Page 17 of The Psychic

Now, though, he was filling in for both Haynes and Verbena, as the latter’s uncertain schedule was another reason Sloan had been shifted over.

Chief Duncan was down two detectives—at least, one and a half—and a suspicious death had been reported at the Oak Terrace Apartments this morning.

He and Verbena had checked into it just before she left to take care of her mom.

She’d tasked Sloan with interviewing witnesses and family members while she was gone and had promised to help him in the investigation as much as she could from her mother’s hospital room.

Meanwhile, Townsend seemed to be regretting “loaning” Sloan to RGPD and had said he needed a hard date when Sloan would be coming back.

Sloan had protested; he’d barely stuck his head in at River Glen P.D.

But Townsend had just growled at him, something about being taken advantage of, which had zero base in reality.

Sloan’s appointment to River Glen had been as much Townsend’s doing as Chief Duncan’s.

So, when Colleen Dennison at the front desk told the woman in the black raincoat that he was available instead of Verbena, he’d felt mild annoyance.

After a day back and forth with Townsend, he’d barely looked at the woman; his head was full of other stuff.

He didn’t really see her. And not just because her black hood shadowed her face.

His mind was elsewhere and he was already regretting not lamming out when he had the chance.

“I’m … looking for someone,” she managed to say again, ignoring, for the moment at least, the question of her own identity. Okay—they would get to that.

“Uh-huh. A missing person?” he asked, taking a fresh legal pad from a drawer.

“Yes …”

“How long have they been missing?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you feel this person is in danger?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“You do.” He’d half expected her to say there’d been some kind of fight and the missing person had walked out on her. There was some tension about her that made him feel she was holding back.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, what’s the missing person’s name?” He picked up a pen and clicked it on.

He wanted to tell her to drop the hood, but she seemed skittish and ready to bolt and he would just as soon get everything taken down before that happened and she ended up complaining that no one would help her. He’d been down that road before.

“I don’t know.”

Sloan leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You don’t know the name of the missing person.”

“It’s a woman. She’s in a clearing … and there’s a shed, and trees, evergreen and deciduous, and there’s a shed … gray boards. It, uh, doesn’t look that sturdy … and I think there are tire tracks. It’s wet and muddy and she’s just lying there, face turned away.”

Sloan took that in. “You’ve seen a picture?” What was this, a ransom attempt?

“Yes … yes … oh, and there’s a dog … barking.”

“You’ve seen a picture of a barking dog?”

“No, not exactly. I haven’t seen the dog. I just think he’s a part of it. Or she, I don’t know what the dog is. I know I’m confusing you. I just know that this woman’s in trouble and I need to help her somehow.”

She sounded impatient.

“How do you know there’s a barking dog if he’s not in the picture?” Sloan asked slowly.

A long pause.

He felt the hair on his arms rise long before she answered, “Because I heard him.”

She was making a mess of it. She didn’t want to talk to Sloan. She wanted to talk to Verbena. She should never have agreed to come into the squad room. She should’ve turned tail and run as soon as she realized it was Sloan. Jesus. Sloan! Sloan!

He clearly didn’t know who she was, but she was pretty sure when he heard her name he would. And it wouldn’t be good. So far, she’d avoided the question of her identity. That wouldn’t last long.

“Will Detective Verbena be here tomorrow?” she asked a bit desperately.

“You want to give this report to her then?”

“If … if she’s going to be here? But I need to … you, the police, need to find this woman before it’s too late, or maybe it already is. I don’t know for sure, but we need to find her.”

She was repeating herself and she could hear her voice growing higher with tension over the rumble of warm air flowing through hidden air ducts.

“I can’t promise Detective Verbena will be here tomorrow.”

His tone said he would be more than happy to be rid of her, and the way he kept his eyes on her emphasized that fact as well.

She was afraid to put her hood down, but now he was shrugging out of his coat, as if he’d given up on trying to go home.

He already thought she was a crackpot. Knew she was a crackpot.

But he was going to follow through with taking down her information.

Ronnie let out her breath. The room smelled like dust and a faint hovering perfume, which she associated with Detective Verbena.

The desks were butted up to each other and there was a glassed-in office toward the rear that was currently empty, the blinds thrown back to reveal a desk shrouded in shadows.

She could hear some conversation going on in another room but she couldn’t make out the words.

At that moment an officer entered from the back, which she knew contained the break room, and further along, several holding cells.

The officer nodded to Sloan, his glance passing over Ronnie.

“You know Detective Verbena,” Sloan said, prompting her.

His tie was a bit askew, as if he’d been pulling on it, releasing the top button of his white shirt. She caught a glimpse of the naturally tan column of his throat. The darkened beard shadow on his chin spoke to the later hour. His eyes never let her go.

Carefully, Ronnie pulled back her hood. “We’ve … been involved in a case together,” she admitted, keeping her face averted. Her voice sounded like her own again, though her pulse was running light and fast.

“Does she know about this missing person?”

“Not yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me who you are, and as much about this missing person as you have.”

“I already told you as much as I know.”

“A picture and a barking dog. A dog that’s not in the picture, but you think it belongs in the picture. Have I got that right?”

“I know how it sounds,” she said evenly.

“That makes one of us.” He was trying to remain neutral, but she was definitely testing his patience.

She admitted, “I haven’t given you enough to find her. I know that. I wish I had more.”

He swiveled toward his desk and computer screen, clicking the keyboard. “Let’s fill out a missing persons report. Give me the information and I’ll enter it. Your name?”

Ronnie closed her eyes. If she didn’t feel so certain, if the situation wasn’t so critical … “Veronica … Hillyard.”

It was a chicken’s way out.

He typed it in. “Two l ’s or one?

“Two.”

“And the woman you’re worried about?”

“I don’t know her name. I told you all I know. Oh. She has wounds on her arms, her wrists, actually.”

His eyebrows drew together. “That was in the picture?”

“Yes. It’s cold. The mud puddles are icy, ice-edged.”

“Do you have this picture with you?”

Was he playing with her? His tone had grown more and more remote. “In a manner of speaking.” Her mouth was cotton.

“Can I see it?” He took his hands off the keyboard and slowly swiveled back to her.

“I think you already know you can’t.”

They stared at each other. In a distant part of her mind, Ronnie was annoyed that he looked so damn good. Yes, Sloan Hart had always been attractive, but couldn’t he have gained weight, lost hair, aged early like Shana had? Instead, he pulled at her in a way she hadn’t felt in years … maybe ever.

I’m going to marry you. She mentally cringed away from the memory and felt a slight charge in the air. He recognized her.

“Veronica … Quick,” he said with a nod.

“That’s right. And I’m sure, if you know anything about me, you’ve got a lot to say about it, but my purpose here is to find the woman in the clearing, and I need the department’s help to do that.”

“Let me get this straight, then,” he said evenly, gray eyes assessing. “Cards on the table. You’ve seen this person. Not in a photograph, in your … mind …”

She nodded firmly. “I don’t recognize her, but there’s some reason, some connection, or I wouldn’t be getting these messages.”

“You’ve gotten more than one?”

“I’ve gotten several.”

“All the same.” His tone was without judgment or skepticism, but still he was appraising her and it was all she could do not to squirm under his gaze.

“Mostly … minor differences … the picture’s becoming clearer.”

“Okay, Ms. Quick.”

“It’s Ronnie,” she reminded him.

He nodded, said only, “You want me to believe, so convince me.”

There was nothing in his demeanor that said he was going to listen to her. She half considered just walking out and taking her chances later with Verbena. Or maybe Haynes, although she’d thought she had some information for him and it had turned to dust.

She was in over her head with Sloan Hart. Way over her head. Convince him? His mind was already made up. Still …

“I’ve been getting messages about her, possibly from her, I don’t know. But she’s lying in a clearing with a shed and there’s a dog barking. It’s frigid cold and—”

“You hear the dog,” he interrupted.

“I hear the dog, but I don’t see him, or her.

I don’t know what kind of dog it is. It’s not a yip, but it’s not a really deep bark, either.

” She hesitated, remembering how she’d thought she heard the dog at Shana’s accident and had been looked at by Tesla-man as if she were nuts.

He’d thought Ronnie had suffered some kind of head injury.

“Go on.”

“Her wrists, her arms and wrists, are bloody and the skin is torn. I think … she might be dead. Strangled.” He lifted his brows and she added, “I think there are marks on her neck. Bruising?”

“What’s she wearing?” When Ronnie didn’t immediately answer, he added, “Or, is she naked?”