The Departed

things, especially when they were agitated, and Tawny was most definitely agitated. Agitated, angry…and as they’d drawn closer to her unmarked grave, she’d gotten sadder as well, as though she’d felt the gloom and the darkness looming over her.
    But Dez didn’t mention the repetitive questions—she simply answered as she had the first and the second time. “We have found him. He has been stopped. He won’t do this to anybody else.”
    They were often confused—especially once they realized she could see them, hear them…talk to them. Some of them had spent years and years unable to speak to anybody, not even each other. A lot of the time, the souls of the departed were trapped in their own personal hells and until they could break free and move on, they weren’t aware of anything or anybody.
    Unless somebody like Dez could penetrate that shield.
    Tawny’s face, pretty and sweet, softened with a smile and, just like that, the darkness surrounding her began to lift. She didn’t look like a ghost, didn’t look like a murder victim.
    In Dez’s experience, the departed were a reflection of how they remembered themselves in life…a washed-out mirror reflection. Tawny’s pale face faded even more and she closed her eyes.
    “How long? Do you know?”
    Dez said gently, “You disappeared seven years ago.”
    “Seven years…my God.” She sighed and her image flickered. Then she focused on Dez’s face. As her gaze focused, the air around Dez grew colder and the tension was thick enough to cut. “ My son. I have a son. Do you know what happened to him?”
    “Your ex-husband took him. Raised him—he misses you but it looks like his father did his best to make sure he had a good life. He’s graduated from high school and he’s in college. Going for a degree in criminal justice.” A faint smile curled Dez’s lips and she said, “I think because of what happened to you.”
    Something that might have been tears glimmered in Tawny’s eyes. “ He’s a good boy. I’m glad…thanks for telling me.”
    Dez wasn’t surprised the woman had asked. She’d skimmed the file as they traveled up here, preparing for just this sort of thing. A lot of them had questions and nothing made it harder for them to pass over than not knowing .
    Unwilling to be the one responsible for holding somebody back, Dez did her best to make sure she could answer whatever questions may come up. But she couldn’t always answer every one, and often, those unanswered questions were the hardest.
    “What happens to me now?” Tawny stared at her, her gaze sobering.
    “That’s not so easy to answer, Tawny. What do you think happens?”
    Tawny just smiled.
    And as easy as that, she faded away.
    Once Tawny was gone, Dez turned and faced the rest of the team.
    Her gaze locked on Taylor’s.
    He lifted a golden brow.
    She nodded.
    That was all he needed. Without a word from her, he turned away and the team sprang into action.
    And just like that, Dez’s job was done and she was relegated to the sidelines.
    Good thing for her she’d brought a book.
    She knew Taylor wouldn’t be leaving here anytime soon.

CHAPTER TWO
    “YOU’RE not supposed to be here,” Taylor snapped, his voice flat and cold.
    Dez ignored him, staring at the house with a rapt expression.
    The voices…they called to her. Their call was impossible to ignore. The whispers were like a siren’s song in her head. Responding to Taylor’s blunt statement was pointless, especially since she couldn’t explain why she was here. She just knew she had to be here.
    She hadn’t been notified and that meant nobody thought her skills were required. If Taylor wanted her here, he would most definitely have called her.
    After all, she lived just a little outside of Williamsburg. It wouldn’t take her any time to get to the small, upscale subdivision where all hell was currently breaking loose. It made her gut hurt to think about the hell happening inside this posh, designer neighborhood. Some people thought bad shit didn’t happen in places like this.
    Dez knew better.
    “There’s a child in there,” she said quietly.
    “No, there’s not.” It was Colby Mathis, one of Jones’s bloodhounds. Under most circumstances, she would have listened to him, agreed with him. She liked the guy, respected him, and she knew he knew how to do his job. He was the hard-core psychic and she was the one who talked to ghosts.
    But he was wrong this time.
    Because there was a ghost