
Deadly Vengeance by Ava Bradley

After losing their father to a corrupt police officer's negligence, the Massaro sisters harbor deep distrust of law enforcement. They do their best to keep their psychic abilities secret, but meddling outsiders with good intentions pop up at the worst of times.

Keeping a low profile is now more important than ever; years of red tape have delayed their wrongful death suit against the city, and twenty-one-year-old Giselle Massaro is about to lose her younger sisters to foster care.

But when a neighbor shows up with an impassioned plea to find a kidnapped girl, Giselle cannot refuse to use her incredible gift before the kidnappers make good on their threats, even if it means putting her family back under the scornful eyes of the local police.

Chapter 1

Giselle Massaro saw a spot of brown scurry across the wall in the kitchen. She glanced at her sister, seated at the table beside her. Corinne was engrossed in her math book. Giselle quietly got up and filled a glass of water from the tap, keeping one eye on the cockroach clinging to the wall. She glanced back. Corinne hadn't looked up.

She tore a paper towel off the tube—it was the second to last one left—and folded it twice. She moved sideways and trapped the bug beneath. It squirmed and dropped on the counter, and she bit her lip to hold back a squeal. She carefully trapped it again as it made a mad dash for the sink. Its wriggling made her cringe, and she shuddered when the insect finally crunched under her fingers. She tossed it in the trash, Corinne none the wiser.

Giselle took a deep breath and returned to the table. The heebie-jeebies from that were going to take a long time to go away.

She flipped the page in her economics book, but couldn't make herself concentrate. If their lawsuit against the Los Angeles Police Department didn't get wrapped up soon, she wouldn't even be able to pay the rent on this crappy apartment, let alone stay in community college. She'd have to go full time at the restaurant just to afford rent.

The lawyers for the city were dragging their feet, tossing up red tape at every turn. One of them had even gone so far as to insinuate she didn't have legal custody of her younger sisters, and perhaps Child Protective Services should be notified. It wouldn't make much of a difference in their case, but Giselle understood it was a scare tactic, a thinly veiled threat to make her go away.

She gripped her pen harder. _As if_. Her father was dead because of a corrupt cop, and she was committed to the long fight. Her lawyer promised her that as long as Aunt Jo kept to her story that she was looking after the girls, they had nothing to worry about. But Aunt Jo was an irresponsible ditz, and even though she was godparent to all four of them, that wouldn't keep the throwback hippie from running off on some whale-saving quest with the next guy who gave her two glances and a smile.

Someone knocked on the door. Giselle's heart rocketed into overdrive.

Corinne looked at her and laid her pencil down. Giselle hadn't told her sisters about the threats from the city's lawyers. If that was the county, doing a surprise check...

"Don't answer it."

Corinne frowned. "Why not?" She got up, and Giselle shot to her feet.

"Corinne, please don't."

Her sister's expression turned to worry. "What? Why?"

Whoever it was knocked again. A muffled voice called through the door. "Girls, it is Juanita, from next door."

"It's only Juanita." Corinne relaxed and turned back to the door, oblivious to Giselle's fear. Juanita had been their neighbor for two years, it went without saying she was from next door. It was odd that she'd identified herself that way, and Giselle's worry still vibrated.

Corinne opened the door and stepped back. Her new smile vanished. "Um. Yes?"

Juanita stepped inside. "Girls, this is my employer, Mrs. Bradbury."

An elegant woman followed Juanita through the doorway. She gave a cursory glance around the tiny apartment. "Hello."

_Oh no._ This was the last thing they needed. Giselle had never met this woman, yet she knew who she was. All of Los Angeles knew who she was. And in that simple, meekly uttered greeting, Giselle heard the heartache in the woman's voice.

"She needs your help," Juanita stated.

Giselle shook her head and stepped forward. But what could she say? _Whatever you've heard about us, it isn't true._

"I don't know how we can help you." She was too quick to refuse, hadn't even heard what the woman wanted. Already she was denying what hadn't been alleged, losing her believability. _Your surprise must always appear genuine._

That was hard to do when she was always on edge, always primed for accusation. Always searching for suspicion in what were otherwise simple glances and curious looks.

Television noises from a _Simpsons_ cartoon still carried down the hall. Mallory and Meadow weren't aware of their visitor. _Please,_ Giselle thought, _stay in the bedroom._

"My daughter—" The woman's voice caught. "Has been kidnapped."

Corinne nodded. "We saw it on the news."

The whole country had seen it on the news. The wealthy family's tragedy had played out on every station at every hour. Giselle had done her best to keep her sisters from seeing it, but Corinne was unusually curious about the world; it was impossible to keep her away from stories like this.

Situations where their gifts could be used.

Thankfully, none of them had gone so far as to suggest involvement.

_I can't let that change now._ Whatever it took, she had to get rid of this woman.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bradbury. But—"

"You have to help her," Juanita said emphatically.

"I don't know how we can help you," Giselle repeated firmly, throwing a hard look at Juanita. She hated to be rude to her friend, and to this poor woman who was in such obvious pain, but she would never admit her gift. Or her sisters' gifts. To do so would be a death sentence, like it had been to their father.

"My husband... he refuses to pay the ransom." The woman had taken another step inside, and Juanita closed the door behind her.

Giselle's heart dropped. They were trapped.

"Juanita says you're special."

Giselle shook her head. "No," she said, but Juanita had already turned to her employer.

"They can find anyone. My girls, they play together, hide and seek, but there is no hide and seek. And they know things. It is a miracle, _dios mio._ " She made the sign of the cross.

Between them, Corinne looked back and forth like she was at a tennis match. Of the four of them, Corinne seemed to appreciate the magnitude of the threat that had claimed their father the least. The stakes.

The danger.

"They are _Curandero_. Spiritual medicine women. They have _the_ _eye_."

"Juanita," Giselle scolded gently. She swallowed and tried to steady her shaking voice. If her tears broke loose, she would lose all credibility.

Their neighbor stepped forward. "Ellie, I know you are afraid. But you must help her. Poor Cassandra's life is at stake."

The mention of her daughter's name caused Mrs. Bradbury to hitch with a sob. She covered her eyes with a hand, then just as quickly rushed past Juanita and grabbed Giselle's hands. "Please, if there is anything you can do, anything at all... It's been two weeks. The police have no leads. After the first week, they upped their ransom. They said they would start sending us pieces of her."

The woman's tears broke her, and Giselle's eyes welled.

"The news said she was out riding her horse," a small voice said. Usually bold and outspoken, Mallory stood timidly in the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. Beside her, their youngest sister Meadow looked absolutely terrified.

"Ellie?" Meadow mewled.

"I should talk to the horse," Mallory said.

Juanita bobbed her head up and down. "Yes! You should."

Her hands were zip-tied behind her to the backrest of the chair, and her ankles were tied to the legs, but it took all of Cassandra's energy to keep upright on the chair. She'd peed her pants... how many times? They brought her to the bathroom once a day to take care of number two, but they didn't care about number one.

She'd lost count of the days she'd been here. It felt like months. They never took off the hood, an old onion sack, even inside the musty-smelling house where footsteps thumped on hollow wood. Its onion and straw odor was always there, and when she woke from dozing, she would instantly know she was still here.

They never let her lie down. When they fed her, one of them would stand behind and roll the sack up over her nose, pulling it tight against her eyes.

It didn't matter. She had seen what they looked like, and she would never forget their faces.

She cried a lot, and they said things in rapid Spanish and laughed at her misery. But she had moments of clarity, and she passed the time by concentrating on what she'd seen. One of the girls was fat, the other had an ugly mole on her chin. She visualized the shapes of their faces, committed them to memory. The angles of their brows—the fatter girl had weirdly plucked curves—the colors of their eyes, and the crooked teeth on the thinner one.

The hateful eyes of the man who'd grabbed Beaumont's bridle and pointed his gun at her.

"Get down."

Other than those words, for the first days they'd said very little to her, in English anyway. They talked plenty to each other in Spanish, but she only understood simple, easy words. She wished she'd paid attention more in Spanish class.

"Eat."

"Be quiet."

"Shit."

That was the worst. It was the mean skinny girl who shoved her into the stinking bathroom and told her to poop, and the first few days she'd been mortified. She couldn't. Then the need became bad, and she had.

She'd begged and pleaded, cried, promised money, but still they didn't talk much. Days later, when she'd been so dry and hoarse but could still promise them money if they let her go, the man had come close. She heard his footsteps, could distinguish him from the two girls.

He stopped in front of her. His silence terrified her. Finally, she sensed him leaning close and smelled his horrible garlic breath.

"Your father won't pay."

Terror a thousand times worse had turned her entire body cold.

"Soon, we start cutting pieces off you, eh?"

She'd cried silently, no more tears left inside her.
Chapter 2

Giselle had to figure a way out of this. But in the forty minutes it took to weave their way out of the city and into the expensive hills of Bel Air she couldn't think of a way to escape, or anything to say to convince Mrs. Bradbury she was wrong about them before the woman turned vicious for not getting what she wanted.

Inevitably, she would. _They demand we perform miracles, and when we can't, they get angry._

Giselle sat quietly in the cavernous backseat with Mrs. Bradbury, while up front, Mallory gazed out the window as if on a grand adventure.

Her sister had immediately called "shotgun," and yanked the door open to sit beside Juanita. The massive Cadillac Escalade was obviously her employers' car, and Juanita had the driver's seat pushed as far up and forward as it would reach. She, too, seemed excited by the situation, and asked Mallory chatty questions about school and Meadow, their youngest sister, who had recently made the girls' softball team.

Thankfully, Mrs. Bradbury didn't assault her with the myriad questions most people did when they learned she was psychic.

_She doesn't truly believe, that's why._ Giselle and Mallory were just a last, desperate step before hopelessness overtook her.

She'd offered money, but Giselle refused it. That way, when nothing came of this futile trip, they weren't accountable. There would still be resentment and accusations, but Giselle would feel no obligation to this woman who'd sought _her_ out. Not the other way around.

It would never be the other way around.

The poor woman alternated between quietly sobbing and dabbing at her eyes with a wrinkled wad of damp tissue.

Giselle's heart went out to her. She wanted so badly to be able to help. But what if they couldn't? And worse, what if the police—

Giselle's breath caught. Dear God, there were four patrol cars and two unmarked sedans parked in front of the palatial mansion Juanita turned the car into!

_Oh my God._

Too late, she realized she'd uttered the oath out loud.

Mrs. Bradbury touched her hand, and Giselle saw her smile weakly for the first time. "It's all right, dear. They're all bark and no bite."

They got out of the car in silence. The tapping of their shoes on the asphalt driveway sounded surreal. Out here, there was no traffic noise, no shouting voices, no grinding garbage trucks or roaring delivery vans. Just the sound of the wind—Giselle didn't know the last time she'd heard the wind over the noise of the city—the chirping of birds, and the rustle of leaves in the majestic maple trees that shaded the spectacular property.

"The stables are behind the house." Mrs. Bradbury led them to a set of grand double doors underneath a gleaming white-columned portico that made the house look like something Thomas Jefferson would have lived in.

The inside looked like a hotel, the polished marble floor so shiny Giselle could see her reflection when she looked down.

"Wow, nice place," Mallory blurted. "You could fit ten families in here."

In the sunken living room, a crowd of police officers stood around a man in a wheelchair. Spectacular floor-to-ceiling windows showed the wooded hillside beyond. On every coffee table and side table, black cases of technological equipment were spread out, and coffee cups filled every nook and cranny.

The officers had gone silent when the four of them entered.

Giselle scanned the group, and her gaze fell on Captain Joel Murphy. He'd been captain two years ago when their father was killed. He was Detective Rivers' direct supervisor.

The man in the wheelchair angled it to face them and rolled forward. "Laura. Where have you been?" He frowned as his gaze slid over Giselle and her sister. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing!" Mrs. Bradbury barked with such vigor that Giselle winced.

Her stomach clenched. _What have I gotten us into?_

"We're going for a ride. Do you have a problem with that?" The venom in her voice was deadly. Mrs. Bradbury threw a pointed look at Captain Murphy. "You?" She swept her arm in an encompassing gesture. "Any of you?"

"You're going for a ride _now_?" her husband asked.

"Beaumont was there. Maybe he knows where she is."

"Who is Beaumont?" Captain Murphy asked, head snapping toward the man in the wheelchair.

Mr. Bradbury sighed dramatically. "Our daughter's horse."

Giselle had heard that tone a hundred—a thousand—times before. That mocking, exasperated, you're-crazy-if-you-believe-this-shit tone.

"Ah. Hmmm," Murphy said. _There it is again._

"We have nothing to lose," Mrs. Bradbury insisted. She turned to Juanita, dismissing the captain. "Take the girls to the stables. I'm going to change my clothes. I'll be down in a few minutes."

"This is crazy," Mr. Bradbury insisted.

Captain Murphy frowned. "Mrs. Bradbury, you shouldn't go out on your own."

"Don't you worry about me! If I get kidnapped, it's just one more ransom my husband won't have to pay." She glared at him as she crossed the foyer and started up the showcase stairs.

Long seconds of misery ticked by while the men stared at Giselle and Mallory.

Juanita fidgeted uncomfortably. "Girls, uh, come this way—"

"Who are you?" Mr. Bradbury demanded. "What have you told my wife?"

_Nothing,_ her heart cried. _We're nobody_.

"These are my neighbors," Juanita said before Giselle could answer. "They ride horses."

Giselle had been on a horse once in her life, and it hadn't gone well. Mallory never had.

Captain Murphy looked at one of his plainclothes men and muttered something Giselle couldn't hear.

"I ride," one of the uniformed officers said. "I'll go with them."

He spoke to the captain, but he stared at Giselle. With short, dark hair and soft brown eyes that were kind and friendly, he evoked an unthreatening presence she guarded herself against. He was outrageously handsome, more movie star than cop, and the crisp black of his perfectly fitting uniform carried an imposing air of command that should have terrified her.

Bizarrely— _unbelievably_ —on him, it didn't. He smiled as he strode toward her, and Giselle's knees wobbled.
Chapter 3

The officer was young and very confident. Almost arrogantly so. He closed the distance, hand outstretched. "I'm Officer James."

Numbly, Giselle accepted his hand. It was warm and dry, his handshake firm and solid, yet still gentle.

"James," she repeated. It was unfair of him to be so handsome. _Don't be fooled by a charming smile. He's still your enemy_.

His smile increased to expose a dimple. "My first name is Brent." He had thick, wavy hair and crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. He looked at Mallory and thrust his hand toward her. "Hi."

"Hey," her sister said in the voice that said flirting was soon to follow. She was only fourteen but incorrigible, and so often inappropriately outrageous.

"This way," Juanita said. "Girls, come along."

"Just a minute."

They all froze at Captain Murphy's command.

"I'd like to get your names."

Giselle's mouth went dry.

He took out his notepad.

"I'm Mallory," her sister chirped, but it was in a tone Giselle recognized as the first hints of snark. Mallory could spit venom like a cobra.

Silver spots swam before her eyes.

Murphy looked up, pinning her. How she hated his bloodshot devil eyes. "And you?"

"Giselle." She swallowed, and straightened her back. _I am not afraid of you._ "Massaro."

Captain Murphy's pen went still. "That name is familiar."

"It should be." She swallowed again, her tongue not working right as she tried to form words. Screw it, she had nothing to hide. _I didn't ask to be here._ "My sisters and I are suing your police department for killing our father."

He slowly lifted his head and pinned her with a narrowed stare.

"Your Detective Rivers railroaded him," she went on, no longer in control of her mouth. "You _are_ his supervisor, aren't you?" Her voice was audibly quavering now, but she didn't care. She was the victim here.

"The psychic?"

"There's no such thing as psychics," she singsonged back.

"Jesus Christ." Mr. Bradbury leaned on the arm of his chair and dropped his forehead into his hand.

"My department did nothing wrong," Captain Murphy insisted.

"Save it for the courtroom, asshole," Mallory shouted.

Now it was Officer James who cranked his neck back and forth like he was watching tennis.

"Mallory!" Giselle warned.

"What? He's just adding insult to injury. We don't have to take his bullshit."

"Need I remind you people my daughter is missing!" Mr. Bradbury shouted.

They fell silent, and a hot ball of shame lodged in Giselle's chest.

Mrs. Bradbury came down the stairs in jeans and hiking boots, wearing a trendy knit shirt. "What's going on here? Juanita, you were supposed to take them to the stables."

Poor Juanita was pale.

"Laura. For God's sake," her husband pleaded in a defeated voice. "This isn't helping matters."

"Is it hurting, Tom? Am I interfering with the top-notch police work going on here?"

Captain Murphy's eyeballs ping-ponged over each one of them. "Officer James is going to accompany you." He hitched up his drooping belt, punctuating his command John Wayne style.

Mrs. Bradbury held her breath, on the verge of argument. Then she gestured with a hand. "This way, girls."

They turned down hallway leading away from the living room and Mallory pointed at Captain Murphy as she walked away. "Our dad is dead, fucker. He died in _your_ police station. Put that in your soup and eat it for dinner tonight."

Mrs. Bradbury gaped at Mallory with wide shock. She then looked at Giselle.

Giselle closed her eyes and sighed. "Did you really have to do that?"

"That guy doesn't have an ounce of guilt." Her voice dropped as she imitated him sarcastically. "'The psychic?' What does it matter what he was? He died while in _their_ protection and that jerk should feel guilty for it, not just be upset because he's being sued."

"Is that really true?" Officer James asked.

Giselle ignored him. "This is not the time or the place," she hissed at her sister. She was momentarily caught by the gleaming kitchen they entered. It was bigger than their entire apartment. "A terrible crime has occurred here, and these people deserve our compassion."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bradbury," Mallory muttered.

The woman surprised her by smiling. "He's not my favorite person, either, dear."

"Ack, that policeman, he is meanie!" Juanita said, fanning her face with a hand. "I will stay here. You don't need me anymore. I will bake some muffins for the officers."

Mrs. Bradbury led them outside through a glass-paned door, leaving Juanita rifling through the refrigerator. Giselle gulped a much-needed breath of fresh air. She'd hoped never to see any of the Los Angeles police force again if it wasn't across their lawyers' tables. The captain's mean eyes had a way of making her shiver from the inside out.

They followed a quaint path through magazine-perfect landscaping and rounded the backside of the house. The officer trailing close at her left made her itch with discomfort. _James_ , she reminded herself. _Brent James_. A handsome name for a handsome man. Why couldn't he at least be ugly?

A massive pool overlooked the sloping property, where below a picturesque barn was painted red and white. Several horses stood idly in a large paddock. The entire scene was postcard perfect.

Mrs. Bradbury led them down cut-in steps edged with railroad ties and bordered with colorful Impatiens. Cool shade enveloped them as they stepped inside the wood-and grass-scented structure.

A concrete-floored hallway led straight through ten stalls on each side, and the green hillside was seen beyond the identical opening at the other end. Giselle's senses were bombarded with the vibrancy of it; the smells, the dirt, the dust in the air, the solid wooden gates on each stall and thick nylon straps of the halters hooked on each one. Everything was bigger and scarier and harsher than the glamorous images she'd seen on TV. Weren't horses supposed to be soft and pretty and magical?

Mrs. Bradbury spoke to a young man in jeans. "Saddle up Tahoe, Peaches, Brandy, and Kizzy, please."

"Western?" the man asked with a thick accent.

"Yes. Thank you." She turned to them. "Cassandra and I usually ride English, but most of our horses are trained for both."

Giselle didn't know what that meant, so she only nodded.

"Which one is Cassandra's horse?" Mallory asked.

"This way." Mrs. Bradbury led her down the wide aisle, leaving Giselle alone with Officer James.

Midway down the aisle, a black beauty stuck his head over the stall door and nickered, then snorted and shook his head.

"This is Beaumont," Mrs. Bradbury said. "He's Cassandra's one true love. He's been understandably anxious lately."

Mallory cautiously walked up and reached a hand toward the horse. The beast bowed his head and Mallory slid her hand over his massive cheek. It seemed her touch calmed him instantly.

A stable worker walked past with a horse, its shod hooves clomp-clomp-clomping, and Giselle eased out of the way next to a glossy red trunk with a monogrammed lid. The horse in the stall behind her poked its nose through the iron bars that made up the top half of the wall, and she jumped away to avoid its gigantic teeth.

Officer James laughed. "Hey, fella." He stroked the horse's long face, and Giselle was surprised when he came away with all five fingers. He looked at her and grinned, and his gaze lingered to the point of uncomfortable.

Two more grooms walked past, and Giselle was hit with a rush of emotion. It was a dense blue wave, like someone had thrown a bucket of water over her head. It was cold and dark, not like clear water but something tainted with disease. The sensation vanished almost instantly, leaving her wondering if she'd just imagined it.

She hated that her visions and intuitions were sometimes powerful and crystal clear; but other times they were weak and fleeting. She wasn't in control of what happened to her, and was often left confused by what she saw or felt.

She shook the discomfort away. Officer James had her unnerved, and she was already on edge. Giselle chalked it up to the stress of the day's events.

She shot him a look. "Don't stare at me."

"Kinda hard not to." He grinned again but she didn't return it.

She sighed. _Are we done yet? I want to go home._

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look like that model, what's-her-name—"

"I do not."

"I didn't even say who she was."

She rolled her eyes.

"What? You can't take a compliment?"

In an attempt to escape him, she trailed after Mallory and Mrs. Bradbury. Officer James followed her doggedly.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened to your father. I wasn't even with the department at the time. For what it's worth, Detective Rivers is a Grade-A jerk."

"Would you be willing to testify to that in court?" When he didn't respond, she scowled at his silence. "I didn't think so."

Mrs. Bradbury slipped a halter over Beaumont's head, and led the horse out of the stall. Giselle jerked to a stop before getting any closer. He was _enormous_.

She coughed and then cleared her throat. "Um, I should clarify, I've only ridden a horse once, and I wasn't very good." She was embarrassed, and wished she didn't have to make the confession in front of Officer James.

"I've never ridden," Mallory admitted. "But I think I can do it."

"Beaumont is a handful," Mrs. Bradbury said. "I've asked the grooms to bring you a gentler mount."

"Actually, I need to stay close to him. I can walk. Can we just keep this thing on him?" She fingered the halter.

"Sure," Mrs. Bradbury said in an eager voice, agreeable to anything that might bring her closer to her daughter.

Giselle tried to hide her sigh. _This is going to end badly._

"I'm going to talk to him for a while." Without waiting for permission, Mallory took the rope from Mrs. Bradbury and eased backward to sit on a stack of alfalfa bales. The horse followed obediently, now standing across the aisle.

Mrs. Bradbury glanced questioningly at Giselle, and she nodded. With a final look at Mallory, she walked toward them. "Ah, here, this is Peaches. Come and say hello. I promise you, she's the sweetest horse there ever was."

Giselle stayed where she was, not willing to get too close, and Officer Annoying stayed with her. At the far end of the long barn, a groom led two horses inside and another followed with two more. "Pablo, you may return Kizzy to the paddock. We won't be taking her after all."

The groom nodded and handed Mrs. Bradbury the lead rope to the first, a reddish horse with a blond mane and tail, and then took the brown horse back out of the barn. Giselle watched him and concentrated hard, but didn't get another emotional surge.

She glanced at Officer James. The sensation had to have been from him. He was looking at her like a mountain lion stalking a fawn. The man definitely jostled her confidence. The black uniform made him impressively official and gave her heart a tremor every time she looked at him.

The grooms quickly went to work brushing down the horses' glossy bodies, and Officer James finally moved away to pick up a brush to attend to the third, a tall brown horse with a white stripe down his face. Giselle got the feeling he was showing off.

"Peaches is the sweetest horse you'll ever meet," Mrs. Bradbury told her, stroking the mare's shiny neck. She reminded Giselle of a golden retriever, and she hoped her temperament was similar. The groom used a metal hook-shaped tool to clean each foot of muck, and he only had to slide his hand down each leg to urge the horse to shift her weight and lift her hoof for him.

Mrs. Bradbury went to brush down the horse she would ride, and the groom disappeared into a tack room. Giselle reached a cautious hand toward Peaches and stroked her neck. The hair was soft and smooth, and the horse didn't try to bite her. She let out a breath of relief. _So far so good_.

The groom came back with a heavy leather saddle for Officer James. He hoisted it onto the horse and then stood back to let Officer James fasten its leather buckles. They even chatted in Spanish, and the groom seemed impressed when Officer James knew how to fasten the hardware correctly.

"We got the ransom call before we even knew she'd been kidnapped."

Giselle jumped. She'd hardly noticed Mrs. Bradbury float over silently. Her eyes were wistful as she watched Mallory with Beaumont.

"She'd just gone out for a ride. At first, I didn't want to believe it. But then she didn't come back."

There was nothing more painful. Giselle had felt similar emotions when she got the visit from the police officer not even three hours after her father had left the house. She wanted so badly to believe it was a mistake, that they had confused him with someone else. After all, he'd been at the police station to offer assistance. How could he have died there?

"Beaumont was missing for four days," Mrs. Bradbury continued. "Then he just came walking back, missing his saddle and bridle. Whatever happened, he was with her for the first days she was kidnapped."

The woman leveled determined eyes on Giselle. Under the intensity of her gaze, she swallowed noisily.

_I can't bear to disappoint this woman. Note to self: have a serious talk with Juanita._

"Do you really think your sister can get him to take us to her?" Mrs. Bradbury pressed.

_Here it comes. The first hint of skepticism, laced with distrust._

"It depends," Giselle responded noncommittally. Did the horse remember? Was he actually there? Was Cassandra snatched off his back and taken away in a car? Did the horse fully understand that something bad had happened? Could he be compelled to lead them to where it occurred? Could Mallory even get through to him?

She voiced none of this. "I hope so."

The groom returned with another saddle and hoisted it onto Peaches' back. He then unbuckled the halter and let it fall, where it swung from the rope that had been tied to the ring on the wall. The horse turned its head toward Giselle and sniffed her, as though curious. She wondered what kept it from bolting away.

"Hello, girl." Her cheek was silky soft. "You're not as tall as the others, but I still don't want to fall that far. You be gentle with me, hmm?"

The groom put his hand around her muzzle and pulled the horse back toward him to slip the leather bridle on. Peaches opened her mouth obediently for the metal bit. He then turned and led the horse outside.

"Brandy is ready," the other groom said.

Giselle looked around for the third man who had been in the aisle when she'd experienced the violent rush of emotion, but he was gone.

Not quite ready for what came next, she walked toward Mallory and Beaumont. Cassandra's horse almost seemed asleep standing up, his velvety muzzle resting on Mallory's thigh. A wet circle of drool darkened her pant leg.

"We're ready to go. Are you sure you want to walk?"

Mallory cupped the horse's face and urged his head up. She stood and stretched. "I can keep a closer connection with him at his head."

" _Are_ you connected?" Giselle asked dubiously. It wasn't a gift she herself possessed, and though it made her feel like a hypocrite, she wondered if Mallory could really connect with animals like she claimed.

"Definitely. He's a passionate personality with complex emotions. He's upset his girl is gone. I think he understands I want him to take us to her."

_Passionate personality...complex emotions_. It was almost odd to hear her sister talk this way. Usually Mallory was all snark and sarcasm, and heaven help you if you pissed her off.

Giselle glanced back at Mrs. Bradbury. The woman watched them expectantly, probably wondering if they were frauds. It would break her heart if Mallory couldn't help her, and part of Giselle's heart as well.

These weren't gifts that she and her sisters possessed, they were curses. She had never tried to convince others of what she could do, and kept it hidden as secretly as she could. Yet somehow, often through meddling outsiders with good intentions—like Juanita—people kept coming to them, begging and pleading. It was almost insulting how quickly those desperate people turned disbelieving, how easy it was for them to shift to anger and resentment. Condemnation.

_Fury_.

She looked at Officer James. In his eyes she saw only hope, but she knew better than to believe it would stay there. She would keep her distance from the handsome officer, and when this all went south, she wouldn't let his disgust bother her.

At least that's what she tried to tell herself.

"Let's go, then." She turned and strode out of the smelly barn and toward the mastodon she would be forced to ride. The sooner they got started, the sooner they would be finished.
Chapter 4

After Peaches gave a wet-doglike shake of her head that nearly sent Giselle flying off, she realized this wasn't as difficult as the time she'd tried riding on the other type of saddle. Now she understood what Mrs. Bradbury had meant when she'd mentioned the different styles. The Western saddle made her feel more secure, and had a giant "horn" she could hold on to. She soon realized she didn't need to, as Peaches had a smooth, rolling walk and a calm demeanor.

Officer James wouldn't stop looking at her. He rode beside her on a much more jittery horse, the two of them trailing behind Mrs. Bradbury, who followed Mallory and Beaumont.

Giselle glared at him sideways a couple of times, but he didn't get the hint.

Finally, she snapped at him. "Did Captain Murphy tell you to keep an eye on me?"

"I just like looking at you, Elle. That's who you remind me of! Can I call you Elle, like the model?"

"No."

"You don't like me very much, do you?"

She sighed and looked forward. "It isn't you. I just don't trust the police."

"Not even if I tell you I would never do something like what Rivers did to your father?"

She grumbled silently, staring at Peaches' blond mane. "You can't say that, because you don't even know what it was."

"I know him, so I know it was shitty."

Giselle lightly combed some of the horse's flyaway strands back into place. Peaches' mane was coarse and thick, but not unpleasant to touch.

"You've never been in his position. But you probably will be someday, and you'll probably do the same thing to get the confession you want."

"Ouch."

"Look, as far as I'm concerned, all cops are half dirty and will do whatever it takes to get a conviction. Some cops are also lazy, and that's the worst combination, because they don't care who they convict as long as they can close their case."

"Wow. That's an awfully judgmental attitude."

"Yeah? I'm entitled." She tossed a glance at him. "Once bitten, twice shy."

"I swear, I've never been like that even on my worst days, and I never will be."

She shrugged. "Give it time. You'll get jaded." It saddened her to think of Officer James ending up like that. Maybe he'd decide early that police work wasn't right for him and find a new career.

"I've never been accused of being lazy. Call my mom, I'll give you her phone number."

She pursed her lips, fighting the urge to smile.

Peaches took an odd step, and Giselle yelped and gripped the horn. Officer James' hand at her elbow steadied her in the saddle. Their knees bumped as his horse shifted closer.

"You're okay."

A hot rush swept the length of her body, the exact opposite of the strange, dark wave she'd felt earlier in the barn. This was bright and tingly and pink, half from fear of falling and half from the solid support of his quick-to-rescue grip.

"Thanks," she muttered. "Peaches, I thought we had a deal."

"I think you watch too many movies," Officer James went on. "That was the first thing I learned. Being a police officer is nothing like you see on TV."

"This job will eat you alive."

"Maybe, but I promise you, I will not become a half-dirty, lazy cop."

"Ha! I would love for you to prove it."

"Are you saying you'd like to see me again, Giselle?"

"No!"

He beamed that handsome smile, and Giselle found herself entranced by his dimple.

_Stop looking at it, idiot._

"I don't know, kinda sounded like you were asking me out."

Now she couldn't stop the smile fighting to break her face. "Anyone ever tell you you're incorrigible?"

"Only my mom, dad, two sisters, three cousins, my aunt—"

"They're telling the truth." She laughed in spite of herself, and lost the battle with her resistance. "People call me Ellie."

"Friends?" His expression brimmed with hope.

She eyed him, and finally allowed herself to return his smile. "Friends."

He lowered his voice. "Captain Murphy asked if your father was 'the psychic'. Is that what's going on here? You're a psychic?"

Giselle lost her smile in an instant. "Of course not. That would be ludicrous, wouldn't it?"

"Not so much."

She stared straight ahead.

"What if I told you I'd seen a flying saucer? Would you believe me?"

Was he mocking her? _I will not take the bait. I will not take the bait._

She took the bait. "You're kidding, right?"

Peaches shook her head, as though she didn't believe it either.

"I kid you not."

She sighed inwardly. Officer James was one of _those_ ; a person who would challenge her desire to stay hidden with what he believed were rational arguments. He just didn't get it.

A lightning fast image of blood and gore flashed through her mind. The monstrously twisted glee in the eyes of the Icepick Killer, Lonnie Franklin, and the horror frozen in Danie Williams' face, were indelibly marked in her memories. She stiffened and fought off a shudder. Peaches' head came up and her big furry ears rotated back.

It had been heartbreaking to see her vision come to life on the news, and know there had been nothing she could do about it.

Seeing a strange object in the sky was not the same as watching a victim die through the eyes of their killer.

"It's okay, girl." She leaned forward and patted the horse's neck while considering her reply carefully, so she didn't sound like a hypocrite. More than anything she wanted to steer him off the subject of psychics, and she had to be careful about how she did it.

"Okay, here's what I believe. First of all, I would never say I don't believe that _you_ believe you saw a flying saucer. Second, who am I to dispel that there isn't another intelligent life form in the entire universe? Even though I've never seen one, and in all honestly, I hope there isn't another species out there spying on humans, I'm just little old me, certainly not qualified to say it absolutely isn't possible."

"So," he prompted. "That's the same thing I could say about the mental paranormal. After all, we can't see radio waves, can we? Who's to say the incredible human brain isn't capable of transmitting signals better than the crude hardware we build? As far as an intelligent species goes, we're babies. We know so little about the brain." When she looked at him, he shifted closer. "And the universe."

As he leaned over, his horse veered closer again, and Giselle couldn't honestly say she didn't like it. Her gift gave her the ability to see deeply into a person's trueness through their eyes, and even though he was a police officer, Brent's held a trustworthiness and decency she liked.

She hoped it stayed there as the awfulness of his job ate at him, day in and day out.

He gave her that debonair smile again and added, "My sister is a neurosurgeon."

Now she did look at him skeptically, but he just twitched his brows and nodded.

She laughed, and asked the question she almost didn't want to.

"Did you _really_ see a flying saucer?" Engaging the officer was a mistake, but she couldn't deny it felt good to finally identify with another person who had an open mind.

_Even if he is a cop._

Brent held one hand up, Boy Scout style. "Swear on my badge. After high school, my friends and I took a three-month hike of the northwest. One night in Utah, they were already in their tents and I stayed awake after I put the campfire out. Three strange lights appeared in the sky. They moved faster than any rocket, across the entire horizon, in perfect unison. But then one broke off and flew directly over us. It hovered for about ten seconds, and then shot off to join the other two."

"Wow. Did you ever tell anyone?"

His mount shook and flapped its head a lot more than Peaches did, and seemed generally more high-strung. She watched him handle the horse from the corner of her eye, grudgingly impressed by the way he rode with such confidence.

"Of course I did. Most people try to convince me it was military testing, ambient reflection on bats, or maybe I even fell asleep and dreamed it." He lowered his voice. "So I know what it's like to be called a crackpot."

Giselle looked down at the reins in her hand. No one had ever come so close to understanding her as Officer James did.

_Brent._

Still, Giselle guarded herself. Seeing a UFO was not the same thing as glimpses into the mind of a psychotic killer. And being similarly called a crackpot didn't truly give them anything in common.

"Other people," Mallory suddenly said. She'd been silent over an hour.

"What?" Mrs. Bradbury asked.

Mallory stopped and turned around. Beaumont snorted and shook his head.

"She met up with other people on horses here. Two girls, I think. They spoke. Beaumont has a memory of it."

Mrs. Bradbury turned around and looked at Giselle. Fear and hope were a heartbreaking mixture in her expression.

Mallory put her hands on Beaumont's massive head and leaned close. It appeared the horse also leaned in to her, and for several long moments, Mallory looked as if she and the horse were sharing secrets. He remained perfectly still, and Giselle knew Mallory was as connected to the animal as she'd claimed she could be. She regretted the doubts she'd felt earlier. Even more, she regretted voicing them.

Mrs. Bradbury watched the scene in silence, but her chest rose and fell with heavy emotion.

"This way," Mallory said simply, and started off at a walk again.

"She's seriously communicating with that horse," Officer James whispered. "Can you do that too?"

Giselle only looked at him. She still wouldn't admit to anything out loud, especially to a cop.

"How far do you think we've come?" she asked instead.

"Probably five or six miles since we passed under the 405, though it's hard to say in woods like this. No landmarks to gauge by, but I'd say we're in Canyonback."

She'd been sitting comfortably on the horse—as much as this could be called comfortable—but Mallory had been walking this entire time.

"Mal, do you want to rest for a minute, have some water?" she called.

Mallory only shook her head. "We're close. We need to keep going."
Chapter 5

"They want proof of life."

Cassandra jerked awake. She didn't care anymore, just wanted this to be over, even if it meant her death.

The girl caressed her shoulder, and Cassandra knew they were alone in the house. She only touched her this way when the others were out.

Her hand slid down, onto the bare skin where her shirtsleeve ended, and then under Cassandra's breast. She squeezed and lifted, as if testing its weight. Cassandra cringed and started crying.

"We tell them, we'll give them proof of life. We cut off a finger, and their fancy doctors can tell them if it came recent from a live body."

Both hands now, covering both breasts. She slid her hands down Cassandra's body and over her thighs.

"You have a least favorite finger, princess? Which one would you care the least to lose?"

Cassandra stopped crying, but couldn't stop the panicked breaths she knew entertained her captor.

"Almost five o'clock. Your father has thirty minutes to transfer five million dollars. That is nothing to a man like him, and still he won't pay it for his only daughter. Perhaps he doesn't love you."

_He loves me._

But why wouldn't he pay? She didn't believe this girl. He probably had paid, but they kept her and continued torturing her because they liked it.

"You know, if we cut off your thumb, you lose almost all use of the hand. The thumb is what makes your hand dexterous. Are you surprised I know such a word? You rich white people think you own the world, that brown people are just dumb laborers to make your privileged life easier. You pay us pennies to wipe up your shit and expect us to be happy with it. You never even think we hate you."

It wasn't the first time Cassandra had suspected these were her father's employees, or somehow linked to people he employed. She'd never seen them before, but they had known she'd be riding that day, and where she would go.

The man entered and said something in Spanish. Whatever it was, it amused the girl, and she chuckled.

"I think we should take her middle finger. Imagine how ugly her hand would be without it. She'd be a true freak. Maybe we take them both." She cuffed Cassandra under the chin. The onion sack abraded her skin and dust from it made her cough. She was so dry, but refused to plead for water.

They spoke more in Spanish. Moved about the cabin. It had been days since the man first said he would start cutting pieces off her, and Cassandra hoped they were just bluffing.

Then he said something that chilled her.

"No, he hasn't transferred the money. Get the knife."

Benjamin Ortiz cracked the door to the kitchen and peeked in. When he saw Juanita alone at the stove, he eased inside.

She frowned, but urged him in with a wave of her hand and whispered, "Close the door."

Juanita offered him a warm blueberry muffin. "You aren't supposed to be in here," she admonished gently.

He smiled a big, goofy smile. It felt stiff on his face, but had the old maid fooled. "You mustn't bake these delicious treats," he said in English. "We can smell them all the way in the barn." If he spoke Spanish, sooner or later she would realize he wasn't actually from Mexico.

He peeled the paper away and ate the muffin in one bite. He closed his eyes and moaned in ecstasy, and Juanita beamed.

"We are all very worried," he said, still chewing. "Have the police found her yet?" He knew they hadn't, but he wanted to sound dumb and asking about "leads" would make him look suspicious.

Juanita shook her head, a sad expression twisted into her fat face. He guessed she didn't care much either, it was just for show. How could these rich bastards who paid scraps to their workers expect any of them would actually care? There were plenty of other rich people to offer shitty jobs.

"No. Poor Cassandra is still missing."

"It is true Mr. Bradbury refuse to pay the kidnapper's demands?" It was a risky question, but he knew the entire staff had been whispering about it. "Mr. Bradbury must be a very proud man. If my son was kidnapped, I would pay anything to get him back."

"Oh? You have a son, Benjamin?"

"He is in Mexico. I cannot afford to bring him here. But someday."

Juanita sighed. "I do not think it is pride. I think he believes they won't give her back, even if he does pay. He wants them to know they will not profit from this crime."

Benjamin helped himself to another muffin. When Juanita clucked and swatted him with her towel, he smiled, and she smiled with him.

"Mrs. Bradbury looks happy today. She went for a ride. It is strange, though. A policeman went with her."

"She is out looking for her daughter."

It was as he suspected. They would not find her, though. Still, he couldn't shake away the worry that she had taken the daughter's horse with them, one of the girls with her walking instead of riding. Did they believe the horse would return to the ranch house? _Impossible_.

"That mean policeman in charge made her take a bodyguard," she told him. "He believes she's in danger."

He feigned horror. "It is a curse to be rich."

"It is a curse to be poor as well, Benjamin." She plucked out several muffins and dropped them into a paper bag. "Take these to the men. Off you go, now."

Benjamin walked slowly to the barn, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder. The family had been given until five o'clock to transfer the ransom, and there were more policemen at the house today than there had been in the whole two weeks Cassandra had been missing.

On the second day of the daughter's disappearance the police had interviewed each worker, and the twenty minutes of questioning had been the most unnerving of his life. Still, it had been a white man who spoke to him, and he didn't know Spanish well enough to identify the difference in his accent. He'd kept his answers vague and simple, pretending to be slow and not understand much English. He knew his background check would be clear, because when he'd obtained his work visa he'd claimed to be from Mexico.

They would not find out the truth about him.

He found Louis and Jorge behind the barn oiling the Bradburys' expensive saddles and bridles in the shade.

"Juanita gives you muffins." He offered the bag, and as he'd expected, the men went to the small hand's room to wash their hands and enjoy a break.

He went to the tack room and picked up the phone.

A phone in the _barn_. He snorted to himself as he dialed. In his small hometown in Colombia, there was one pay phone in front of the _farmacia_ for the whole town to share.

Rich people. They would learn their lesson.
Chapter 6

Footsteps stomped toward her. The mean girl grabbed her arm and there was a tug as the plastic zip ties were cut away. Her arms fell forward, her shoulders afire. She wished she could fight, but she could hardly move.

They spoke in Spanish, and their voices rose as if they were arguing.

"No. We take the pinky." He yanked her arms forward.

Cassandra rocked backward. "No, please!"

"We gave him enough chance. Now maybe he will see we are serious."

The blade touched her finger, and now Cassandra did thrash with all her might. One of them smacked her across the head and Cassandra tumbled over, falling through a spinning world.

Solid hands caught her before she hit the floor and shoved her back into the chair. He grabbed her right hand and slammed it down on the table. She screamed, her throat on fire.

"Keep her quiet."

The girl slapped a hand over Cassandra's face, grinding the rough onion sack against her skin and into her mouth. It tasted foul, as if it had been left to mold in the rain.

The phone rang.

For an impossible heartbeat, she held her breath, frozen in abject terror.

A second peal of the phone brought her sober again.

The girl's grip disappeared and the phone rattled as she snatched up the receiver. " _Sí_."

Cassandra hoped and prayed this was the salvation she'd been waiting for, but the conversation was tense, and the girl was growling her answers. The man's boots scraped across the room and he snatched the phone from her. His responses were equally angry. Cassandra pulled her arm against her chest and rubbed her hand. The abrasions on her wrists were so tender she couldn't bear to touch them.

" _Dónde_."

She knew that meant "where?"

"No, no no. Don't worry."

A pulse of light through the weave of the sack signaled the opening front door. The second girl spoke. " _Es problema_?"

_Problema_. That meant problem.

They said more that Cassandra didn't understand. The second girl said, "I think we should go."

Maybe the police had found them. _Yes. Run and leave me here. Please._

The man spoke in rapid Spanish. And then, "Get me the zip tie."

_No!_

Giselle fought off a shiver and realized the sun had gone down behind the hills they traversed. She was tired, and her entire body hurt. She wasn't going to be able to walk tomorrow, and she had an economics paper due and a ten-minute speech to present in one of her electives.

"Whoa, Beaumont."

The horse picked up speed and was almost dragging Mallory.

"Whoa!" She snapped the rope and the horse stopped.

"What is it?" Mrs. Bradbury asked. She dismounted, dropping her reins to stand near Mallory.

"He's upset."

The trail had become narrow and tight with overgrown shrubbery, and they'd been forced to ride single-file for at least a mile. Ahead, it angled left, and then right, out of sight.

Brent dismounted, and Giselle also dragged her aching body out of the saddle. Her knees buckled as her feet hit the ground and shooting pain raced up both legs. Brent was immediately at her side and caught her, one hand under her arm and the other around her middle.

"Thanks," she said.

He eased her upright and then released his gentle grip. Desire mixed with regret. While riding, she'd been flirting with the idea of meeting him for coffee—he'd almost paved the way for her to offer the invitation—but in the face of her pain she became suddenly sober. That could never happen.

"Other people have been here on horseback." He pointed at the dusty earth where jumbled hoof prints were barely discernable to her.

She dropped the reins and told peaches "stay," hoping she was as obedient as Mrs. Bradbury's horse. Peaches worked the bit in her mouth and regarded Giselle intelligently.

Still holding Beaumont's lead, Mallory and the three of them pushed through the narrow brush.

After the right turn, the trail opened on a steep hill that looked down on a narrow gulch. A small, ramshackle house sat at the bottom with a separate shed nearly obscured by the tree growth. It looked old and rundown, as did the two vehicles parked on the dirt road leading to the house. One, a pickup truck, was so thick with dust it looked like it hadn't moved in months. The other was an older model two-door sedan with a peeling soft top. There were two horses in a small paddock that butted up to the shed.

Beaumont shook his head and issued a high-pitched whine that ended with a hard snort.

A cold shadow moved over Giselle and sickening misery made her freeze. Darkness clouded the property; darkness only she could see, like a haze of gray smoke. For a moment she couldn't speak, couldn't move. It surrounded her and seeped into her mind, blinding her to the physical world as though there were a solar eclipse overhead. The others didn't seem to notice her reaction, and Giselle fought to clear the ice that frosted her entire body.

Mrs. Bradbury craned her neck toward Mallory. "Is this it?"

Officer James bristled. "Now hold on, we can't just go barging down to someone's front door—"

"Why not?" Mallory asked.

"We need proof." He shifted closer to Giselle and concern filled his features. "Ellie, are you okay?" He peered into her eyes. She could only give a small nod.

"The horse remembers this place," Mallory insisted.

"Unfortunately, the horse can't speak," he returned in a frustrated tone, still staring at Giselle for hints she was flipping out. His expression softened as he carefully assessed her, and she melted a little inside.

"Someone in there..." Giselle regained control of her tongue. "There's hatred here. Dark anger. I can sense it."

They all stared at her. Mrs. Bradbury's eyes were wide, haunted.

Giselle _felt_ haunted. She looked at Officer James, blinking away a stinging in her eyes. "Do you believe me?" Still reeling from the whirlwind of emotion, she couldn't bear it if he doubted her now.

He looked at her for so long she started to die inside. _I knew I couldn't trust you._

But then he nodded. "I do."

The relief was like a cool breeze, and she realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Giselle shook herself and swallowed back the bile that had bubbled into her throat. Her visions always left her drained and shaky, but she couldn't let the others think she was weak. "Maybe we should just go ring the doorbell. I can go, I'll say I got lost while riding my horse, and ask if I could use their phone."

"No!" Mallory grabbed her arm. "Not you."

"I'll be all right."

Her sister's fingers dug into her. "It's too dangerous. I can't lose you too."

A wave of misery hit her, chaotic and frenzied like the wind-thrown flutter of a black scarf in her face. Mallory had just channeled her fear, and Giselle received its full ferocity. It felt as if she'd been hit dead center with the sweeping beam of a lighthouse. There and then gone, but so powerful for that fleeting second she was blinded. _Two visions in two minutes._ A new record. She felt like puking.

" _Nobody_ is going _anywhere_ ," Brent insisted in a firm voice. "We don't even really know this is the place."

"Beaumont knows." Mallory shot a quick glare at Officer James, and then turned back to Giselle, desperate. "It can't be you. Promise me, Giselle."

"All right." Giselle touched her shoulder, trying to channel her own emotions. _Calm. Soothe. Promise._ "It's okay, Mal. I won't do it."

Mallory's shoulders relaxed and the buzzing Giselle hadn't even realized was there, like a high-tension electrical current, faded from her head. She still felt the echo of it, like the rolling sensation that sometimes lingered after stepping off a boat. _Don't barf... don't barf..._

"I'll go," Mrs. Bradbury volunteered.

Brent shook his head. "Absolutely not. I'm sorry, but I can't take the word of—"

Giselle held her breath.

"—a _horse_. Do you want me to get fired?"

"Listen, Officer James. I trust these girls. If they feel something about that house—if Mallory says the horse knows something—we need to act."

"I'm not saying I don't trust the girls, Mrs. Bradbury. I'm saying we need to stay within the letter of the law."

"There's nothing illegal about knocking on a door and asking to use the phone, especially if it's the wrong house."

"It's the right house," Mallory insisted. She pointed down the hill. "Someone grabbed him, there. A man. The trail winds around that corral. He stepped out from behind the shed and grabbed Beaumont's leather thingee, so Cassandra couldn't run."

Mrs. Bradbury whirled around. "Call your boss, _now_."

Brent touched his shoulder radio. "Dispatch, this is Adam Nineteen." Only static came through. He tried a second time. "Adam Nineteen to dispatch."

Mrs. Bradbury looked at her phone. "Dammit. No service up here. Girls, what about you, do either of your phones work?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bradbury." Embarrassment heated Giselle's face. "We don't have phones."

"The safest thing we can do is go back," Brent insisted.

"You really want to ride all the way back and then come back with cars?" Giselle asked. "How do we know we can find this place on the street? That road isn't even paved."

"Hey, guys?" Mallory said.

"We only have until five o'clock tonight," Mrs. Bradbury pressed in a tight voice. "Please, we have to check it out."

"I'm sorry, but as the ranking officer in charge, I can't allow you to approach a suspect's location."

"Like hell! If my daughter is down there, I'm not leaving."

"Guys!"

Everyone looked at Mallory. She stared down the hill at the house.

A man had emerged, followed by two women dragging a struggling girl with her hands bound behind her back and a hood over her head.
Chapter 7

"That's Cassandra," Mrs. Bradbury screamed. "I recognize her striped shirt!"

Brent vaulted onto Tahoe's back. The horse charged forward, leaping through the mouth of the narrow trail as if to take flight. Beaumont flipped his head and shifted his massive body, crushing the tall shrubbery shrouding the trail.

"Whoa!" Mallory commanded, but Beaumont bolted and she had no choice but to let go of the lead rope. She yelped as it burned her palms.

Mrs. Bradbury mounted her horse. _"Heyaa!"_

Peaches shifted and lifted her head, clearly alarmed by the sudden movements of the other horses. Giselle made a grab for the reins. No way was she climbing back into the saddle.

"Stay here!" she commanded her sister, thrusting Peaches' reins at her.

"No Ellie, don't!"

"I'll be okay."

She ran to the mouth of the trail and started down the hill. Officer James raced his horse at breakneck speed toward the sedan where the man stood, staring up the hill. Mrs. Bradbury, close behind, angled her horse toward the house and the two females holding her daughter.

"Police! Freeze!"

The man in the driveway fired at him, his gun sparking white in the hot afternoon sunlight. Tahoe spooked and bolted to the left, but Brent brought him under control and charged forward again.

Giselle yelped and hit the ground, already falling after twisting her ankle on a rut. The hillside had been plowed over at one time, and huge clods of hard soil made it a minefield. She wrenched her wrist, and both palms came away with dirt. Little prickly weeds grew fresh, hidden in the tall dry grass.

Behind her, Mallory screamed her name. She pushed to her feet and started running again. The man at the house was too far away to hit any of them—she hoped.

One of the girls dragging Cassandra let go of her arm to open the trunk of the car. Cassandra threw her foot up and pushed off the bumper, and when she fell backward the second girl lost her grip.

Brent returned fire. It immediately echoed with a loud pop, and the car rocked as the front tire blew out. His horse balked, spinning in a circle and nearly throwing Brent. He managed to stay in the saddle and reined the horse in a full circle before kicking him forward again.

The man dove behind the car and then peered over the hood, leveling his aim on Brent.

"LA County Police, drop your weapon!" Brent fired another shot, and this time Tahoe proved his courage by staying course. The man below ducked behind the car. Across the hill, Beaumont galloped away from the scene, frantic and confused, lead rope flying wildly.

One of the female kidnappers ran for the house as Mrs. Bradbury reached the scene and vaulted off her horse. It skittered sideways and trotted off.

Brent shot another round at the car—his second or third, Giselle couldn't remember—and leaped from his horse as well. It spun away and galloped off. In the deafening volley of gunfire, she couldn't be sure how many times each of them had fired.

Brent rolled behind a large shrub, and her heart nearly stopped. He was concealed, but not protected.

_Neither am I._

The female kidnapper, a fat girl with meaty arms, tackled Mrs. Bradbury, and they both fell to the ground. Mrs. Bradbury rolled away, coughing. The girl got up and kicked her in the ribs.

Giselle finally arrived at the bottom of the hill and leaped over a small gully created by rainwater runoff. Her lungs were on fire but she managed to shout, "Stop!"

She picked up an old tree branch as she ran and swung it at the girl, who blocked it with a raised arm. The girl winced and stumbled back a few steps, but the branch had been rotted and crumbly, and it broke apart, useless.

Mrs. Bradbury crawled to her daughter. She pulled a screaming Cassandra into her arms and dragged her toward the bumper of the car.

"It's all right, baby, it's me! It's Mommy!"

"Drop your weapon, hands in the air!" Officer James shouted. Another shot rang out. Any one of them could be the final shot that ended her chance to know the handsome officer better. She wished she hadn't been so cold to him.

_Please let him be okay!_

Her mind spun in a panic, and the female kidnapper was staring at her with poison in her eyes. The woman threw a glance at Mrs. Bradbury and Cassandra behind the car, and then started for Giselle.

She tossed the remains of the branch aside, not sure what do to.

_Wait a minute._

She'd taken two years of karate as her physical elective in high school. It had been in her sophomore and junior years, but she had advanced to brown belt. She'd won matches.

_I know exactly what to do._

She dropped into _akido_ stance. The girl bared her teeth and charged like a football player, trying to take her down as she had Mrs. Bradbury.

Giselle blocked and evaded, and elbowed her in the back of the neck. The overweight girl sprawled face down in the dirt.

She could hardly believe it. The girl on the ground moaned and coughed, but didn't get up. Giselle had knocked the wind out of her.

_First thing tomorrow, everyone gets signed up for karate lessons._

_Last shot._

If his superior saw any of this, Brent would probably be dismissed.

He'd put civilians in danger. His order to return home went ignored by all three women, nevertheless he was responsible for their safety.

He'd figured Mrs. Bradbury would charge headlong onto the scene, but he never expected Ellie to run after him on foot. At least Mallory had the good sense to stay put.

The suspect had the protection of the car. Brent was tragically exposed. Even without the civilians to consider, the way he'd handled this apprehension was grounds for termination.

The suspect popped up from behind the car and fired. He was unskilled and his shots went high and wide. _Lucky this time, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while._

Brent returned fire and hit him in the upper arm. The man spun away with a cry, and ducked behind the car again.

_Empty._

A flash of black sailed through his line of sight. Beaumont charged through the narrow area between the trees and the parked cars, heading straight for the suspect.

Brent stayed ready, unwilling to believe the horse was actually on the attack. He was probably just confused and frightened—and _holy shit!_

Beaumont reared over the suspect and thrashed with his forelegs. Brent couldn't see if any of the blows landed, but the suspect let out a horrific scream.

Brent ran to the car and circled around the front. "Whoa. Whoa!"

Beaumont tossed his head and raced away, the whites of his eyes flashing wildly. The unconscious man was a bloody mess. Brent retrieved the man's gun—also empty—and patted him down, shifting him to check the back of his jeans and each ankle. No additional weapons. He paused to check for a pulse. It was weak and erratic.

He ran toward the house. Mrs. Bradbury sat on the ground behind the car, holding Cassandra in her lap. The girl was still bound with zip ties, but she leaned into her mother's hug, sobbing.

He veered toward Giselle and saw her drop the woman with a self-defense move.

He pointed his empty gun at the female suspect. "Stay on the ground, don't move!"

She obeyed, splaying her arms in front of her.

"Are you okay?"

Giselle nodded. "I got her." She dropped to her knee over the girl's neck, pinning her with the force of her body weight.

He'd already been smitten with the pretty and mysterious woman, now he was in love.

Giselle looked at the car with horrified eyes. "Where is he?"

"Down, but alive. He's unarmed." He started for the house.

"Brent!"

He paused.

"Be careful. She's the dark one."
Chapter 8

The house was a derelict clapboard with a single front room that was half kitchen, half family room. Behind it, he could see a single bedroom and filthy bathroom through a narrow hallway. The floor was bare wood, any carpeting that once was had long been torn away. There were empty spaces where the stove and refrigerator used to stand. The stench of mold and urine slapped him in the face.

Several chairs sat around a bare table. Cut open zip ties littered the floor. They'd kept poor Cassandra bound the entire time. Dingy fabric pinned over the windows let sickly yellow light through. Shadows gave the house a sinister feel.

The woman stood in the corner behind the table. She gripped a KA-BAR with both hands, pointed down as though ready to stab with it.

"Drop the weapon," he ordered. "It's over."

"I'm not letting you take me in."

"I won't shoot you," he told her.

"You have to. Or let me go. You got the girl back."

"I can't do that." He edged closer, slowly and steadily. "Drop the weapon."

"I won't go back to Colombia." Her voice was deadly calm, the words carefully enunciated over a thick accent.

"You'll go to prison here."

She shook her head. "They'll deport me. I'm wanted."

"You're not walking out of here."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had probably reported the gunfire, but they might not know specifically where it came from.

"I didn't do anything all Colombians haven't dreamed of."

"Drop it!"

Her voice rose with his. "Those entitled _putas_ got what they deserve. It's only fair their privileged lives know some hardship. They have no idea what it is like to be us."

" _DROP THE WEAPON NOW!_ "

"I go back to Colombia, I waste away in prison as a failure. I die here killing a cop, I'm a hero in my village."

She charged him.

He deflected her raised arm and took her to the ground. He bent her wrist until she cried out and dropped the knife. He twisted, forcing her to bend her arm behind her back to escape the pain.

There was a bag of heavy-duty zip ties on the table. Still pinning her hand back, he grabbed a fistful of her hair to encourage her to her feet. He bent her over the table, grabbed two, and secured her wrists behind her back.

Now she knew what Cassandra had felt for two long weeks.

"You are being detained. Do you have anything in your pockets that can stick or cut me?"

"Fuck you."

Brent kept one hand on her neck as he picked up the phone and dialed nine-one-one. "This is Officer Brent James, badge number 98742 LAPD. I have three suspects in custody. Can you trace the address of this phone?"

"Working on it now, Officer James."

He pocketed the hedge clippers on the table to cut Cassandra free. "I need police and an ambulance at this location. Cassandra Bradbury has been secured safely."

He heard a _whoop_ , and applause in the background.

"One suspected is injured," he continued.

"Copy that. What are the suspect's injuries?"

She probably expected him to say gunshot wound. "He was trampled by a horse."

"I have your location," the operator told him.

"Can you route me to dispatch at Christy Street?"

"Hold for transfer. Good work, Officer James."

Giselle held her breath. Brent had been inside the house for an eternity. A hand on her shoulder made her jump.

"Are you okay?" Mallory asked.

She let the air out of her lungs in a whoosh and nodded.

The female kidnapper squirmed. "Get off me."

"Shut up," Mallory snapped. "If I had a gun I'd shoot you right now."

"You're hurting me!"

"Just like you did to Cassandra for two weeks!"

"Ignore her," Giselle said. "She's nothing now."

She sensed hopelessness coming from the girl. A heavy weight of failure that shamed her. Dark blue fear for what came next, churning with ugly olive-green regret for the disaster of their plan. All of it mixing into a black and oily mire of gut-wrenching agony.

Giselle felt sick herself, and wanted to get away from this bleakness so badly her skin itched. Yet at the same time she recognized the importance of her role in seeing this girl finished, stopped from ever inflicting such misery on another again.

_I can do this_.

She followed Mallory's gaze as her sister looked over at Mrs. Bradbury, rocking her daughter in her arms. They were still crying. Mrs. Bradbury had pulled the hood off her daughter, but her hands were still bound behind her.

"I thought that man shot you," Mallory said on a whisper, her voice so soft it was the pain of the statement Giselle felt more than the words she heard.

"I was too far away. Bullets don't travel that far."

"How did you know that?"

_I didn't._

Brent emerged from the house escorting the other kidnapper, her hands behind her back. The rush of relief was so powerful Giselle nearly fainted with it.

_Thank God._

He shoved the cursing kidnapper to her knees next to them and used a new set of zip ties to bind the woman Giselle was holding down. She collapsed on her rear, numb from holding that position so long.

Brent double-checked the zip ties were tight over both kidnappers' wrists. He glanced at Giselle, then did a double take when he saw her teary eyes.

"You okay?"

She smiled. "I am now."

"Can you stand?"

She nodded and took his offered hand. His grip was strong and secure, and that strength fed into her like a lifeline. Mallory took her other hand and they helped her to her feet. Her legs were noodley, and her entire body trembled.

He smiled and touched her chin as two fat tears tumbled down her cheeks. "You're a trooper, Ellie."

_And you're a real-life action hero_.

Sirens were screaming now. Two patrol cars kicked up a storm of dust as they rounded the bend in the dirt road. An ambulance followed, and then two unmarked cars. She recognized the scratch on the rear panel of one as the car that had been at the Bradbury estate.

He grinned and leaned close to whisper his question. "Where'd you learn that trick?"

She sniffled, embarrassed to be crying in front of him. "I'll never tell." She wiped at her face, determined not to let Captain Murphy see her tears.

The patrol cars slid to a stop, churning up billowing dust, and uniformed officers jumped out.

"Third suspect is over here," Brent said, turning official again. He first went to Mrs. Bradbury and Cassandra, where he used a pair of snippers to cut the zip ties binding Cassandra's wrists.

She watched Brent in action with admiration that grew warmer by the minute. She hadn't wanted to, but she had gone and done it; she liked this guy. The realization only made her sad. There was no possible future with him in it.

Brent and Captain Murphy went behind the car, followed by an EMT. Uniformed officers swarmed the area and the scene buzzed with orderly chaos. Giselle urged Mallory away as officers hauled the female kidnappers to their feet and took them into custody.

Things had been so tense for so long in their lives that every-day little joys had been set aside, and it felt good to hold her sister. She squeezed Mallory in a tight hug, and for once, her sister didn't get huffy about it.

"Don't look," she said as ambulance technicians dragged a stretcher behind the shot-up car.

"Aw, don't worry. I'm okay." Now Mallory did wriggle free, but she smiled up at her. "I wish I had a pet that loved me enough to trample a bad guy."

Giselle laughed. "Maybe later we'll talk about a cat. Or how about a hamster?"

"A dog would be better. Think about how protective he would be for four helpless women living alone."

_We're not helpless anymore,_ Giselle realized. _We never were_.

Police and another EMT crowded around Mrs. Bradbury and Cassandra. Now on their feet, the young girl hugged her mother, hiding her face in Mrs. Bradbury's neck. When one of the EMTs tried to pull her away, Cassandra shook her head and waved him off. He said something, and she shouted "No!" She looked up, and for a moment Giselle thought she was staring at them.

"Beaumont. Beaumont! _Bommy_!"

Giselle turned around. The horse trotted across the hill, head held high and lead rope swinging, obviously frightened by the excitement. At the sound of Cassandra's voice, he veered back toward them and broke into a canter.

"That horse loves his girl," Mallory said.

Farther still, Peaches ambled down the steeper grade at the top of the hill. She stepped on her dragging reins, corrected herself, and continued toward them.

"I should go get her," Giselle said, glad for the escape. She started up the hill, enjoying the exercise on her sore legs. Peaches saw her and seemed to shift toward her, and Giselle would almost swear the horse smiled. She stopped when Giselle was a few feet away, working the bit in her mouth.

"Hello, sweetheart. You're such a good girl. I'm sorry I left your reins on the ground." She collected them and patted the horse's neck. "Let's go down and join the others."

Someone had tied Mrs. Bradbury's horse to the paddock, where two other horses looked at the scene with their heads high and ears pricked. They seemed calmed by Mrs. Bradbury's horse—she couldn't remember his name—and Giselle looped Peaches' reins around the wooden fence. Tahoe was farther up the small arroyo, head down and munching. One of the uniformed officers was on his way to collect him.

"Stay here, good girl. Do you realize you were part of a rescue mission today? This happy ending was a rare event for the Massaro clan, and you helped make it happen."

Peaches turned her head as if to nuzzle her pockets for a treat, and Giselle made a mental note to make sure she got one.

She turned back to the frenzy in front of the house, and her chest grew tight. The area around the scene had a gray cast. It was part jubilation, part resentment, and Giselle knew it wasn't just her abilities making it known to her. As she walked toward Brent, she noticed bitter stares from some of the police officers, and a hulk of a man with mean eyes even scowled when he caught her gaze. No doubt the rumor of her psychic abilities had reached every one of them, and she knew that even though they didn't believe in her, they were angry she and Mallory had been the ones to lead the family to their missing daughter. She knew how policemen's minds worked; some of them probably even suspected her of involvement.

Captain Murphy approached Brent, so Giselle turned toward her sister, who'd moved away from the crowd to stand at the foot of the hill. Mallory looked as uncomfortable as Giselle felt. She wished she could disappear into a gopher hole.

"Don't worry about these police officers. As far as they're concerned, we just went out for a ride with Mrs. Bradbury. Officer James found the ranch house. We don't need credit, right?"

"Right." Mallory kicked at a pebble with the toe of her sneaker.

"If they ask you questions, just play dumb."

"Yeah."

"It's better this way."

"I know."

Giselle knew she didn't like it, but she'd talk more with Mallory, Corinne, and Meadow later. She would convince them she was right. Their safety was the most important thing. Notoriety was a curse, disbelief their ally. Recognition held no value. A single police captain believing in them would only bring turmoil to their lives. A single reporter talking about them would only bring crazies to their doorstep— _again_.

"Do you think you can help bring the horses back to the Bradburys' house? I'm going to ride in the car with Officer James." She was intentionally vague, not wanting to worry her sister.

Mallory nodded, and Giselle forced a smile as she brushed a loose lock of hair behind her sister's ear.

"Thanks, Mal. You did good today. You know it, and I know it. That's all that matters."

"Whatevs," she said with a shrug, but the tiny smile she quickly hid proved Mallory was proud of herself.

Giselle took a deep breath as she forced her quaking knees to take her into the throng of police officers. The grayish cloud of emotions thickened here like fog... but it was nothing compared to the dark wave of raw and vicious hatred she'd felt at the Bradburys' stable.
Chapter 9

Five long minutes Juanita sat alone at the small kitchen table where the family never ate, weeping tears of joy. The kitchen was her private realm, and the only place she felt comfortable. Mr. Bradbury was a stern man, he would probably frown upon such shows of emotion from his employees, even though his daughter had been found.

_Thank the Lord, dios mio!_ Her grandmother always said, positive thoughts equal positive outcomes. Perhaps _abuela_ was up there watching, too.

And thank Giselle and Mallory Massaro. The girls were truly miracle workers. Theirs was a gift from the saints.

She'd worked for the Bradbury family since Cassandra was two, and the little girl was like her own. She'd been such a happy baby, and she'd never shown any of the problem behaviors of many teenage girls. It had to be the horses. She cared about horses more than she cared about boys—thank heaven.

Her girls were smart and mostly well behaved, but even Lupita had gotten harder to handle once she'd entered high school. This year she'd even been caught by the school principal smoking marijuana in the girls' locker room. If _abuela_ had been alive to see that! Thankfully Eleonora and Celeste seemed to learn from their older sister's mistakes, and aside from some bad grades, they showed none of the same interest in boys that Lupita had at their age.

The kitchen door creaked open and Juanita quickly wiped her cheeks.

Benjamin peeked in. "Where have all the policemen gone?"

"Oh Benjamin, it is a miracle. Cassandra has been found! She is alive!"

He opened the door wider and stepped inside. Juanita would have thought he'd look happier at the glorious news.

"Did they catch the kidnappers?" He spoke Spanish, when he didn't usually, and something was odd about his accent.

She rose from the table. "I certainly hope so. Those horrible people deserve the harshest punishment. Imagine, terrorizing a child to steal money from the poor parents! They are inhuman."

"The parents are far from _poor_." He moved into the kitchen and drew his hand from behind his back.

"Where did you get that?" Juanita asked, confused. A split-second later, confusion gave way to terror. That really was a gun in his hand!

"If you scream I will shoot you."

She opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath before those words registered. He punched her in the mouth. Juanita landed on her butt. Her upper lip went numb.

She gave a small shriek as he dragged her across the floor. He slapped a gummy, stinky strip of workmen's tape was across her mouth.

"Mmm-mhmph!"

"Be quiet." He yanked her by the shirt. Stitches popped and he only managed to drag her to her knees. He grabbed her hair and yanked. Juanita clamored to her feet to escape the pain. He shoved her at a kitchen chair, but it toppled over and she landed on her elbow.

" _¡Estupida!"_

He jerked the chair upright and hauled her up by her hair again. This time she slid into the seat without falling. When she tried to speak to him, he raised his hand as if to slap her, and Juanita went silent. New tears filled her eyes. How could she have not seen it before?

Cassandra may be safe, but Juanita recognized her own impending doom. Benjamin was a very bad man, and bad men didn't leave witnesses behind.

He shoved his gun into the back of his pants and grabbed her arm. Forcing it down on the arm of the chair, he taped her wrist with surprising speed.

_No!_ she tried to shout, but the tape pulled at her skin when she tried to open her mouth. He grabbed the other and yanked it so hard the chair rocked. She winced as pain lanced her elbow and shoulder. He taped her hand to the armrest, and then both her feet to the legs of the chair.

" _Plmfh, Bn-a-mn_."

He stood back and looked at her. "How many police are still here?"

She shook her head.

"You don't know, or none?"

She nodded.

"Argh! _Puta gordo!_ " He huffed angrily. "Shake your head if none, nod if you don't know."

There were none, but she nodded. Let him worry, the _pendejo_.

"Where is the _padre_? Upstairs? Eh?" He tipped his head upward.

She glanced behind him before she could stop herself.

"The living room?"

She shook her head. He smiled and drew the gun from his jeans. She closed her eyes and prayed, wishing she could have said goodbye to her daughters.

His boots tapped dully across the marble tiles, and when Juanita opened her eyes again, she was alone in the kitchen.

Giselle waited until Captain Murphy walked away from the group of officers. Several still stood with Brent, laughing and guffawing, and one of them cuffed him on the shoulder. There was an overall air of elation among the men, but she knew that didn't extend to her.

When he saw her coming, he stepped toward her, and his smile helped calm her trepidation.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He was still smiling, but it dimmed with concern. "What's up, Ellie?"

She urged him farther from the group of officers. "I don't have a lot of time to explain, and I need you to trust me."

He frowned. "I trust you."

"No, you don't understand. It's important."

"Of course," he insisted. "Whatever you need. You're the whole reason all of this was possible."

"Don't tell people that!" She cut herself off and looked around to see if anyone had heard. "Nobody is going to believe you," she continued softly. "And I don't want you in that position."

"I don't care what other people think. Let them believe whatever they want."

_Damn. I really do like him._ She put a hand on his arm. "You're a good guy, Brent. That's why I'm asking you for this."

He stayed silent, looking so intently into her eyes she had to fight not to change her mind.

"I can explain more about the 'how' later, but right now I need you to take me back to the Bradburys' house."

"And the 'why'?"

"When we were there, I felt something. I think someone there might be involved."

His gaze slid over her shoulder. "We have to tell Captain Murphy."

"No! Look at the way he's looking at me right now." She didn't have to turn around to know there were daggers in the man's eyes. "Everyone here halfway thinks that I'm involved somehow—"

"Nobody thinks that, Ellie."

"Imagine what he'd say if I told him a dark wave of negative energy fell over me in the barn. He'd look at me like I was insane."

Brent pinched his lips, but said nothing.

"At the time, I thought it was just you, irritating me."

He cocked his head to the side and one corner of his mouth quirked, making his dimple flash.

"But now I'm not so sure."

"We should tell him. He's a hardhead, but he doesn't believe in ignoring threats."

"What if I'm wrong? Brent, truly, I hope I am. But telling him right now that I'm not sure about my senses will only lower his opinion of me. Just humor me on this and take me back to the Bradburys' house. If I feel something, you can call him right away and let him decide if he wants to take me seriously."

_Then whatever happens will be on him, not me._

He stared at her for a long minute. "All right, just to check it out. If you feel anything, we'll call it in right away."

She let out a breath of relief. "Thank you, Brent."

He gave her his charming smile again, and Giselle's insides warmed. She'd made the right choice in telling him.

He called out to a nearby officer. "Hey, Chang—Ellie's not feeling well. I want her to sit down. Let me have your keys."

"Sure man." The other officer tossed them.

The female kidnappers were separated in the two front patrol cars. The thinner one in the backseat of the second car glared at them as they passed, but the officer standing sentinel at the car gave Brent a nod. "Good work, James."

They passed the ambulance and the two unmarked cars. A detective smoking a cigarette while talking to a uniformed officer glanced at them, but didn't give pause.

Every step farther away from the scene brought Giselle into a lighter, cleaner aura. Finally she could breathe clearer again, like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She had no doubt in her abilities, and only wanted to confirm what she knew she'd felt earlier, but a thrill of uncertainty vibrated inside her from having confessed to Brent. Admitting her sensations to anyone went against a true inner belief that was as real and physical to her as the beating of her heart.

Doubt and mockery meant little, but a person believing in her was downright terrifying.

The third patrol car had arrived last, and was blocking the road behind all the others. Brent opened the passenger door and Giselle slid into the narrow compartment. A computer screen, mini keyboard, and a shotgun locked to the dash crowded the center.

One of the EMTs closed the ambulance doors and the lights began flashing. Brent didn't waste the opportunity. He started the patrol car and backed it out as if to make room for the ambulance to back out, then quickly and expertly flipped a tight U-turn. She pulled on her seat belt.

"I believe you felt what you did," he said, sliding her a sideways grin. "Because it couldn't possibly have been me. I'm not irritating."
Chapter 10

The cop trying to catch the horse Officer James had ridden wasn't having much luck. The horse wandered across the hillside with its head down, munching on dry grass. Every time the cop got close, it would dart off, drop down to a trot once it was too far away to grab, and resume eating. Mallory sensed ornery mischief coming from the animal and smiled to herself. _Good horsey._

It was a warm August day, especially on the sun-bleached hill, but for the cop in his black uniform and thick protection vest it had to be sweltering. Even this far away, she could see the raspberry blush to his face and the glistening sweat running down his temples.

Ellie had driven off with Officer Cutie, the ambulance had left, and another patrol car arrived. Officers were securing the house with yellow crime-scene tape. Mallory was uncomfortable in the presence of so many cops, but watching Mrs. Bradbury hugging her daughter was the hardest part to bear.

She remembered her mother as a beautiful princess with a sweet voice who was always smiling. But over time the memory of her face had faded, and sometimes when Mallory looked at her photos it seemed a stranger looked back. Her two older sisters had always treated her wonderfully, Ellie especially in her adopted role as family matriarch, but Mallory wished and dreamed with all her heart that her mother was still alive. Sometimes, though she would never admit it, she pretended that she _was_.

Even though she'd just been through hell, Cassandra was lucky to have a mother who loved her so much, and would help her get through this. She swallowed back a bittersweet ache in her throat and turned away from the tender reunion, oddly jealous.

Up the hill, the cop muttered something obscene.

She suddenly remembered the horse's name. "Tahoe! Come here, boy."

The horse raised his head and regarded her. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard, picturing the luxurious cool barn and the lush, shady hillside where it sat, and it was enough to convince the horse to walk toward her.

The cop uttered another curse, and she snickered privately.

The reins had ridden up Tahoe's neck and were hooked behind his ears, looping by his muzzle. Mallory pulled them over his head and led him to the fence where the other two horses were tied.

"Nice work, kid," the sweaty cop said as he trudged past.

"Bite me, loser."

He frowned as though surprised by her dislike, and behind her, another cop erupted with laughter.

He glared at the other cop. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I didn't see you up there trying to help."

"Oh _hell_ no. It's hot out here!" An Asian cop in uniform joined in the laughter good-naturedly and handed him a bottle of water.

"Hey!" she shouted.

The officers stopped.

"Who's going to take care of these horses?" She hooked her thumb at the two in the pen.

"You want to call it in?" Sweaty Cop asked the other.

"I'll notify animal services," the Asian officer said.

Once they'd walked a distance away, she shyly approached Mrs. Bradbury and Cassandra. They stood in the shade of the trees lining the driveway with Beaumont. The horse carried a new sense of calm, and Cassandra was also calmer, holding him with an arm looped under his neck.

"Um, I could help bring the horses back—"

She almost yelped when Mrs. Bradbury suddenly seized her and hauled her into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Mallory. Thank you!"

Mallory could only gulp awkwardly. _What would Giselle want me to say?_

"Oh, um, I really didn't do anything. Beaumont led us here."

Mrs. Bradbury let go of her but Cassandra grabbed her next. "I don't even know you, and you did more to help me than my own father did."

All this lovey-dovey stuff was gross. Mallory pushed her to arm's length. "No, I'm sure that's not true."

Cassandra's eyes welled with new tears. "He didn't pay. My father wouldn't pay the ransom!"

"Cassie," Mrs. Bradbury said, but her eyes teared up too.

"He didn't! They were going to cut my fingers off. That man had his knife on my hand when the phone rang and stopped him."

A flash of white caught Mallory's eye. It was a news van pulling slowly up the road. One of the officers stopped it with a hand, but she knew they would find a way to weasel in where they weren't wanted. They always did.

"Don't say things like that." It felt strange to give advice to an older girl. If they'd gone to the same school, Cassandra Bradbury was the type of girl, charmed and popular, who wouldn't have given her a second glance. "You don't want reporters to hear you. Trust me, I've had experience with them. They're evil, and they'll twist whatever you say just for their ratings."

The van had stopped, and a woman in a business suit and a pudgy cameraman jumped out.

"We should go," Mallory pressed. Her tension rose as the two tried to bully their way past the officer. Mallory heard raised voices, and watched as Captain Murphy stalked over to throw his weight at them.

_Finally, that blowhard does something useful._

"Yes, we should," Mrs. Bradbury agreed. "Where is your sister?"

The Asian cop was walking toward them, and heard the question. "She went with Officer James. She wasn't feeling well."

"She sometimes gets that way..." Mallory stopped herself, almost having said too much.

The Asian officer stared at her.

Mrs. Bradbury stared at her.

Cassandra stared at her.

"...on hot days," she clarified.

"They took my car, so if you need help with the horses, I can ride back with you." He was looking at Mallory as he said it. She groaned inwardly. Captain Murphy had also started toward them, so she suspected this dude had been ordered to watch her, like Officer James had been on the way up.

"I'm riding back with her," Cassandra said.

"Please, honey. Go in the car with me," her mother pleaded.

"No, I want to ride Beaumont." Cassandra was adamant, and wouldn't let go of her horse's lead.

"He doesn't have a saddle."

"I can ride bareback, or we can put Tahoe's on him."

Captain Murphy arrived and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cassandra, we need to get you checked out. If you won't go to the hospital, at least let us take you home in the car."

"I'm riding my horse!" She looked at her mother. "Now are you going to ride with us, or are you going to send one of these officers? Because either way, I'm staying with Beaumont."

Captain Murphy opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind. He glared at Mallory as if this was all her fault.

"I can ride with them," the Asian officer offered.

"Do you know how to ride, Officer?" Mrs. Bradbury asked in a defeated voice.

He assured her he did. "My wife's family has horses."

Mrs. Bradbury took a deep breath. "It'll be much quicker on the way back. I think we're close to Fox Creek Park. I know a trail not far from here that will get us home in about forty-five minutes."

Captain Murphy grumbled like a cranky old man climbing out of a recliner. "I'd feel better if two officers went with you. Melanie can go in my car."

A shockwave of fear rocked the ground beneath her feet.

"It's _Mallory_ , dick," she snapped. "And I'm gonna pass, seeing as how you took such great care of my father when he was in your _protective_ custody. So unless you're arresting me, take a hike."

"Young lady—"

"Mallory will be riding Peaches back," Mrs. Bradbury stated with authority. "She managed to walk all the way here, so if you want a second officer with us, I'm sure one can walk alongside just like she did."

Without concern for another word out of him, she seized Cassandra's hand and walked toward the horses. Mallory stepped aside as Cassandra pulled Beaumont along. She smirked at him and followed, leaving Captain Jerkface with steam blasting out of his ears.
Chapter 11

Tom Bradbury buried his face in his hands and wept. He'd never cried before like this, not even when his father had died.

_"Cassandra has been found alive and well."_

Captain Murphy's words echoed, fading and shifting until he wasn't sure he had actually heard them, only dreamed them. He sat alone in his living room, the only one who couldn't go to the rescue site because of this damned wheelchair.

Just as well, nobody should see him like this. The founder and CEO of a billion-dollar tech company didn't cry.

"What have I done?" he asked himself. His baby, his precious angel, and he'd bargained with her life. He'd been right, of course, the kidnappers' threats to cut off pieces of her had been all bluff, but now, after the fact, he couldn't understand what he'd been thinking.

They even had insurance against this sort of thing, but he'd refused to pay into this kind of domestic terrorism. Nobody threatened him and got away with it.

Even though Cassandra was worth ten times that. _I could have lost her._

_They wouldn't have returned her_ , he tried to convince himself. _They would have killed her and run with the money, and we'd never have caught the bastards who did it._

A muffled wail from the direction of the kitchen made him hastily wipe his eyes. Juanita was sobbing in relief. They'd talked to her about her emotional outbursts in the past, but today he would let it pass. He knew Cassandra was like a daughter to Juanita. She was probably talking privately to Josefina, the other maid who was still working today, and oddly he felt unwelcome joining in their celebration. This wasn't the first time he'd felt outcast from the circle that always seemed to include Laura and Cassandra.

He looked up as a figure moved into the foyer. It was one of the stable hands. Tom frowned. Was he here to offer his good wishes? The workmen weren't usually permitted in the house.

"Your daughter has been found." The man's expression was stoic.

"Yes." Tom's neck hairs bristled.

"But not because you paid for her safe return."

He said nothing.

"Kidnapped, but you pay nothing. Not even a penny for your beloved daughter."

"The terrorists had no intention of freeing her," he stated, then cursed the knee-jerk reaction to defend himself.

" _Terrorists_ ," the man mirrored, amused. He took the two carpeted steps into the sunken living room. Tom grabbed the wheel grips in an instinctual move to retreat.

"Do you know who I am?"

"You're one of the hands."

"Do you know my name?" he clarified in an angry voice.

Tom didn't.

"I am Benjamin. Last year, I asked you for a small raise in my salary. I wanted to bring my son to live with me. You said no. You pay me the minimum wage, yet you say no. You live in a house worth millions, yet you say no. Your collection of cars cost more than I will make in my lifetime, yet you say no. No to a few dollars that could reunite a hard worker with his only son."

Dread settled over Tom like a cold, wet shroud.

"What do you want from me," he demanded.

"I want you to know what it is like to lose a child."

A rush of fear chilled him from head to toe.

"I would pay five million dollars to bring back my son. Five million dollars I don't even have. I would steal it from you ten times if it meant Benito could live."

_Oh no._ This conversation was headed in a terrible direction.

"I'm sorry about your son." Another surge of dread soured his stomach. The boy had died. There could be no other reason for this attack.

"No." Benjamin shook his head. "You are not sorry. You would not raise my salary even a few dollars for the opportunity not to be sorry. And now my son is gone forever."

"I'm not responsible for your son's death," Tom said in a firm voice.

"No, the landslide in Corrales killed him. But a few dollars could have saved him."

The cordless handset sat on the coffee table between the couches. Tom rolled the chair forward. Benjamin closed the distance in half the time and snatched it up. He threw it across the room.

The man grinned evilly. "You were right. We were going to kill her."

Tom gasped. "Why would you hurt a child for some anger against the parent? You _are_ a terrorist. Get out of my house!"

"I will get out, _señior_." He finally pulled his arm from behind his back. In his hand, a sleek pistol he pointed at Tom. "But not until you have paid me."

Brent drove through a fence with a metal gate. A length of chain dangled, probably cut to allow the officers in. Once they pulled onto pavement and headed downhill, Giselle started second-guessing herself.

"Are you going to get in trouble for this?"

"They'll ignore it." He touched some commands into the screen, and the computer's GPS started reciting directions to 1428 Mulberry Lane. When the dispatcher's voice squawked through the radio, he turned the volume down. "I've probably earned a pass or two today."

It made her feel a smidge better. "Sorry in advance if this comes back to bite you."

"Well you did ask me out for coffee, so that'll make up for it."

"I did not!" she shrieked, but she laughed as she said it, and for the first time since she could remember, it was a laugh that came from her heart.

"What did you feel at the Bradburys' place?" He glanced at her quickly while keeping a close eye on the twisting road. "I'm not questioning you, I'm truly curious."

"It's hard to explain." And it was. Sometimes she saw crimes happening, as if someone turned on a television to a horror movie inside her head. Bright flashes in full color and astounding clarity.

But she wasn't ready to admit this yet, not even to her sisters. Corinne probably knew. She was the most intuitive, and Giselle suspected she could read minds. She'd said things like "You skipped French class today," or "I know you ate my candy bar," and Giselle had learned not to try to fool her about anything.

"Mostly I see shades of color, usually dark or light, when a person near me has intense emotions."

"Like an aura?" he asked.

"Sort of. Another way to describe it is like weather, like fog and smoke. Back at the stable, it was like a sudden sheeting of rain, or almost like someone threw a bucket of water at me. For a split second, I felt wet and cold. And it was dark, ugly blue. That's why, now that I think about it, I know it wasn't you."

"Well that's comforting." He grimaced, mostly to himself. "I distracted you from what was really happening. Sorry if I came on too strong."

"You didn't, not really." She sighed. "I'm not normal, in case you hadn't noticed."

"You're incredibly down-to-earth, considering. And you're not whiny, so you've got that going for you." He grinned without taking his eyes off the twisting road, and his dimple flashed.

"Back there at the shack, when all those police came on scene, there was a gray cast, like smoke. It was mixed with white, like sunlight shining on fog. They were really excited and happy that Cassandra had been found, but a lot of them were also resentful of me and Mallory."

It was from a small sense of meanness that Giselle told him this, and she felt an instant surge of guilt. She still didn't trust the police, and she hoped that blowhard Murphy got chewed a new one in court, but Brent was different.

Maybe she would meet him for coffee, just because he'd been really nice to her today.

"I'm sorry, Ellie."

Now she felt twice as guilty. "Don't be. I think it's natural that people are scared of what they don't understand."

"Most of them are good guys." He angled the car around a sharp s-turn. Another police car passed them going the other way. "They'll come around."

She shifted toward him on the seat. "Brent, I will have coffee with you, if you promise you won't tell others about me after this. Not anyone."

He brightened. "Really?"

"I'm serious. Please, you don't know what it's like for us."

"I get it." His expression was serious and she could read the agreement in his face, but for her and her sisters, this was life or death, so she had to make sure he _truly_ understood.

"No, you don't. Crazy people have attacked us. When my father was still alive, a woman tried to kidnap Meadow to force him to find her missing son."

Now he did gawk at her. "Seriously?"

"A man once confronted us at a pizza parlor with a gun, demanding winning lottery numbers because his wife was dying and he needed money to pay for her treatment."

"Jesus, Ellie."

"Endless phone calls, strangers banging on our door; all of it because one reporter had written an article about him. People _can't_ know about us, we won't be safe."

He nodded now, glancing at her while keeping a watchful eye on the narrow road. "I swear to God, I will not tell anyone a thing."

She took a long, deep breath in and out, and settled back into her seat. "You'll be better off, trust me. If your superiors know you believe in psychics, you'll never advance. The other officers will always harbor doubts about you. Vague is best. I tell my sisters, 'I don't know,' is the best answer. Play dumb."

"I'm sorry you have to live that way."

"You're about to know what it's like. Captain Murphy is going to question you. He'll demand answers, and you're going to feel loyalty to him and your job. You won't like having to lie, but you _have_ to. That reporter who wrote about my father? He'd gotten his tip from a police report."

He placed his hand over hers where it rested on her thigh. "You can put your trust in me."

Her belly quivered. She wanted to, _so badly_ she wanted to, but how could she? Brent had a sworn duty to the badge, and Captain Murphy would probably harangue him endlessly for anything that could be used against them. The city could lose millions in the lawsuit. Their lawyers were already looking for any weapon to strong-arm her into dropping her suit, and Giselle honestly didn't know what she would do if Child Protection Services took her sisters away.

The navigation program told them to take a right up ahead, and once they made the turn, Giselle recognized the Bradburys' street. He pulled between the massive brick pillars flanking the driveway and parked the patrol car next to the family's Escalade. There were no other cars in the drive.

It seemed like an eternity ago they were here last. They exited the patrol car and Giselle looked at Brent over the roof.

"What are you feeling?" he asked her.

She stared at the house. "Nothing, yet." _Maybe nothing ever._ "Let's go in through the kitchen. We can ask Juanita about the stable hands."

They bypassed the grand front doors and followed a narrow concrete path around the side of the house. The upper half of the kitchen door was made of small glass panes. Before she even stepped inside, Giselle knew she'd been right.
Chapter 12

"Oh my God, Juanita!" Giselle kept her voice to a whisper, worried whoever had done this was lurking nearby. She knelt beside Juanita and gingerly picked at the duct tape covering her mouth.

"Adam Nineteen requesting backup at the Bradbury estate, 1428 Mulberry Lane."

Brent twisted a small knob on his shoulder radio, lowering the volume as the dispatcher's voice came through. "Copy that. What's your situation?"

Giselle peeled at the tape slowly and gently, but Juanita jerked her head to the side, ripping it off.

Her eyes watered. "It's Benjamin, he's got a gun! Ouch _frijoles!_ "

"Last name?" Brent asked.

"Ortiz, I think. But I do not believe that is his real name."

"One known suspect is Benjamin Ortiz, confirmed armed," Brent said into the radio.

"Affirmative, Adam Nineteen. Units are on their way."

" _Dios mio_ , Ellie, I was so scared! He's gone after Mr. Bradbury. I think they are upstairs, I heard the elevator."

Brent rifled through the drawers and came back with a pair of kitchen scissors. He handed them to Giselle while he addressed Juanita. "Is there a cellar here, any room with a locking door?"

"The pantry. I can block it from the inside."

"Cut her loose," he told Giselle. "Get in the pantry, block the door, and sit on the floor."

He drew his gun and moved out of the kitchen on silent feet.

A flash of malice hit Giselle like a sledgehammer. This wasn't merely a crime of greed, the man attacking Mr. Bradbury was full of hate.

Another flash—Mr. Bradbury had coldly refused some request, and it had resulted in tragedy for the man. It was as quick as a blink, but Giselle came away with a clear understanding. _This is vengeance._

She cut the tape at Juanita's left wrist and handed her the scissors. "Here, cut yourself free."

"Ellie, wait!"

It was foolhardy to run after him, but she had no choice but to ignore Juanita. Another flash showed warm afternoon sun streaming through a window. The assailant was somewhere on the west-facing side of the house. Brent was searching the enormous home blindly, she could at least help guide him in the right direction.

"I would kill you, but I doubt your wife or daughter would care. All the staff knows Ms. Laura is going to divorce you. This will be the final straw, as you Americans say. And your daughter? She knows you refused to pay for her return. I doubt you will see much of her anymore. But you will know I could kill her any day. Maybe I wait a month. Maybe I wait a year. Maybe I wait only a day."

Brent heard the exchange while also listening for the sirens that would mean he was no longer alone.

_Nothing but silence._

"You won't get away with this." Mr. Bradbury's voice hitched. "There won't be a country on this earth where you can hide."

"That is where you are wrong. Do you believe my name is really Benjamin? Everyone here thinks I am from Mexico."

"You said you were from Corrales."

"No, I said my son _died_ in Corrales. You entitled white people don't listen to anything except the sound of your own superiority. I doubt you even know where that is."

"Facial recognition will make it impossible for you to hide anywhere in the world."

_Shut up,_ Brent willed silently. _You're only provoking him._

"I can pay you more." Mr. Bradbury's voice turned pleading. "If you promise to leave my daughter alone, there's three times as much in a safety deposit box. I can drive you there right now."

Mr. Bradbury had been thrown on the floor in front of his safe, and Brent arrived at the doorway to see Benjamin drag him back into his wheelchair. He folded into the seat awkwardly, bent like a dropped marionette.

"LA County Police, drop the weapon!"

Benjamin squatted behind the chair and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Mr. Bradley's skull.

"Drop the weapon!" Brent stepped into the room and around a large desk to face the stable hand directly. "Backup is on the way."

Benjamin held a pillowcase stuffed with the contents of the safe in his other hand. He swung it around into Mr. Bradbury's lap and looped his elbow across Mr. Bradbury's neck, squeezing off his breath as he held him like a shield.

"I will kill him." There was no emotion in the claim, only deadly promise. "You can shoot me, I have nothing left to live for. But he will die too."

"You're not walking out of here," Brent promised. "Let's end this the easy way."

"I do not want to end this the easy way." He jerked his head. "Get away from that door."

"Do as he says," Mr. Bradbury rasped. He clawed at Benjamin's arm to free some breathing space.

Brent moved inside the room, and Benjamin dragged the wheelchair backward, circling for the door. He couldn't get a clean shot, the man was hunkered directly behind Mr. Bradbury.

"Nobody has to die today."

"The girl was supposed to die. Someone has to take her place."

At his claim, Mr. Bradbury sobbed.

"Your associates have already been arrested. You're not getting away with this."

"Drop your gun and perhaps he will live."

"I can't do that."

"Then we all die today." Benjamin jammed the gun against Mr. Bradbury's head, making him wince, and dragged the wheelchair backward toward the door.

Brent's thoughts were consumed with not only Mr. Bradbury's safety, but Ellie and Juanita's as well. He had to stop this before it got any worse.

"Don't do it." He raised one hand in a supplicating gesture, but didn't release his gun. "If you shoot, it's all over for you. I don't think that's what you really want."

"You have no idea what I want."

Giselle hurried up the staircase closest to the kitchen hallway, her sneakers silent on the thick carpet. She heard voices and stopped on the top step. Several rooms stretched on either side of the long hallway, late afternoon sunlight streaming from those on her right.

_Brent has this under control. Turn around, go back to Juanita._

"The girl was supposed to die. Someone has to take her place."

At the kidnapper's words, Giselle was hit with a blinding wave of hatred so vile and black she was unable to draw in a breath. It ended with the vision of a beautiful, young dark-skinned boy, smiling and dimpled. Immediately the vision shifted; the same boy lying still, eyes closed, wearing a suit and surrounded by white silk. _A coffin_.

Ellie dragged in a breath as if she had been held under water too long. She never knew how much time passed in one of her visions. The more powerful they were, the more debilitating. Sometimes she came out of a vision to find her sisters staring at her as if she'd just had a stroke.

"Then we all die today."

The voices were farther down the hall. She hurried forward and darted into the first bedroom on her right, listening as Brent continued to talk the man down. The room was neatly made with an unused feel, like a guest room, decorated in shades of blue with an ocean theme. A golf bag leaned against the wall by the window, the only item out of place among lighthouses and seashells. She tiptoed across the thick carpet and very carefully removed one of the clubs. The others in the bag shifted with a tiny _plink_ and Giselle held her breath.

"Inside, _now_!"

"Take it easy," Brent said.

"Remove your clip. Empty your bullets. If you do not do it, I will shoot you, and the first officer I see coming after you. Do you want another man's death on your conscience? You can take my word for this, it is not easy to carry an innocent's death with you every day."

The man spoke with a thick accent. She remembered him now, could clearly picture his face both from her memory in the stable, and from the visions hitting her like flying billboards in a hurricane.

_Regret. Resentment. The smiling boy, the rural countryside where they walked. A weeping woman, a Hispanic funeral. Hatred. Guilt. Rage._

"Do it, officer," Tom Bradbury said. "Let him take me. I'll give him the money he wants."

"You're not walking out of here. Drop your weapon now!"

"Do you think that vest will help you? I can easily shoot both of you in the head."

_Oh no_. She couldn't let that happen. _Brent, I want to get to know you better, I swear_. This heartbroken man was not going to keep her from that. She understood his pain, she truly did, but she wouldn't let him punish others for his heartache.

She crept into the hallway, club hefted over her shoulder like a baseball player at the plate.

"Officer, please. Do as he says."

"You won't get five feet out the door. Backup is on the way."

Giselle waited through a pause.

"Stop! I won't give you another chance!"

She crept closer. She couldn't tell if the high pitch she heard was the chaos in her head, or a far-off siren.

Two more steps and she'd be at the room. Her heart pounded like drums. Her palms were sweating, and every breath in and out felt like it was on fire.

"Ouch! All right, all right!" Mr. Bradbury grunted in pain.

A gunshot exploded. Time slowed down. Giselle winced and smothered a cry.

Another shot boomed, and a cloud of plaster burst from the roof inside the bedroom.

A third shot rang out. The man dragged Mr. Bradbury's wheelchair backward. She saw his backside first; he was crouched behind the wheelchair. The curve of his back, and then his neatly trimmed black hair.

Giselle took a single step forward and swung.

The foot of the club connected with the back of his head. He grunted and crumpled to the floor. She snatched the gun still clutched in his limp hand. It was so hot she yelped and dropped it, and then accidentally kicked it. It went sliding across the carpet into the room.

"Brent!"

He lay on the floor propped on an elbow. She ran inside and knelt next to him. She didn't remember losing the club, but it was no longer in her hand.

"Are you shot?"

"I'm okay."

He didn't sound okay. He pulled at his shirt, but his fingers couldn't work the buttons. A small hole pierced the blue, right beside his shiny name tag.

She grabbed the edges and ripped it open. The vest beneath looked different than she'd expect. A small hole pierced it.

"Oh my God!" she screamed. "It went through."

She craned around. Mr. Bradbury stared at her with horror-filled eyes. "Where's a phone? We need an ambulance!" The room blurred through her tears.

Brent grabbed her arm. "Ellie, I'm all right. It didn't go through."

She didn't believe him. "Yes it did! Look!"

"No it didn't, I promise." He pulled at the vest to show her the inner side. She yanked it hard, needing to see for herself. He groaned and managed a pained laugh. "Careful, it still hurts!"

She saw the undamaged fabric on the inner flap and nearly collapsed with relief. A single sob tore from her chest, and then she did fall into his arms, crying like a baby.

"I'm okay. I'm okay!" Brent smoothed his hands over her hair. He gently pushed her to arm's length. His bright, charming smile turned the room white and pink, and happiness flooded her soul.

Sirens wailed outside and tires screeched on the drive. Brent got to his knees and pulled the handcuffs from his belt. He went over to the man on the floor, still prone between Mr. Bradbury and the doorsill, and secured Benjamin's hands behind his back. Giselle sagged onto her rear; it felt like her body weighed two tons. This had been one of the most exhausting days of her life.

"Did you know?" Mr. Bradbury's tone said he already knew the answer. He stared at her with that haunted look she'd seen too many times before. He didn't know whether to be grateful to her, or afraid of her.

"No," Brent answered before she could. "She wasn't feeling well, so I brought her back here to lie down. We found Juanita in the kitchen. He'd tied her up with duct tape."

He pushed to his feet and went to help her up. The effort made him groan and chuckle at the same time. "Man, they tell you it hurts, but they don't tell you how bad."

Giselle's legs trembled and the harsh afternoon sunlight blurred with starbursts in her tear-filled eyes. "Are you sure you're really all right?"

"I will be." He kept his hands on her arms, and she let him. He let go only to swipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "So will you."

The kidnapper on the floor moaned and started coming around.

She smiled even as more tears fell. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Good work with that golf club."

She laughed, but found more comfort in crying. She turned to the withered man in the chair. "Are _you_ okay, Mr. Bradbury?"

Mr. Bradbury returned a weak smile. "You know, I think we're all going to be just fine."

"You two are going to be just fine," Brent said. "Do you have any idea the mountain of paperwork I'm going to have to climb tomorrow?"
Chapter 13

_One month later_

Mr. Bradbury knocked on his daughter's door a second time. "Cassandra, please, can we talk?"

The door jerked open and she looked down at him with the same emotionless eyes she'd stared through him with for the last four weeks. "We've already talked. I don't forgive you. That's all there is to it."

She squeezed past his wheelchair and headed for the stairs.

"Cassandra, come back here. _Please_." He was careful to keep his voice gentle. He'd already tried anger, insistence, and punishment. Their therapist had told him that exercising authority would be useless, and could be damaging.

She ignored him and kept going. He wheeled toward the back of the hall to the elevator. It was pointless, she'd only skip up the stairs again if he approached her downstairs. But he wheeled his chair toward the cab where the door sat open since he'd ascended just ten minutes ago, not ready to give up yet.

Laura hadn't been much warmer toward him since Cassandra's return. He suspected the only reason he hadn't yet been served with divorce papers was that she didn't want to upset their daughter. Little did she know it would probably make Cassandra celebrate. He was beginning to think she'd never forgive him.

Maybe she wouldn't. She might never heal from this ordeal. The kidnappers had done their job well, Cassandra was as good as lost to him.

He wheeled to the end of the hall. The living room was pointless, too. His small ramp, elegantly built in glossy redwood, was at the back of the room, out of sight. If Cassandra was in the living room, she had only to walk up the steps and through the foyer, and of course he couldn't follow.

But she wasn't there. Instead, voices drew him to the kitchen. It seemed Juanita was the only person she spoke to anymore. Juanita and Beaumont.

"Please, Juanita? You can drive my mom's SUV. She took the Jag today."

"I don't think I should, _chiquita_."

"They're not even letting me go back to school. I'm going stir-crazy here. I want to see the girls."

Juanita's gaze flicked to him. Cassandra hadn't heard him roll up.

"I do not think your father would want that."

Cassandra whirled around. She narrowed her eyes. "I don't give a shit what he wants."

"Cassandra!" Juanita scolded.

"Fine. I'll find another way to get there."

She stalked out of the kitchen, once again treating him like he was invisible.

Tom sighed. He met Juanita's eyes and nodded. She hurried after Cassandra.

"Okay, I will take you," Juanita called. "But do not be surprised if they do not answer the door."

"You think you are the only one who is hurt. But you are wrong, your mother and father hurt very badly." Juanita glanced at her, but Cassandra only stared out the passenger window.

"Mm-hmm."

The girl would talk to her kindly enough, until Juanita brought up the subject of the strained family affairs. Then she would shut down and freeze Juanita out, like she did to her mother when she brought it up.

Mrs. Bradbury seemed to have stopped trying, and Juanita told herself she must not interfere in the family's business. They might feel like her family, but they truly weren't.

But Juanita _did_ feel like family, and she couldn't bear to see them falling apart like this. "What answers do you think you will find with the Massaro girls?"

She had tried to speak to them herself several times, but they never answered the door or the phone anymore. With the hearing about their father's death coming up, they were probably very preoccupied. She'd seen Giselle at the mailboxes once, and gotten a polite but distant few words from her. Giselle had surprised her by asking how Cassandra was doing, but when Juanita told her, "Not so well," Giselle had simply said, "Oh, I'm sorry," and walked away.

"They understand me like nobody else can," Cassandra said.

"Perhaps, but do you understand them?"

Cassandra finally looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You think you have troubles? You have a mother and a father who love you. A secure roof over your head. A future at college. _¡Dios mío—_ your own horse!"

"I'm spoiled, is that it?" Cassandra's voice was mean.

"You see? I was right. You do not understand. These girls have real troubles. Troubles that will end their family. Their parents are dead. Giselle is afraid Child Protective Services will take her sisters away. You think they will understand you? You have your family, but you throw them away."

Cassandra turned her head. "I'm not the one who threw _them_ away."

Juanita carefully pulled the massive Escalade into the apartment building's tiny parking lot. Lupita's boyfriend had once again parked in her reserved spot, and all the guest spots—of which there were only four—were taken. She double-parked behind his lowered Honda, hoping the manager wasn't onsite.

"Be grateful. You have much reason to rejoice. You have been given a second chance many people do not get."

"Whatever," Cassandra snapped. She jumped out without waiting for Juanita.

The security door to the lobby was ajar—as usual—but at least here Cassandra waited for her.

They trudged up the stairs side by side under a flickering light bulb. A delivery van on the street honked a complaint before the security door fully closed, and it filled the narrow stairway like a ship's horn blast.

"This is it." They paused at unit 22 and Juanita knocked. Long moments dragged on.

"I told you, they will not answer."

Cassandra frowned and knocked again loudly. "Giselle, Mallory, it's Juanita and Cassandra." She pounded a third time.

Finally, there was a shifting behind the door and it eased open.

"Cassandra, what are you doing here?"

Giselle was casual today in jeans with rips in the knees and an old blue T-shirt that had a giant stain on the front, like someone had squirted mustard on her. She didn't look happy to see them, but she stood back and let them in.

Across the small living/dining room, Mallory and Corinne were fussing in the galley kitchen.

"Get a paper towel!"

"No way! I'm not touching that thing!"

"Then get a glass. Hurry, it's going to get away."

Corinne yanked open the cabinet over the sink. "They're all in the dishwasher."

Mallory smacked at the scurrying bug and then squealed. The cockroach changed direction and dashed back toward Corinne.

" _Aye, mio._ " Juanita stalked across the room, slapped the bug onto the floor with her hand, and stepped on it.

"Ewww." Corinne yanked off a paper towel and thrust it at Juanita with an exaggerated shudder. Juanita swabbed up the bug and threw it in the trash.

"Gross!" Mallory exclaimed.

Giselle looked back at Cassandra and sighed, shoulders drooping. "This isn't a very good time."

"Um, I tried to call. You don't have an answering machine, or I'd have left a message."

"It broke," Giselle said simply as she closed the door. Juanita suspected if it was broken, it had been no accident.

"Is okay. Just _la cucaracha_." She smiled, but could tell Giselle was unhappy with her for bringing the girl here.

Cassandra glanced around. She'd probably never seen an apartment like this, and hadn't imagined the girls lived in such squalor. Corinne sat down at the small dining table in front of an open schoolbook. Books and papers scattered over the table, and it looked like they hadn't sat here for a family meal in days. Maybe she should bring them an enchilada casserole. Meadow loved Juanita's casseroles.

An awkward silence stretched.

"Erm, Cassandra, this is Corinne," Juanita said. "And you know Mallory."

Mallory pulled a juice box out of the fridge. "Yeah, of course. What's up?" She crossed the room to plop down on the couch by the door and put her feet up. There was a hole in the bottom of her left sock. She stabbed at the juice box with the straw and succeeded in puncturing it on her third try.

"Ellie, who is it?" Meadow lingered at the hallway corner, afraid to come out. She saw her and gave her a tiny smile. "Hi, Nita."

Little Meadow, such a precious one. "Hello, _neña_ , this is my employer's daughter, Cassandra."

"The one who Mal and Ellie helped?"

"Yes, _Bomboncita_."

"Oh."

"Meadow, go get changed into your _gi_ ," Giselle told her. "It's almost time for karate class."

Meadow brightened. "'kay."

"I'm... I'm really sorry to intrude." Cassandra took a deep breath. "I... I didn't get a chance to say thank you."

She turned and faced Mallory, who seemed to shake herself. "No need. We didn't do anything. There's no such thing as psychics. Yada-yada-yada." She sat up and pushed her feet into a pair of tattered Keds missing the laces. "I'm heading out, El. I'm meeting Evie at the mall. I'll be home late. Her mom's buying pizza."

"Is your civics paper done?"

"Yep," Mallory chirped in that dismissive way Lupita did when it really wasn't. "See ya."

The door slammed. Juanita could tell Cassandra felt disappointed. While she was closer in age to Corinne, Juanita suspected Mallory was the one she was truly here to see. She'd been cold, but her quick departure was probably for the best. Cassandra was better off not believing they were friends. Perhaps she already understood she was seeking something here that didn't truly exist.

"Would you like something to drink?" Giselle offered.

Cassandra looked at her shoes. "Um, no, thank you." She blinked, as though tears were pressing on her lids.

Corinne watched them silently.

"I really didn't... we..."

"Come." Giselle held out her hand. "Sit." She pushed some papers out of the way.

Cassandra politely did as asked and sat down in the chair Giselle pulled out next to Corinne. Giselle sat down on the other side.

"I understand you went through a terrible ordeal, and it brought you immeasurable pain," Giselle said in a gentle voice. "I can't begin to imagine how you're feeling now. But I don't know what more we can do for you."

Juanita sat on the threadbare couch and dug through her purse for a tissue as her eyes started to sting. If anyone could get through to the traumatized girl, it was Giselle. Wise beyond her years, the hardships she'd faced and the burden she took onto herself had matured her, yet hadn't made her apathetic. She possessed a uniquely empathetic spirit, and had a natural way of making everyone around her feel good.

"You've done so much already," Cassandra started. "I'm so grateful to you, I can't even put into words how much. You're the only reason I'm alive. And that's why you're the _only_ people who can possibly understand. I know people treat you like you're strange. Probably some people even act afraid of you." She folded her hands together on the table and stared at them. "But it's others who are strange. My father and those rude cops—I don't know. I just feel like there are two sides—them and you, and I'm on your side. I can't deal with them anymore. I can't stand being in that house. Every time I look at my father, I just want to scream."

"It must be a very difficult time for you," Giselle agreed. She looked at Juanita questioningly.

"Maybe I can help." Corinne placed her hand over Cassandra's wrist. She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Slowly let it out. "You're very angry, and you have reason to be. You feel abandoned and rejected by your father's refusal to pay the ransom."

Tears leaked from Cassandra's eyes. "Yes." Her answer was little more than a whisper.

"You don't know why he would turn his back on you in such a way. You think he blames you for the kidnapping."

Cassandra's expression crumbled. She closed her eyes and sobbed quietly. Now she could only nod.

"He all but left you to those horrible people."

For a moment the girls let her cry, and it was all Juanita could do to keep herself from rushing over and pulling Cassandra into her arms. She dabbed at her eyes as she wept silently, careful not to break their fragile connection.

"Why?" Cassandra sobbed. "Why did he do that to me?"

"He was desperate to save your life."

She pulled her hand free and wiped at her nose with her sleeve. "No."

"You cannot imagine his fear," Ellie told her. "The money meant nothing to him. But to pay them meant a death sentence. For you, and for him."

"I don't know," Cassandra said with hesitance in her voice.

"Alonso Coramon wanted him to pay with your life," Corinne said gently.

Now that he'd been captured, his true identity was known. Arrested, he'd made no secret of his intention to kill Cassandra. He'd wanted Tom Bradbury to feel the same loss he had.

Juanita crossed herself. The family had tried to keep Cassandra sheltered from the news, but she suspected the girl knew this. To hear it said aloud was to pour salt on a fresh wound. It was a horror one could never forget. How this child would ever grow past it was unknown.

"Benjamin. We trusted him."

"Every day your father didn't pay was another day you were alive. Otherwise he was powerless. It was the only thing he could do to save you." Corinne finally removed her hand from Cassandra's and sat back.

"I wish he could tell me this." Cassandra swiped at the wetness on her cheeks.

Giselle rose to get some tissues. She returned to the table and offered the box to Cassandra.

"Juanita told you our father passed away." Giselle took a deep, shaky breath and pulled out a tissue for herself.

Cassandra nodded.

"Did she tell you how?"

"No." She sniffled and wiped at her nose with a fresh tissue.

Giselle shifted in her seat, preparing herself for words that were too heartbreaking to speak. "He was trying to help a kidnapped girl."

Without hearing more, Cassandra's expression crumbed and she started crying all over again.

"He'd had a vision, and believed he knew where she was being kept. When he told me he was going to the police station, I begged him not to." Her voice was so full of pain, Juanita felt an ache in her own chest. She'd known their father had died, but the girls hadn't shared their private story with her.

"I knew the police would never believe him. It was dangerous for him to get involved, and Lucy Tran wasn't our problem. I told him this. The least they could do was laugh at him, the worst—" She paused and dabbed at her eyes. She took another shaky breath and went on. "I called him a fool and accused him of caring more about strangers than he did us. I told him I hated him. It was the last thing I ever said to him. And I regret it every second of every minute of every day."

Cassandra stopped wiping her nose and looked up. "Oh Giselle. I'm so sorry."

"He _was_ a fool, and he threw away our safety by leaving us to help a girl we didn't even know. But he is also the bravest man I have ever known, and I miss him with all my heart. Lucy Tran was saved because of what he did. Every day, I wish I could tell him how proud I am of him."

Cassandra choked over another sob as she nodded.

"You have to live with what happened to you. You alone have to carry your pain. But remember, you are not alone, and the choices you make are yours to decide. Forgiveness is yours to give, if you choose it."

"I know," she mewled.

"If I give you only one bit of advice, it's to look for the good that still exists in your life. You might find that there's a lot of it to have."

Juanita was silent on much of the ride back to the hills, and Cassandra suspected she was disappointed in her.

She deserved it. She'd been acting like a petulant child who didn't think about anyone else's feelings, and she'd felt justified because of what she'd been through. After what Giselle had told her, she realized she wasn't the only one hurting.

But it was hard to forgive her father. Simply not paying wasn't _doing_ something, and he'd just sat there in his wheelchair like he always did. It was her mother who took action, her mother who had recruited the girls to find her. Her mother, and Mallory and Giselle, who had saved her.

It was hard—almost impossible—to let go of the resentment. She wanted to do the right thing and forgive, but she wasn't sure she'd ever truly feel it in her heart.

She missed her father, missed her old life, and wished it could go back to the way it was. He was always working, but as dads went he wasn't that bad. But Benjamin— _Alonso Coramon_ —had robbed them of their old life, and that would never change. It was gone forever.

Juanita drove up a steep, narrow road on the long way back to the house. She had taken a wrong turn in the hills _again_ —how she could get lost on the way to the job she went to every day was a mystery to Cassandra, but they were definitely going the wrong way.

"Stop!" Cassandra craned around to look behind them, then stabbed the window-down button. "Stop the car!"

Juanita slammed on the brakes and stopped the SUV in the middle of the narrow street. "Aye! Cassandra, what is it?"

She jumped out of the car and ran back down the hill. She wouldn't have even seen the house if not for the gleaming white sign and the flashy realtor's photo. It was one of the steep hillside homes, and the driveway fed down to a house that wasn't visible from the street. On top of the sign, a placard announced _Newly Listed_.

Cassandra grabbed the flyer from its attached box. Five bedrooms, four and a half baths, updated kitchen. Thirty-two hundred square feet. The asking price was two-point-nine million.

She peered over the fence, and then crept along to find a gap between fence boards. The asphalt drive sloped down to a modern-style home of glass and sharp angles, built into the hillside. The attached garage was the first part visible, and wide, staggered aggregate steps led to a recessed front door. Only one corner of the main house was visible past the driveway, but it was glass and she could see through to a carpeted room and then the smoggy city far below. The flyer boasted _floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view_. Lots of shrubbery and tall trees added to its secluded privacy.

It was perfect.

She ran back to the car.

Juanita was wild eyed, holding a hand over her heart. "What is it, did I hit something?"

Cassandra smiled. "Nope, you're good. Let's go, I need to talk to my dad."
Chapter 14

Giselle had not kept her promised coffee date with Brent. The preliminary hearing into her father's death hadn't gone well and her lawyer was advising they settle, and avoid a jury trial. Criminal charges against Detective Rivers would never stick, he told her, and any attempts to hold him responsible might hurt the outcome of her civil suit.

Someone had dragged keys down the side panels of every car in the apartment building's parking lot, including their Camry. She'd gotten a C on her economics quiz, which in her eyes was as bad as failing.

Her overall mood was drab.

And three nights ago, she woke in a sweat after seeing the murder of a prostitute in the alley behind the El Capitan Theatre.

She hadn't told her sisters about the vision, but she suspected Corinne knew she'd seen something. Her usually cheerful sister looked worried, and kept asking if she was all right.

Mallory had found the unplugged phone and plugged it back in again. Before Giselle could sneak the plug out of the jack again, it rang and Mallory snatched it up. It was Cassandra, calling about the Los Angeles County's Above and Beyond medal ceremony for police and firemen who'd committed exemplary acts in the line of duty. Brent was to be honored with the Preservation of Life award for his role in Cassandra's rescue, and she insisted they attend.

It wasn't as if Giselle didn't know about it; her own fancy invitation had arrived in the mail two weeks ago.

It would have been rude not to go, and as private and defensive as she was, she could not bring herself to treat Brent so disrespectfully. While she was still terrified about letting him into her personal life, she grudgingly accepted that he was a special person she was lucky to know. Neither could she convince herself he wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, dashingly charming, delightfully witty, and only slightly annoying.

But there could be no relationship with him other than friendship, and it would be better to make that clear, once and for all. Even mere friendship was dangerous to a person like her; sooner or later her abilities would come up in conversation, and Giselle would be put on the spot.

She'd taken the phone from Mal and agreed to go, but on the promise that Cassandra's family would not publicly reveal they knew them.

No hugging, no crying, no displays of affection of any kind.

Her sisters were excited about the opportunity to wear pretty dresses at a fancy function in the swanky Los Angeles River Center gardens. There was a rumor Jamie Lee Curtis would be there.

It was still warm the second week in October, and her sisters wouldn't stop pestering her until she agreed to wear the draping, ruffled party dress she had not taken out of her closet in two years. She'd bought it for the nineteenth birthday party that never happened. Her father had died two weeks before her birthday and the dress had hung, untouched, in her closet ever since.

Corinne sat on the bed, watching her fiddle with the dress in the mirror. She tugged at the curls Mallory had scorched into her hair.

"Stop that." Corinne rose and wrapped her arms around her. "You look so pretty. Why can't you let yourself have that?"

Giselle could not believe, after everything she'd told them, every long talk and ominous warning, that her sisters wanted her to flirt with a _police_ officer.

"Ellie, I know you're having a hard time." She gently turned Giselle to face her. "But Brent is a good guy."

"You've never even met him."

She smiled. "Yes, but Mallory has, and who's a tougher judge of character than her?"

Corinne had her there.

"You are so lucky, because you have something Dad never did. This man believes in you. He can help you."

Giselle shook her head firmly. "I would never ask that of him."

"And he would never ask it of you."

Her sister was right, of course. She'd already helped his career, yet Giselle knew that wasn't what interested him about her. She tried to hide a bashful smile. Against all odds, it seemed he really liked her for her, even though he knew she was a freak.

Corinne added over her silence, "Mal says he's cute." She lifted Giselle's chin and forced her to reveal the smile.

"He is, I guess."

"Tell me what you saw last Friday night."

A chill turned her instantly cold. "No, Corinne."

"Then tell him. Because you _cannot_ keep it inside. It will eat you alive, and then you will do something foolhardy like Dad did."

"I didn't see anything."

Corinne grasped her hands. "It's _me_ , Ellie. Haven't you realized you can't lie to me?"

"I'm not... God you're infuriating."

She snickered. "One of my many talents."

"I'll think about it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Mallory shouted from the other room. "Let's go already!"

They piled into the Camry and Giselle drove in silence as the girls chattered excitedly. She still had an underlying feeling this was a bad idea. So many policemen and city officials, all in one small area.

A light breeze high in the palms cooled the warm day. The gardens were lush and colorful even for October. Giselle guided her sisters to four chairs in the back row.

"Seriously? I want to sit up front," Mallory complained.

"Yeah, I can't see," Meadow chimed in.

Giselle silenced them with a look. Nobody had really noticed them yet, and she didn't sense any bad essence. There was a white, almost blindingly bright atmosphere of joy and celebration in the air, but that didn't mean it wouldn't change in an instant when they were noticed.

Cassandra and her parents sat in the front. She turned around several times, searching the crowd until she spotted them sitting in the back. She gave a soft smile and a secret little wave, and then seemed to settle.

Corinne gasped. "Oh my God, look, it's Liam Neeson."

Mallory snorted. "That is _not_ Liam Neeson."

"Yeah it is!"

Giselle shushed them. "They're starting."

The actor walked onto the podium and introduced the ceremony.

"I told you!" Corinne whispered.

"All right fine, you were right."

"Shh!"

"This event combines the awards of the LAPD's most significant medals: the Medal of Valor, the Purple Heart, and the Preservation of Life. The Medal of Valor, which is the department's highest honor, is given to officers who distinguish themselves by conspicuous bravery or heroism above and beyond the normal demands of police service. The Purple Heart is awarded to officers of the Department who have sustained traumatic physical injury or death during an on-duty tactical situation. The Preservation of Life Medal may be awarded to an officer who has distinguished him or herself by employing exceptional tactics and exercising sound judgment to preserve the life of another during a dangerous encounter."

Several officers were honored for their exemplary service over the past year, including a posthumous Purple Heart awarded to the family of an officer killed in the line of duty. When the man's wife walked on the stage to accept his medal, Giselle realized a new understanding for the risks Brent took in this job.

She also understood what had driven her father that day.

If she could help Brent, she should. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying.

When he rose to accept his medal, Corinne leaned over. "He _is_ cute, El."

"Told ya," Mallory whispered.

"Guys!"

The ceremony ended with a standing ovation for the officers.

Giselle leaned close to be heard over the din. "We should go now."

"Not on your life, sister."

Mallory shifted close to Corinne. "What does she want?"

"She wants to jet."

"No way! There's food."

"And drink." Corinne wagged her brows.

"Don't you dare," Giselle warned.

"And a certain handsome police officer heading straight for us."

As the crowd rose and separated, Brent wove his way through the obstacle course of milling bodies. He tossed a glance at Mr. Bradbury and gave him a brief, almost secretive nod. The older man nodded back.

He deftly skipped around a plump woman to arrive in front of Giselle. He wore that charming grin that revealed his dimple, and her insides fluttered.

"Ellie. I hoped you'd come."

"Congratulations, Brent."

"Hey, dude."

He grinned and grabbed Mal's hand. "Mallory, thanks for bringing her. Let me guess: Corinne and Meadow."

Meadow accepted his handshake with a giggle.

"Hi. I'm sister number two." Corinne grabbed both his hands. She was subtle, but Giselle knew she was reading him. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"Really? That's hard to believe, considering how she's been ignoring me."

"Mostly from this one." Corinne tipped her head toward Mallory. And then back toward Giselle. "But a little from this one too."

Heat crawled up Giselle's neck.

"Good things, I hope." His dimple flashed again, and her stomach flip-flopped.

"My sister is the Queen of Understatement, so I knew you were ten times as handsome as she said."

He laughed, and Giselle would swear he blushed too.

"All right, you guys." She fanned herself with the glossy program. "Go get some hors d'oeuvres."

"I'm gonna go talk to Cassandra." Mallory bolted.

"Hey! Remember what I said. And they're already gone."

Brent chuckled. "It must be tough raising three sisters. I didn't know Meadow was so young."

"She's had it the hardest. She was only two when our mother died, so she doesn't even remember her. And then Dad when she was only six..." She shook away the regret. "Anyway, you look great. You deserve this award, Brent."

"I'm really glad you came." He leaned closer, even though the crowd had scattered. "I know what you said, but you played a big part in Cassandra's rescue. You played the _leading_ part."

"You're the brave one." She pressed a finger to his chest. "You ran into the path of the bullets. _Twice_."

"Most people would call it stupidity."

"Weren't you scared?" she asked him.

"Weren't you, when you ran down that hill after me?"

"Terrified!" She returned his infectious smile. "And completely stupid."

"Officer James. Congratulations." A man in an expensive suit approached, hand extended. Brent accepted it with a humbled expression.

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

Giselle swallowed as the man looked at her. He nodded before heading toward Captain Murphy.

"I hope you don't mind if we don't stay for the schmoozing." It was selfish of her, but she'd felt uncomfortable the minute she entered the gardens. "I'm out of my element here, and I don't think the mayor would like to learn the woman who's suing his police department is fraternizing with his hero cops."

He chuckled at the moniker. "You still owe me that coffee date. How about now?"

"Oh no, I couldn't take you away from this. It's your day, Brent."

"It's mostly over, and I'm not much for seafood buffets. I want to spend it with you. And your sisters." He waved, and Giselle cringed when she saw Corinne staring at them from across the crowd. Her sister smiled and hurried over. Mallory and Meadow trailed behind, Mallory munching a plate piled high with hors d'oeuvres.

"They have shrimp and crab legs. This town must be flush. I don't feel bad at all for suing their asses."

"Mallory! I'm sorry, Brent. Really, we should leave before things get really embarrassing."

"What did _I_ do?" Corinne exclaimed.

"Seriously!" Meadow said, pouting.

"Come on, you know she's talking about me." Mallory tore into a shrimp and threw the tail on the ground. She grinned, knowing she was pushing Giselle's buttons.

"Do you guys like coffee?"

"No."

"Eww."

"I'm too young to drink coffee."

"Do you want to come or not?" he asked all three.

"Yes!"

"All right, I know the perfect place. I'll even drive." He offered one elbow to Meadow and the other to Mallory. "This way, ladies."

"He's quite the charmer," Corinne whispered as they trailed behind.

_That's what scares me_.

They followed Brent to a full-size crew cab truck parked on the street a block down from the gardens.

"Shotgun," Mallory called.

"I don't think so." Corinne grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

The three of them slid into the backseat and fixed their seat belts. Giselle climbed in front.

"Was that Isabella Cook?" Meadow asked as they pulled into traffic.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't her," Mallory argued. "She has that weird mole on her chin."

"Who's Isabella Cook?" Brent asked.

"Some actress from a Nickelodeon program," Mallory said. "It wasn't her."

"Yeah, but you didn't think that was Liam Neeson, either, and it was," Corinne countered.

"No, it was Meadow who didn't think it was him."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Well, that was definitely Ariel Palmer. She was with that guy she's been dating, whatshisname."

"The ugly actor from _Ace of Spades_?" Corinne asked. "They broke up. It was all over the supermarket tabloids."

"Well that means it must be true." Mallory rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, Corinne, you think everyone is a celebrity," Meadow said.

Giselle glanced at Brent. " _Sorry_ ," she mouthed.

He laughed and watched traffic to make a left turn. Her sisters continued as they pulled onto Sunset Boulevard.

"Admit it, you're a celebrity seeker," Mallory accused.

Corinne shrugged. "I have a good eye for faces. Comes with the you-know-what."

"Comes from watching too much TV," Meadow said.

Brent looked in the rearview mirror. "What's the you-know-what?"

"A girl thing," Mallory said. "You know, like having our period."

Giselle closed her eyes and tried to melt through the seat. Nobody seemed to care that they'd driven quite a ways from the gardens.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked.

"Best coffee in town," he said cryptically.

"You wouldn't be taking us to the Bradburys' house, would you?"

"Nope. I am definitely not taking you to the Bradburys' house."

The deeper into Bel Air they drove, the higher her anxiety climbed.

"We've passed five different Starbucks."

"And two Peet's," Mallory chimed from the backseat.

"I don't like Starbucks' coffee," Brent told her.

"And I don't like surprises." Her good mood was quickly deflating.

"Did the mayor pay you to disappear us?" Mallory asked bluntly.

"Not today," Brent deadpanned.

"See, Ellie? You're worried for nothing."

He looked in the rearview mirror. "How's everyone doing? Anybody getting car sick?"

"No," they chimed in unison, and went back to sisterly bickering.

He glanced at her. "You trust me, don't you?"

His warm brown eyes calmed her worry, and Giselle sensed only goodness coming from him. And a sense of delighted mischief, like he truly did have a surprise for her.

She wished that didn't make her uncomfortable.

"You asked me to trust you that day on the hill, and I did. Because I could tell you were reliable, and you believed in what your gut was telling you. Now you need to trust me." He placed his hand over hers. "I wouldn't do you wrong, Ellie."

She wanted to turn her hand and lace her fingers with his, but that would send the wrong message. Still, it felt so nice to be with him, almost natural. Her heart was beating fast, but she knew she could believe him. She forced herself to put her trust in him as he had done that day on the hill.

"I know you wouldn't," she admitted.

They wove their way out of the suburban streets and into slower residential roads, so she knew they weren't going to any coffee shop. But with three other psychics in the car with her, she knew Brent could never put one over on all of them at the same time.

The higher into the hills they climbed, the narrower the road and tighter the corners became, and the slower he drove the big truck. It seemed the huge vehicle was almost too lumbering for the exclusive and unwelcoming neighborhood. Finally, he slowed nearly to a stop and pointed the truck into a downward-sloping driveway. The city below sparkled in the afternoon sun. A realtor's sign planted at the top of the drive had a sticker plastered across the listing saying _Sold_.

"Is this your place?" Corinne asked in an awed tone.

"You must have rich parents, because I know the city doesn't pay this well," Mallory said snidely.

"No, this isn't my place."

The Bradburys' silver Escalade sat in front of the garage where the driveway leveled off in a small circle.

Giselle's stomach skitter-twittered. "Brent, what's going on?"
Chapter 15

Brent parked beside the Escalade and shut off the engine. They climbed out to the sound of insects buzzing in sweet-smelling dry grass. Otherwise, the silence up here had weight and density that pressed on her ears like warm cotton, and Giselle felt a strange comfort in the lack of chaos that was ever present in the city.

"Neat. What do they call this, Andy Warhol design?" Mallory asked.

Corinne laughed. "Andy Warhol was an artist, not an architect."

"It's Art Deco," Meadow said. "Oh my God, look at that lizard. He's huge!" She ran over to the driveway's edge, watching it scurry into the grass.

Queer nervousness buzzed in Giselle's chest. "Art Deco is from the thirties."

"It's an Eichler," Brent told them. "He was a modernist architect from the nineteen-fifties."

She lingered behind as he headed to the front door, and Corinne looped arms with her.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

Giselle shook her head. "I don't know. But it's making me very uncomfortable."

"That's because you're always uncomfortable." Corinne tugged her along. "Something tells me you shouldn't be."

The front door was recessed between the house and garage, and almost looked like a garden path leading into dark woods for the ferns and gold dust plant lining its edges. Brent nearly disappeared in the shadows of it, but Giselle saw him grab the knob and open the unlocked door.

Mallory strode boldly after him. "Well, he's a cop, so it isn't like he's breaking and entering."

Lizard forgotten, Meadow skipped up and grasped her other hand. Her big green eyes held the worry that seemed permanently affixed there lately. Giselle smiled reassuringly, even while inside her nerves danced.

"It's okay, I'm sure."

"Is he your boyfriend now?"

The question surprised Giselle. She opened her mouth, but couldn't think of what to say.

"I'd like it if he was. He's nice."

They trailed into the shadows and met Mallory at the wide-open door. Inside the house, a sunken living room revealed floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering view below.

A plank of plywood had been laid over the four carpeted steps from the foyer into the living room. Mr. Bradbury had obviously used it to wheel his chair down. Cassandra and her mother stood behind him. They smiled, and Cassandra laid her hand over his arm. The mood in the room was warm orange. _Forgiveness. Affection. Familial comfort._

_Healing._

"Ms. Massaro, please come in," Mr. Bradbury said, addressing her directly.

Brent held the door. He smiled when she looked at him, and then closed it behind them.

Her heart beat staccato against her ribs and her legs trembled as she took the steps. They were up to something, the group of them, and she forced them to speak first.

Someone. _Anyone_.

Even her sisters stayed silent. They moved into the house and turned to watch her, unsure.

"You came to my home two months ago without asking for anything in return. There, you were confronted by the man who destroyed your life, yet you stood up to him with courage and dignity."

She wished there was furniture, because she desperately needed to sit down.

"You brought my daughter home safe to me, and you risked your life to save me from a murderous criminal. You refused any and all recompense."

_I didn't do anything._ She wished her lips would move to say so.

Mr. Bradbury opened his arms. "This is the least I can give you."

"What?" The breath rushed out of her on the single word.

Brent slipped an arm around her. She must look like she felt—about to fall down.

"In a matter of hours, you did what a bumbling police force could not do in two weeks." He shifted his gaze to Brent. "No offense, son."

"None taken, sir."

"The deed to this house is in the name of the MMCG Massaro trust, drawn up by my lawyer." He picked up the envelope on his lap and held it out to her.

"What's that?" Meadow asked.

"This house is ours?" Corrine shrieked.

"No." Giselle's vision twisted. The gleaming city below blurred and shifted sideways. "Mr. Bradbury, we can't possibly accept this. This is crazy! It's a _house_."

"It's a _great_ house!" Mallory exclaimed. She ran over to the window. "Look at that view!"

Meadow followed her. "Do we get our own bedroom?"

"Absolutely not. Brent—"

"Hey, you guys want to see the hot tub?" Cassandra asked.

"Yeah!"

Cassandra took Meadow's hand, and she and Mallory disappeared into the hallway behind the living room. Corinne gave her a sly smile over her shoulder as she followed, and Mrs. Bradbury fell into step beside her.

"Hello, dear. You're the second eldest?"

They walked off together, leaving her alone with Brent and Mr. Bradbury.

Giselle gathered her courage and straightened her shoulders. "Mr. Bradbury—"

"Tom, please."

"You must understand. This is all very generous of you, but it would be inappropriate of me to accept. We didn't do anything that day except go for a horseback ride."

"As I heard it, you used karate to subdue one of the kidnappers." He pronounced it kar-AH- _tay_.

She clamped her lips and shook her head. This was insane!

"I didn't... that's irrelevant. It was foolish of me to even enter the scene." She waved a hand dismissively. "I thought Brent needed help, but all I really did was complicate the situation."

"Ms. Massaro, you gave me back my family. _Twice._ My daughter hadn't spoken to me in the entire month since the kidnapping, then she went to see you. You gave her a new perspective, and she came home ready to forgive me."

"And I'm very glad of that," Giselle said. She swallowed as her throat hitched. Frustration welled in her gut and threatened tears. "But—"

"As I hear it, your living situation is... undesirable."

"I live in the same building as your housekeeper."

"Not anymore. I've doubled Juanita's salary." He smiled. "At Cassandra's insistence. Trust me, her demands made the kidnappers look like amateurs."

"They _were_ amateurs," Brent said.

"Yes, well, my daughter is not." He held up both hands. "It was never about the money. I think you know that, and convinced Cassandra as much."

He rolled his chair closer and picked up the envelope from his lap again. He held it out to her. "It is about doing what is right."

"I... this is very, _very_ generous of you, but it's moot. I couldn't even afford the property taxes on a place like this."

"That has all been taken care of."

She didn't move. "You don't understand. People will get the wrong idea." Or worse, the _right_ idea. "I can't have... people cannot know. It would be dangerous for my sisters."

"Officer James explained your situation. Please, don't be afraid. No one will ever demand you admit what you can do."

She dragged in a ragged breath.

"You'll be safe here."

She looked at Brent. He nodded.

"Your sisters will be safe here."

The air rushed out of her lungs. _Oh God, if only._ She would do anything to make that true.

Puddling tears turned the sunlit valley below into a kaleidoscope of sparkles. Brent tightened the arm around her waist and urged her forward, starting her on the steps to close the distance between them.

She accepted the envelope. It was at the same time very heavy, and very uplifting.

"Thank you."

"This is a great honor you've allowed me," Mr. Bradbury said.

Mrs. Bradbury came out first. She slid her hands around her husband's chest. "Did she accept?" She smiled at Giselle as she asked the question.

"She did."

"Wonderful." She stepped around his chair and hugged Giselle.

"Ellie!" Meadow ran up to her. "You should see the bedrooms! There's five of them, so we don't have to fight over who gets what. And there's four bathrooms. We all get our own bathroom! Can we stay here? Please!"

She fought back another sob. "Yes, we can stay."

She was surrounded by squealing and jumping as Mallory and Corinne joined in.

"Can I have the pink bathroom?" Meadow asked.

"No way! That's mine, you can have the blue one."

"Pink is my favorite color!"

"Yeah but I need the bathtub. Seniority rules."

"That means I get first choice," Corinne said.

"That means _Ellie_ gets first choice," Mallory argued.

Mrs. Bradbury laughed. "I think it will all work out."

"On that note, I'm going to take my ladies home and let you get acquainted with your new house," Mr. Bradbury said, and Giselle saw him dab at the corner of his eye. "Ms. Massaro, my lawyer's card is in that envelope. He's agreed to take over your case on contingency. He can probably do better for you than your bus stop bench lawyer. He's expecting your call."

"Thank you, Mr.... Tom." She looked at the envelope. One end was lumpy with keys.

Cassandra hugged Mallory on the way out.

Mrs. Bradbury pushed her husband up the plywood and then pulled the door closed behind them. Her sisters ran off down the hallway again, leaving her alone with Brent.

"Wow," he said.

Giselle narrowed her eyes. "Tell me you didn't know about this."

He held up a hand. "I plead the Fifth."

"Right."

"How about that coffee? You have to see the kitchen." He snatched her hand and pulled her away from the main room. Up the stairs through the foyer, the massive kitchen sat behind a modern half wall that was also a planter filled with mature pothos. A wide area that served as a dining room led to the modern kitchen, and from this level one could see it was an open floor plan that shared the spectacular view with the entire house.

A box with a red bow sat on the counter; it was a brand-new coffee maker.

Giselle bit her lip, and then allowed herself the smile that had been fighting its way out.

"You did know."

"Guilty." He grinned back and opened the upper cabinet. A bag of coffee beans sat alone on the shelf. "I'm particular about my coffee."

He helped her open the box.

"There's a laundry room!" Corinne shrieked from somewhere off in the house.

"No more gross public laundry machines! Woohoo!" Mallory shouted.

Brent laughed. "I hope you like."

"I love." She covered her face with her hands and her tears burst out. "I wish I felt worthy!"

"Sweetheart. You are worthy." He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. "You would be worthy even if you weren't an X-Men."

She laughed and yanked a hand back to swipe away an annoying tear. Brent still held the other hand. He pulled her closer. Numbly, Giselle let him.

"Listen, I did know about this, and I knew you would resist. I made them promise, and they agreed readily; they will never, _ever_ tell anyone about your gifts. Your specialness isn't part of the bargain, here, Ellie. Most of this has very little to do with you. I mean, he's grateful, but this is mostly him making amends to his wife and daughter. Just be glad he's filthy rich."

She nodded, swallowing back a last choking sob. Suddenly the urge to cry vanished like storm clouds parting to let sunlight shine through. She hadn't felt this light in years. Was it possible they were finally as safe as safe could be? Did she finally have the kind of solid home Child Protective Services couldn't argue with, or those damn lawyers trying to undermine her every move?

It was almost too good to be true.

"He wasn't lying when he said he'd keep your secret. And so will I. Let me prove it to you. Go on a date with me. I'll never ask you to be my fortuneteller."

She smiled. _Yep, I'm a goner. I really like this guy_.

"You'll see for yourself, you can go on a second date. And then a third. That's all I want from you." He tugged her closer. "And the occasional make-out session."

She laughed, but it faded quickly as he leaned in. His soft eyes went serious, and Giselle felt herself falling into them.

His lips touched hers, both gentle and firm, a sweet but insistent request for trust. Her entire body melted and she tilted her head to lean into him, readily. Eagerly.

He smelled lightly of aftershave and leather, and delicious manliness, and her head spun with the delight of having him in her life, for however short or long a time it lasted. She'd dwelled on what made her different for so long that she had never imagined she could have the sweet, simple things normal girls had.

She wanted this. Brent was a strong, protective, dependable man, and she wished upon wishes she could have him.

She gently pressed him back. "I'm sorry, Brent. I can't be normal with you."

His eyes clouded as he eased away.

"That's not who I am. It never really was, I was just scared. But you showed me I can't turn away when my gift could help someone."

_Like my father. I can only be as good as he was if I do what is right._

Brent tiled his head, his expression going to confusion.

"I need to tell you something."

His eyes widened.

"There was a murder last Friday night, and I saw who did it."

-THE END-

_(For now)_
Giselle Massaro and Brent James return in their own full-length story in the 5th book of this series, **Her Dying Breath**. Turn the page for a sneak peek at Book 2, **Her Darkest Fear** , where a fugitive hiding her psychic abilities fights her attraction to the one man she must avoid at all cost: the FBI agent assigned to bring her in.

Special Agent Parker Glinn has been on leave for the last two years after the murder of his wife left him emotionally shattered. Transferred to Intelligence, his assignment—find a psychic vigilante roaming the streets of San Francisco—is supposed to be a gentle re-entry to field work. But when a killer from his past follows him across the country, Parker is at risk of drowning in the mire that nearly claimed his sanity—and his life—two years earlier.
Available now at Smashwords

Her Darkest Fear

Book 2 in the Deadly Sight series

Chapter 1

_San Francisco_

Meadow Massaro shot upright in bed. A gasp froze in her throat as she dragged air into her starved lungs. The first breath after a vision was always like breaching the surface of an ocean, on the verge of a blackout.

_Violence. Pain. Terror. Agony._

As quickly as it came, the vision was gone, but she'd seen enough to know where the attack was happening. She'd seen the assailant vividly, as though standing right behind the victim. Heard the woman's cry in her own head. Petite hands held up to ward off the blows. Blood spray from her mouth that spattered on her sleeve.

In the narrow alley beside the coffee shop. _Oh my God, I know this woman_.

Too far to run. She needed the bike. _Dammit_.

The victim's attacker was a hulking figure, shadowed, but with malice seeping out of him like ripples of heat. Dark hair, brown eyes, a scowl that could make the devil shudder.

_He'd asked her out on a date; she'd said no._

Already in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a sports bra, Meadow threw her legs over the side of her bed and shoved her feet into waiting running shoes. She pulled the Velcro tabs tight and secured them in under three seconds. Snatched the sweatshirt thrown over the back of her chair and pulled it over her head as she ran.

A woman was about to be raped or killed _—a woman I know._ Every second counted. She'd stopped using shoelaces months ago, after the first failure.

_Don't think about that now._

She sprinted into her tiny living room, yanking open the credenza drawer where she'd stashed her gun. Shoved it in her hoodie's right pocket. The disposable mobile phone came next, yanked off its charger cable and shoved into the left. The phone was a weapon as necessary as the gun, and this was the first and last time it would ever need to be used.

She turned back and ran for the garage access. Her knees protested as her feet hit the stairs, and a familiar wave of dizziness sent the world spinning sideways. It would pass in a second. The dizziness always came after a late-night awakening when she'd been in REM sleep. But in REM sleep, her visions were always clearest.

She arrived at the garage, hit the door opener on the wall. The inner door to the South of Market row house, with its special doorknob that was always locked on this side, slammed shut behind her.

The key was already in the ignition of her Kawasaki Ninja. She turned the bike on and dragged on her helmet. Left the visor up; she needed the air. The dizziness was mostly gone, but San Francisco's clean ocean breeze would chase the last of it away.

She didn't know how long her body could keep up this punishment. It had been worse when she was entirely on foot, but now she only ran when the crime was close.

She roared out of the narrow garage and hit the remote button that was velcroed onto the tank, but didn't look back to make sure the door was closing. It didn't matter. Her landlord had given her exclusive use of the garage and the only item kept inside was the bike.

Besides, she'd be back in minutes, unless she was arrested.

Or worse.

Visions still blinked in, like scenes illuminated by a lightning strike. The victim was fighting back, surprising the attacker but no match for his brawn. Still, it was the delay Meadow needed to get there in time. _Just another couple of seconds..._

She roared through the dark streets, blasting through stop signs. 14th, Dolores, Market, Buchannon, Herman, Waller. The bike wobbled; she nearly dumped. She'd had the Ninja a mere six months, and this was only her second attempt at a rescue on it. Sweat flash froze on her spine. She was no help to the victim if she killed herself first.

The alley was one block up, two blocks right.

Another flash hit her. The assailant was amazed by the vigor with which his panicked victim resisted. He ended his clumsy grappling with a punch to the face. The vision in Meadow's mind's eye slowed like dramatic movie effects. She heard the crack of fist against cheek in her own head. Pain as her own teeth clacked together. Her cheek went numb.

_This is a strong connection._

She slowed the bike and turned in to the alley, letting it coast as she reached into her right pocket. Her headlamp filled the alley with light. The attacker whirled around, a tattered piece of clothing clutched in his meaty fist.

Get it today at Smashwords
Dear Readers,

I would like to personally thank you for reading Deadly Vengeance. I hope that you enjoyed reading this introduction to the Massaro sisters as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider leaving a positive review at your favorite book retailer. Reviews don't have to be long—just a few words about what you liked (or didn't). Your opinion truly does matter; both to me and to other readers.

About the Author

Many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I signed my first contract with a publisher who started me off on this wonderful journey. They handled everything from editing to marketing to cover design to formatting, and did a whole lot of hand-holding along the way. Over the years I had the good fortune to work with six amazing editors at four publishing houses. I learned so much from them, and those experiences were absolutely invaluable, but that journey was nothing compared to the voyage I'm on now.

I've since ventured off as an Independent, which feels like getting off a plane in a foreign country and hiking into the wilderness with nothing more than a Swiss Army knife. I format my own layouts, design my own covers, and hire my own editors.

And I do my own marketing. Promoting books feels like standing on a mountaintop shouting to a vast valley below where I cannot see a single soul. I can only hope they are there, and they are listening.

I am completely alone.

Except for you, dear reader. If you liked Deadly Vengeance, you can help this weary traveler by leaving a review at your favorite book retailer. Your reviews help my book stand out among hundreds of thousands of others, and help other readers like you find it.

To learn more about my books and what's coming next, visit my website at www.avabradley.com.
Other Books by Ava Bradley

Contemporary Romance

Her Darkest Fear

Edge of Midnight

Last Rights

The Lost Finder

August Unknown

Kiss Me Before Dawn

Once Upon a Christmas Carol

One Snowy Night Before Christmas

Valentine Bride

Historical Romance

Once Upon a Midnight Sea

Lord of Darkness

Lady Outlaw
Table of Contents

Summary

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Excerpt from Her Darkest Fear

About the Author

Other Books by Ava

Copyright
Copyright © 2018 Ava Bradley

All rights reserved.

ISBN-9780996357081

Imprint by Pink Pixel Publishing

Ebook Edition license notes

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be shared, resold, posted publicly or privately, or reproduced in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, Ava Bradley. Thank you for respecting the author's hard work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and occurrences are products of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people or incidents is entirely coincidental. The images used to create Ava's book covers are royalty-free stock, licensed from commercial sources. The similar use by other publishers does not indicate theft, fraud, plagiarism, or copyright infringement.
