Always Look Twice. Sheri WhiteFeather

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СКАЧАТЬ a message in the conversation hearts.

      Surely, she was losing her mind.

      She scanned the counter, reading each colorful piece. The hearts didn’t say anything they hadn’t said before.

      Just as Olivia left the kitchen, the lock on the front door rattled, making an ominous sound. But Samantha didn’t fret. She knew who it was. The cat sailed across the room to greet her mistress, nearly flying through the air like a feline on a witch’s broom.

      Olivia let out the breath she’d been holding. Allie entered the loft, balancing her keys, a small beaded purse and a plastic cup. A half-eaten muffin was stuffed in her mouth.

      “You were downstairs,” Olivia said.

      Allie nodded, grabbed the muffin before it fell. “You look like you saw a ghost.” She paused, glanced around. “Is Dad here?”

      “No. No one is here.” Samantha was purring, twining around Allie’s legs. “No one at all.”

      “I had a craving for a mocha cappuccino.” Her sister dropped her purse on a nearby table, discarding her keys with it. “It’s decaf, with a shot of raspberry.” She knelt to pet the cat. “Are you okay?”

      “Who? Me or Samantha?”

      “You.”

      “Not really, no.”

      Olivia sat on the sofa, and Allie took the chair with the blankets, dropping crumbs from the muffin onto her clothes. She’d combined a baggy sweater, tight jeans and slightly scuffed shoes.

      Kind of like West’s boots.

      “I was with the special agent tonight,” Olivia said.

      Allie’s eyes grew wide. “You slept with him?”

      “No. We were just talking. But I’ve had visions about kissing him. And then this evening I had the horrible feeling that he was going to die.”

      “Oh, my God. Why? What’s going on?”

      “I don’t know. Earlier I thought the Slasher was watching West and me. Keeping track of us in his mind. But I might be confused.”

      “West. That’s the FBI guy’s name?”

      Olivia nodded. “Ian West. What if he dies? What if I can’t stop it from happening?”

      “Dad is trying to protect us. Maybe he’ll try to protect West, too.” Allie held her coffee, curling her fingers around the cup, clutching it to her chest. “If the killer is watching you, then why haven’t you been able to see him?”

      “I’m not sure. Maybe he’s blocking me. Maybe he’s messing with my mind.”

      “Then we have to stop him.”

      Olivia rubbed her eyes. Suddenly Allie looked like a moonlit mirage, a nighttime enchantress with her rain-straight hair and glittering jewelry. “We?”

      “I can help you locate him.”

      “How?”

      “In a painting.”

      The idea seemed absurd. Yet it made sense, too. Allie was beginning to believe that she could create magic with her art. And Olivia wasn’t about to scoff at the possibility, especially now, when she needed her sister to be strong. “What are you going to paint?”

      “His calling card. The heart with the arrowhead.”

      A shiver raced up Olivia’s spine. “No one is supposed to know about that. The police are keeping it under wraps.”

      “I’m not going to exhibit the painting. It’s just for us.”

      And for the killer, Olivia thought. For the man they were trying to locate. “It’s an outline. A black drawing.”

      “Then I’ll paint it like that. Is there something I can use as reference?”

      “Yes. But they’re crime-scene photos, Allie. Are you sure you can handle that?”

      “Do I have a choice?”

      “Not if you’re determined to go through with this.”

      “I am,” the younger woman said, lifting her chin. Beside her, Samantha meowed, supporting her mistress.

      “Then I’ll call Agent West in the morning. Maybe he’ll agree to bring the pictures here.”

      And maybe, just maybe, Olivia would be able to see the Slasher in her mind.

      As daylight filtered through the sheers in her room, Olivia reached for the portable phone. She sat on the bed, fighting a chill in the air. She sensed it was going to rain. The Chiricahua used to say that rain would come if a horned toad or a snake was killed and placed on its back, but Olivia didn’t want to think about dead animals.

      She grabbed the phonebook and looked up the number of West’s motel, then asked to be connected to his room.

      He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

      “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake,” she said.

      “I just made a pot of coffee. I feel like crap.” He paused. “Why are you calling me?”

      She wasn’t surprised that he recognized her voice. Supposedly he liked the raspy tone. “I need a favor.” She explained the situation, telling him about Allie, about her sister’s idea to track the killer.

      “That’s weird,” he said.

      Olivia rolled her eyes. She could hear him pouring his coffee. “And the evidence in this case is normal? When’s the last time a footprint disappeared from a cast? Or hair samples changed color? Or went from human to animal?”

      “Fine. But you could have asked Muncy or Riggs for this favor.”

      “The killer isn’t watching them. But he might be watching you and me.”

      Something clanked. A plastic spoon. His cup on the counter. A sound she couldn’t quite define.

      “Since when?” he asked.

      “Since last night. But I’m not sure about this.” Nor did she intend to mention that she’d sensed his death. At least not over the phone. She felt responsible for him, and that didn’t sit well. She had enough to worry about. “So are you going to bring over the crime-scene photos or not?”

      “I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be involving your sister.” He blew a frustrated breath into the receiver. “This is a hell of a favor.”

      Which meant he was coming. “Are you going to take a cab to the Mockingbird to get your car?”

      “Yes. Then I’ll pick up the pictures.”

      “Do you need my address?”

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