Seeds of Malice: A Psychic Vision Novel (Psychic Visions Book 11) Page 2

  Derek had been an asshole, but London, well, his actions had hurt her more than she could say. London was a bastard. Apparently she was a slow learner. She’d thought she’d gotten that message by now. It was just hard to accept. Even though her heart had taken a quivering jump of joy at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, once that emotional jolt had calmed down, she faced reality.

  The man was lethal. And not in a good way.

  Where the hell was Reggie? If he was truly missing—as in, involuntarily—it would be bad for the conservatory. They couldn’t weather another suspicious incident. The possibility that something could have happened to him made it that much worse. He was both friend and colleague. She lifted a hand, wincing to see the tremors, not just in her fingers but throughout her whole arm.

  Confrontation always gave her the shakes. Her childhood hadn’t given her the social skills to handle conflict with others.

  She headed to the cafeteria. It was a faint hope, but Reginald had been known to sit in the backroom to work. His theory being that, if he couldn’t be found, he couldn’t be asked questions, and that was the only way he’d get work done. She wandered through the cafeteria, looking over the many tables and into the little nooks and crannies where the staff came for their breaks. But so far found no sign of Reggie. With eyes on the manager, she walked over to Denise and asked, “Have you seen Reggie today?”

  Denise shook her head. “No, not at all. I hadn’t expected to see you today either.” She wore a big smile. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks. I just got home yesterday. I was supposed to meet with Reggie as soon as I landed. He never did confirm, and I haven’t seen him yet. I figured I’d better come in today anyway and find him.”

  Denise nodded. “As always, who knows where he is?”

  The two women exchanged knowing looks, Fern hiding her growing concern. Thanking Denise, Fern turned and headed out the back door. People sat outside in some nice sunny spots, but Reggie wasn’t one of them. It was also possible Reggie hadn’t shown up for work; in which case, he could be at his house, although no one seemed to be there last night as she left the airport to drive by it, with no lights on inside or out and no cars in the driveway.

  She resumed her quick tour of the conservatory property. No Reggie. She returned to her vehicle. Inside, dread piled up. She sat in her car for a long moment and then decided she had to find out for sure.

  She left the parking lot and drove to Reggie’s home. She still wasn’t sure he lived in the same place. She’d kept in contact with him for the last six months, and he hadn’t said anything about moving, but that didn’t mean anything. Reginald was just as forgetful as he was good at avoiding people. She pulled into his driveway, happy to see it looked the same as it had late last night. She got out and checked the side garage door. She recognized Reggie’s vehicle inside. That was a good sign, right? Although, last night she hadn’t exited her vehicle to check Reggie’s garage. The car may have been there even then. She walked up to the front door and knocked.

  No answer. She pressed the doorbell and waited. And waited. Nothing. She was afraid to open the front door. She looked in through the windows but couldn’t see anything. Not quite knowing what else to do, she walked around to the back door where the kitchen veranda was. As she neared the porch, she froze.

  She saw no sign of anyone. It was quiet. However, there was a smell, not of death or decay—although both were here.

  But of poison.

  She slowly backtracked and came up against a hard body. She screamed and bolted. Only to get snagged and held firm. She twisted in hard arms to glare at London. Of course it was him. “What the hell are you doing scaring me like that?”

  He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I told you at the conservatory, I’m looking for Reggie. You say he’s missing. Well, I’m worried. Did you get a warrant to go in?”

  He just stared at her, as uncompromising and unhelpful as always. “Why were you backing up?”

  “Because I didn’t like the smell,” she snapped. She didn’t know if he understood. Probably not. In London’s case, it was way too confusing to know what he thought.

  He raised his head and sniffed the air. Shrugged. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She shook her head, freed herself of his hands that he still hadn’t dropped and turned to walk around the house to her car.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “Home.”

  “What about this smell you were talking about?” he asked in a mocking voice.

  She shrugged. “The only thing I can do is tell law enforcement. Since I’ve told you, I’ve taken care of my civic duty.”

  She picked up speed. She didn’t know if he would continue to follow her or not, but she wasn’t hanging around. She had no idea if Reginald lay inside the house, but now that more suspicious circumstances had been encountered, she hoped London would do the right thing.

  *

  London watched the craziest, wildest, most passionate woman he’d ever met flee from him. Again. No love was lost between the two of them. Not now. Maybe not ever. But given the circumstances surrounding their association, that was probably a damn good thing.

  She had been charged with multiple murders; the case had gone to trial, and she’d been acquitted. He hadn’t been a part of that circus, yanked off the investigation by his bosses, although he knew she blamed him. If only for not stopping the police and FBI on their trumped-up charges against her. Maybe if their positions had been reversed, he’d have felt the same. He hadn’t had a chance to explain his side of the issue, and he wasn’t sure he could say much. All the evidence had pointed to her, but had it? He knew the cops were pissed when she’d walked.

  But, for him, it had been a huge relief. She was a powerful narcotic, and, when around her, he’d struggled to kick the addiction. Before the trial, she’d been alive with laughter and joy. So beautiful, ethereal, as if not of this world. He’d been fascinated. But, during it, she’d been exhausted and terrorized, proclaiming her innocence. Thankfully, the jurors had agreed.

  She had left the country soon afterward without saying a word to him.

  Those months apart had helped him get his life together after his parents’ death, just one month before the trial. His brother was still a mess today. And, for some of that, London placed the blame squarely on Fern. She had a lot to atone for, even if she hadn’t been involved in the murder of the former department head or the other three people who had died.

  That another department head was missing… Well, that was something to think about. The conservatory had had two suspicious deaths in the last six months. He knew the local cops were desperately trying to put her at the scene at the right time. But, according to everything they’d found, she’d been in England and firmly off their list of suspects.

  Except on her days off when she’d traveled the countryside. In the cops’ minds, she’d sneaked back into the States somehow. More frustrated and angrier than ever, the cops still waited for her to make a mistake. As London considered Reginald’s unknown whereabouts, he had to wonder if that had just happened.

  Steve, his partner for the last five months, walked up. “What the hell’s going on?”

  London gave him a quick glance. “Not a whole lot to tell. She was acquitted of the murder of the previous head of the department. And, according to her, just arrived stateside.”

  “Well, I doubt she’s stupid enough to immediately murder the second one.”

  London shrugged. “As we well know, murderers aren’t always logical.”

  “Sounds like she’s been set up to me,” Steve said.

  “I considered that. And, if there’s one thing this woman has, it’s enemies.”

  “Including you?” Steve asked. “If you were involved with her, I wonder why you were assigned to this case. Crossing lines like that is not the smartest.”

  London nodded.
“Sometimes you must do everything you can to put the past behind you.”

  “How is your brother?”

  “The same.” With that he turned toward Reginald’s kitchen door. “She said she smelled something. I have to admit she looked terrified.”

  Steve walked up to the back door and sniffed. “I can’t smell anything.”

  London nodded. “She’s always had a nose for danger, and for death. If she said she smelled something, I believe her.” London motioned to the kitchen door. “Let’s check.”

  Steve turned the handle and pushed open the door silently. They didn’t have to step any closer to recognize the odor. The smell of death.

  “Shit,” London whispered.

  Both pulled their weapons and entered cautiously, calling out to identify who they were, and slowly walked into the kitchen.

  The room was empty, but a definite odor came from the right side. London motioned at his partner and slipped into the other room. He stopped at the doorway.

  There was a body all right. But not the one he had expected. Instead of Reginald, London found a middle-aged woman in jeans and a sweatshirt. He approached carefully but found no visible sign of trauma. She lay crumpled on the floor, her face twisted, her hands at her side as if clutching her belly.

  Considering the earlier look on Fern’s face and that nose of hers, poison would be an easy guess. But they’d have to wait for the autopsy. London searched the room for more victims. Then he and his partner searched the main floor and found nothing. They moved upstairs to check all the rooms on the top floor. No sign of Reginald. They silently made their way to the basement. And again found nothing out of the ordinary.

  Beside the victim once more, London called it in. He turned toward his partner. “So, we have a dead woman in Reginald’s house. He wasn’t married, but he did have a long-time partner.”

  Steve looked around. “So was he kidnapped from here, or is he still missing on purpose?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Is he just avoiding his duties at the conservatory and has no idea what happened here? Did he kill this woman? Did he see who did? Did he interrupt something, then ran for his life? Or did he pull a disappearing act and left his partner to face whatever trouble he alone got himself into?”

  “Was he the kind of man to do that? We need to know more about him,” London said, quietly studying the orderly room. Outside of the body, there was little disturbance to the home.

  “I’ll run a background check on him. And her. Canvass his neighborhood and interview his coworkers. According to the staff we’ve spoken with so far, he’s likely hiding somewhere, hoping the rumors will die down over the two recent deaths. But now, with this”—Steve pointed at the dead body—“I’ll ask around some more.”

  London nodded. “The forensics crew will be here soon.” He turned in a slow circle. “We need to find anything here before this place becomes so damn crowded we can’t even walk through it.”

  “Also my run on the license plates confirms his car is here. If he’s intentionally missing, wouldn’t he have taken his own wheels?”

  “Or he drove off with hers…” London cast a look at Steve. “Or he left on foot. Or he’s been driven by someone else, either willingly or not.”

  Steve nodded. “Logical assumptions.”

  London snorted. “Which just means we’re probably wrong on all counts about what happened, and we haven’t considered everything yet.”

  The two grinned. They’d worked enough cases to know how true that often was.

  “Anything to the rumors about her?” Steve asked.

  Her. Fern. London shrugged and gave as neutral an answer as he could. And failed. “No idea. I just know I fell hard, but she was charged soon after, and I didn’t know which way was up for a long time.” And he hadn’t had enough time in their relationship to learn who she really was on the inside, but he kept that to himself.

  “Interesting woman.”

  “No. Secretive. Reticent. Lethal in so many ways. Interesting is way too mild a term.”

  *

  The bitch was back. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been waiting for this day for months. Talk about great timing. He’d driven past her house, as he always did, when he saw her. For a long moment, he froze in place, unable to even breathe. When he finally could, joy took over. It was all he could do to curtail a crazy dance.

  Now he could put his plans in motion. He would make her pay. Like she should’ve the last time. Now he wouldn’t give the courts a chance to let her walk. He would make certain she suffered forever. If the cops didn’t pick her up and charge her within days, he’d hold his own personal tribunal. And he’d ensure she was found guilty.

  It was hard to contain his joy, to believe that the time was now.

  He’d put so much effort into his last attempt only to have it all blow up into nothing.

  When he’d watched her burst into tears of joy at her acquittal, he’d been ready to kill her right then and there—just reaching out, snapping her neck in front of everyone.

  But then he’d have paid the price, and that was not acceptable. Only one person here would pay, and that was her.

  Chapter 3

  Fern drove home with careful precision, her fingers locked on the steering wheel as she tried to control the panic rising inside once more. She’d calmed down after seeing London again, although her mind still struggled with the green hue she’d seen. She didn’t see auras. These were warning cues to her. And witnessing the hardened wariness in London’s gaze… Regardless of what she’d been through, his months hadn’t been easy either. She didn’t want to sympathize. She wanted to stamp down her happy emotions and use her hate to keep him at bay.

  But it wasn’t working.

  The smell of poison at Reginald’s house was the same one she couldn’t get anybody else to detect at her trial because the participants’ senses weren’t that acute.

  She’d had no idea hers was that discriminating, so definitive that she could detect toxins. She hadn’t known how to convince anybody else poison was involved. Thankfully, her lawyer had, and that trick had turned the tide in the trial. She still had nightmares, thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t set up those tests for her—ones done right in the courtroom in front of the jurors’ eyes.

  Home now, she parked, got out and walked to the rear of her house. She’d left it empty while in England.

  And she was more than ready to leave the country again. Particularly knowing a job—and friends—waited for her across the pond. Inside she put on the teakettle, walked to her laptop and turned it on. She could return to Alnwick Garden and do another six months there. Put all this behind her. Walk away before she was embroiled to a level she couldn’t get out of. She knew full well that the chances of getting through another court case with a second acquittal were almost nonexistent. Some people were determined to see her behind bars even now—and could manufacture evidence to keep her there. She knew that firsthand.

  So many people believed she’d been a killer. They were wrong. And, if not for some unique friends, Fern would have gone down. The hardest thing about leaving the country the last time had been leaving her few, but true, friends behind. Yet they could communicate on a level she’d barely accessed. She’d worked hard to gain it though and hadn’t been lonely once her skills had increased. In fact, while keeping in touch with her special friends here, she’d met several telepathically similar ones in England. According to them, an entire underworld of people existed with the ability to communicate on different levels. Fern wasn’t sure exactly how much of it she believed, but they had stood by her in her darkest of times. For that she’d be forever grateful.

  Considering everyone else had ditched her.

  Girlfriends, coworkers, family, friends, and London. Derek had been worse. Even her extended family hadn’t believed in her.

  And that had hurt, and still did, a lot. Then again, they didn’t know her. She’d just assumed family stood behind
one another. Where she’d gotten that idea, she didn’t know. But the dream had blown up in her face. Again.

  She had been well-respected in her field until charged with murder. She was a botanist, following in her parents’ footsteps—only they’d been interested in herbs that healed, whereas hers lie in cultivating those that killed.

  In many cases, there was a lot of overlap.

  Her fascination had started in childhood and never stopped. Her grandfather, also a botanist, had died from an accidental overdose from picking tea leaves, something he did all the time. But this time, he’d mixed a lethal concoction. She’d often wondered if it had been an accident or intentional. He’d died while she was a child. Her parents rarely spoke of him. It captivated her that something so green and lovely looking could be lethal in so many forms. It had taken her decades to get where she was today. The last six months at the Garden of Death, as it was called, had been an eye-opener. She knew most of the toxic plants; but, to see the precautions necessary to grow these particular ones, especially in such close confines to each other, well, she’d been hooked.

  The experience had also been a welcome breather after her nightmare trial.

  Still, Ben Kimball, the former head of the Portland conservatory, had been poisoned. With Fern a specialist in her field, well published on the subject, all interests had been on her. It didn’t matter how stupid it was to kill somebody with your own specialty. Better to kill using somebody else’s.

  But, when she had tried to convince the police of that, she’d gotten nowhere. So she tried to convince the FBI. No luck. Such was life when people feared you, distrusted what you had to say or just didn’t want to look too close. Particularly when London’s brother was involved. Derek had a lot of pull, and a lot of friends. He’d spread a great deal of poison, sowed numerous seeds of doubt.