Free Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series) by P.A. Lupton

back to one of our nightly phone conversations.
    “You’re amazing. How is it you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age?” I was impressed as he described the obstacles he’d overcome while growing his business.
    “I am a little older than I appear,” he answered, a peculiar tone to his voice.
    “How old are you?”
    “How old do you think I am?” he countered.
    “I thought you were around thirty when I met you, but after your last statement, I am going to guess…thirty-five.”
    “That is a good guess,” he mused.
    “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I knew my voice sounded petulant, but really, it was a simple question.
    “That is another good assumption.” I got the distinct impression he found the whole exchange entertaining. I could practically hear his smile over the phone.
    “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “I’ll let you keep your secrets for now . Personally, I think you just want to appear mysterious so I’ll like you,” I joked.
    “And is it working?” he asked earnestly. “Do you like me?”
    I sighed, tired of resisting my feelings. For someone who could interpret everyone else’s emotions, renouncing my own was not something I wanted to continue. “Too much, unfortunately,” I whispered.
    “Brianna,”—he exhaled as if he was relieved by the admission—“I am going to attempt this once more.” He paused, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.
    “Attempt what?”
    “Would you like to have dinner with me Saturday night?”
    I hesitated, and a stretch of silence passed until I finally responded. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Nathan.”
    “How is eight o’clock?”
    “That would be great,” I answered. “But I should really say goodnight for now. I have to work in a few hours. For some reason, I always seem to lose track of time when we talk. I’ll see you Saturday.” I sighed, not wanting to hang up.
    “All right, then. I will see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams,” he whispered softly.
    “Sweet dreams.”
    My morning coffees and nightly conversations with Nathan passed quickly; it was the rest of the week that crawled. Civilians tend to think investigative work is as exciting as it looks on television, when, in reality, most of it is unbearably tedious. Morrison and I spent our days re-interviewing acquaintances of the first two victims, trying to determine if either one had a psychic ability—or, according to Morrison, were under the delusion they were psychic. Not one of the people we’d spoken to so far had even hinted toward it.
    It wasn’t until Thursday that we found what we were looking for.
    Charlene Nelson worked with Leslie Harper at the Denver Human Services child welfare division, and they were both child case workers.
    “Okay, Charlene. We’re almost through,” I promised. “You told the other agents that you and Leslie became close friends, is that right?”
    “Yes. Best friends,” she answered shakily, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
    “Was there anything about Leslie that was… different from everyone else?” I asked carefully, not wanting to plant ideas. If she knew anything, she had to tell me without prompting.
    The question caught her by surprise, and had her snapping her head in my direction. “What do you mean?” she asked, but I didn’t sense she was confused by the question. Just stalling to answer. In fact, her emotions were warring within. I couldn’t hear the thoughts behind them, but I felt her sudden urge to reveal something. Yet, at the same time, she felt guilty for wanting to breach a trust.
    “I think you know exactly what I’m asking,” I said, staring steadily into her eyes. “I think there’s a secret you want to tell me, one that you promised Leslie you would never divulge to anyone.” Judging from her spike of anxiety, I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Charlene, sometimes it’s the details we think are insignificant that wind up being the most important. I’m sure, under the