The headlines were still burned into my brain, after all these years.
Former ‘Child Clairvoyant’ Star Linked to Local Boy’s Death
Self-Professed ‘Psychic’ Leads Police to Grim Discovery
Crawford Hopes Crushed as Rescue Efforts Turn to Recovery
Imogen Warner: Clairvoyant Consultant or Fame-Seeking Fraud?
I could still hear the newscasters’ voices on the nightly news, lambasting me with quippy lines and alliterative accusations. I could remember the quotes they read from the ‘anonymous sources’ they’d interviewed in the aftermath, who insisted they would’ve brought the boy home alive if not for me butting into their investigation.
“We thought she had a gift. It turned out to be a curse for us, for our investigation, and ultimately for little Joey Crawford…”
I could’ve defended myself. Given a statement of my own, telling everyone exactly what happened; letting them know the cops had not a single lead when I walked into their precinct and asked to speak to the detective in charge of the case.
I could’ve told them how I handed Joey to them on a silver platter, safe and sound. How they didn’t listen to me when I told them to go in slow. No SWAT team, no guns blazing. Nothing that would make the man who took Joey do exactly what he did, in the end…
But I didn’t.
What was the point?
In the court of public opinion, I was already guilty. I wasn’t going to stick around and attempt to defend myself to a city full of people who’d already decided I was the villain in that story. So, I packed up my stuff and I did what I do best.
Disappeared.
Started over.
Even after I left Baltimore in my rearview, though, I couldn’t shake the lesson I’d learned there. Namely: never get involved with another police investigation. Not even if you think you might help. Better to keep your head down, your connections superficial, your ties easily undone.
I’d lived by that code for six years, and it had kept me out of trouble. (Not to mention my name out of the papers.) Which is why, now, waiting for Cade to come back and take my official statement about the Donny incident… I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get involved again. Not even for Gigi. Just the thought of my name on the books made me want to curl up in a protective ball.
“Gigi, I’m heading to bed.”
She looked up from Rory’s costume, startled by my sudden announcement. There was fabric glue fusing her fingers again. “But Detective Hightower said?—”
“He really doesn’t need a statement from me. It’s not my protective order that was violated.”
Her head shook “But?—”
“Gigi, please.” My voice cracked. “I just can’t, okay?”
She stared at me for a while, reading my expression. Whatever she saw there made her eyes fill with understanding as she put two and two together.
“Right. Of course. I’ll tell him,” she murmured. “You go get some shut-eye, Imogen. You have a long day tomorrow.”
“So do you,” I pointed out. “Maybe you can call him. Ask him to come back another time to talk to you.”
She waved away my words. “I’m way too wired to sleep. Which is good, actually. I can fix Rory’s backwards arm and add the activator panels, since I’ll be up anyway.”
I hugged her goodnight, then made my way up the creaky steps to the second floor, yawning the whole way. I barely managed to brush my teeth, peel off my gloves, and shimmy out of my denim cut-offs before I face-planted on the bed. I’d been exhausted pre-limoncello, pre-Donny drama, and pre-vision. Now, I was closer to post-mortem.
I needed to crash.
Alas, my eyes had been shut for approximately two-point-three seconds when the unmistakable sound of a key turning in my lock made them spring open again.
What the hell?
I sat up in bed as the door swung inward. My mouth dropped open in shock as a man stepped through it. It was dark, but I knew it was Cade just from the way his silhouette moved. The careful way he shut the door. The way his chest expanded as he took a breath. The set of his shoulders as he turned to face the bed, hands planted on his hips.