Crossing the Line

By Catherine Stang

Police Detective Connor Galbraith only believed in things he could see, touch, and send out to be analyzed. So he's more than a little skeptical when a mysterious psychic appears in his life and tells him exactly where to find the District Attorney's kidnapped daughter. Simone Spencer knows specific details about the case, and more about Connor than he would like, especially since she is a suspect. Connor is a loner, both on and off the job, but as they spend time together and the trouble surrounding them escalates, their connection turns personal, throwing him off-balance and in danger of losing his heart. Simone's psychic powers accidentally open a destiny circle and involve her in Connor's life in unexpected ways. She can see into his past secrets that he isn't even aware of. Can she make him trust her enough to believe in her visions?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: May 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9781593747633

Book preview

Chapter 1

It looked like a freaking movie set. Detective Connor Galbraith muttered a cuss word as he tightened his grip on the frightened little girl who clung to his neck. All around them, cameras flashed. Every local channel along with all the major cable news networks lined up just behind the barricade of squad cars. Not that he was surprised to see the press here in large numbers. It wasn’t every day the District Attorney’s daughter is kidnapped by gunmen who held the Los Angeles Police Department at bay. It was a damn interesting story. He just wished to hell little Ashley hadn’t been a witness to the bloody ending.

It’s just about over, he murmured into three-year-old Ashley Davenport’s smoky blonde hair. Don’t let all the cameras scare you, princess. You’re going home.

Promise?

Her voice was so soft that he could barely hear it.

He gave her a reassuring squeeze. I promise.

Connor cradled her close as the S.W.A.T. team ran around him to secure the rest of the building. He hoped they caught the bastard who shot his back up, Officer Harry. That suspect managed to escape during the gunfight.

An ambulance and coroner’s wagon roared up. How had things spun so far out of his control? Damn. When Connor closed his eyes, he could still see the blood darkening Harry’s shirt. Why the hell didn’t he wear his bulletproof vest? He just hoped Harry made it.

Connor hated making mistakes—especially ones of this magnitude—with the whole world watching. Killing suspects never sat easy with him. No matter how many candles he lit or priests he confessed to, killing stole pieces of his soul.

Just beyond the line of reporters stood the little girl’s mother, the usually unflappable Julia Davenport from the DA’s office. Morgan’s underlings snatched her daughter from daycare to scare Julia into getting Morgan’s case dropped. Now one of the kidnappers was dead and the other on the lam. Two more material witnesses were pulled out of a dumpster in an alley not far from here. Unless his partner, Trenton, caught the other suspect who he was chasing, Julia’s case was over. Without witnesses, the rest of the state’s case was based on flimsy circumstantial evidence. Which meant Judge Barnes would likely throw it out. Dammit to hell! Morgan would go free to peddle his drugs elsewhere. Two years of hard investigative work down the toilet.

He hardly recognized Julia in jeans and a loose T-shirt. She looked years younger and much more vulnerable. His gaze met her teary one for a brief moment as she mouthed: thank you. He blinked back his own tears as amid a flash of cameras, he lowered a struggling Ashley so she could run into the arms of her sobbing mother.

Connor straightened, preparing to face an onslaught of reporters moving towards him since the extra police officers had shifted them away from the mother and child reunion. With blood still pounding in his ears, he hoped he could rein in his temper long enough to deal with the press.

Detective Galbraith, is it true that Ashley Davenport was kidnapped in an attempt to stop the Morgan Case from going forward? a reporter from Channel 15 shouted over the crowd.

Connor grimaced as he raised his hands to silence the flow of questions. Damn. His breath caught at the sharp pain slicing through his side. They came too damn close to getting him this time.

He cleared his throat. The department has no official comment at this time. Chief Mitchell will have a press conference at two.

But isn’t it true one suspect and a police officer lost their lives in the rescue operation?

He hoped to hell Harry didn’t die.

I can’t confirm or deny that report. Jeez, he could hardly wait for this sound bite to be played over and over ad nauseam all day long.

Isn’t there one suspect still at large?

Were the two bodies found yesterday connected to this case?

Sorry, boys, you’ll have to wait for the official press conference.

A groan came up from the crowd. As the reporters talked among themselves, Connor slipped through the crowd. He had to find Simone. Relief poured over him when he saw the delicate woman perched on the edge of a flower shop windowsill part way down the block. At least she hadn’t fled, although part of him wished she would, because he had no idea what the hell to do with her.

The connection he felt to her unnerved him. She and her eccentric aunt appeared out of the blue in his women’s Tae Kwon Do class. She claimed to have no previous training, yet she followed his moves perfectly. They shadow fought as though they were of one mind. She disappeared as soon as class ended. He tried in vain to find her. Then like magic, she showed up last night at the police station claiming to know where Ashley Davenport was being held.

He didn’t believe in such things as visions, but his partner, Trent, and back-up, Harry, wouldn’t let him dismiss her so easily. With no other good leads, he let Simone ride with him as she told him where to go. It bothered him that she knew so much about the kidnapper’s plans. Now that the danger had cooled, he planned to interrogate her further.

She stood as he walked towards her, hands in the pockets of a floral dress. She had on white sandals and he tried unsuccessfully not to look at her glittery pink painted toes. Nail polish was the last thing he usually noticed, but Simone’s feet were too sexy. He had never known anyone who wore a gold toe ring and ankle bracelet—especially not someone who seemed as bookish as Simone Spencer.

Enough. He forced his gaze to meet hers.

At a little over five feet, Simone had to look up at him, since he towered over her at six-three. Her rich, burnished red hair was cut in a flattering way, which framed her oval face. She had a sultry, yet pixyish, aura that kept him guessing.

I was right about all of it, wasn’t I? Her soft inquiry tugged at his cold, hardened heart. In her deep blue gaze, he could read the anguish and fear. Eyes that usually reminded him of calm blue water were turbulent today.

Damn. He had to keep his feelings out of this. She was a suspect, or at best, an accomplice.

Simone closed her eyes, shuddering. I saw death.

One of the kidnappers was killed. Harry from my team was seriously wounded. He searched her gaze for shock, but saw only quiet resignation. How could she know exactly what happened?

Do you think Harry will be okay?

You tell me. You’re the psychic.

She stiffened at his gruff tone. Connor knew he had gone too far, but dammit the worry evident in her tone pissed him off. Why? He couldn’t say. Maybe it was just too dangerous to let himself care about her feelings.

Harry wasn’t the only one that was shot, she said softly.

He wanted to deny it, but his ribs still burned from the impact of the bullet against his bulletproof vest. She was good—too good.

She touched his arm in a comforting gesture that was anything but that. Instead, it sent shockwaves through him. As he started to step back, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him tightly to her soft body.

I often wish I saw more than fleeting images, she murmured against his damp shirt. She felt so small and fragile pressed against his large muscular frame made more so by the extra padding of his protective vest.

I know. One arm tightened around her as he stroked her hair.

For a moment, they just stood there, clinging to each other while the adrenaline rush from combat coursed through him. Somehow, holding her seemed to soothe his frayed nerves. And that frightened him.

Other noises around them made Connor realize where they were. He didn’t want to draw attention to her. For some reason, she wanted to remain anonymous. He stepped away, surprised by his own reluctance to do so. He had never been a demonstrative sort of guy. Maybe it was the cop in him that never let anyone get too close.

Detective Galbraith. A well-known reporter pulled away from the crowd, heading toward him. He stepped in front of Simone, putting her out of their line of fire.

Is it true you had outside help solving this kidnapping? The pert blonde he recognized from a cable network stared expectantly at him.

We used all the resources at our disposal. There. Make what you will of that remark. As he knew they would when their experts analyzed every comment.

"Then it is true about using an untried psychic?"

So, she had done her homework. He flashed his trademark grin. You know I never reveal my sources. They would stop coming to me if I did.

Then she is a source?

There are many bits of information gathered in a complex case like this. No one person or tidbit holds the whole key. They are just part of the bigger puzzle.

He wondered how she could continue to smile while wanting to throttle him at the same time.

A large hairy man in a Grateful Dead shirt grabbed the reporter’s arm. Julia Davenport is granting an interview and you’re the one she is asking for.

Her polite smile faded. We’ll talk later.

Like hell we will. Anytime.

Simone. He turned. Dammit, she evaporated like mist. What his elusive psychic didn’t know was that he had her followed. He’d get an address from the plain-clothes officer who tailed her last night. And they would talk. That was one prediction he could count on. He wondered if she knew it, too.

* * * *

She was home. Simone never thought she’d call the Written in Stars strip mall she co-owned with her twin great-aunts and grandmother home. Who would have thought the youngest math professor at Yale would give it all up to sell bath salts.

She sighed, unlocking the glass door to her shop. The comforting smell of lavender, rosemary, and the lingering scent of lemon candles soothed her. Sunlight sparkled through the windows, twinkling off her cut-glass shelves, giving the tiny shop a magical glow.

On three sides, there were beaded doors that connected her shop with Celeste’s Secrets, Urania’s Answers, and Phoenix’s Metaphysical Bookshop.

Her great-grandfather had been an astronomer. His love of the heavens prompted him to give his three daughters all stars’ names. Thank goodness the tradition ended with her mom getting tired of being teased about being Astraea.

Not getting a star name wasn’t the only family tradition her mother wanted to distance herself from. With Great Grandma being a gypsy came the gift of sight, which her mother turned her back on, too. She even went so far as to forbid Simone to use her gift. That order only heightened her interest in Grandma Celeste and the aunts. Blocking out her visions made Simone feel incomplete. Opening up to them was overwhelming. That’s what brought her to California to find herself. Now, she began to wonder if she had made a mistake.

Light filtered through the purple beads of Celeste’s Secrets. The other two shops were dark. It was close to noon and she wondered why the aunts hadn’t opened up yet. But then they always kept their own odd hours. It surprised her that their customers never complained. They just accepted it as part of the Kelly sisters’ eccentricity.

Needing conversation, Simone slipped through the beads into a shop filled with good luck charms, bubbling fountains, and incense.

Sandalwood incense and the sound of music mixed with rushing water filled the air.

A classy older woman with silver hair done up in an elegant knot sat behind the cash register reading a newly released hard cover mystery.

I saw your police detective all over the news stations this morning, Celeste Kelly said without looking up from her book.

Simone swallowed hard. Drat. Grandma Celeste was far too perceptive. "He is not my police detective."

Celeste arched a silver brow. So you keep telling me, darling. Sounds like things didn’t go well, did they? They just said that policemen died. Another one was injured chasing a suspect he lost.

Simone covered her mouth with a trembling hand, thinking of adorable, teasing Harry, who talked Connor into listening to her. Connor had a closed mind when it came to psychic ability, but Harry had an interest in unexplainable things. He admitted to visiting her aunts’ shops. How could Harry be gone? She hoped Connor’s partner, Trenton Phillips, wasn’t hurt too badly.

Now you see what can happen when you make rash judgments.

I know what I saw, and I acted.

You sent him in too soon and now an innocent life was lost. With one suspect dead and the other on the run, Detective Galbraith’s investigation is in trouble. You should have stayed out of it.

She stiffened. I had to protect the little girl. Simone hated the defensive edge to her voice.

You were forcing the outcome. Celeste slammed her book shut. Admit it, missy.

I couldn’t let Ashley die.

Did you see her death?

No, but the possibility was very strong.

Celeste raised a finger. "Ah, but not a foregone conclusion. Interpreting your visions is dangerous. You don’t have enough experience with them yet."

What could she say? Her parents never let her admit she had visions, let alone interpret them. After a while, she kept her bizarre ability to herself so no one would think she was crazy. Only a chance meeting with her aunts gave