Insatiable Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

He’s not the cheating kind.”
    Vincent leaned back, his crisp shirt stretching across massive, powerful broad shoulders. “What about defensive wounds?”
    Waller hesitated, then scratched his head. “That’s what makes this so danged confusing. There weren’t any. And Billie Jo was a strong girl—she should have fought back.”
    “Any markings around her neck or head where someone held her underwater?” Vincent asked.
    Waller shook his head again. “No. And she didn’t have any enemies, either. Everyone in town loved Billie Jo. That girl was sweet as molasses.”
    “You questioned the fiancé?”
    “Yep. Standard police work.” Waller’s tone held a defensive edge to it. “We may be small-town, but we’re competent. Curtis was devastated over Billie Jo’s death, cried like a baby.”
    “He loved Billie Jo,” Clarissa seconded. “They were high school sweethearts. I talked to him myself, and he’s despondent. He said Billie Jo was afraid of water, too, that she never would have gone to that creek by herself.”
    “How about alcohol in her system?” Vincent asked.
    Waller shifted. “Tox reports showed no alcohol or drugs.”
    “That’s interesting,” Vincent conceded, “but what makes you think the spider-bite victim was murdered?”
    “Did you see the number of bites she sustained?” Clarissa asked, annoyed. “Her apartment building was new, too. Someone had to have collected those spiders and put them in her bed.”
    Vincent leaned forward, his jaw set hard and firm. “Even if that were so, what makes you think the two deaths are connected? That they’re the work of one person?”
    The two women’s faces floated into Clarissa’s vision, ghostly hues in ethereal, shimmering pale white that screamed for her to speak for them, because they could no longer speak for themselves. They wanted justice and deserved an explanation. So did their loved ones.
    Vincent folded his hands, hands that were large and masculine, filled with power and strength. His fingers were scarred now, rugged—she wondered about the scars, then if his hands could be gentle.
    He cleared his throat. “Clarissa, answer the question.”
    “Because Billie Jo’s and Jamie’s spirits are together, holding hands,” she said in a strained whisper.
    Vincent’s jaw tightened. “If these spirits can talk to you, why don’t they tell you who killed them?”
    “Because they don’t know.” She wet her dry lips with her tongue. “When people die from a sudden trauma or violent death, their souls go into shock,” she explained. “It takes time to adjust, to accept that they’re dead. It may take even longer for them to communicate.”
    “Why do these spirits appear to you?” he asked.
    Clarissa twisted her hands. “Two reasons. I knew both victims. And I’m what’s called a safe zone. The spirits know I’m a believer and more emotionally detached than a family member.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Have you ever been tested?”
    “No. I don’t need testing. I know what I hear.”
    “I meant for mental disorders,” Vincent said.
    Anger and hurt gnawed at her. “I’m
psychic,
not psychotic, Vincent.” She glared at him. “I understand that believing in the supernatural is difficult for some people, especially those who don’t have an
open
mind, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could help.”
    A flicker of surprise glinted in his eyes, along with anger. “Even if I did believe in psychic powers,” he said sharply, “how exactly do you intend to help me if you can’t offer any real information?”
    “Look, I didn’t ask for this gift, to hear from the spirit world, but I can’t control when they come to me.” Clarissa’s voice rose. “If I ignore them, I might as well be putting them in the grave myself.”
    He stiffened.
    “You don’t have to believe me, Vincent. You don’t have to even like me. All I’m asking is that you investigate.” A chill swept over her. “The spirits are here