Three lives connected by a psychic bond will be changed forever.
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A killer is leaving mutilated bodies across New England. Special Agent Jake Austin is in pursuit, led by clues the killer purposely leaves behind. In Gloucester, Massachusetts, site of the latest murder, Jake meets Allison Brody, a woman who claims to see the victims through the killer's eyes.
Allison Brody is proud of her gypsy heritage, but tries to hide the gifts inherited from her bloodline. Through strange visions and a connection that can't be broken, Allison watches as a killer stalks and murders women. The Surgeon is obsessed with her psychic link to him and uses her fear to feed his obsession.
"I'm Detective Lancaster."
Allison raised her eyes to face him with a tentative smile. "Hello, detective." She rose. "I need to speak with you about the recent murder."
"Yes, ma'am. Do you have some information?"
She fumbled with her purse, silently begging her nerves to settle down. "Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?"
"Okay." Detective Lancaster motioned her to the door and held it open. Carefully avoiding physical contact, she followed him down a slim, dismal hallway.
Allison entered the conference room to find the other man sitting at the table. She stopped short, causing the detective to bump into her. A brief flash of an older woman with a pretty smile went through her mind and then vanished. The detective peered over her shoulder and cleared his throat.
"This is Agent Jake Austin with the FBI. We're working together on this case. I thought it best that he be in on our conversation."
Allison's gaze shifted between the men. The younger man had a vibrant aura, an intensity that shook her already rattled nerves. Dark features so compelling they stole her breath and green eyes so deep in color, they were hypnotic. Dangerous came to mind. "I understand." Did it suddenly get twenty degrees hotter in the room?
The agent got up and gestured to a chair he'd pulled out. "Please have a seat, Miss."
"Brody. My name is Allison Brody."
"Okay, Ms. Brody. What can we do for you?"
He moved back, but didn't sit. She hesitated, distracted by the agent’s proximity. "Thank you for seeing me. I—I want to offer my assistance."
"What kind of assistance? Lancaster asked. He took a seat at the end of the long table.
Allison kept her head lowered and clasped her fingers. She'd rehearsed what to say, but now that she was here the words wouldn't come. Deciding to spit out the truth, she said, "I've been having visions of the murder."
A quick look passed between the two men, not totally unexpected. She sensed the strongest doubt in the federal agent. Their combined disbelief ravaged her like a sickness. "Think what you like gentlemen, but it will not change the fact that I have something of value to offer in your search for the killer."
"Not to be disrespectful, ma'am, but I'm sure you understand our skepticism." Lancaster smiled, as if to take the sting from his words.
Allison sighed heavily, far too familiar with the closed minds of people, especially those in the police department. "Yes, detective. I do. It's not the first time I've dealt with it."
In the days that followed her first visions, she had tried to help people. She told Mrs. Gulliver there would be a fire in her house on March seventeenth and not to turn on the stove. Mrs. Gulliver patted her on the head. On March seventeenth, Mrs. Gulliver's stove exploded and her house burnt nearly to the ground. Luckily the woman had managed to escape with minimal injury, but she never spoke to Allison again. The Gulliver fire was the first of many attempts to be a good citizen. All ended in a similar way, leaving many to believe Allison mentally unstable, bizarre, or a criminal.
Austin remained stoically silent, but studied her with cynical eyes. She felt like a freak show. His incessant stare whittled away her resolve.
"What is it you think you've seen?" the detective asked.
She forced herself to go on. "I've had flashes of places I recognize and a—a woman's face."
"What did this woman look like?"
"Reddish hair, brown eyes, young."
Massaging his neck with one hand, Jake Austin finally spoke. "That could describe anyone."
Allison ignored him and spoke directly to Detective Lancaster. "It was here, in Gloucester. I recognized the buildings. I saw things through his eyes."
"Whose eyes?" The agent sounded suspicious, with an undercurrent of anger that sent shudders across her shoulders.
"The killer." She tried to stay calm but dive bombers were crashing into the walls of her stomach. Something about the agent unsettled her. He felt almost familiar.
Austin moved to the windows. "Can you tell us where he is, what he looks like?"
Allison's narrowed gaze settled on him. He didn't trust her. Fine. She frowned. "No. I told you. I see things through his eyes."
"Do you know what his plans are? What direction he's heading? Who his next target is?"
Austin fired off the questions fast. No doubt in an attempt to jar her composure, scare her away.
"He's scouting out his next victim. He records information about each possible target in a notebook. The last woman he watched was a young mother taking a child to a birthday party." Allison’s gaze settled on Austin. "I'm assuming he has other women in the book, but I didn't see them. I don't know what his plans are, Agent Austin, but I feel certain one of these women will die if he's not stopped."
"Then I think we'll stick to good old-fashioned police work," the younger man said with a sneer. "You know, looking for leads, evidence, using gut instinct. Dime store palm readers and carnival psychics won't get us any closer to catching this maniac."
His superior attitude and dismissal pissed her off. She clenched her teeth and hands. "I can see you've done real well so far. Third times the charm!"
Detective Lancaster cleared his throat. "Ms. Brody, I'd like to thank you for coming to the station and giving us this information."
Startled by her outburst and a little disconcerted, Allison jumped up. "I'm sorry I've taken up your time." While reaching for the door handle, the bulb in the lamp next to her popped. Both men looked from her to the lamp. Allison threw open the door and hurried out before something else exploded.
"Arrogant, jerk." Allison fumed on the walk up the street.
Her gait was sure as she ranted, immune to the stares of a few passers-by. Who cared if she talked to herself? It was a free country. She slowed the pace and concentrated on breathing. "Find your center. Relax." She fingered the smooth stones in her pocket; blue sapphire for mental toughness, sugilite for courage and conviction, and citrine to keep the feelings flowing.
Her temper gradually subsided enough to think clearly again. The agent's attitude was distracting. She needed to focus. Her skin, juiced by the electricity Austin put off, still tingled.
It happened before. The words of the killer lingered, but what did they mean? She needed a quiet place to recall every word. They meant something, and since the police were no help, she'd have to figure it out herself.