Divine Trilogy Read online

  Jasi sat in front and cautiously peeked out the window toward the tent.

  Brandon Walsh was insolently leaning against a wooden support post, his legs crossed at the ankles. His candid gaze caught her off guard.

  If I'm lucky, the posts will come crashing down and knock him unconscious.

  As they neared the crime scene, Jasi readied herself.

  The unpaved road was a mess of mud and water. The van lurched forward into potholes, stopping suddenly every once in a while to navigate carefully over the boggy ground. It ventured down a narrow lane and into the thick brush. Spruce and cedar trees surrounded the vehicle, long branches scraping restlessly against metal.

  Ben drove cautiously down the road, cursing loudly when the tires spun rebelliously.

  "This is the worst part of it. There's grass up ahead."

  Sure enough, the marshy ground opened to a grassy field. The ground hardened and they parked a few yards from what was once a rustic summer cabin.

  Stepping out of the van, Jasi surveyed the scene.

  The emptiness hit her, assaulting her senses. The area was devoid of life―except for her PSI team.

  Off to one side, charred wood and clumps of black mud covered a cement pad. Washburn's cabin. Perimeter beacons were spaced every twenty feet. The beacons emitted a six-foot-high screen of orange light that quarantined the area. Anyone stepping through the beam would automatically trigger an alarm that would then activate a GPS, pinpointing the intruder's location and identity.

  Jasi stepped closer to the scene and surveyed the damage.

  "Okay, shake 'n bake time."

  This was her ritual―something she said before entering every crime scene.

  "Natassia, you're on data. Remember, don't tell me anything that you've gotten from the X-Disc. The less I know the better."

  Jasi turned to Ben. "While we're inside you can send in the X-Disc Pro. Maybe we'll get lucky―fingerprints, trace fibers. Hell, anything would be good right about now. We need a break, something."

  Natassia brought out her data-com and programmed it for automatic voice recording. With a simple voice command, the data-com would pick up every word.

  Jasi opened her backpack and pulled out the OxyBlast.

  "Give me a sec."

  She peeled back her mask and took a few quick puffs of oxygen. Then she grabbed the nosepiece from her pocket and slipped it over her nose. Once the mask was attached to a cord on the side of her jacket, she pocketed the OxyBlast.

  Ben tugged on Natassia's arm. "She can't use a mask when she's reading so―"

  "I know," Natassia said, cutting him off. "Keep an eye on her."

  "Stop talking like I'm not here," Jasi groaned. "I'm not deaf, you know. And I don't need babysitters. Come on, Natassia."

  When they reached the edge of the crime scene, Jasi entered the code on the main beacon to deactivate the perimeter alarm. The blackened ruin of the cabin beckoned her closer. Ashes fluttered in the breeze and she walked slowly, so as not to disturb them. Smoke from the extinguished fire teased a trail toward her. She could taste its acrid bitterness.

  A man died here, she thought. Burned beyond recognition.

  "Voice record on!" Natassia ordered.

  Jasi closed her eyes, anxious to clear her thoughts. She stood at the edge of the crime scene, her hands stretched above her. Trying to relax, she brought her arms slowly to her sides.

  Focus. Deep breaths…in, out.

  The wind began to stir. She could hear birds in the distance. Breathe. The smoke clung to her skin and swirled around her body. It entered her mouth, assaulting her senses.

  In her mind, she saw Washburn's cabin. She could visualize it as it once was. Smoke rising from a chimney, the curtains ruffling in the breeze.

  A body strapped into a recliner, unmoving.

  Jasi took a step forward, one step closer.

  The darkness sucked her in, deeper…

  The man muttered a curse. His fishing rod had disappeared again. Maybe he was just getting too old.

  Maybe 'old timer's' had kicked in.

  "Son-of-a-bitch! Where did I put it?"

  I observed him from the bushes, and laughed scornfully at the old doctor's complete lack of attention. He was easy prey. I wrapped the IV tubing around my hands, testing its strength. I saw the moment the old man noticed the fishing pole I had leaned up against the railing. I crept forward and slipped behind a large screen that separated part of the deck.

  Then I held my breath.

  Dr. Washburn, with his snow-white hair and paunch belly, teetered through the doorway onto the deck.

  Fate had delivered him to me.

  I pulled a black ski mask over my face. Then I crept up behind him, reaching above his bent head and brought the tubing around his neck. I could feel him buckling and straining beneath my hands.

  "Don't fight it, Doctor," I whispered in the man's ear.

  His body slumped forward and I dragged him inside the cabin. Hoisting the unconscious man into an old leather recliner, I tugged his inert body until his head rested at the top. Leaning over, I gripped the lever and reclined the chair. I quickly wrapped the rope around his body, looping it around his neck.

  And then I sat on the threadbare sofa.

  And waited.

  I heard the doctor groan a few minutes later. I laughed when he cried out in terror at finding himself tightly tied to the chair. A rope of tubing bound his legs, waist, shoulders and neck.

  "I wouldn't try to move your legs too much. The more you move, the tighter the tubing will get around your neck. It's a neat trick I learned."

  I reached for the gas can at my feet. The diesel was Super Clean. Only the best for the best. I poured it around the chair, savoring the horrified expression in the doctor's face. The fumes were strong and my eyes teared slightly.

  "Why me?" he cried.

  I stared at him for a moment, daring him to remember me.

  "Because you burned me once."

  I reached into the pocket of my jeans, pulled out a Gemini lighter. The gas can leaked diesel behind me as I carried it toward the door.

  I peered deeply into the old man's eyes. He sobbed like a child and I watched a tear roll down his wrinkled cheek.

  "Who are you?" he croaked, his eyes bulging with terror.

  Without answering, I flicked the lighter in my hand. I lit a piece of newspaper, then heard the old doctor scream as I tossed it toward him.

  "I don't know who you are!" the old man shrieked. "I don't know you!"

  The fire licked the floorboards, searing the old cedar planks. It crawled voraciously up the chair, over his writhing body, and a low keening moan was the last sound Dr. Norman Washburn made.

  Satisfied, I glared at the man engulfed in flames.

  Strolling outside, I stood a safe distance away. I smiled when the cabin went up in a blazing inferno and a small explosion ripped through the wall. Tossing the lighter on the ground, I glanced back at the wreckage. Thick black puffs of smoke billowed from the roof.

  I rolled up the ski mask so I could breathe.

  Reaching into my pocket, I brought out my list and meticulously crossed off Dr. Washburn's name.

  "You might not remember me, but I sure as hell remember you."

  Then I began the long hike past the moonlit beach, listening to the wind and the occasional crackle of fire behind me.

  A hollow darkness surrounded Jasi, blinding her.

  "Ben! She's barely conscious," a woman's voice said apprehensively.

  I sure as hell remember you!

  Jasi fought to open her eyes.

  "She's coming around," she heard Ben say. "She'll be okay."

  "Here. Let me have a look at her." The voice was deep and arrogant.

  Jasi opened her eyes slightly, squinting at the sudden sharp pain in her head. She hazily examined her surroundings. She was safe, inside the van.

  Then Brandon Walsh leaned over her.

  He grinned when he caught her gaze
. Turning her head gently, he examined a small scrape on her forehead.

  "You fainted," he said scornfully. "And landed on your head."

  She knocked his hand away, ticked off by the man's attitude. "It's just a bump."

  "Well, Agent McLellan, I guess it didn't knock any manners into you."

  Walsh leaned forward, then dabbed the cut with peroxide.

  "Ouch! Damn it, Walsh!" she hissed.

  His expression was smug, insolent. "Oh, sorry. I forgot to warn you. This might sting a bit."

  "Walsh," Ben growled softly. He leaned down and settled the oxy-mask over her face.

  When Jasi noticed his bare hands, she said, "Shouldn't you be wearing your gloves?"

  Ben threw her a warning look. "I'll put them on when I get out of the van."

  Walsh glanced at them―puzzled, suspicious. Then he opened a bandage wrapper and gently covered the wound on her forehead.

  Jasi endured Walsh's touch, mostly because of the raging headache that threatened to rip her eyeballs from their sockets. Her head felt like someone was shooting a nail gun into her skull.

  She cautiously eased herself into a sitting position, watching the man suspiciously. "What are you doing here? Thought we left you back at the tent."

  "Gee, thanks for the warm welcome," Walsh remarked sarcastically.

  "Who said you're welcome?" she snapped.

  Natassia grinned widely, her head bouncing back and forth as if watching a tennis match. By the expression on her face, it was a thoroughly enjoyable game.

  "Agent Prushenko, haven't you got work to do?" Jasi growled. To Ben she said, "I'll be fine. Just give me a few minutes to recuperate."

  Then she glared at Walsh.

  "Alone!"

  5

  Benjamin Roberts gripped Walsh's arm firmly with a bare hand. Steering the man away from the van, he swore under his breath. The AI Chief wore too many layers. Ben couldn't get an accurate read but Walsh's intense frustration and skepticism wasn't difficult to pick up.

  "Man, she's a feisty one," Walsh grinned, jerking his head toward the van.

  Ben lifted his hand from the man's arm. "Agent McLellan is one of the best PSI's in Canada. Don't underestimate her, Walsh. She's very good at her job."

  "So am I, Roberts."

  Walsh strode across the field, making a beeline for Natassia. He cast a smirk over one shoulder, then steered Natassia under a tree.

  Ben clenched his teeth in exasperation.

  Walsh was becoming a pain in the ass. There was something about the man that Ben didn't like. Maybe it was Walsh's grating insolence. Or the way he deliberately flirted with both Jasi and Natassia.

  Ben ventured a look at Natassia who was persuasively drilling Walsh for information. He almost laughed aloud at the man's clumsy attempts at withholding facts. Yeah, Chief Walsh wouldn't know what hit him―once Natassia was through with him.

  Ben knocked hesitantly on the side of the van. He slid the door open and Jasi beckoned him inside. She was huddled on the bench seat, wrapped in a blanket. Her face was pale and it worried him.

  "Are you ready?" he asked her.

  "Let's do it."

  "Agent Prushenko!" Ben hollered.

  A minute later, Natassia's head appeared, a smirk lingering on her face. "You bellowed?"

  Ben released a sigh. "Just get in."

  "Let's play back the data recorder first," Natassia suggested.

  "What about me?" Brandon Walsh inquired innocently, poking his head inside the van.

  "Sorry," Ben said smugly. "CFBI only."

  He closed the van door with a slight slam, barely hiding his satisfied grin.

  Walsh was definitely a nuisance, he thought.

  "Thanks, Ben," Jasi smiled.

  His eyes flicked toward the closed door. "Any time."

  Forcing Walsh from his mind, Ben listened while the data-com replayed Jasi's voice.

  Her words were low and hoarse. "Don't fight it, Doctor."

  When Jasi went under, she took on the perpetrator's emotions, thoughts and actions. She literally saw through the eyes of the arsonist. Jasi relived moments in time, as if she were there in body.

  Ben, on the other hand, was a highly skilled profiler with the ability to touch someone and feel his or her thoughts. But his psychic abilities were unreliable and infrequent.

  The data recorder played back Jasi's voice. "You might not remember me but I sure as hell remember you!"

  Ben watched her carefully. He noticed the small shiver as she heard herself laughing insanely. Even after all these years, it was something that Jasi still had difficulty with.

  Who could blame her?

  "Previous knowledge of the victim is a positive," Natassia said, consulting her data-com. "I'd say we're looking for a male, based on the lower vocal tone in your voice."

  "Anything on the accelerant?" Ben asked.

  "It's Super Clean diesel fuel."

  "What about our X-Disc?" Jasi interrupted suddenly.

  Ben scrolled through his data-com and downloaded from the X-Disc Pro's data site. "We've got a partial boot print. About six yards from the house, behind the apple tree. Could be our perp. The Disc also took a soil sample from the tread. We'll have it analyzed back at Ops."

  "You want a list of known contacts now, Jasi?" Natassia asked.

  "Yeah," Jasi said. "Search all data regarding previous contacts of Dr. Washburn. All complaints issued against him, either personal or professional. Lawsuits, wrongful death, misdiagnoses. Someone had a hate-on for the doctor."

  "Give me thirty minutes. Maybe an hour. I have a feeling it could be a very long list."

  Jasi stood and reached for the door. "I'm going back to the crime scene."

  Ben grabbed her arm. "Twice in a short time-frame might be too much. You've given us plenty to go on. Why don't you―"

  "I'm fine, Ben. I won't go under again. I just want to see everything."

  She adjusted her oxy-mask and climbed out of the van before he could say another word.

  "Jesus Christ!" he heard her say.

  Ben leaned out the door and followed her gaze.

  Brandon Walsh was leaning against the bumper of the van. "Well, not quite."

  Jasi ignored the man and doggedly headed toward Washburn's cabin.

  Ben was furious. "Walsh!"

  He led the fire chief away from the van, fuming under his breath. "Listen, don't mess with any of us. This town might be your territory, but Agent McLellan is my territory. She's gone through too much to be messed with by an egotistical redneck who―"

  "Hey! I surrender!" Walsh managed, throwing his hands into the air. "Look, I just want to help. Trust me, your Agent McLellan has nothing to worry about with me."

  Ben clenched his teeth. "Just keep your hands off her―and Agent Prushenko too, for that matter."

  The tension between them mounted.

  Then Walsh turned on his heel and walked back to a nearby police car. Walsh said something to the driver who immediately handed him the radio.

  Ben watched, suspicious.

  What are you up to, Walsh?

  Glancing away, Ben held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sizzling sun. Jasi was moving closer to the crime scene. He saw her muscles tighten in response to the chaos. He prayed that the mask would keep out the toxic fumes that triggered her psychic abilities.

  Jasmine McLellan was like a sister to him. A stubborn, self-reliant, younger sister who sometimes needed rescuing. There was an air of innocence about her, yet she exposed herself to evil every day. Ben guarded her, protected her and even loved her…as a brother would.

  But most of all, he owed her.

  Ever since the Parliament Murders…

  He hopped inside the van and leaned over Natassia's shoulder to check the data-com screen.

  "The good old doctor had enough enemies to fund his own political campaign," she smiled grimly.

  "Anyone we know?"

  "A few wrongful deaths. Remember the actress, S
tacey Beranski? Her son filed a WD because she died on the operating table after what was supposed to be a routine appendectomy. Rumor is, Dr. Washburn was intoxicated while he performed the surgery and he botched the job."

  Ben leaned closer to see the monitor. "What happened to Washburn? Did he get charged with wrongful death?"

  Natassia wrinkled her nose. "He was reprimanded internally. It appears the alcohol was covered up, made to look like he had suffered from a mild stroke during the operation. He got off. Case closed."

  "What's the son's name?"

  "Jason Beranski, age twenty-nine. He's a pharmacist, works at Pharmacity Drugs in Kelowna." Natassia glanced up from her data-com. "Now, he would have access to medical supplies."

  "You and Jasi want to check him out?"

  Natassia gave him a smirk that said Hell yeah!

  He was positive that somewhere in the list of names was a clue―the identity of a serial arsonist. It was only a matter of time before they found him. But time was running out.

  Ben sensed that the arsonist would strike again…soon.

  Twenty minutes later, he heard loud, angry voices coming from outside the van. Someone pounded insistently on the door. Natassia unlocked it and slid it open while he peered over her shoulder.

  A well-dressed man in a pale maroon suit stood outside the van. The man's California-blond hair, previously broken nose and flashing brown eyes made his face one of the most recognizable in North America. He was none other than Allan Baker―the Premier of British Columbia…and the deceased Dr. Washburn's son.

  "Where is he?" Baker demanded softly.

  "Where is who?" Ben asked. He jumped from the van.

  Resentment flared in Allan Baker's eyes. "My father."

  Ben watched the man carefully, sizing him up. Baker didn't seem particularly heartbroken. Upset, yes, but not exactly the picture of the grieving son.

  Baker peered down his nose. "Who's in charge here? I don't have all day."

  Ben held out his hand. "I'm second in command. Agent Benjamin Roberts, CFBI."

  Natassia stepped from the van, catching the Premier's eye. "Agent McLellan is the lead, but she's in the field."

  Premier Baker glanced uneasily toward the charred ruins of the lakeside cabin. Then he tossed Ben a disdainful frown. "Okay, so where is he?"