The Fourth Sense by Kat Parrish

Author:Kat Parrish [Parrish, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Valentine Press
Published: 2019-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 3: Failure is not an option

“Fuck me,” PJ said again, and this time it sounded like a prayer.

Thomas tore his attention away from the screen and faced Eliades. This time the sneer was visible in his face as well as present in his voice. “You are too late,” he said. “You’ll never find the other bomb in time.”

At least now we know there’s only one other one for sure, I thought as I got a nose full of the smell of fresh dog shit. “It’s outdoors,” I said. “It’s been smeared with dog shit.”

Thomas was looking at me with fear. And now I could smell the excrement coming off his hands. He’d been the one to plant the second device as well, so I concentrated harder, trying to access the place where he’d been. I caught scents of dry creosote and dusty land and old dried wood. There was a faint breeze carrying salt from the west.

There was the faint mentholated cat piss smell of eucalyptus blended with citrus and olive wood and pepper. The leather of hiking boots and the smell of human sweat. Roses. Coffee.

Someplace wild but close to urban.

Had to be one of the canyons. But which one?

“You chose Disneyland for a reason,” I said to Thomas but more like I was thinking out loud “Because it represents something particularly American.”

He looked at me stone-faced. “What else represents America?” I asked out loud. “What do tourists come to Los Angeles to see?”

“Dodger Stadium?” Wilson suggested.

No reaction from Thomas. “The Santa Monica Pier,” PJ said. Thomas chuckled at that.

“Ah, you’ve figured it out,” Thomas said. “California girls. Surfers. The poofters at Muscle Beach.” Thomas was relaxed. He was just toying with us. I caught a scent of coconut-banana-flavored sunscreen.

“Hollywood,” I said suddenly, and I knew I was right.

And as I said the words, the image of the Hollywood sign emerged from Thomas’ memory. The scent of dusty scrub live oak trees, and saltbush. “Beachwood Canyon,” I said, “somewhere along the trail heading to the Hollywood sign.”

At that Thomas launched himself at me again, howling like a dog. Wilson grabbed him ungently and practically choked him out before he got him subdued.

“Eliades was already halfway out the door as PJ pulled out his phone and made a call.

“It’s a long trail,” I said. “You’re going to need me.”

“Come on,” he said. As we left the room, I could sense Thomas’ rage but beneath it I could also sense his grief for the woman with the soft hands and gentle voice who had died of cancer. He’d found a purpose to ease his pain, filling the void left by her death with a plan to make others pay. I almost felt sorry for him.

* * *

By the time we got from the office building to the Van Nuys airport there was already a helicopter on the tarmac with its rotors spinning. The entry door was a little bit too high for me to step in, so Eliades unceremoniously grabbed my butt and shoved me up and in.

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