Wherever She Goes (Psychic Seasons, ReGina Welling [novels to improve english TXT] 📗

mind would go there first. “No, it’s nothing to do with Logan, everyone is safe. Everyone except a little boy named Noel who went missing from his house over in Landon this morning. His mother is frantic.” Zack reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a photo and a small, stuffed dog. He handed her the photo, which she looked at briefly before passing it back.

He then pressed the stuffed toy into her hand and ignored the little spark of awareness that rose up in his belly. Something about her always triggered that same intensity as his cop sense, a recognition that stabbed into his gut and twisted.

“You want me to help you find him? I thought you didn’t believe in me.”

“You’re not exactly Santa Claus and I’m not even sure why I came here but I thought you might be able to help. Maybe I was wrong.” He reached for the toy she still held and with the intention of pulling it away from her. As he stepped near, her breath caught.

He trusted her enough to come here when he could be out searching for the boy. There was hope for him yet.

“No, I want to try.” She yanked the toy back ignoring the electric feeling of his hand brushing against hers and after a short tugging match where she felt the toy starting to rip, he finally let go and raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s a little boy. Of course I’ll do what I can.” She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me about him, how did it happen?”

“He’s four. He was wearing a red striped shirt, blue pants, and a pair of snow boots. He’s blond, blue eyes…” he trailed off when she held up her hand.

“None that visual stuff helps me. What I need is a sense of his family life. What was happening right before he went missing?”

“Mom was doing laundry while the boy played in his room, Dad was at work. He does maintenance for the apartment complex down on Grove Street. His boss sent him to the city to pick up pipes and a gas fitting. If it was a kidnapping, we’ve ruled out the father and he’s on his way home now. No friction there, happy family. The front door was open, no signs of forced entry, or a struggle. No known enemies.”

Kat clutched the stuffed dog and tried to concentrate on little Noel, pick up any sensory cues that would lead to finding the boy while Zack paced. His energy was like a caged beast pushing at the bars, trying to break free from confinement.

Distracting.

“I need quiet. Your energy is frantic.” Kat explained. He huffed out a breath.

“This is time sensitive, can you do whatever it is you did with the hockey equipment or not?”

“Yes—no. Maybe. Just give me five minutes of peace. Go into the kitchen, down the hall to your right, brew up a pot of coffee and let me think.”

“Where’s the…”

“Zack. Please, go figure it out. Quietly.” She handed back the stuffed dog; there was nothing more it could tell her.

With a shrug of acceptance, he turned, his booted feet sounding unnaturally loud on the hardwood floor, and practically stomped his way down the hallway toward the kitchen. Kat shook her head at his retreating back and moved toward the dining room where she normally met with clients. Thoughts of him poking through her cupboards crowded out her ability to concentrate on the little boy who might be in trouble. What she needed was a distraction from his presence in her home so she could concentrate.

To give her hands something to do, Kat reached into the well-polished antique cabinet, pulled out a small bag of rune stones, and dumped them onto the table. Just touching them helped ground the energy flowing through her and let her begin to focus on something other than the voice in the back of her head. The one that kept repeating there’s a man in your kitchen, he’s touching your stuff.

Kat’s eyes unfocused as she ran her nimble fingers through the runes. After a short time, she began to sort through the stones, picking up first one then another, turning them over with her fingers and clearing the channels that spirit generally used to send their messages.

“Zack, does the boy have any family on the other side? Grandparents, aunts, uncles?”

“Grandmother, on his father’s side. Her name was June Hamilton,” he called back. She heard him opening cabinets and drawers.

“Oh, I knew her. Noel is Will’s boy? Will was a year ahead of me in school; he married a girl named Sandy. No, Sonjia. Something like that.”

“You going to climb every branch on their family tree or are you going to help me find that boy?” Zack walked back into the room and Kat could see the tension coming off him in waves.

“Do I tell you how to do your job? No. Now back off and let me do mine.”

Once he’d gone back to the kitchen, Kat heard the furnace kick on, the blower sounding unnaturally loud then when it shut off, the silence sounded even louder until she heard the bubbling gurgle of the coffee maker.

“I’m not getting anything.” She smelled the coffee, now. Rich and dark and seductive. It made her feel warm and protected; it smelled like home, like comfort, like safety.

Zack called out from the kitchen. “I can’t find the filters.”

“Wait, you haven’t made coffee, yet?”

“I can’t find the filters.” He repeated, exaggerating each word as though he thought her stupid. “Waste of time anyway. Anything could be happening to that boy by now.”

“No. Nothing bad has happened, he’s safe.” She would address his tactlessness later, “Noel—he can smell coffee.” Kat rose to pace the room. “He’s someplace warm, comfortable.” Now that she had the sense of him, it was easy to pick out the threads, tell which sensations had been his and which had been her own. The loud furnace noise meant a basement