Psychic Undercover (With The Undead): A Paranormal Mystery (SDF Book 1) by Amie Gibbons

Author:Amie Gibbons [Gibbons, Amie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gremlin Publishing
Published: 2017-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter fourTEEN

I slipped out from under Quil and left him snoozing on the floor while I got ready.

“Hey,” I said, kneelin’ next to him when I was ready. “You hanging around today?”

“Yeah,” he said, cracking his eyes.

“Okay, we need to come up with some kind of plan to talk to the potential suspects. I have to talk to the team about it.”

Really I meant I had to talk to Grant about it.

“But I’m thinkin’ we’re going to have to set up some kind of casual meeting with the leaders. Maybe at the club. They don’t need to know we’re feds, and we can try to question them and I’ll get some visions. Can you set that up?”

He nodded and held out his hand. “Here, give me your phone.”

I fished it out of my bag and handed it over. He pulled himself up onto his elbow and punched in a number.

“This way you have my direct number. Who are all these?” he asked, scrollin’ down my contacts.

“Ashdina’s my oldest sister.” I sat on the floor next to him and grabbed the phone.

He held on with a playful grin and we played tug-a-war for a minute until he finally relinquished his hold.

“Thank you!” I said, stickin’ my tongue out at him. “So anyway, she’s the oldest, thirty-four, she’s a doctor.”

“Oldest? How many siblings do you have?”

“Four.” I pointed to the phone. “The next is Ava Jolene, who’s thirty-two, she’s a journalist.”

“And the next.” I scrolled down to the Ms. “Is Mark. The guys got normal names. He’s twenty-nine and a lawyer. And then there’s Mikey. He’s only a year older than me. Mikey’s what Mama calls a perpetual starving artist. He wants to be an actor so he’s always auditioning, but...” I shrugged and shook my head.

“How does he support himself?”

“He lives with Ava, so that helps, and he works as a mechanic. He’s like me. We’re the babies. We were the ones who would spy on the other three. We would make up stories about how the older ones did something bad whenever they shoved us out of their rooms and told us we were brats. It was always a ‘me and him against the world’ kind of thing.”

“What changed?”

“How do you know somethin’ did?”

“Your voice.”

My hand flew to my left arm.

The scars had faded over time so I didn’t have to keep my arm covered, but sometimes I swore I could still see them.

“What?” he asked. “What happened?”

“That isn’t who I am anymore,” I said. “I can’t… talkin’ about it now sounds so stupid.”

“You can trust me, sweets.” He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me. “You trust me to know this about you, to not tell anyone, to not judge you for it, and to not ever bring it up again if you don’t want me to.”

I nodded.

“When was it?”

“About eight years ago.”

“I’m guessing by the wrist that you cut yourself?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I was depressed. Lookin’ back, I know I didn’t actually want to kill myself cuz I made the cuts side to side, and you cut straight up the arm if you want to die.

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