Chapter 3
Devyn swore again. Of all the people she could feel sorry for, why did it have to be this man? Her psychic source pushed at her, urging her to hurry, and she knew better than to resist.
He might not believe it, but he needed her assistance.
They reached the bench just in time for him to crumple onto the seat as if she’d drugged him. “You need an intervention immediately, Detective Laurier.”
That and a month of sleep would be a good start. Well, she couldn’t do anything to enforce his sleep habits, but she could tune up a few things here and now. And she had to be quick about it, before he came around enough to start arguing again.
Sitting beside him, she scooted closer than she would’ve liked, considering his utter disdain for her.
She’d known going to the police station was a mistake and she’d fooled herself into thinking it was only about the Archer case.
Clearly, the universe had a bigger plan, putting her exactly where she was needed.
Her psychic abyss was filled with extra-connections and benevolent helpers that frequently put her in the right place at the right time. Some instances were enjoyable and far more rewarding than this one was likely to be.
Detective Laurier was in serious emotional and physical trouble.
Whatever war he waged inside himself was taking a toll on his body.
Someone close to him should’ve noticed and intervened already.
From her limited acquaintance with the man, she guessed someone had tried.
He’d likely been too angry or stubborn to accept help.
“I want to give you a choice, but if I do, you’ll push me away too.
” She promised herself to do the bare minimum and then he could choose to keep making progress, or slide back into this husk of a man.
Gingerly, she took his hand, waiting for him to protest. He didn’t.
That only worried her more. In moments like this, she longed for gifts of healing.
Something quick and fast that would fix him up so she could get on her way. And far out of range of his temper.
Instead, she had to hope and trust that the answers he was seeking would come to her.
Quieting her mind, she waited for the awareness to lift from that internal well, carrying the information Detective Laurier needed.
Sometimes her intuition arrived as softly as fireflies winking in and out on a summer night and other times it rushed in with all the speed and energy of a thunderstorm.
Of course, the detective would be more like a tornado. Depleted as he was physically, emotionally he was all over the place. Insight pelted her from all sides, too quickly to sort out effectively. All she could do was hold firm against the onslaught.
The grief was obvious and bleak and so big and heavy, squatting there deep in his chest. She couldn’t see the root cause yet. But it was draining him day by day. He needed to let it out, share the burden.
With her, apparently.
Grim, half-heartedly wishing another capable and compassionate psychic would stroll by and take over, she pressed on. Cradling his hand, she imagined the warm sunlight filling his palm, flowing upward through his arm and across his shoulder to melt away the stagnant chill around his heart.
She would’ve testified that hours passed before he finally began to relax and those impenetrable barriers, he’d built softened enough for her to dig into the real work.
The initial onslaught eased to a more manageable flow.
She could pick out individual details now, specific emotions.
A tragic death and expected sorrow led the pack, casting a thick, sticky fog over every aspect of his life.
He wasn’t sleeping because his home was a minefield of tragedy and his bed, more so.
When she tried to see more, she found portions of his home blocked, as if someone had draped black Holland cloth over certain items and areas.
The love seat in the living room. The bed. The shower. One counter in the kitchen. These places oozed that pervasive, sticky fog. How did he function? She did the relationship math. “You lost your partner.”
“Samantha,” he murmured. “The baby died and...” His body shuddered. “The baby first. Then her.”
Tears stung her eyes. Her own sympathy rising like a tide, not just a physical echo of the tears on his face. “I’m sorry, Cade.”
He hadn’t been this way when she’d met him, about eight months ago. Losing a partner and the baby within such a short time would flatten anyone. He needed help. Help beyond this specific moment.
“You knew. You had to know,” he accused, his voice faint with exhaustion. “Why didn’t you warn me?” The demand was there, anchored in his grief, though his voice faded to little more than a whisper.
“Why would I have known?” She didn’t think he was up for an info session on the variations in psychic gifts. Marlene was the one with remarkably accurate foresight. Devyn’s talents leaned more toward finding people and things.
Yes, there had been shadows close to him, but she’d chalked it up to his work and the environment. The Pereda home had been a crime scene that day.
Even if she had known this soul-crushing grief was barreling toward him, she would never have volunteered the information.
That was a recipe for disaster. The future was fluid, uncontrollable.
As Marlene had taught her, armed with foresight, a person was more likely to panic and make things worse in an effort to change a predicted outcome.
No easy way to explain that either.
“You’re psychic. You were there.” He jerked upright and swiveled toward her. “Did you—”
“Stop,” she ordered. “Before you say something you can’t take back.” Being psychic didn’t mean she could control people or cause a health crisis. That was the stuff of myth and legend. “I would never deliberately harm anyone.”
He sagged back, still holding her hand. “You don’t like me.”
Fact. “You disliked me first,” she reminded him. “But liking a person has no bearing on how I use my gifts.”
His eyebrows dipped into a frown. “Why should I believe you?”
“Good question. You are the one who is demanding answers and I’m here cooperating.” More than that, but best not to dwell on those details.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” he asked again. “You had to know. Would you have told me if I’d paid you?”
“No.”
“So, you’re a fraud with a code?”
She stifled the sigh. “No.” He started to say something more. Probably more insults or asinine accusations. She cut him off. “Detective Laurier, I didn’t know anything about you that day aside from your obvious disdain for me. I was focused on finding Nell.”
“Because she paid you.”
“She did, yes. And I care about my clients.” Why was it so hard for him to accept she was a good person? This wasn’t about her bruised feelings. “I’m very sorry for your losses. You need a counselor or therapist.”
“Did that,” he mumbled.
“Do more,” she suggested. “You also need time off to sleep, grieve, and recover.”
“Time is a lie. It hasn’t helped a damn thing.” He swiped at the fresh tears streaming down his face. “Sleep is impossible. Work helps.”
She didn’t agree, but arguing was pointless. “What is it you need from me?”
“No one can tell me why she did it. Not any of our friends. Not therapists. I don’t understand why she left me with... With all of this.”
She could feel the tremors rolling through him.
He needed something that only she could give.
But how could she deliver it so that he would hear it and heal?
She decided to treat it like one of her cold cases.
Gather information, consult the abyss, and work from the answers that floated to the surface.
“Tell me more,” she crooned. “Tell me what you remember.”
“Samantha was healthy. Happy. The day I met you, we were supposed to go to the ultrasound together. But duty called. She was good with that kind of crap. And after she showed me the video. The ultrasound video.” He gulped in a ragged breath.
“We didn’t want to know if it was a boy or a girl.
That fluttering heartbeat was enough of a miracle. ”
He pulled his hand free, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “Then something went wrong. Just one day, it was all wrong and she miscarried.
“One day we were excited. And the next, she was hemorrhaging.” He choked. “We weren’t pregnant anymore. Devastated,” he rasped. “I can’t tell you all the medical crap because it’s a blur. I took her home. We muddled through. In shock, y’know?”
Belatedly, she realized she was rubbing his shoulder, but she didn’t stop. The “medical crap” was irrelevant to the relief she hoped to provide.
“I don’t know what changed. We were both sad. Worse than sad. Obviously, it was harder on her. Feeling that life, all the dreams, and then... Not feeling it.”
She wondered if he realized how in tune he was with his feelings. Empathy probably helped him on the job, at least with people who weren’t like her.
“I failed her.” He leaned back, tipping his tearstained face toward the sun. “I had to go back to work and I called a couple times a day to check on her. She answered that morning, but one afternoon it went to voicemail.”
Devyn’s abyss was offering up the details. She already knew what was coming, and she waited, giving him room to say what he needed to say. To share the burden, he’d been carrying by himself for too long.
“There was a knot in my stomach. I knew it and ignored it. Told myself she was asleep. Or needed space. I kept calling like an idiot. And then...”