My gaze dropped to the floor as I pushed my brooding thoughts aside and cleared my mind. Once again, the slide into my psychic headspace was akin to
stepping from one room to another. Unease tripped along my nerve endings.
“What?”
Caught off guard by his question, I jerked my gaze up. “What, what?”
“You’re worried about something.”
Stupid aura colors. “Stop reading me.”
Kayden’s image held a painful clarity, one that put him in stark relief against
the room’s hazy, watercolor consistency that was associated with the past. The blue of his eyes shifted into a mesmerizing variety of blue, taking on unexpected
depth. The strange occurrence was not limited to his eyes. His hair was no longer
a combination of blonds, browns, and blacks, but a stunning collection of amber,
onyx, and gold. Even his body appeared more etched, for lack of a better word.
As compelling as the strange clarity was, the tie between us that was my anchor
to the present, remained steady and strong. Even without touching. “Weird.”
He crooked an eyebrow at me. “Going to get pissed if I ask what’s weird?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Maybe.
I turned around and scanned the half-finished space in front of me and
waited. Vague impressions of various men with tools and hard hats moved in overlapping scenes. With no real strong emotions, the past wavered in front of me like a desert mirage. There was no way to tell time, but when a burly, heavy-set man popped out of nowhere to lay a 2x4 against the wall, I jerked back instinctively.
“Cyn?”
“I’m okay, just wasn’t expecting to get brained by a 2x4.”
“See anything interesting?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m getting pieces of the construction crews.” I
narrowed my eyes as if that would somehow help me filter through the past. The
images became less hectic, and more and more vague. “I think they’re packing
up for the day.”
The images faded away, leaving a ghostly imprint of the empty condo. It
reminded me of dealing with a double lens. I f I could find just the right aperture, I could line the two images up until I had a 3-D representation of the real thing. I tried and failed. Repeatedly. Disappointment crept in. Maybe it wasn’t this condo.
A breeze reached through the gap in the glass and ruffled the plastic hanging
in the doorframe. The material’s movement almost obscured the emerging
figure, but thankfully I caught it. Battered baseball cap, T-shirt, jeans, and backpack. It gained definition as it moved toward the window but remained slightly out of focus. A fierce smile stretched my face. “Got him.”
“Male?”
“Sorry, can’t tell, the image isn’t clear enough.”
The figure, smaller and thinner than Ellery, stood by the open pane, gazing out. The image knelt and shrugged the backpack off to the floor. Piece by piece
the rifle emerged and quickly took shape.
“He’s using a concealable, precision tactical rifle.” If the situation wasn’t what it was, I’d be green for one of those customizable bad boys.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough emotional echoes to get a clearer picture.
I wasn’t surprised because the sniper’s movements spoke of experience and
practice. They swung the rifle onto the tripod and adjusted the sight. Focused on
the shooter’s movements, I sucked in a breath. “The shooter’s female.”
“You recognize her?”
“No, her wrists, they’re narrow. Still can’t see her face, stupid baseball hat.”
