on the loose?”
#
Janice Alberry
watched with a cat-like smile as JJ spun around and climbed into his car. She
clicked her tape recorder off and stuck it in her pocket, thinking about the
anger that had flashed in JJ’s eyes when she’d asked him about a serial killer.
He’d whirled on her, nearly knocking her tape recorder out of her hand,
growling an emphatic “No!”
So the
unflappable JJ Johnson was upset. Interesting. And the woman with him—a famous
psychic. Detective Johnson was using a psychic? Even more interesting.
Pulling a
small notebook out of her pocket, she jotted: Find out about the woman.
“Hey, Jan. Get
anything good?”
Janice glanced
up at Freddie King, a reporter for one of the local television stations, and
closed her notebook. He was an arrogant boob, but his connections made him
worth a smile. She gave him a thousand-watt grin. “Who knows. They’re playing
this tighter than the Green Bay Packers.”
“That’s
because they got squat. You know it’s bad when they bring in that psychic, Zoe
Shefford. Not that she isn’t good; she is. Probably one of the best in the
business. But bringing in a psychic is never good press, no matter how you spin
it.”
“Yeah, I
noticed she was here. They’re really reaching on this one. Good ol’ JJ didn’t
look too happy. You think Harris brought her in?” Zoe Shefford. Remember
that name.
“I heard it
was the governor himself who wanted her called in. He’ll be campaigning for
reelection in a couple of months—can’t have a serial killer stealing
headlines.”
Janice felt
her fingers itching to write down these particulars, but she couldn’t afford to
let Freddie think she wasn’t on top of all this information. Old news. Look
a little bored. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth. Have you ever seen Shefford
work?”
Slipping on
his sunglasses, Freddie graced her with one of those lazy, lopsided smiles that
had women viewers sighing. “You want the headlines, darlin’, you’re going to
have to work for them. I’m not giving you anything. Go do your homework.”
Janice wanted
to kick him in the seat of those finely pressed pants as he turned on his heel
and strolled off to his air-conditioned truck, his cameraman on his heels like
a lap dog.
Fuming, she
yanked out her notebook and wrote. Zoe Shefford. Psychic. Top in her field.
Called in by governor. Serial killer?
Okay, Freddie. She closed her notebook and headed for her car. I’ll do my homework.
I’ll find out everything there is to know about Zoe Shefford and her work. With
any luck, I’ll make a few headlines of my own.
She climbed
into her car and glared at the air conditioner that hadn’t worked in years as
she turned the key. The engine sputtered, caught, and choked as it turned over.
If she was
going to get a headline, she was going to have to dig and see what she could
find on Zoe Shefford. Maybe a little dirt. No one was spotless. You just had to
ferret it out.
#
“Well, what
was that all about?” Zoe propped her elbow on the edge of the car door and,
leaving Karen Matthews and the accusations behind, looked to JJ for answers.
“Got me.”
Curling her
fingers into her hair, Zoe stared blindly out the windshield. “I don’t think
I’ve ever had anyone tell me I was the devil before.”
“Not to your
face, maybe.”
Raising both
eyebrows, Zoe turned to stare at him. “You think I’m in cahoots with the devil?
You can’t be serious.”
“I never said
that.” A devious smile flitted across his face. “I think my exact thoughts were
‘decked-out demagogue of deceit’ or some such thing.”
Zoe couldn’t
help herself. The laugh erupted involuntarily, filling the car with the
pleasant sound of amusement and wonder. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” he
admitted with a smirk.
“And now?” she
asked.
“Now what?”
“Now what
would you call me?”
She could almost feel his gaze taking in
everything from the wild curly hair that
#
Janice Alberry
watched with a cat-like smile as JJ spun around and climbed into his car. She
clicked her tape recorder off and stuck it in her pocket, thinking about the
anger that had flashed in JJ’s eyes when she’d asked him about a serial killer.
He’d whirled on her, nearly knocking her tape recorder out of her hand,
growling an emphatic “No!”
So the
unflappable JJ Johnson was upset. Interesting. And the woman with him—a famous
psychic. Detective Johnson was using a psychic? Even more interesting.
Pulling a
small notebook out of her pocket, she jotted: Find out about the woman.
“Hey, Jan. Get
anything good?”
Janice glanced
up at Freddie King, a reporter for one of the local television stations, and
closed her notebook. He was an arrogant boob, but his connections made him
worth a smile. She gave him a thousand-watt grin. “Who knows. They’re playing
this tighter than the Green Bay Packers.”
“That’s
because they got squat. You know it’s bad when they bring in that psychic, Zoe
Shefford. Not that she isn’t good; she is. Probably one of the best in the
business. But bringing in a psychic is never good press, no matter how you spin
it.”
“Yeah, I
noticed she was here. They’re really reaching on this one. Good ol’ JJ didn’t
look too happy. You think Harris brought her in?” Zoe Shefford. Remember
that name.
“I heard it
was the governor himself who wanted her called in. He’ll be campaigning for
reelection in a couple of months—can’t have a serial killer stealing
headlines.”
Janice felt
her fingers itching to write down these particulars, but she couldn’t afford to
let Freddie think she wasn’t on top of all this information. Old news. Look
a little bored. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth. Have you ever seen Shefford
work?”
Slipping on
his sunglasses, Freddie graced her with one of those lazy, lopsided smiles that
had women viewers sighing. “You want the headlines, darlin’, you’re going to
have to work for them. I’m not giving you anything. Go do your homework.”
Janice wanted
to kick him in the seat of those finely pressed pants as he turned on his heel
and strolled off to his air-conditioned truck, his cameraman on his heels like
a lap dog.
Fuming, she
yanked out her notebook and wrote. Zoe Shefford. Psychic. Top in her field.
Called in by governor. Serial killer?
Okay, Freddie. She closed her notebook and headed for her car. I’ll do my homework.
I’ll find out everything there is to know about Zoe Shefford and her work. With
any luck, I’ll make a few headlines of my own.
She climbed
into her car and glared at the air conditioner that hadn’t worked in years as
she turned the key. The engine sputtered, caught, and choked as it turned over.
If she was
going to get a headline, she was going to have to dig and see what she could
find on Zoe Shefford. Maybe a little dirt. No one was spotless. You just had to
ferret it out.
#
“Well, what
was that all about?” Zoe propped her elbow on the edge of the car door and,
leaving Karen Matthews and the accusations behind, looked to JJ for answers.
“Got me.”
Curling her
fingers into her hair, Zoe stared blindly out the windshield. “I don’t think
I’ve ever had anyone tell me I was the devil before.”
“Not to your
face, maybe.”
Raising both
eyebrows, Zoe turned to stare at him. “You think I’m in cahoots with the devil?
You can’t be serious.”
“I never said
that.” A devious smile flitted across his face. “I think my exact thoughts were
‘decked-out demagogue of deceit’ or some such thing.”
Zoe couldn’t
help herself. The laugh erupted involuntarily, filling the car with the
pleasant sound of amusement and wonder. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” he
admitted with a smirk.
“And now?” she
asked.
“Now what?”
“Now what
would you call me?”
She could almost feel his gaze taking in
everything from the wild curly hair that
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