brain instantly realized what was happening, and I reinforced my ground. Swallowing hard, I pushed back the arousal before the blissful narcotic haze could take me fully into its fold.
The churning stomach was another story entirely, but I still managed to keep it at bay. In a way I was comforted that it remained.
“Yo… Ground control to Rowan,” Ben called again.
I snapped to and realized I was still standing exactly where I had stopped, just a few steps inside the door. My body was rigid, and I was staring at the bizarre tableau with unearthly intensity.
At some point, Agent Drew had pushed past me and was now motionless himself, though I am sure for the more obvious reasons.
“No… Yes…” I murmured after a moment and then followed with, “Not anymore.”
“Sorry,” my friend apologized. “Guess I shouldn’t’ve disturbed ya’.”
“No,” I told him. “This time, you should have. Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he replied in a puzzled tone. “So ya’ gettin’ somethin’?”
“It’s the same,” I answered.
“The same what?” Mandalay asked.
“The same as Wentworth.”
Agent Drew now turned toward me and objected. “Wentworth was shot in the head. Execution style.” He swept his arm out toward the bed as he continued. “This is… Well this is just sick.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. What we were looking at was definitely within the scope of unfathomable deviance, even for a brutal crime scene. Words such as intriguing, obscene, and even ironic came instantly to mind. You could take your pick because it was any and all of them.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But the feeling is still the same.”
“You aren’t talking about that WitchCraft BS again, are you?” he snapped.
I shook my head. “Actually, no. WitchCraft would imply the working of Magick, Agent Drew.”
“Okay, then what are you talking about?” he demanded.
I answered with a shrug. “This is just plain empathic sensitivity.”
“Empathic sensitivity? What’s that, some kind of psychic crap?”
“Yeah,” I gave him a nod, unwilling to argue. “It’s psychic crap.”
“Okay, Houdini,” he spat. “Then why don’t you look into your crystal ball and tell us who killed this guy.”
“Houdini was a fuckin’ escape artist,” Ben growled before I could open my mouth. “Even I know that, ya’ friggin’ idiot.”
Drew aimed himself at my friend. “Back off, Detective.”
“Or what, Skippy?”
Agent Drew tensed and started forward as if he were going to take a shot at him. Ben instantly braced himself, and I saw his fist begin to clench as his shoulder started to rotate back. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Both of you back off!” Mandalay barked as she quickly nudged me to the side and interposed herself between the two men.
They both stood their ground and exchanged hot stares over the top of Mandalay’s petite form but didn’t say another word.
“Storm,” she continued, looking up at Ben. “Put the testosterone on hold and stop insulting my agent at every turn.”
Agent Drew screwed his face into a smirk and let out a snort. Constance immediately wheeled around to face him then literally stabbed her index finger into his chest. “As for you, can it. Right now. You’ve had an attitude ever since you picked me up at the airport, and I’m not impressed. Like it or not, you are the junior agent here, and I’m calling the shots, not you.
“Now, believe me, you don’t want another letter of censure in your file.” She stared him down for a moment, and while he kept his mouth shut, it was obvious from his expression that she had hit a nerve. “Yes,” she added with a curt nod. “Simpson filled me in on you, and right now I haven’t had enough sleep to even consider being nice about it.”
A lone clapping sound echoed in the room, and I looked over Mandalay’s shoulder to see one of the crime scene technicians slapping his hands slowly together. The photographer and two others were simply staring at us.
“Are you all done now?” the applauder asked with more than a hint of bitter sarcasm.
Ben and Drew both looked away from them with somewhat chagrined expressions.
“By the way, Agent Drew,” I said calmly. “I’ll tell you the same thing I seem to have to tell everyone else. Psychic impressions don’t work like that. I don’t just see a killer and say there he is.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.
“So, just what are ya’ feelin’, Row?” Ben asked, a purposeful sort of curiosity tainting his voice.
“Nothing helpful I’m afraid, although, I will say that the energy here seems to confirm the suspicion that the killer is a woman. It also leaves me with the distinct impression that she truly enjoys it. In fact, she does it because she becomes sexually aroused by inflicting the torture and then eventually taking the life.”
“Female sexual predators are almost unheard of when it comes to homicides, Rowan,” Mandalay offered. “Especially if you are implying that this is a serial crime.”
I nodded. “Oh yeah, something tells me this isn’t her first kill. At the very least there have been two because I’m betting she’s the same person who killed Judge Wentworth. But, there may have been more leading up to that.”
“You got all that from a feeling?” Agent Drew asked; each word was liberally coated in sarcasm.
“Yeah. A feeling.”
“You’ll forgive me if I feel like you’re full of crap.”
“Agent Drew,” Mandalay growled under her breath.
“Don’t worry about it, Constance,” I said, waving her off before she could ignite. “He’s right. I just might be full of it.”
“Like that’s ever happened,” she replied. “But let me ask you this. Are you certain about the female aspect? Could you be mixing it up? Could it be homosexual in nature?”
“You aren’t actually buying into this, are you?” Drew asked her.
She quickly shot him an icy glance but didn’t verbally reply.
“Actually, Ben already asked that question about Wentworth. And, the answer is no, the killer is definitely a woman,” I told her with a shake of my head. “Of that much I’m certain. So is Felicity. This scene is the same. The only male energy is the one exhibiting the fear and pain.”
“Okay, then I guess Wuornos just got some competition,” she assented.
“Wuornos?” I questioned. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Aileen Wuornos. Killed at least seven men in Florida.” She recited the details almost mechanically. “Executed by lethal injection October ninth, two thousand two. Pronounced dead at 9:47 a.m., six minutes after the injections were started. To date she is the only female serial killer to be officially classified as a sexual predator.”
“There she goes,” Ben mumbled. “You’re worse than Rowan with all the crap you carry around in your head.”
“You should be used to it by now,” she replied.
“Yeah, right,” he grunted.
I couldn’t help but notice that Agent Drew was staring at all of us in disbelief. I turned fully to him and shook my head. “Look, maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong. But, let’s see if the evidence bears me out.”
“And, what if the evidence isn’t sufficient to make that determination?” he asked.
“Try talking to one of your profilers, and see what they have to say, I guess.”
“Trust me, we will.”
“I’ve got news for you. They’ll agree with Rowan,” Mandalay told him.
“How can you be sure?” he challenged.
She replied simply, “Because they always do.”
