“I always am. Take care of my soon-to-be godchild. I plan to be back before the baby is born.”
In a way, Cree’s family dynamics might be starting all over again. Everything had started with her delivering her predictions and warnings to her own godfather, who was a now-retired cop.
It was possible her baby might grow into the same abilities and need someone like Mason to pay attention to the clues.
Cree had turned him from a skeptic into a full-blown believer. Now he just needed to get Savanah onboard with trusting him.
Judging by how things were going, that was going to take a miracle.
Mason clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples, trying to stop the headache already forming.
“Relax, Mason,” Cree said, pulling him to open his eyes.
He glanced at the clock. “No time to relax. Time’s up. I’ve got to go.”
Mason hung up, shifted the SUV into gear, and flipped on the headlights.
Savanah Miles stood in the beam of his lights.
He rolled down his window. “Get in if you’re coming.”
She rounded the SUV and climbed inside. Dropping a bag at her feet, she hooked her seatbelt. “Why now, after all this time, do you believe me about the serial killer and the dead body I found?”
“Because, a few hours ago, that body you claimed to find resurfaced and was gift-wrapped with your name on it. I’m here to take you home.”
3
Savanah didn't usually hop into cars with strangers.
But her cop radar had been spot-on for years. She could spot one in a crowd, and it had nothing to do with the short haircuts.
Being raised by a detective and growing up around cops had trained her to pay attention. Especially after the day she'd identified the killer at her father's station. That day had changed everything.
She might have helped the police catch a killer and save some kids' lives, but the whole town considered her abilities a gift from Satan himself. Somehow, talking to ghosts meant she was evil incarnate and needed to find Jesus.
People could be mean and hurtful; it was a lesson in life she’d never forget.
Even now, years later, she found herself scanning every room for exits, cataloging faces, assessing threats. Old habits didn’t die; they hibernated.
This badge was an interesting character. His dark hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. His deep blue eyes were sharp and calculating.
“What's your name?”
“Special Agent Leonard Mason Spencer. You can call me Mason or Spencer. I only answer to Leonard when I'm in trouble with my mother.” He glanced at her when he pulled up to a streetlight. “Do you always make it a habit of getting into the car with strangers?”
“Only ones offering answers that confirm I'm not losing my mind.” She shrugged and smiled. “Just because you got me in the car doesn't mean I'm helpless or willing to help you.”
“Care to bet on that?” he asked.
“You got a gambling problem, Leonard?”
“Nope, but I should warn you that my best friend is a psychic, and she gave me your name over a month ago. I've been studying your file ever since.”
Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. “I have a file with the FBI? What does it say? Can I read it?”
“No, but I can give you the highlights,” he said as he pulled out onto the freeway toward her hometown. It only hit her then that she was really going home.
Home. Where kids had mocked her for “talking to nothing,” while teachers whispered behind her back.
