Free Dangerous to Touch by Jill Sorenson Page B

him breaking out of a vehicle; lab results on the safety glass indicated nothing more specific than a newer model car or truck. She’d been right about the river; the dog’s paws tested positive for elements unique to the San Luis Rey.
    And yet, the dog’s toxicology report had been clear. No poisons, barbiturates, tranquilizers, or chemical depressants were present in his bloodstream.
    “You know what you could do,” Lacy ventured after a pause.
    “What?”
    “Take her to the sites.”
    Marc scowled, remembering what Sidney had gone through after coming in contact with Candace Hegel’s dead hand. How would she react to a crime scene? “The department has regulations against consulting psychics.”
    “Like you’ve never strayed from protocol,” she chided.
    He said nothing. Although he knew of other cops who had gone that route, he would never do so. In his opinion, so-called psychics victimized the weak and vulnerable, lost souls desperate to communicate with dearly departed loved ones. Taking advantage of-and taking money from-grieving lonely-hearts was despicable.
    The intense dislike he carried for otherworldly con artists went as deep as his hatred for men who abused women.
    After all, his mother had fallen prey to both.

Chapter 6
    S idney was dozing off on her futon couch, dreaming about playing doctor with Marc Cruz, when her sister barged through her front door, Dakota and Taylor in tow.
    Sidney rubbed her tired eyes, wondering what tragedy had befallen Samantha this time.
    “There’s ice cream in the freezer,” she said to the girls when she saw the frantic expression on her sister’s face. “Go on and serve yourselves some.”
    “I left Greg,” Samantha said when her daughters were out of earshot.
    “When?”
    “This morning. Do you have any money?”
    Sidney gaped at her incredulously.
    “He knows about Richard, Sid. He’s frozen all the accounts and he says he’s going to get custody.” Her eyes darted around the room. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.
    “He won’t get full custody,” Sidney assured her sister with more certainty than she felt. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
    “It could be months before the divorce goes through. What am I going to do until then? How am I going to live?”
    “You can stay with me.”
    Samantha’s smooth brow crumpled at the indignity of being brought so low. “Can you watch the girls for a few hours? I really need to, um, decompress.”
    With a sigh, Sidney nodded her assent. Maybe it was better that Dakota and Taylor not see their mother looking so…crazed.
    “You’re a doll,” Samantha gushed, scuttling out the door on high-heeled sandals before Sidney could change her mind.
    By the time the girls were fed, bathed, brushed, and in bed, it was almost ten o’clock. Sidney had been on her feet almost eighteen hours and she was completely drained. Samantha was right. Taking care of two energetic children was exhausting.
    Because Dakota and Taylor were sleeping upstairs, in the only bedroom, Sidney took a quick shower outside so as not to disturb their slumber. She grabbed a tank top and underwear straight out of the dryer, pulled them on and collapsed in a boneless heap on the couch next to Marley. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the moon-shaped pillow, only to be rudely awakened less than five minutes later.
    Cursing all sisters, she stumbled to the door and wrenched it open. Samantha’s husband, Greg, was there, his handsome face flushed, dark eyes unfocused. “Where is she?” he asked, slurring the words together.
    “Not here,” she said, crinkling her nose at his odor and appearance. His clothes were expensively tailored, his watch diamond encrusted, and his shoes Italian leather, but he reeked of bourgeoisie. And booze.
    Sidney let him in, mentally calculating the time it would take a cab to arrive.
    “That bitch took my kids,” he muttered. “Can you believe that? I’m calling the cops.”
    As he fumbled in