Free Web of Lies by Brandilyn Collins

consult psychics for supernatural knowledge.”
    Even as I said the words, I realized how illogical they must sound. Four years ago when I first heard of Chelsea Adams, they’d have sounded crazy to me . But what amazing things I’d learned since becoming a Christian. The sound of God’s voice. His myriad ways of leading. His power over evil, released through prayer.
    Stephen screwed up his face. “Mom, that makes no sense at all.”
    I managed a smile. “Maybe not now, Stephen. But someday it will.” I took a drink of coffee, using the time to form my words. “Just remember, there are two forces at work in this world. If something supernatural doesn’t come from God, you’d best stay clear of it.”
    “Uh-huh.” Milk dribbled down his chin and he swiped it with the back of his hand. He shot me a faintly amused look, like a father to an imaginative child. “Well, gotta go take a shower. Watch out for those psychics, Mom.” He waggled a finger at me.
    As Stephen placed his dishes in the sink, my thoughts drifted back to the newspaper article and Amy Flyte. Was she the girl Chelsea saw? I reached out, pulled the newspaper toward me. Turned it over and stared at Amy’s photo. What if she was out there right now, shivering in some dark room, while I sat here in my warm, bright kitchen?
    My throat constricted at the mere idea.
    I sipped my coffee, but it had gone tepid. From the great room, the grandfather clock chimed nine thirty. An hour and a half before Chelsea came. Why hadn’t I insisted she arrive sooner?
    I stared at Amy’s picture until I could look no more.
    At a quarter after eleven the doorbell rang.

Chapter 13
    M ore bad stuff going down everywhere. Last night the TV, this morning the newspaper. Not cool at all. It made his nerves itch.
    He bent over the kitchen table, heart thumping. His thoughts scurried like rats. Killers were always found out. Like they should be. Killing was evil.
    What was that Bible verse his grandmother used to recite? Something about everything done in darkness would come to light?
    He pulled out a kitchen chair, its legs stuttering over the tile floor. Sank into it and stared at the paper.
    A speckle of dirt crawled up his right heel.
    “Go away!” He brushed at it with his other foot, but it didn’t help. Little dirt legs, creeping up toward his ankle. He cursed and batted them off.
    The voices started in. They’ll find you, they’ll find you . . .
    Taunting little ant feet now marched up both legs in rhythm to the words. He scratched and beat them away, then jumped up to run for the shower.
    They’ll find you.
    Under hot water he scrubbed his feet and hummed. Loudly. By the time he stepped from the shower, he was panting.
    This had to stop. Ever since Mike Winger’s death, the voices and ants had been driving him crazy. He had to find a way to make them disappear — for good. One way or another, he had to show them who was boss.

Chapter 14
    M y nerves thrummed as I crossed the great room. I heard Jenna’s bedroom door open, knew her curiosity would pull her out to meet Chelsea. At least the girls wouldn’t be underfoot. Kelly was already over at Erin’s house.
    With a fixed smile, I pulled open the door. Chelsea stood on my porch, dressed in beige slacks and a tucked-in silk shirt. A purse in one hand and a yellow pad of paper in the other. She looked as striking as I remembered, although her cinnamon hair was cut shorter, not quite to her shoulders. Those amazing eyes rested upon me, their cinnamon color complementing the red-gold tones of her hair. Chelsea’s delicately molded face had been wonderful to draw, her jawline and cheekbones sculpted like a model’s. But I’d only seen her across the courtroom. Now as she greeted me, mere feet away, I could feel a power in her presence, a sense of stability and confidence. Strange, how in that aura I felt both assured and discomfited. This was a woman I couldn’t begin to match, not in appearance, not in