Psychic Seeks is live!
Young FBI agent psychic seeks intelligent, strong, non-wussy… human guy?
Psychic FBI agent Ariana Ryder gets called out of a date to investigate a hanging, but it’s a clear case of suicide. Try tellin’ that to her boss Grant. When Grant turns out to be right, and there’s more going on, him and Ariana rush to find the culprits.
But with the paranormal, nothin’ is what it seems, and a psychic girl’s got to watch her back because there’s a demon out there looking for a mate… and Ariana fits his profile.
I turned to Thomas. “Do you have any enemies?”
“Someone who knows about your wife?” Kat said before Thomas could answer.
“And could get up here?”
“While the alarm’s on.”
“And get away with Shelly.”
Thomas’s head bounced between Kat and me like a ping pong ball loaded with flubber and he held up his hands. “Hey, chipmunk crew, one at a time.”
“Hey!” we chorused, trading a look.
“Ryder, Lang,” Grant said, voice flat.
“Yes, sir?” Again in stereo. We really weren’t doing that on purpose.
“Let the man answer.”
“I’m retired FBI and I was Army before that. That’s a lot of enemies, girls,” Thomas said, rubbing his rough cheeks.
Girls? Like he was talkin’ to a couple of eight year olds selling cookies? I was starting to really dislike Thomas. I knew he just had a serious scare, but still, there was no need to be a jerk.
“This was personal, Thomas” Grant said. “Who would hate you enough to do this?”
Gee, I don’t know. Somebody who met him.
What? We were there to help, when we weren’t even supposed to be since it wasn’t our jurisdiction in the first place, and he was treating me and Kat like ditzy prom queens gettin’ in his way.
And worse, Grant wasn’t stopping him.
“I don’t know.” Thomas threw up his hands.
Oh yeah, that was helpful.
“Well,” I said, “lucky for you, you got the chipmunk crew. And yes, I did mean to make that sound all Doctor Seuss.”
“Ryder,” Grant said.
“He started it.”
“And you’re not ten, last time I checked.” Grant took my shoulders, meaty hands engulfing them, and lowered his voice. “You’re an agent, Ariana. He’s a grieving witness. Cutting through the bullshit witnesses throw at you is part of the job.”
“So you weren’t stoppin’ him being a jerk cuz you wanted me to deal with it?”
Grant released me and Thomas snorted, “Did I hurt your feelings?”
My mouth fell open and Grant turned on him. “Cut it out, Thomas.”
Thomas’s wrinkled lip pulled up. “What was that, Sergeant?”
Grant got up in Thomas’s face, power gathering around him, so thick it was practically palpable. No, I don’t mean magic, just his natural… force.
“You’re not my lieutenant anymore, Thomas” he said in his low, scary voice. “You’re a civilian and I’m a federal officer. So is she. And she’s damn good.”
I grinned so hard I half expected my molars to pop out.
Grant and Thomas stood with their eyes locked for a few long seconds.
Then Thomas looked away.
No one can stand up to a stare down by Grant.
“Ryder.” Grant turned back to me and waved a hand. “We need to know what happened.”
My job was just starting.
My incense was still burning, the smoky sandalwood infusing the room. Shelly was possibly still alive, meaning I didn’t have to hope a body carried enough psychic memory on it for me to see what happened, I just had to get on Shelly’s… um frequency?
You notice I don’t really know what I’m talkin’ about. Basically, I can touch something owned by a living person to connect to them. It’s more rare for me to see anything off a dead person’s stuff unless they’re a ghost and still hanging around.
Ya know, it’s a good thing it was a fake body hanging next to me, otherwise that would’ve been a really distasteful pun.
“Does Shelly have a favorite article of clothing?” I asked.
“Why?” Thomas scowled at me.
Ohhh, the big bad man didn’t like being put in his place.
“So I can get a vision.”
He muttered about psychic mumbo jumbo, but dove into the closet. He came out and threw a pink sweater at me.
I caught it with an eye roll. I know grief makes people do weird things, but come on.
I ran my hands over the material, something so light and fluffy it was like spun marshmallows, and closed my eyes, shaking out my hands. The marshmallow sweater grew heavy, like it was growing steel in the fibers and my arms dropped.
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