Rita Herron - The Missing Twin

Pasting on a brave face, she hugged her mother. “I’ll call. You two have fun.”

“We always do,” her mother said with a beaming smile.

Madelyn’s throat thickened, and she nodded, afraid if she spoke, the dam holding back her emotions would break, and she’d fall on the floor in a puddle and start sobbing. Once she started, she might not be able to stop.

The morning sun sliced through the bare trees as she jogged to the minivan, then drove around the mountain. Early morning shadows flickered across the dark asphalt as the sun fought through the storm clouds gathering above. She slowed as she spotted the cemetery, dread flooding her at the sight of the sheriff’s car and the hearse.

The day of the funeral threatened to replay through Madelyn’s head, but she hit the pause button in her brain and zapped it on hold. She refused to relive that day again now with all these men watching.

Swallowing back nerves, she parked and walked to the top of the hill overlooking the Lost Angels corner where the sheriff and three other men stood conferring. Where was Caleb?

Inhaling a breath to fortify her courage, she stumbled down the hill and through the iron gate. Sheriff Gray gave her a concerned look, but she rushed past them, then looked into the tent protecting the site. Caleb was there, kneeling with his hand on Cissy’s grave. His dark skin had drained of color, and an odd mixture of grief and pain marred his face.

What was he doing? Could he see inside the grave?

CALEB’S WORLD SHIMMERED out of control as he felt a vision coming on. Darkness pulled at him, dragging him into an endless tunnel, a pit of silence that stretched below the ground, desolate, screaming with secrets…

“Caleb?”

The sound of a woman’s voice jerked him free of the spell.

“What are you doing?”

Twisting his head sideways, he spotted Madelyn staring at him, her arms crossed, her expression troubled.

He stood abruptly, taking a step back, confused by what he’d seen. By what he hadn’t seen. He needed more time, dammit. And he wasn’t ready to share his gift just yet. “Nothing. Just thinking about the case.” He crooked a thumb toward the sheriff. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Sheriff Gray gestured toward the E.H. Officer. “Madelyn, this is Oliver Gordon, the Environmental Health Officer. He’ll oversee the exhumation.”

Madelyn nodded in greeting, obviously struggling with the reality of the task to come and its ramifications.

Gordon cleared his throat. “For health reasons, I have to ask everyone to wait a safe distance away. We must respect this grave as well as the surrounding ones.”

“Of course.” Madelyn folded her arms around her waist as if to hold herself together while the funeral home employees approached with shovels. The distress on her face made Caleb’s protective instincts surge. He wished he could spare her this ordeal, but this exhumation was vital to whether or not they moved forward with an investigation.

Amanda Peterson, GAI’s resident forensic anthropologist, climbed from a sporty gray sedan at the top of the hill and walked toward them.

Caleb gestured to Madelyn. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

Her face paled, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she allowed him to guide her up the hill. Fine tremors rippled through her body as she stopped beneath a giant oak. Caleb rubbed a hand along her neck, hoping to calm her.

Amanda approached them, her expression sympathetic. “You must be Madelyn Andrews.” She extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Peterson. I work with Caleb and Gage at GAI.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Madelyn said. “I didn’t realize another agent would be present.”

Caleb’s gut pinched. “Amanda is a forensics anthropologist. We thought she might be helpful today.”

Madelyn’s eyes widened as the implications registered.

“She’s going to oversee the medical examiner’s work,” Caleb continued, “just so we can verify the findings. In light of Dr. Emery’s lies, we can’t be too careful.”

Amanda tugged her all-weather coat around her. “I’m sorry, Madelyn. I know this is difficult.”

“Yes, well, thank you for being here. If I’d had my wits about me five years ago, I would have demanded to see my child before I buried her.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Amanda said, her voice and smile genuinely understanding. “You were a victim. And we’re going to find out just how much of one today.”

Amanda’s pep talk seemed to give Madelyn strength, because she offered her a tiny smile.

Amanda nudged his arm as she headed down the hill as if silently ordering him to stay with Madelyn. Hell, she didn’t have to tell him that Madelyn was vulnerable.

But getting too close to her was dangerous for him.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, Caleb,” Madelyn said. “What were you doing at Cissy’s grave?” Suspicion flared in her eyes. “Do you have some kind of psychic ability that you didn’t mention? Is that why you believed Sara? Could you see inside the grave?”

Irritated that she’d caught him when he’d had no intention of revealing his personal visions, he hesitated. Telling her meant opening himself up to scrutiny.

His grandfather’s image flashed in his mind. White Feather, a shaman, a man with strong faith and belief in the Cherokee customs, in the healing power of herbs and the earth. And in the healing power of love.

He’d also believed in Caleb, in his visions, because his grandfather simply believed that he was special.

But if he had been so damn special, why hadn’t he foreseen the shooter that horrible day?

“Caleb, I’m not going to judge. I saw you with Sara, the look on your face. She trusted you and her trust doesn’t come easily.” Madelyn laid her palm against his cheek, stirring primal instincts and needs that had lain dormant too long. “Just tell me the truth,” she said softly.

His gaze met hers, and something sweet and frightening and sensual rippled between them, a connection he’d never felt, not even with Mara.

Because he had never shared the truth about himself with her. He had tried to be a man she’d approve of. A hard worker, a provider. They’d married because they both wanted to raise a family without the stigma of a mixed race.

But this sensual connection, this drive to be near Madelyn, was foreign and disturbing and heated his blood.

Arousing him.

Arousal and lust had no place in an investigation.

Self-loathing filled him. They were at a graveyard, for God’s sake. And Madelyn was inquiring about his gift and how it might impact this case. Not because she was remotely interested in him personally.

“Sometimes I sense things,” he said quietly, watching her for a reaction. “It’s not an ability I can control or call upon at will. It just…happens.”

Her expression softened. “That’s the reason you believed Sara? You sensed something when you shook her hand?”

“Yes, I believe that Sara is special,” he said by way of an answer. He jammed his hands in his pockets, ignoring the whistle of the wind bringing cries of the dead from the graves. He had to focus on one case here and that was the Andrews child. The other lost spirits would have to find another medium to hear their pleas.

Madelyn shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Leaves fluttered down from the trees, scattering amongst the markers, adding bold reds, yellows, and oranges to the brittle, brown grass.

Madelyn cleared her throat as if summoning courage. “What did you see when you touched the grave?”

His former vision flashed back. But he wasn’t certain it was a vision at all. A world of darkness spun around him, that long empty pit clawing at him.

Madelyn clutched his arm. “Caleb, tell me the truth. Please.”