“It’s fine,” Jasmine said.
“It’s not fine. Are you okay?”
Jasmine wasn’t sure. One minute she was filled with rekindled hope, the next terrified that nothing could change the outcome of her sister’s abduction. “I’m okay,”she said, although her mind added a little “not.”
“This is so…unexpected,” Skye exclaimed. “Why now? Why after so many years?”
Jasmine had asked herself the same question. But it hadn’t taken long to come up with the most probable answer. “It must be because of the publicity on the Polinaro case.” Four weeks ago, she’d been on America’s Most Wanted, profiling a sex offender who’d victimized nine boys. When authorities got too close, he fled.
She’d been invited on the show to suggest places he might have gone, things he might be doing.
“Of course,” Skye agreed. “That episode aired right before Thanksgiving.”
“How else would he have known where to find me?” After her mother had remarried and left Cleveland, where Jasmine was born, Jasmine had dropped out of high school and moved away from home, starting a three-year descent into drug abuse and self-destruction. During that time, she’d drifted from one city to another, working odd jobs, even begging in the streets for enough money for one more fix.
She doubted anyone could’ve tracked her movements back then. Her parents certainly hadn’t been aware, much of the time, of where she was or what she was doing. It wasn’t until Harvey Nolasco, a long-distance trucker, picked her up and insisted she get some help that she settled down. And then she’d married a white man, like her mother, and became Jasmine Nolasco for a short while.
“I’m pretty sure they posted our address at the charity,” Skye said.
“They did.” When dealing with the media, Jasmine always mentioned her affiliation with The Last Stand. TLS relied exclusively on donations to keep its doors open. She couldn’t miss the chance to raise public awareness and support, and it’d proved to be a good move. Since the episode had aired, they’d received thousands of dollars—and more requests for help than ever before.
“The package came to the office, right?” Skye clarified.
“Sher found it with the other mail and brought it with her when we met for lunch.”
“Have you had anyone inspect that note?”
“We took it directly to the police.”
“And?”
“They confirmed it was written in b-blood.” She stumbled over the last word because picturing the large square letters on that note sent a chill up her spine.
“Do you think it could be Kimberly’s?” Skye said.
“Even if she’s dead, I suppose it could’ve been frozen.”
“But you’re guessing? You don’t have any psychic perception about this?”
“None. I’m too close to it.” Her impressions came and went at random, anyway. Although her abilities had helped in a few heavily publicized cases, sometimes even she didn’t know if she could trust the brief visions that occasionally intruded into normal thought.
“There’s still the potential for profiling, isn’t there?”
Jasmine had a GED and barely thirty credit hours of college, all of which she’d obtained in the two years she’d been married to Harvey, but she read just about everything she could find on deviant behavior and psychological profiling and had become so proficient at it that the FBI occasionally called her in as a consultant.
Some people assumed it was her psychic ability that made her so good, but she knew it was primarily an instinctive understanding of human nature and the knowledge she’d gained through self-education that guided her, because she could do it even when she had no discernible psychic response.
“Yes. This is more about the shock.” Half standing in order to reach it, Jasmine pulled the box across the table. The note was on top of the fridge, where it wasn’t likely to get damaged, and the bracelet was in her jewelry box because she couldn’t bear to look at it. “He’s letting me know he’s the one who took Kimberly,”she said, her finger running over the deep grooves created by the ballpoint pen he’d used to address it. “Without the note, the bracelet could conceivably have come from someone peripherally connected to the abduction. Maybe someone who knows the kidnapper and what he did—a friend, relative or wife who wants to do the right thing but doesn’t dare come forward for fear of reprisal. And…” she hesitated, trying to get a feel for the type of person who’d do something like this “…the blood is to upset me, to let me know he’s serious.”
“About what?” Skye asked.
“About stopping him.”
“That makes it sound like he’s playing games.”
“It’s not a game; it’s a challenge. He doesn’t have the guts or the willpower to turn himself in. But he knows he needs to be stopped.” The Last Stand was more deeply imprinted in the cardboard than the other words. As her fingers moved over the letters, the impressions Jasmine had thought weren’t there, or were repressed because of her closeness to the victim, suddenly began to flow. She could see the man with the beard—a face she’d long forgotten and despaired of ever describing accurately enough so police could track him down. Although still partially hidden in shadow, as if he stood beneath the shaded eaves of a house, the image took her breath away. “He’s a killer.”
“You’re sure?”
She could sense the bloodlust. “Positive.”
“Does he feel guilty about that?”
Jasmine was tempted to lift her fingers from the words he’d written, to break the gossamer thread of energy that’d sparked the foreign thoughts and feelings swirling through her. It was frightening, uncharted territory for someone who tolerated, rather than embraced, her psychic gifts. But she couldn’t. She knew this might be her only chance to learn something about this man that would give him away. “Not guilt. That would take empathy.” Closing her eyes, she experienced his confusion, his desire to be like everyone else. “It’s not a cry to ease the pain he’s inflicting on others. It’s a cry to stop the pain he’s feeling himself. It’s all about him.
He kills to stop the pain.”
“What does he get out of hurting others?”
“A power high. He craves…” The answers were coming, but they were so dark, so frightening, Jasmine’s mind balked. She pulled her hands away and went blank.