He hoped the dispatcher’s ear rang from the blow,because if he could’ve figured out a way to reach through the phoneand knock some damn sense into her, he would’ve. Insinuating…no,asking outright, if Matt were underage or…or…
With barely restrained fury, Vic threw the phone atthe couch. It sank into the cushions as if they were asinsubstantial as gelatin; he heard a spring deep within the sofatwang in protest. Then he stomped into his work boots and snatchedhis keys from the table in the hall. Fuck the police. He’d get Matthimself, without their help, and when they came to arrest him inthe morning, at least the dispatch records would prove he hadtried.
He got as far as turning the knob to open the frontdoor of his apartment when the phone rang. The sound was dulledfrom the couch cushions, but Vic wasn’t surprised to hear it.You stupid ass, he chastised himself. It was the police, ithad to be. The dispatcher probably thought him unstable orsuspicious and had traced the call. He wasn’t the only one withthat ability, was he? So now what—were a handful of squad carsspeeding toward him right this second? Blocking off the street atboth ends, surrounding his apartment, commandeering his car?
Maybe it’s Matt.
He doubted it, but he couldn’t take the chance of notanswering. What if Matt had escaped? Or broken free long enough tocall him? Or what if Jordan was on the phone, calling to give Vicransom details? Though the power to route through to the end of theline hadn’t worked with Matt’s cell phone, Vic could try again,maybe find out where Matt was being held.
Who was he kidding? He knew—Azalea Road.
Still, he crossed the room and picked up the phone.Clicked it on, put it to his ear. Listened to someone on the otherend of the line breathe into the receiver. Directed his mind downthrough the connections, seeking an address, seekingconfirmation…
9th and Broad. It was the police.
Dimly Vic wondered if the power worked only with landlines, or maybe only if someone answered the phone. He didn’t know,but he saw the messy desk of a beat officer: a computer monitorwhose screensaver rotated cute pictures of kittens in frolickingposes; a framed picture of a gruff man holding a little girl on hisshoulders, the two of them smiling at the camera; long femininehands tipped with French manicure nails, a well-chewed pencilturning between the slim fingers. When the images on the monitorscreen faded to black, Vic caught a glimpse of long blonde hairescaping a tight bun.
Kendra Jones.
“Hello?” The voice was much younger than thedispatcher’s, and filled with the same underlying nervousness Vicremembered hearing after the hold up. Officer Kendra Jones sighed,then tried again. “Mr. Braunson? Hello?”
Vic kept his voice even, his words clipped.“What?”
With a derisive snort, the officer said, “I should beasking you that. You called for me?”
Now that he had her on the phone, Vic didn’t knowwhat to say. Or rather, how to say it, without her thinkingit was some sort of joke. He wanted—no, he needed—her tobelieve him. “Listen to me. I have to make this quick. The guy Iwas with that night I was shot? Matt diLorenzo?”
“So you were hit,” she murmured. “I knew it.How—”
Vic shook his head and raised his voice to drown outhers. “Listen. I don’t have time to answer your questionsright now, all right? Matt’s gone.”
He waited for the weight of that statement to settlein, but Officer Jones didn’t get it. “You mean he left you? Thedispatcher said something about a missing roommate…”
“He’s gone,” Vic said again. His throat threatened toclose but he forced himself to explain. “Kidnapped, I guess you’dsay. I’m certain I know where he is, who he’s with. I’m going toget him—”
“Are you sure he didn’t leave you?” the officerpressed. “Maybe he found something better?” At Vic’s stony silence,she added, “It could happen. I’m just throwing out ideas here. Whodid you say he’s with?”
Vic hated to admit, “An old boyfriend of his.”
“See?” Officer Jones crowed. “There you are. Maybe hejust—”
Something in Vic snapped. “Shut up. You aren’tlistening to me. You don’t understand.”
“Help me, then.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading.“Why would an old boyfriend kidnap yours? What’s his name, Matt?Why would someone show up out of the blue and steal him away fromyou?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Vic admitted.
Officer Jones wasn’t satisfied. “Then why bother tocall me about it? Unless…” Through the connection he had with hervia the receiver, Vic could feel her mind working out the answer toher own question. In almost a whisper, she asked, “This hassomething to do with the shooting, doesn’t it? With why you didn’tget hurt from the gunshots, right? And why you were on the scene ofthat house fire downtown last week. Yeah, I know about that.” WhenVic didn’t respond, she asked, “What are we dealing with here, Mr.Braunson? Where do you get these…these powers of yours?”
With a short, quick laugh, Vic muttered, “Youwouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” she countered.
Vic was tempted to try and explain, but it would taketoo long. Though the clock on the VCR showed that less than tenminutes had passed since he’d made the first phone call, hecouldn’t help but feel he’d already wasted enough time. Either shewould help him, or not. He didn’t have time to dick around with thedetails.
“I can’t. Just trust me on this, please? I’m…” Hesighed, an aggravated sound that ended in a angry roar offrustration. “I’m going to get Matt back, with or without yourhelp. But it’ll be a hell of a lot easier if I have the police onmy side instead of fighting me every step of the way. When this isover, you and me can sit down and I’ll tell you everything I know,how’s that sound?” Before she could speak, he added, “Offthe record. I’m not kidding when I say you won’t believe me.Writing it out will make it sound worse.”
“You’re saying I’m right.” There was a faint touch ofpride in
