Touching the Past

By Ilene Kaye

Three people are missing. Detective Zac Herrera knows their disappearances are connected. He needs psychic Mallory Woods to prove it and he's hoping their past connection will convince her to help him. Mallory Woods isn't an ordinary accountant. The attractive Amerasian has a secret—the ability to see the past when she touches an object or a person—though she has resisted using her gift since a traumatic event in high school. Except she can't turn her back on the missing victims, or Zac, the man she once cared about. But can he protect her from the evil reaching out for her? As Zac and Mallory work together, their attraction blossoms. With a madman on the loose, will they survive to find out if they have a future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781628306828

Book preview

purchasing

Zac was watching her. Mallory shook her head. I’m sorry. There’s noth—

She broke off, cocking her head.

There was something. Almost like a slight echo.

Someone had called to Kim. Someone she knew and connected with good things, though Mallory didn’t get the feeling it was a relative or friend.

She tried to focus in. Catch a glimpse. Closing her eyes, she swiveled her head in different directions.

It was gone. She’d lost it.

What is it? What did you see?

Zac’s voice, rough with impatience and something Mallory couldn’t identify, came from nearer than she’d expected.

She opened her eyes. Zac’s face was next to hers. Startled, she stepped back.

A horn blared.

Praise for Ilene Kaye

IT HAD TO BE YUU offers quick, solid escapism, good for those times when you’re waiting at the doctor’s office or need something light before bedtime.

~Heather Massey, The Galaxy Express blog

Touching the Past

by

Ilene Kaye

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Touching the Past

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Ilene Kaye

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-682-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Carol and Brenda.

Thanks for the support and encouragement.

Chapter 1

Damn it! He needed Mallory Woods.

Zac Herrera pushed back from the office desk with its covering of glossy black-and-white and color photos. His office was small. It only took him two steps to reach the narrow window.

He was lucky to have an office. As the newest and most junior member of Midland’s four person detective squad, he could have been left out in the general office area or shoved in a closet.

Zac glanced at the pitted gray walls, unadorned except for frames holding his Police Academy graduation photograph, diplomas from Delta College and the Academy, and his detective certification. His mouth twisted in a half-grin. Maybe they had put him in a closet. Outside, rain hit the glass and dribbled down. The sky was dark enough that the lot’s lights were shedding their yellow beams over the parked police cars.

The grin fading, Zac rubbed the back of his neck. It had been raining all day. A steady, dull cold rain that made the world seem bleak and oppressed the spirit. Maybe that was what had him feeling so frustrated.

His hand dropped to his side. No, the rain wasn’t what was wrong. It was the case.

If anyone had told Zac twenty years ago that he’d be a police detective in his hometown, he wouldn’t have believed them. No one who’d known him then would have believed them either. He’d been smart enough, at least that’s what his teachers had said, but lazy. The third generation of a family that lived off state assistance, he’d never seen the point of working at something. Fortunately, Zac’s sophomore year in high school, an ex-Marine sergeant civics teacher had taken him in hand and set him on the right track.

It hadn’t been easy. Zac had had to fight against a lifetime of bad habits and his family’s indifference to his efforts. He’d done it, though. He graduated salutatorian of his class. Did a hitch in the Army. Came back home to Michigan. Got an Associate’s degree at Delta. Went through the police academy. Worked his way through the ranks. Made detective.

And now he was looking at a case he didn’t have a clue how to solve.

Zac went back to the desk and photos. Beth Kennedy, 35, a single mother and dental technician. Daniel Yeun, 18, a student at SVSU with an undeclared major. Kim Gerson, 29, a newly engaged realtor. They had nothing in common. Other than they were all from Midland and had all disappeared within the last three months.

People disappeared all the time. For all kinds of reasons. But these three didn’t seem to have any reason for dropping everything and vanishing.

Zac picked up Beth Kennedy’s photo. She was an ordinary-looking, slightly overweight African-American woman who was, by all accounts, totally devoted to her twin nine-year-old sons. There was no ex. No current boyfriend. She wasn’t overly in debt. Had no health problems. There was no reason for her to disappear while commuting between the dental office where she worked and her home.

Same with Yeun and Gerson. Ordinary people. No criminal records. No major problems or changes in their lives. So why had they disappeared? There were no bodies. At least none that had been found. No sign of violence of any kind. Just abandoned cars and purses and bookbags.

Zac dropped into his chair, letting Beth’s picture fall to the desk. If there was a connection or pattern, he couldn’t see it. But his gut told him there was one.

His gut was also telling him to call the one person he was certain could find the connection. Mallory.

He reached for his cell the same way he had dozens of times the past week.

The door rattled.

Before Zac dropped his hand from the phone or responded, Officer Don Wright stepped into the office. Herrera, you still here? Thought someone left the lights on. Wright was a tall, slim man with the build of a long distance runner. Which he was. If he allowed the fringe that surrounded his bald dome to grow out, it would be a dirty blond color. Your shift ended a half hour ago. His faded blue eyes narrowed within the web of fine lines that surrounded them as he spotted the pictures on the desk. Trying to earn that promotion? The cold half-smile on his thin lips did nothing to mediate the edge in his voice.

Just looking over some notes. Zac swept the photos into one pile, keeping his tone easy with an effort.

It hadn’t taken him long to discover Wright was the kind of man who blamed his failures on everyone else. An unapologetic racist, he made no secret of the fact that he considered Zac a token Spic. That he thought Zac had kept him from getting the promotion to detective that he deserved.

Zac ignored the man and the label as much as he could. The latter was easier than the former. He’d been tagged with labels all his life, some of the kinder being unmotivated and not working up to his potential. But he’d shed those, same as he would token. Eventually.

He was a token. He knew it. The Midland police force needed more diversity, and he’d applied at the right time. But he could do the job. They’d have to admit that. And they would. And so would Wright.

As for the Spic, he might have been that once, but no more. Both his maternal and paternal great-grandparents had been migrant workers from Texas who followed the crops north and back again. It was his father’s father who decided to stay in Michigan and collect benefits. Zac’s father and uncles did the same, picking up some under the table work here and there for extra funds and poaching the occasional deer to put some extra meat on the table. Zac’s brothers had moved on to dealing pot in high school to add to the family’s unimpressive résumé. The Herreras weren’t the kind of family the hard-working Latino community liked to acknowledge. But Zac—with some help—had broken out of the cycle. He was Detective Zachary Herrera now, not some worthless Spic.

Wright was still staring at the pile of photos. You’re wasting your time. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his uniform pocket and shook one out. "You’re not going to find those people."

There was something in the way the older man said those that caused Zac’s hands to involuntarily clench into fists.

Wright waved the cigarette at Beth Kennedy’s picture. That one there. Probably ran off and shacked up with some guy down in Detroit. It’s where she came from.

She wouldn’t leave her sons. Zac made himself loosen his hands.

Right. Wright smirked at him, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

Zac pressed his lips together, forcing back the automatic defense of Beth. Wright was baiting him, trying to make Zac lose his temper. It was how the other man got his kicks.

Wright knew Beth hadn’t run off with a man. He was the one who’d caught the initial missing person’s report. Bigoted as he was, Wright knew his job. He’d checked all the obvious possibilities before handing the case off to the detectives.

And that Chinese kid—

Daniel Yeun is Korean-American. Zac bit his lip in annoyance as the correction slipped out.

A point scored, Wright’s smirk deepened.

Suddenly tired of the man and feeling as if he needed a shower, Zac stepped from behind the desk. "If there’s nothing else,