Temperature Rising Read Online Free PDF Page A

filled her eyes. “I want to help. That’s why I’m here.”
    Mac leaned forward. “Then why won’t you help us?
    “I’m trying to, you just don’t understand.” Her shoulders dropped again. “I don’t understand.”
    “You’re right. I don’t understand, so why won’t you tell me?”
    She shook her head in defeat.
    “You can back up to the pharmacy and go over it again. That was all correct?”
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    “The description?” he questioned.
    “That’s all there is. Everything I remember.”
    “All right, after you left. What then?”
    “I went home to bed just like I said. I’d been overworking. I was very sick. I was burning up.”
    “Then how did you know she was stabbed in the back while facing him, and how can you say he’ll kill again?”
    “Because I saw it in a dream.” Her outcry did nothing to soften the blow of her words.
    Mac figured the same doubt that shadowed Jonesy’s face settled over his. The woman looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole.
    “You’re saying you’re psychic?” Detective Jones’ voice was laced with skepticism.
    “No,” Laken denied, looking from one to the other. “No, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I keep hoping I’m wrong but I know I’m not. I saw the look of fear on her face the moment before he thrust the knife in her. I felt his thrill of invincibility as he took her life. There was no remorse, only pleasure, deep gratifying pleasure. He killed her, and he will kill again.”
    Mac felt his thrill of having a witness slipping away, but there was another sense of loss that went far deeper. For the first time in a long time, he’d felt a rush of interest, and the woman was mental. He wanted to honestly give her the benefit of the doubt and concede the possibility. But unfortunately, his limited experience with psychics had taught him they were total frauds — people wanting fame, to feel important or different, some just preying on others’ pain.
    He ached with the disappointment this woman would fit into one of those categories. Shoving his exasperation down, he rocked back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair, trying to regain his composure.
    “You’re saying you dreamed it?” He fought to keep his words even.
    “Yes.” There was a definite tremble in the answer.
    “You were home sick?” By the pallor of her face, he could believe that.
    “Yes.”
    “And, you saw him kill her in your dream?”
    “Yes.”
    “But you can’t tell us what he looked like, other than the description of the man you ran into on your way home?”
    “Yes.” Again, it was the one-word answer.
    They were supposed to be courteous to everyone, even crackpots, but Mac wanted to yell at her so badly he had to hold his breath to keep it in. In the middle of his reflections, Jonesy picked up the questioning, moving around the desk beside him.
    “If you could see her clearly enough to recognize her from one brief sighting, while you were sick, to know it was her in the paper, and he killed her, then why can’t you give us a better description of him?” Jonesy asked.
    Great question, Mac thought, that should get her. Her answer froze him.
    “Because, I saw it from his angle.” Her choked words were enough to shock him. “Look, I’m sorry I wasted you’re time. I can’t help you.” She stood quickly. “It was a mistake to come here.” She turned, heading for the stairs, and though she never broke into a run, she disappeared before they had time to decide to go after her, not that either tried.
    “Man.” Jonesy finally broke the silence. “I thought we had a real witness there for a minute.”
    “Me, too.” Mac had to agree, but he’d felt he had something more ripped away. Laken Williams had touched him deeply.
    “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve put in nine hours today already. I promised Connie a movie tonight. I say we call it a day and let the other team worry about it for a