Point of View
Psychic Sasha Bellwood and her former fiance, Detective Reed McIntyre, are once again thrown together to find a killer before he strikes. In the past two years, Sasha’s psychic abilities have strengthened, and she now works with the Memphis police to solve crimes. However, not all is well within the department. Her boss is being replaced with a skeptical detective who feels he’s been demoted. Sasha is under pressure to produce, but her emotional state has deteriorated creating self-doubt regarding her ability to interpret the nightmares and visions. Then the new detective is murdered. And Sasha’s vision of the killing is not clear. Reed, concerned for her, agrees to help. But the two quickly discover their love has not diminished, and when Sasha becomes the target of the killer, their worlds are changed forever.
I swept a hand through my hair. It cascaded between my fingers and settled back onto my shoulders. I tucked the strands behind my ears. I wasn’t getting the whole story. My shoulders slumped. God, I was tired.
“I take it Reed is supposed to form some kind of liaison,” I said to Bobby Jack.
“I thought it might make the transition smoother.”
Reed shifted in his chair. “Admit it. You don’t react well to change.”
“You’re not so hot at it either,” I snapped.
“I see everything is still my fault,” he murmured.
I heaved a deep breath to control the anger working its way up through my chest.
“I never said everything was your fault.”
“No, but you thought it.”
“Oh, are you the psychic now?”
“Look, I don’t know what you two are talking about, but I suggest you save this argument for later,” Young said, turning his gaze onto my former fiancé. “And I don’t think your expertise will be needed, Mr. McIntyre.”
“Yes, it is, Detective. You don’t understand Sasha or her abilities. I do. You could, of course, try this on your own, but I wouldn’t guarantee the results. Her dreams are frighteningly real and accurate.”
“Mike, I don’t think we should turn down any help that’s offered,” Jill said. “After all, this is new to us, and I’m willing to work with Sasha and Mr. McIntyre.”
“Detective McIntyre,” Reed corrected.
She’s willing to work with Reed and me? Bully for her. I wasn’t so sure working with any of them made my list.
“Here, how’s this?”
Charlie’s voice pulled me out of my worries. I turned my attention to the portrait.
“Almost—make her smile a little, just an upturning at the corners.”
I kept my eyes glued on the sketch, refusing to look at the others, afraid of what I might give away.
“Is that better?” Charlie asked.
I gazed at a woman in her late twenties or early thirties with a kittenish face. Mischief glowed from her eyes, and the smile said she enjoyed life. I wanted to cry. That love of life would be extinguished if we didn’t find the killer first.
“The hair’s a little fuller.”
He made a few swift strokes with his pencil. “How about now?”
“Yes. That’s the woman.”
Charlie handed the sketchpad to Reed who studied it for a few seconds before handing it to Bobby Jack.
“Nice looking lady.” He passed it on to Mike.
“I can see why the killer would choose her.” The sketch made its way to Jill.
She held it in both hands. Her facial expression changed from curious to horrified and her eyes widened in disbelief. She gasped, her fingers tightening on the pad.
“Jill? What is it?” Mike demanded.
“I—I know her.”
“What? Who is it?”
“Lisa who?” Mike demanded.
“Lisa Parker. My sister.”