Summer listened to Mary and Owen outline the major points in the case, taking her through the key evidence on the whiteboard, and she began to wonder what she was doing here. The charge was simple, felony murder. Art Fuentes had committed the crime of burglary by breaking into Commissioner Adams’s house and killing Mrs. Adams while he was there. Fuentes hadn’t said a word since his arrest and he had no known ties to the Adams family or to the commissioner’s court, the upshot being there was no underlying motive for the killing other than Mrs. Adams had surprised him and he’d killed her to keep her from being able to ID him. If Joule hadn’t been out walking his dog that night and observed Fuentes running from the back door, he might’ve escaped undetected. With Joule’s testimony, the guilt-innocence part of the case was open-and-shut, and with Fuentes’s record, a jury would likely have no problem sending him away for a very long time. The facts were straightforward, and Summer couldn’t help but think her presence here seemed superfluous.
“Anything stand out to you?” Owen asked.
Summer pursed her lips like she was thinking really hard, but she didn’t have much to add. “You said they found the murder weapon, the gun, outside the house. Were there any prints?”
“How do you not already know?” a voice from behind her said. The three of them turned toward the door to see Kira, Owen’s investigator, walk into the room. “Shouldn’t we be asking you the questions? Or do we even need to ask since you can probably already tell us what we want to know. I mean, isn’t that what a mind-reader does?”
“Ease up, Kira,” Owen said, flashing her a stern look. “We’re going through the evidence with Summer. She’s going to be working with us for the duration of the trial.” Whether we like it or not.
Summer smiled and stuck out her hand. Kira stared at it for a moment before gripping it hard, like she was trying to establish her dominance. “Looking forward to working with you,” Summer lied. “And I’m a psychic medium, not a mind-reader. I get it can be confusing.”
“Tell you what I’m not confused about—whatever you have to offer is not admissible in a court of law,” Kira said.
“You’d be surprised.”
Owen cleared her throat and Summer looked in her direction. “Sorry, I guess we’re getting off track.”
Mary held up a hand. “Hold up. What exactly is a psychic medium?” She pointed at her chest. “Dying to know here.”
Summer glanced at Owen, who nodded for her to answer. “Generally speaking, a medium gets their intel from communications with people who have passed on, and a psychic intuits information from other sources, vibrations and the like. Sometimes, the talents overlap, and sometimes a person has both abilities.”
“And you’re one of those people?” Kira asked, skeptically.
“Yes. Information is shown to me by spirits of the dead, but also by vibrations from the living.”
“‘Shown’ to you?” Mary asked.
“Good catch,” Summer said. “Yes. The messages from spirits usually come in dream sequences and visions. Sometimes I get words if the presence is really strong, but often, I see what amounts to pieces of a puzzle.”
“Give me an example.”
Summer thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one. I might see the front page of a newspaper as a clue about the date something happened, or the story on the page might have some significance to the message the soul is trying to convey.”
“Sounds pretty vague and subject to interpretation,” Kira said. “And here I thought you could read minds.”
I can read yours, and I can tell you are not happy about me being here. “Mind-reading presumes I’m reaching into people’s heads and nosing into what I find there, but my abilities are more about cluing into the unspoken words and feelings being projected by both the living and the dead. Because I’m hyper aware of what’s going on subconsciously, I tend to pick up a ton of energy from what people are thinking. If the thoughts are backed by strongly held beliefs or carry a lot of emotion, I can often hear exact phrases.” She paused for a moment, wondering if Kira got her implication.
“And you don’t think listening to people’s thoughts is an invasion of privacy?” Owen asked.
Summer was careful to keep any defensive tone out of her voice. “I suppose it can be. I do my best not to hear things without being invited in, so to speak, but if the communication is really strong, it’s hard to ignore. It’s not a perfect science.”
The room went silent and Summer watched while the rest of the group kept their heads down and tension filled the air. “I suppose this means none of you plan to speak to me again?” she asked, hoping to add some levity to the conversation.
“I don’t think we need to,” Mary deadpanned. “If I promise I won’t count it as an invasion of privacy, can you tell me what I’m thinking right this instant?”
“Hilarious, Mare,” Owen said. “Theatrics aside, let’s focus on the evidence we have. If nothing else, Summer can provide us with a fresh point of view.”
“Happy to help in whatever capacity you need.” Summer studied Owen, appreciating the effort she was making to get past the conflict of their initial encounter even though she clearly didn’t share her boss’s confidence in her special talents. She’s a good girl. Always does the right thing. Summer almost shielded her eyes at the glow emanating from Owen’s direction. She’d caught glimpses of it before, but this time it had shape, the very fuzzy outline of a person, a woman, her voice a gentle whisper, and Summer instantly knew whoever it was, she cared deeply for Owen. She always does the right thing, but she doesn’t take care of herself. Watch out for her. The shape floated out from behind Owen and came closer, and Summer raised a hand to touch it, unable to resist the pull. At the exact same time, the sharp, pungent odor of cumin filled the air and an image of a pot of bubbling chili flashed in her mind.
“Summer?”
Owen’s voice snapped her back into this plane. “Sorry, what?”
Owen pointed. “You raised your hand.” She grinned. “Totally not necessary, but I called your name three times and you didn’t respond.”
“I can’t believe you woke her up,” Kira said with a smirk. “She was probably on the verge of solving the case.”
Summer lowered her arm, slightly embarrassed and consumed with a craving for a bowl of steaming chili, a fact she decided to keep to herself for now while she contemplated the glowing object she’d seen. She’d detected a strong female energy—someone who knew Owen well. Well enough to know what she liked to eat. She wanted to blurt out what she’d learned, share the story, and see if it resonated with Owen. Mary would probably be amused, but Kira was another story. She could feel the burn of Kira’s gaze on her and knew she wasn’t welcome here. She had a choice. She could let Kira’s attitude bother her or she could face it head-on. “I apologize for zoning out, but it happens sometimes, especially when I’m around new people.” She shifted in her chair so she was facing Kira. “I thought the case was solved already. I mean, you’re about to put a man away for murder. Do you have doubts?”
Kira folded her arms across her chest. “Not in the least.”
“We’re open to different perspectives about how we present the case,” Owen said in an obvious effort to defuse the conflict. A loud buzz sounded, and Owen reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “Hang on just a sec.”
She stepped out of the room and the energy shifted. Mary was enthusiastic about the case, but also tired, and who could blame her? Kira, on the other hand, held a deep-seated resentment and it wasn’t just because she was here to work with them. No, there was something else simmering underneath the surface of her disdain for Summer’s abilities. Summer tried to tune in but gave up quickly when faced with the exhaustion of trying to maneuver her way through the tangle of feelings in Kira’s head. Thankfully, Owen reappeared before she had to.
“Change of plans,” Owen said. “Commissioner Adams has a meeting he can’t reschedule this afternoon, so if we’re going to meet with him, we have to go to his office.”
Mary groaned. “Jack’s picking me up for an OB appointment at four. How would you feel about me staying here and putting together the final touches on the pretrial motions?”
Summer watched Owen’s jaw clench, but she didn’t sense Owen was upset with Mary. Was she sorry to be stuck with her for the afternoon?
Kira jangled a set of keys. “Come on, Owen. I’ll drive.”
Owen shook her head. “That’s okay. I think it might be best to have a small group for this session. Summer, can you join me? This’ll be a good opportunity for you to meet Adams.”
She didn’t have to have a gift to feel the icy look Kira shot in her direction. Summer didn’t want to get in the middle of the weird power dynamic between Owen and Kira, but she also didn’t want to shirk her job on the very first day. If she was going to be of any value at all to this team, she needed to meet the players involved, and who better than the victim’s husband? “Absolutely.”
She stood and followed Owen out of the room. Kira took an exaggerated step out of her way when she approached. “This won’t last.”
She resisted the urge to look Kira in the eye, to say something to let her know she could hear her thoughts, sensing it would be fuel to the fire. She’d have to find another way to win her over or avoid her altogether. In the meantime, she was about to have some alone time with Owen, and the prospect excited her more than she was willing to let on. Thank God no one else in the room read minds.
Owen drove a fully loaded luxurious BMW sedan, not the kind of car Summer expected a county employee to be able to afford, but it suited her as well as the custom-tailored suits she wore. She looked at her hand to see if she wore a wedding band. She didn’t. Summer ran her hand along the buttery smooth leather and rosewood paneling and was startled when Owen spoke.
“Would you believe I saved all my lunch money to buy this?”
It wasn’t the first time that Owen had read her thoughts, and Summer tried not to read too much into the revelation. She walked through life like an open book most of the time, naively thinking if anyone could tune in they wouldn’t, but Owen’s observations felt more intimate than intrusive. She’d shared this kind of back and forth connection with Nan and Faith, but no one else, and definitely not anyone she was attracted to the way she was to Owen, which made the possibility of some kind of psychic link between them titillating. She started to ask Owen if she felt it too, but when she played the question in her head, she decided she sounded the exact kind of crazy that would send Owen running in the opposite direction. “Everyone deserves to have indulgences.”
“It’s…” Owen bit her bottom lip and gripped the steering wheel, making the turn toward downtown. She smiled and it looked forced. “What about you? What’s your favorite extravagance?”
She wondered what Owen had been about to say. She could feel the sadness in her, but Summer couldn’t make out the source. It wasn’t her business, anyway. Focus on what’s being said out loud. “Hmm, good question. I’d have to say spa days. I’m a sucker for a good massage and a facial.”
“Interesting choice. I was thinking along the lines of something more material.”
“I have nothing against material things, but I’ve found they don’t always measure up to good experiences.”
Owen nodded, her expression thoughtful. She pulled into the parking garage near the county building and found a prime spot.
“Before we go in, do you want to discuss what role I should play?” Summer asked. She’d worked with Bruce long enough to be able to take certain liberties when they were talking to witnesses or victim’s families, but she didn’t want to make assumptions about how Owen would want to handle her presence.
“Good question. I hadn’t really thought about it. My preference is that you be as unobtrusive as possible. I’ll let Adams know you’re consulting with us on the case, but otherwise stay in the background and let me do all of the talking. Okay?”
Owen’s admonition was abrupt and cool, and Summer was disappointed at the shift in the mood between them, but she couldn’t fault her. They were here to work after all.
Commissioner Adams’s secretary told them Adams was in a conference with the mayor and invited them to wait in his office. While Owen pretended to be absorbed in her notes, Summer looked around the room, taking in every detail she could about the commissioner’s public life. The walls were lined with photos of him shaking hands with presumably local celebrities or engaged in humanitarian enterprises like Habitat for Humanity or handing out food to the homeless. She’d googled the commissioner and familiarized herself with his reputation and exactly what he did. Each county in the state had five county commissioners, one of whom also served as the county judge who was elected county-wide and was essentially the CEO who was in charge of all county business. Each commissioner position was endowed with a lot of authority, but the county judge was in a position of unparalleled power. Prevailing opinion was that the current county judge, Baxter, was planning to retire before the end of the year and Adams, popular not just with his constituents but with the entire electorate, was the predicted successor to fill his spot. Morbid pundits also speculated on whether his wife’s murder had made him even more sympathetic as a candidate, and when she’d read those opinions, Summer had felt a tinge of anger on his behalf, but she couldn’t identify why.
Loud voices interrupted Summer’s thoughts and she looked at the door. Owen pointed at the wall. “I think it’s coming from there,” she said. “Conference room.”
Both of them stared at the wall as the tone escalated on the other side.
“Do I need to remind you what’s at stake here?”
“No one knows better than me. But you better tell your friends to steer clear. At some point, there won’t be anything left for me to lose.”
“You need to think about the rest of your family and your future. Remember, I hear everything.”
Summer closed her eyes, trying to sort out the contentious conversation, but other than the strong feeling it was important, she gleaned nothing. When she opened her eyes, Owen was staring at her with a puzzled look.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Summer said, which was mostly true since she couldn’t quite identify why what she’d just heard was so important, but she knew that it was. In the interest of being completely honest, she added, “Listening, same as you.”
“He and the mayor have a reputation for butting heads, but when it comes to significant issues, they almost always align. I figure we’re hearing the butting heads part. They’ve been at odds about a new development along the Trinity River. Both of them want the development, but they have different ideas about the parameters of the project.”
“Makes sense,” Summer said, but it didn’t really. To an outsider, the two men sounded like they were ready to tear each other’s throats out. And the reference to family was very personal. Not at all what she’d expect from a business dispute. If that was how they worked things out in local government around here, she would hate to see how they acted when they truly disagreed over something.
The door swung open and a tall, handsome, dark-haired man strode into the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He shook Owen’s hand and turned to Summer. He was smiling. Completely at odds with the growling voice she’d heard a moment ago, but it was the kind of smile politicians used to assure voters—big and broad, showing some teeth, but not enough to make you think he wasn’t a serious person. “Keith Adams, nice to meet you.” He furrowed his brow. “I feel like we’ve met before. Last month. The fundraiser for Judge Milar at Sammy’s?”
She matched his welcoming demeanor with an outstretched hand. “Afraid not. I’m fairly new to Dallas. Summer Harvey,” she answered, remembering at the last minute to use her grandmother’s last name.
He grasped her hand and her knees buckled. She struggled to remain upright, but the weight of his touch was leaden, and she could barely keep her hand steady. She started to apologize for her reaction, but before she could form the words, a hazy yellow light swept around his head and pulled her attention into its vortex.
“He’s lost.”
Summer stared above his head as the light danced and played, casting shadows that ebbed and flowed. What do you mean?
“Bring him back.”
From where?
“Dig deeper.” The voice repeated the command with a whisper in her ear and the warmth of the close voice breathing in her ear sent a shiver down her spine.
“Are you okay?” Adams said, grasping her arm. “You look pale.” He led her to the couch. “Here, have a seat.”
The moment he let her arm go, the golden hue faded, and the voice was gone, and she scrambled for an excuse to explain away her behavior. “I apologize. I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
“Let me get you some water.” He walked across the room and opened a mini fridge. “Or maybe you’d prefer a seltzer.”
“Water’s fine.” Summer took advantage of his back being turned to catch Owen’s eyes. She was standing across the room watching her with a wary expression. Summer mouthed, “Sorry,” and Owen rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated that Summer had done the exact opposite of what she’d asked by drawing attention to herself. When Adams returned with the bottle of water, she held it first against her head, determined to stay in the moment. “Thank you. I’m feeling better already.”
“Good.” Adams sat on the couch opposite her and invited Owen to join them. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
Owen shot her a look that said please don’t speak, before responding to Adams. “The trial starts on Monday. Defense counsel hasn’t made any overtures about plea deals and, at your request, we haven’t made any offers, so we’re going forward. Jury selection should take most of the first day and we’ll either have opening statements late in the day or the following morning. I know we’ve gone over your testimony, but I wanted to review the major points and see if you have any questions about areas the defendant’s attorney may cover in his cross-examination of you.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“It doesn’t hurt to prepare.”
He fixed Owen with a hard stare. “I’m not scared if that’s what you think.”
“I think anyone who lost a loved one and has to come face-to-face with the killer has a right to be a little bit scared. It’s healthy and authentic and expected.”
Summer got what Owen was saying—the jury would expect to see emotion from him, not the everything’s okay, charismatic persona he projected for his electorate. The question was whether he got it as well. “Tell us about your wife,” she said, ignoring Owen’s stare as she broke the rules she’d laid out.
“Like what do you want to know?”
He didn’t meet her eyes and Summer took a moment before responding, leaving space for the voice she’d heard moments ago to interject, but after a few silent seconds, she got nothing. Her intuition told her it had been his wife speaking to her, but if it was, she must’ve left this space. It’s you, isn’t it? Tell me what’s on your mind. She waited a few more seconds and when she didn’t get an answer, she pressed on. “What was she like? What did you like best about her? These are the kind of things Owen may ask you about on the stand that will show the jury she’s not just another homicide statistic, but a real person whose life has been cut short from unnecessary violence. Anecdotes you can provide will give them focus on putting Fuentes in prison for the rest of his life. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course,” he said, bristling at the question. “She was a loving mother and wife. She used to teach, but when I took this job, she wanted to be home more to take care of things around the house since I was taking on more. She was active in our church and served on the boards of several charities.”
The answers were rote and devoid of emotion, but Summer sensed his reticence to give more detail was more about shielding his own feelings than not having any. The main thing she noticed was that he still didn’t meet her eyes. Guilt. It weighed him down, but it was clouded by something else, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. It might be as simple as he hadn’t been home that fateful night to protect her from harm. Or perhaps he had something to do with her death? But if he had, why would his wife be concerned about him?
Summer filed her thoughts away to examine later, but she didn’t press him further. Whatever the source of his guilt, he was punishing himself enough about it and there was no need for her to pile on. She reached for his hand and held it and was a bit surprised when he didn’t pull away. “I’m sure she loved all of those things, but I’m also sure she loved you more.”
Adams squeezed her hand and murmured “Thank you. I didn’t deserve it.”
Did the statement come from a place of guilt from being alive when his wife wasn’t or was there a deeper meaning? Summer looked across the room and met Owen’s eyes. She’d half expected Owen to look angry that she’d basically taken over the interview, but instead she looked thoughtful. Summer listened through the silence, both wanting to hear Owen’s thoughts and resisting the invasion of privacy. One word came through and Summer heard it loud and clear. “Respect.”