Free (Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child by Dale Mayer

didn't like her gift. She hadn't learned to live with it yet. Or to control it. It controlled her. A rush of sympathy washed through him. Gifts like these, if real, were very unforgiving.
     
    Few people had strong psychic abilities. Of those, some went insane. Some survived – barely, and a select few learned to control them and lived quite well. From what he'd seen, she could be one of the stronger ones. Except without the control, she was dangerous. Very dangerous.
     
    Stefan had often extolled the dangers of psychic power without training. Brandt narrowed his eyes. Maybe Stefan could help her. If she'd accept any help. He stared at her in consideration.
     
    Uncontrollable power was a disaster waiting to happen.
     
    He should get the hell out and not come back. Even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. He needed to learn more about her. To understand her. After confirming the details of this morning's accident, he was willing to buy into her story as a psychic. But his personal interest bothered him. Especially when his better judgment told him to leave her alone.
     
    She sipped her tea, apparently comfortable under the intensity of his gaze. She didn't fidget, move around, or make artificial conversation.
     
    "Well," she asked. "Did you make up your mind?"
     
    He lowered his cup. "About what?"
     
    "Whether to believe me or not."
     
    "I'm willing to believe up to this point. Your information checked out on the car accident and until I find out otherwise, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."
     
    "Gee, thanks." She peered over the rim of her teacup, derision in her voice .
     
    Exasperated, he said, "You can't expect me to jump for joy over all of this. I'm a cop. I like things to be cut, dried, and clear. I also know that it rarely happens. So if there is information that can help, then I will listen and say thank you."
     
    She stared at him, a frown between her brows.
     
    He had no idea what she was thinking. Samantha had the odd distinction of being the only person to throw him off balance every time he saw her.
     
    She shrugged. "What questions did you come to ask me?"
     
    Damned if he could remember.
     
    He took another drink of tea while he racked his brain. Oh yeah. "I'm hunting a particular killer. I wondered..." He leaned forward. "Can you find people?"
     
    She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her gaze. "I don't know. I've never tried." Almost apologetically, she added, "I don't have any formal training in this."
     
    He nodded. Stefan would have a heyday with her. He thought about it for a half second, then grabbed his notebook from his pocket and wrote down Stefan's phone number. He continued to ask several general questions about her abilities and the things she'd seen.
     
    Ripping the note off, he placed it on the coffee table between them. She could contact Stefan on her own if she wanted to. He asked one last question. "Is there any particular trigger for the visions?"
     
    That caught her off guard. She stared at him, her eyes flat. "Yes."
     
    "And that is?" he asked.
     
    "Violence."
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    10:19 am
     
    "Y ou can't put him to sleep. He's been doing great. I don't understand." Samantha blocked the cage containing Soldier, the name she'd settled on for the injured German shepherd. The rest of the staff faced her as one group.
     
    "Samantha, we warned you about his lack of progress. He isn't adapting to people. No one will be able to handle him. The shelter won't take him now."
     
    "Then why did you save his life?" Damn, she hated to beg, but someone needed to stick up for the dog. "If he was worth saving then, he's worth saving now."
     
    Lucy stepped forward, placing a comforting arm around Sam's shoulder. "Honey, we tried to warn you. We hoped he'd get better, but he hasn't."
     
    "He just needs a little more time." Samantha didn't know what tactic to try next. Her hand clenched again, fingernails sliding into half-moon impressions already there.