Genre: Paranormal Mystery
Warning: Strong Language
Buy Link: www.amazon.com/author/bcbrown
Abigail St. Michael, a former cop, has joined the recently growing ranks of metaphysicals, individuals with abilities outside that of normal human nature. When a murderer stalks her town killing children, Abbey uses her ability of touch clairvoyance to hunt him down. Her only roadblock is that her murderer seems to have his own unique talent, the ability to 'wipe' his victims and their surroundings of any metaphysical energy. With little physical evidence and no supernatural evidence, Abbey is forced to rely on instinct and luck to solve the case. However both Abbey's luck and instinct seem to have taken a permanent vacation as the victims keep piling up with the killer's escalating blood lust.
Davis fished a small notebook out of the pocket of his tweed jacket-
Ugh, were those really elbow patches?
-and began flipping through the little pages as I beamed up at him, my teeth stark white in my dark face. I batted my long black lashes at him in my attempt at feminine demure.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Boss.”
I stuffed the last chunk of the flaky pastry into my mouth and took a swig of my bottled water with attitude.
“It’s two-thirty in the morning, Abbey; nobody respectable eats at two-thirty and calls it breakfast,” he reminded me.
I smiled at him wider. “Since I just got out of bed, after only an hour of sleep might I add, and am probably up for the rest of the damn day, then it is my breakfast. So I don’t give a fuck what time it is.”
Davis shook his head and a limp piece of thinning hair flopped down over his forehead. “Why can’t you just go back to sleep like a normal cop?” he scoffed before he stopped dead.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, the air taut, creating a vacuum akin to that of space. The smile had left my face, and all the bravado I’d staged leading up to this moment to cover the absolute dread I felt whenever Davis called me out to a crime scene was for shit.
When I spoke next it wasn’t more than a whisper, but I knew Davis heard it. “Because I wasn’t allowed to just be a normal cop.”
My old friend had enough grace to look repentant. His first reaction was to reach out to comfort me physically, but I watched the realization of his actions dawn in his eyes and he thought better of it.
I don’t always pick up visions through cloth, but it’s not foolproof either. Some imprints still seep through my carefully layered wardrobe, so most people don’t risk it. I liked it better that way, too.
“I’m sorry, Abbey; I didn’t..."
“Drop it, Davis.” My voice was still hard, but I’d managed to say it with a smile.
Cookie for me!
Davis didn’t respond, so I went for humor to ease the tension.
“Hey, being the department’s pet freak-for-hire did win me a fabulous two-year, all-expenses-paid vacation to Cabo San Lucas. Damn, the early retirement package was sweet, too. What other flatfoot can say that the force footed an entire two years in the vacation get-away of the world?”
He offered a reluctant smile and I took what I could get. I propped my hands on my hips, after slipping my glove out of my pocket and back over my bare skin, and cocked my head to one side.
“So, whatcha got for lil’ ol’ me?” I quipped, trying to regain some level of bravado before I was forced to explore my own personal hell once more.
The awkwardness left Davis’ lanky frame. The man became a hundred and ten percent professional in the space of a breath.
“Jenny Arnette, age eight, found with her throat slashed. C.O.D. – exsanguination. A group of teenagers loitering around the park found her in the bushes by the basketball courts.” He made a small gesture to the blacktop courts less than twenty feet away. “She was found on her stomach, but one of the boys rolled her over, thinking he could do CPR.” He snorted. “I’m not sure what he was thinking; the girl was found in a five foot puddle of blood.”
My croissant turned to lead in my stomach.
B.C. Brown was born with six fingers on each hand endowing her with super powers, thus enabling her to fight crime. When a freak Cuisinart accident severed the additional digits and her powers, B.C. was forced to fall back on her secondary talent -writing. Now she lives between the pages of a book - whether she has written it or not. Since she has not found the surgeon to restore her fingers and powers, she has published three novels to date and contributed to one anthology. She enjoys writing mystery, paranormal romance, science fiction and fantasy but is always in the mood for a challenge to branch out. You can follow her crime fighting or writing at her blog, Twitter, Facebook, or Goodreads.
Twitter: www.twitter.com/bcbrownbooks or @BCBrownBooks