“Okay…”
“I had my analyst search every conceivable way for your sister, but we have no information from after she went missing. We know that before she left she was suspected in some shoplifting cases and was a known associate of some low-level gang members in the area, but then she just disappeared.”
Jericho felt his face flush. “Yeah, the cops figured that out years ago.”
“I thought, since we’ve exhausted all the usual ways of learning what happened to your sister, we could try an unusual way. I think we should let Lucas try to find something.”
“Psychically,” Jericho said, voice devoid of expression.
“I… When I touch people or objects, I’m able to pick up on vibrations, impressions, images.”
Jericho was trying not to be rude, but he didn’t believe in psychics or any of that witchy-woo-woo stuff.
Lucas gave another tight smile. “I’ll be happy to demonstrate if you need a bit of proof. I’m used to it in this family.”
Atticus moved towards Jericho. “Do I strike you as somebody who believes in carnival sideshow psychics? He’s the real deal. Let him show you if you need some proof. We just want to help you find out what happened to Mercy.”
Hearing Atticus say Mercy’s name broke something in Jericho. He blinked back tears as he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Show me.”
Lucas beckoned him closer. “May I have your hand?” Jericho held it out. Before Lucas gripped it, he said, “It’s often better if you think about whatever it is you want me to see. At least, if you don’t want me roaming around in your head.”
Jericho frowned but nodded. The memory that floated to the surface was the one he and Felix had recalled the other day. The three of them at the top of the water tower. Mercy’s inky black hair was caught in the wind and Jericho’s legs dangled from the scaffolding. They’d made Felix sit with his back to the cistern.
“If you tell Mom we brought you up here, I’m going to bring you back up here just to toss you off,” Lucas said, startling Jericho so much he almost jerked his hand away. “Shut up. I’m not a baby. You are a baby. A little tiny baby. Ma and Papi’s little pet. They’d kill us both to protect you.”
It was surreal hearing Mercy and Felix’s conversation out of the mouth of a stranger. Jericho pulled his hand free. “I believe you. Now, what?”
Lucas gazed at him with sharp green eyes. “Now, if you want, I can touch your sister’s hand and see what—if anything—I see.”
Fuck. Were they really doing this? His eyes dragged to Atticus, who seemed to instinctively move closer, stopping before they were touching but standing close enough for Jericho to feel the heat of his body even through the light jacket he wore. “Let him do it. We need some kind of jumping off point and right now, we have nothing. She just…vanished.”
Jericho wiped a hand over his face, covering his mouth before nodding.
Lucas stepped forward, pulling back the sheet enough to reveal one bloated, discolored hand. Jericho turned away, swallowing the bile climbing his throat. “Just do it.”
No matter how often Atticus watched Lucas do what he did, it never got any less weird or any less fascinating. It wasn’t that Atticus didn’t believe in Lucas’s gifts. There was no refuting the evidence. Lucas most definitely knew things he couldn’t know if not for some kind of psychic ability.
But unlike his brother, August, it had taken Atticus a bit more time to adjust. If Atticus had to pinpoint one thing—other than enthusiasm for murder—that showed how different Atticus and August were, it would be how they’d processed Lucas’s psychometry. August, with his off the charts IQ, had not only accepted Lucas’s abilities unflinchingly, he’d used them to his advantage on several occasions.
Atticus, however, had…not. He’d thought Lucas was attempting to somehow scam August or bait him into revealing their family secrets. Good thing he wasn’t or they’d all be in prison because August had spilled his guts to Lucas on day one.
Kind of how he had with Jericho. That was different, though. Jericho and he had killed together. Well, Jericho had killed Trevor, but Atticus had aided and abetted. Had one gotten caught, the other could have done some serious jail time as well. Mutually assured destruction guaranteed loyalty. At least in the Mulvaney household.
Atticus kept his eyes on Lucas, unsure what to expect, but he couldn’t ignore Jericho. There was a tension in his stance, an energy that radiated off him. He was barely hanging on. Even Atticus could see it. If Atticus was to reach out and touch him, attempt even a sliver of kindness, it might send Jericho over the edge. So, instead, he did the only thing he could think to do. He stood beside him…just in case.
Lucas sucked in a breath—that telltale sign he’d made some kind of connection with whatever it was within him. He pinched his lids shut harder, tilting his head almost as if he was trying to see better. “There’s a man with her, walking her somewhere. He’s got a hand around her upper arm, not forcing her but…controlling her.”
“What does he look like?” Atticus prompted.
“Over six feet. Brown hair, brown eyes. Sharp chin. Bad skin. He has letters or a word tattooed on his chest, but his shirt is obscuring my view. There’s another on his neck. A rose with bloody thorns. And on his hand, but it’s too distorted to make out. Looks homemade or like some kind of jailhouse job.” He fell silent, his head tilting the other way. “Now, she’s in a hotel room or basement. It reeks of weed and sour sweat. She’s not alone. There are others. Half-dressed girls, guys with tattoos. Maybe a house party? Another girl is injecting her with heroin. It doesn’t feel coerced, but she has a large bruise on her face.”
Jericho’s shoulders straightened, his chin jutting forward, his fury palpable.
Atticus dragged his gaze back to Lucas. “Can you see anything else? Anything that might help? Anything closer to her time of death?”
“I can try. I can’t really control what I see. But I’ll try.” He took a deep breath and let it out, squeezing his eyes shut. Then, suddenly Lucas seemed to…change. His teeth clacked together hard, shivers wracking his body. His skin turned a greenish gray color.
Jericho turned then, frowning when he looked at the change in Lucas’s appearance.
