The Last Echo
Page 2

Violet stepped out of the way and let them work. This was their operation, the local police department. And at least for the moment, Sara Priest had become one of them.
But not Violet. She was part of another team altogether.
She stood back and was immediately forgotten. She watched as procedures were followed: The room was cleared and the dogs were brought in; they had to be careful to not taint any potential evidence.
The stinging sensation continued; it would for as long as Violet remained near the body. And it was a body, Violet knew. She didn’t need the dogs to tell her that—she had her gift. The ability she’d inherited to find those who’d died at the hand of another. Those who’d been left with a unique sensory signature—an echo—that only Violet could find.
For this girl, it was the tactile feel of pins and needles.
From behind, Violet felt a strong hand reach for her. Its gentle tug pulled her back to reality, reminding her of where she was and what she was doing. The tingling that rippled through her now had nothing to do with the echo coming from the girl. She allowed herself to be drawn away from the mayhem and farther into the shadows.
“Why didn’t you respond when Krystal asked for your location?”
Violet didn’t need to see the expression on his face to know Rafe was glaring at her.
She pulled her hand from his, ignoring that weird crackling of electricity that sparked between them whenever her skin so much as brushed his. It was so strange, that sensation, like static, and she was, once more, left with just the needling barbs from the girl’s echo. “I did. I distinctly remember saying I was in the old Pacific Storage building.”
His voice tightened. “Before that, V? When you were ignoring her questions? Why the hell did you wander away from the team? From me?”
She didn’t bother trying to explain that some of the cops were distracting her, that at least two of them had distinct imprints that interfered with her ability to track the girl’s echo. Because not only could she sense the echoes of the dead, she also felt the imprints left behind on their killers. She doubted Rafe even realized he was wandering into slippery territory with this line of questioning. She still wasn’t comfortable discussing what she could do. It was just too weird. It was hard to undo years of secrecy.
But of all people, Rafe should understand that. Despite working together for the past two months, she’d learned that he didn’t like prying questions about how his ability worked either. Or about anything, really.
“I found her, didn’t I? Why do you think it’s your job to keep track of me anyway? Sara didn’t put you in charge. You’re not my boss.”
If there’d been enough light, Violet was sure she would have seen the slow smile spread over his face, because she knew it was there . . . she could feel the change in the atmosphere as he reached for her hand again, this time to lead her away. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. It’s too dark. Besides, it’s more fun if I can see you while you’re bitching me out.”
Violet didn’t pull her hand away this time; she was secretly glad she’d had Rafe around these past months. Someone who’d been willing to show her the ropes. With Rafe she felt like she’d met someone who really understood her . . . someone who knew what it felt like to be truly different.
But it wasn’t just Rafe. They were all different.
“I’ll be right with you,” Sara said, raising her finger in the universal sign for “give me a minute,” although in this case Violet thought it probably meant “stay put” instead. She watched as she rushed across the lot to talk to a man who’d just emerged from the warehouse. Judging from his jacket and tie, she guessed he was one of the detectives in charge.
Violet could only imagine what the three of them must look like to the man, and to the officers and crime-scene investigators who’d taken over once the body had been located: a trio of misfit teens who had no business being at the scene of a murder investigation. She wondered how they’d feel if they knew what the three of them could actually do. If they’d earn any respect for their unusual abilities, or if they’d simply be treated like any other tools of the trade. Like those drug- or bomb-sniffing dogs they used in their canine units. Or in her case, she supposed she’d be more of the cadaver-sniffing variety.
She smiled inwardly as she turned to Krystal. “How’d you draw the short straw for this assignment?”
It made sense for Violet to be here—she was the resident body finder, after all. But Krystal was the self-proclaimed medium of the group, talking to spirits and getting messages from ghosts. It wasn’t like her specific talent was all that useful on this case. At least not today.
Violet recalled the first time she’d met Krystal, the same day she’d first been introduced to the rest of the team. She’d never really shared what she could do with anyone besides her family and Jay, and suddenly it wasn’t just Sara and Rafe she was expected to open up to, it was Krystal and Sam and Gemma too. But everyone else had become background noise to Krystal during that first meeting. At twenty-one, and the oldest of the group, Krystal was tough to ignore. Yet even though her outward appearance screamed: Emo chick with issues and attitude, her entire demeanor shouted: Let’s hold hands and be friends! At least that’s the way Violet felt whenever she was around Krystal. And she found herself drawn to her brand of openness, especially since Violet wasn’t exactly an open book. She found Krystal’s noncynical approach to life refreshing.