Free Seeing Is Believing by Lindsay McKenna

is certainly rich with metaphysical phenomena,” Diana murmured. “But we need to get to her casita, and I need to touch something she owned before I’ll know more.”
    * * *
    Wes had Officer Thomas wait outside in the cruiser, then he opened the door to the casita Ruth Horner had vacationed in for two weeks. Placing his hand in the small of Diana’s back, he guided her into the posh residence. The interior was painted a dusky mauve, the drapes pale pink and the carpet pale green—all colors in keeping with the Southwest tradition, he supposed.
    Curious, he watched Diana after he removed his hand from her back and quietly closed the door. She moved to the center of the room and stood very still. Remaining silent, Wes realized she was picking up on something. He searched his own senses but felt nothing in the silence of this large casita filled with expensive, overstuffed furniture and art objects.
    “I feel a lot of anger in here,” Diana said in a low voice. Her eyes closed, she slowly turned, sensing, picking up information on the intuitive level. “There.” Opening her eyes, she pointed in the direction of a large pink-and-white-striped satin sofa. “The anger is really strong here, around the sofa.” She walked over and slowly moved her hand from side to side, allowing her ultrasensitive palms to pick up information.
    Wes walked over and held out his hand in the same general area. His frown deepened. “I don’t feel anything.”
    “That’s okay.”
    He looked more closely at the sofa. “Officer Thomas said they found nothing in the casita. Ruth Horner and her luggage had literally vanished.”
    “I don’t think so.” Frowning, Diana closed her eyes and placed both hands on one of the sofa’s plump seat cushions. She continued to feel, to receive impressions. “Fight. There was a terrific fight. I feel her anguish.” Jerking her hands off the couch, Diana straightened and shivered. “A horrible fight.”
    Wes moved closer, hearing the tremor in her hushed tone. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her shoulder and felt the tension thrumming through her. It was difficult for him to think that she might be making all of this up. He already felt he knew and trusted Diana enough to realize she felt something.
    “What kind of fight? Physical? Verbal?”
    Releasing a sigh, she twisted her head to look up into Wes’s grave features. She liked having his hand on her shoulder, and the feeling of stability it gave her. Even more, she liked what she saw mirrored in his eyes: concern. How could she ever have thought he was violent as Bob had been? The violence she felt around him had come from his experiences in Delta Force, one of the most lethal military teams in the world.
    “I don’t know. At least, not yet. Let me touch some more things….”
    Wes looked around. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to nose around. I don’t trust the local cops to see everything. They must have missed something.”
    “Okay.” Diana felt him move away, and she closed her eyes again. By closing them, she automatically switched to the right hemisphere of her brain, where her sensing equipment was located. She could feel more by moving her hands lightly across fabric, a desk or chair, than by looking at it. Information, sometimes pictures, would flow into her mind’s eye, that screen where her third eye was located. When she opened her eyes, the pictures or symbols disappeared.
    She moved slowly, sensing, feeling. The anger was worst around the sofa, although in the bedroom, she felt a confusing mix of emotions. Touching a pale pink satin comforter that covered the king-size bed, she felt tears, sadness. When she skimmed her left palm upward toward the pillow, the sensation became stronger. By the time Diana actually felt the pillow, the one she was sure Ruth Horner had slept on, she wanted to cry herself.
    “Are you okay?” Wes stood in the entrance to the bedroom. He saw the grief-stricken expression on