Talking with the Dead Read online

  Prologue

  Although Lucas never mentioned it, and neither did Mom, Michael O’Rourke was a disappointment and he knew it.

  Lucas, now, Lucas was everything their charlatan mother could ever hope for. She’d taught him well, teaching him how to run scams, how to pick pockets and how to evade cops and social workers. Yeah, she’d taught him well, all right—maybe too well. Lucas was sixteen. Strong. Smart. He wasn’t going to hang around and keep helping his mother run her scams.

  She called herself Lavonne, but her birth name was Rachel O’Rourke. Her great gift in life was in the grift. She could run a scam like nothing Michael had ever seen. Even Lucas couldn’t sucker them in the way Mama could.

  But Lucas had gifts, real gifts, the kind Mama liked to pretend she had. He saw things.

  The “sight” Mama called it. Ran in her family, she liked to say, although Michael didn’t think she had ever seen anything that he couldn’t see with his own two eyes. Lucas once told Mike that their mama couldn’t see a spirit if it bit her on the ass. They’d laughed themselves sick, thinking about it.

  Lucas could see, though. He knew things. He had known when it was time to leave New Orleans and he had known when it was time to leave Memphis and he had warned her about going to Nashville. She’d pissed people off there, but Lavonne was stupid. Plain and simple. She was going to do what she wanted to do.

  She got herself embroiled in shit and then slid away before it was time to pay the piper. Her luck wouldn’t last forever. Lucas just hoped it would hold a little while longer. He was going to get the hell away from her. One night, while she was screwing some dude for drug money, Lucas and Mike were going to disappear. It was going to have to be soon. Mike wasn’t safe around Lavonne. Last night, Lucas had overheard Lavonne talking to a major freak—she’d offered the guy an hour alone with Mike for a grand. Of course, the man wanted to see Mike first. Too bad, too. The guy was mean enough, if he had paid Lavonne upfront and then they couldn’t find Mike, he might have killed her.

  Lucas wanted her dead. More than anything, he wanted their mother dead. That had been the eighth time he had saved Mike from being raped. Mike knew about that one—he’d been with Lucas when Lavonne was trying to pimp the twelve year old out. He had been there three other times, too. But he knew nothing about all the other times and Lucas planned on keeping it that way.

  They had to get out of there. Sooner or later, Lavonne would try to set it up when Lucas wasn’t around.

  Lucas was pissed off. He’d been mad ever since last night and Mike knew why. His gut had been twisted into slimy, sick knots all night but today, he wasn’t so worried about it. Lucas had gotten him away. Lucas had protected him. Again. Lucas was always there—even though he was smart enough, looked old enough, he could get away from Lavonne whenever he wanted. He didn’t though.

  Mike knew why.

  No, he didn’t have any special sight and he couldn’t see inside a person’s mind. But he did have a bond, a close one, with his big brother. They could talk. Carry on entire conversations all without even moving their lips.

  “She’s been drinking again,” Michael said. He didn’t have to tell Lucas that. The older boy would have seen it long before Michael did. Still, being able to talk this way with Lucas made him feel special. Lucas made him feel special. Lucas made him feel wanted.

  Didn’t make him feel like he was some useless baby that he had to lug around, or worse—like some worthless piece of crap that shouldn’t have ever been born.

  “Gee—ya think?” Lucas said. Even his mental voice had a sardonic tone to it and the smile on his mouth was a bitter one. His blue eyes met Michael’s in the mirror for the briefest of seconds before he went back to pretending to focus on the book in his hands.

  Lucas loved reading. Neither of them had ever spent any serious time in school unless a social worker arrived on the scene. Then their mother would pretend to get all weepy, begging for forgiveness and understanding. No matter how times it happened, Lavonne managed to convince the effing government that she was ready to change. She’d do it this time. She loved her babies and just couldn’t make it without them. She really would get sober and straight and blah blah blah. Mike knew all that garbage by heart, just like he knew every last bit of it was a lie.

  She might love Lucas but that was because he was her meal ticket. But she didn’t give a damn about Mike. Anybody with eyes should have seen it, Mike figured. But he was tired of hoping that they would take him away. She suckered them all. They’d go to whatever school was close by for a few days and then they’d disappear, moving on to another city where the process would start all over again. Two years ago, their mother had finally gotten smart.

  If she moved around enough, no social worker could keep track of her.

  So they rarely stopped moving. Since then, Michael and Lucas hadn’t slept in the same place for more than a week. It sucked, but it was better than dealing with the shit they had to put up with when their mother went all ballistic the second the social worker left.

  But school or no, Lucas loved to read and he had passed that passion onto his kid brother. As long as Michael kept his books hidden from her, of course. She liked to take them away and burn them, right in front of him. He learned pretty damn quick that he had to hide them from her. Lucas, though, he didn’t have to worry about that. Lucas didn’t have to dodge her fists, he didn’t ever go hungry, and he could read as much as he wanted, as long as he got his work done.

  Michael didn’t mind. It wasn’t like it was Lucas’ fault that Lavonne loved Lucas, but hated Michael. It wasn’t like her love was some big prize. Her love was almost as revolting as her hate—Mike had seen the way she liked to cuddle up to Lucas, petting him like he was some teddy bear. The bigger and older Lucas got, the more attentive she became. She looked at him with greed in her eyes and Mike knew what that look meant. So did Lucas.

  Mike sighed and rested his head against the window. She’d dragged them out of bed before sunrise this time and he was worn out. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t dare sleep if she was driving. Later, she’d get in the back seat and get stoned. Once she passed out and Lucas was driving, Mike would feel safe enough to sleep. The streetlights sped by in a blur and Mike glanced toward the front seat. She was edging up over ninety as she weaved in and out of traffic.

  “She don’t slow down, we’ll get pulled over.”

  Michael felt Lucas’ mental laughter, the kind that wasn’t really laughing at anything. “We should be so lucky.” But Lucas looked up, and from the rearview mirror, Mike saw the thoughtful way his eyes narrowed, saw the distant, off focus look form there. “Lavonne, I think you might want to slow down,” Lucas said levelly.

  They couldn’t call her Mama. Or Mom. Nothing like that. She didn’t like it. She blew out some smoke before drawing once more on the cigarette in her mouth, her voice low and rough from years of smoking. “Why would I want to do that?” she rasped.

  “Cops,” Lucas replied, shrugging one shoulder.

  She scowled and slammed on the brake so hard that Michael went flying into the seat in front of them and the car behind them laid on the horn for a good thirty seconds. Mike glanced over his shoulder as he eased back onto the seat. The driver of the black sedan flipped them off.

  “What in the hell are you looking back there for?” Lavonne snapped. “Bastard was tailgating me. Ain’t my fault.”

  “Yes, Lavonne,” he said automatically. She sent him a dirty look. Michael could see the hatred in her eyes. Then it was gone and she looked at Lucas, her expression irritated. “Damn it. You feel cops around and you’re just now telling me?”

  She hated him. She always had. She always would.

  But Michael didn’t
care. He had Lucas. That was all that mattered. He stared out the window, eyes searching for patrol cars. He saw nothing.

  But if Lucas said there was cops, then there was cops.

  Funny, though, how Michael had thought it…and then Lucas mentioned it.

  “You can’t take my boy!”

  Michael hid in the attic, huddled in a tight little ball, frozen with shock and fear. He stared through the tiny crack, watching as the big guy busted Lucas in the mouth again.

  Help him. He had to go help Lucas. They were going to kill him. Whatever Lavonne had done this time, she had done it to the wrong people and they were going to kill Lucas because of it.

  No. I can’t let them. He started to get up, for probably the fifth time. And just like the past four times, Lucas did something to him. Michael felt his muscles freeze, felt his body shut down. His arms and legs refused to obey him, following the silent commands from his brother as Michael sank back into his hiding place.

  “Now didn’t I tell you not to come back here without my money, Rachel?” It was a big, mean looking guy. Mike had seen him before. His head was bald on top, long on the sides and back. He always wore it slicked back in a ponytail and he spoke with an accent like the guys in that movie, The Godfather.

  Her eyes were red with tears but she forced a smile at him. “That’s why I came back, baby. I got some money and I got a line in to get more.”

  “Yeah. I bet you do. You think you can find enough johns to cover the 5k?” He curled his lip and gave Lavonne a very long slow once-over. “Not with that used up snatch.”

  Her face turned an ugly red, but she didn’t say anything other than, “I got a plan, Mitch. Promise.”

  Mitch just laughed. “Sure.” He looked around the small space and demanded, “Where’s the brat?”

  “Leave Lucas alone and I’ll tell you,” Lavonne said, crying.

  Michael flinched. If Lavonne knew where to find him, then she would trade him for Lucas. Not that Michael wouldn’t do the same—he’d walked through fire for Lucas, sell his soul to the devil for him.

  Pretty damn clear that was what the old lady wanted to do. Even though she’d tried to do it before, hearing it all over again really sucked.

  “You fucking bitch,” Lucas seethed. Hatred blazed in Lucas’ eyes and he snarled at Lavonne. He struggled against the men holding him, determined to get his hands on his mother. “I’d rather die now then let them get their hands on my brother.”

  Lavonne ignored him, moving to one of the men in the apartment, stroking her hands down his arm as she whispered, “Mikey’s young. You’re bound to know somebody who’d like a boy like him. People that would pay five grand, easy. More. Just leave Lucas…I need him—”

  “Bitch!” Lucas roared, trying to break free of the two men holding him.

  Michael’s belly pitched and rolled from all the emotions he felt flooding off of Lucas, and through Lucas, he felt the emotions of the others. Hatred, greed, boredom… He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could just disappear. For good. Forever.

  “He’s just a worthless brat. Not like you, baby,” Lavonne said, forcing a shaking smile at her son before looking back at the guy who looked like he was in charge. “So what do you say? You can get some good money. A trade, the kid for whatever I owed you.”

  The man laughed as he backhanded Lavonne with casual ease. “No. I’d rather take the one you want the most,” he responded. Standing aside, he jerked his head toward the door.

  From the attic, Michael watched in horror as they dragged his brother away.

  It seemed like hours passed as Michael lay frozen in shock. He couldn’t move until the old lady was gone. If he did, she was going to take this out on him. And Michael knew he wouldn’t survive the beating this time around. Lucas wasn’t there to save him.

  Lucas…

  Oh, God. Raw pain ripped through him, followed by terror, guilt and too many other emotions for him to understand. Lucas might never be there again. The way that guy had looked at Lavonne as his boys dragged Lucas away—he had smiled. Lavonne screamed.

  He was going to…to… No. You can’t think like that. Get moving. Save him.

  But he couldn’t get moving. Not until Lavonne was gone. It didn’t take long, though. She screamed and cried for a few minutes after they dragged Lucas away, but in typical Lavonne fashion, she was more interested in saving her ass than anybody else’s. Even Lucas’.

  She packed in a hurry, throwing her stuff into a sack and leaving behind everything else. When she walked out, she had a bag full of clothes in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other and she never once looked back.

  Now that she was finally gone, he could sneak down and take the money Lucas had been hoarding, get some food—then Michael was going to find his brother and they were going to get the hell out of there, as far away from Lavonne and her crap as they could.

  Michael wasn’t thinking of her as Mama any more. Not Mom. Not anything. She was no relation to him.

  She was no blood. She was no family.

  She was scum, less than that. The shit she had got herself into was why Lucas was in trouble. The man had come looking for money she owed him and Lucas was the one paying the price. She’d been willing to give away her own son to pay off her trouble.

  Gingerly, he climbed down from the attic, still listening, well aware she might be waiting out in the hall to see if he came out. But he figured she was probably long gone. The bastards who took Lucas may decide to come back and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere close, just in case.

  She sure as hell hadn’t been concerned about leaving him behind, had she?

  No. “Not my blood, not any more,” he whispered furiously, working open the tiny slit in the mattress he and Lucas shared. There was money there. A lot of it. More than Lavonne could even imagine having her hands on. Lucas was careful, and he was smart.

  They were going to be okay. Unaware of the tears that rolled down his cheeks, Michael jerked out the little bag that held the money, tucking it inside the waistband of his shorts and using duct tape to make sure it stayed in place. They would be just fine.

  He crept out the window in the bedroom after he grabbed a pack of crackers, some peanut butter and the stash of candy bars Lucas had hidden from Lavonne. It wasn’t much food but it would have to do. Michael had to get out of there.

  His young, twelve-year-old mind never questioned the urgency that filled him. He just knew he had to go.

  Night had fallen and he stayed in the shadows as he moved out of the alley. Had to stay away from everybody. Both the dealers on the streets and the cops who cruised through the streets of Nashville. Had to get out. Get away.

  But Lucas first.

  The bond between them hadn’t ever been closed off before. Michael needed to be able to feel Lucas to find him. But it was like Lucas was hiding from him.

  Finally he was able to reach out and touch his brother’s mind and he could have cried with relief. Huddled in the back of the old garage, he rubbed at his gritty eyes and called out to Lucas.

  But Lucas shoved him back. “Get away, Mikey. Now.”

  Although he didn’t know the reason, Michael heard the panic in Lucas’ voice, panic and a fear he hadn’t ever heard from Lucas before. “Where are you? We got to get out of here.”

  “You go, Mikey. Go now—”

  The scream that tore through Lucas echoed from Michael as well. And suddenly, Michael wasn’t in the old garage any more. He was in a cold room with gray walls and he hurt.

  Terror flooded Michael and he flinched as Lucas’ voice filled his head and sounded off the walls in the room. “Mikey, go!”

  The people who surrounded them stared all around, looking at each other before looking back at Michael…no, Lucas. They were looking at Lucas. Michael was just feeling the same damn things, seeing the same things as Lucas.

  The hot metallic taste of fear filled his mouth and he tried to break away, but he couldn’t.

  “Mik
ey…”

  There was a gun pointing at him.

  “Lucas!”

  “I’m sorry, Mikey. We were going to…”

  The horrendous crack filled the air, and then there was darkness.

  Michael came screaming out of the darkness, struggling against the arms that held him. But he was alone.

  Alone in the garage.

  And Lucas was gone. Dead.

  Chapter One

  The scent of blood, gore and earth wasn’t a scent that a man forgot easily. Gun drawn, Special Agent Michael O’Rourke breathed through his mouth and tried not to pay attention to the smell. It was hard, but he had done this often enough that he could block it out a little.

  A few of the less experienced agents were feeling pretty squeamish. That was more a distraction than the smell—at least for Mike. Their nausea hit him like a sucker punch, right in the gut, and he had to battle back the same bile that they were fighting to contain.

  None of them had the luxury to get sick right now. Samuel Watkins had killed six times and his seventh victim was running out of time. Michael could feel her, too. He could feel her terror, her pain. She wanted her mama, but she didn’t dare cry out. Brave little thing.

  I’ll get you to your mama, sweetheart. I promise. Not one more child would die because of this bastard.

  It was darker than midnight down there and descending the steps was like a descent straight into hell. Dark, ugly, and terrifying. Mike wasn’t afraid of Watkins. The worst thing Watkins could do to him was kill him and Mike would go happily if it meant taking the monster with him. No. He was afraid that Watkins would find the girl and finish what he had started.

  But Watkins was preoccupied. As Mike reached the bottom of the stairs, his booted feet hit the dirt floor and he went still, staring at the sight before him. Faint greenish lights hovered around Watkins and the short, stout man was flailing at the air with fisted hands. He was also screaming.

  “What the…”

  Destin Mortin came to a dead stop just at Mike’s shoulder. A new agent in Oz’s little motley crew, Destin couldn’t see ghosts. Her skill was a little odd, even to Mike. She fit in well, though, on this case. Officially, Destin was still in training. Unofficially, she was ready to take to the streets and kick some ass. Oz was worried that Destin would get to Watkins first and take out several pounds of flesh. That morning, Mike would have agreed with Oz. It was completely possible that Destin might find Watkins first and seek some good old-fashioned vigilante justice.