to help move this along a little.”
She sat up straighter, gathering what was left of her patience.
“As you can tell from my file, I have some experience with this. Usually, one of three things happens. You believe me, and we work together professionally. You dismiss me as a crackpot and ask me to never darken your doorstep again. Or you arrest me for the crime.”
“Has option three happened?”
“Six times. Which I know you’re aware of because you have all of that.” She waved a hand at the rather thick file he’d assembled in a quick order. “I don’t have the money for an attorney and court costs to get the arrests sealed or expunged. Completely unfair, by the way.”
It had been a thorn in her side for years; the irritation gave her a second wind.
“Arrests stick to you, even if the charges are dropped. They make the next cop look at you like you’re already guilty. Like you looked at me.”
Coop didn’t deny it. His gaze held hers, steady but not unaffected. He knew exactly what she meant.
She wasn’t done.
“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” she demanded, hands slicing the air for emphasis.
Her elbow grazed the folder. Only a little bump. It was enough to send the entire stack sliding off the table in a dramatic cascade of papers that went everywhere.
