CHAPTER ONE

This wasn't the first time I'd received an envelope with a threatening message.

A few months ago, a similar blue envelope had been found at the front desk of the aquatic center. That envelope had my name typed on it, and so it had been brought in with other inter-office paperwork and placed on the desk in my office. It too had a clipped photo from an old newspaper article of me—standing with my Olympic relay team. My eyes, along with the others on the relay team, had been crossed out with black marker.

At the time I had shrugged it off, figuring it was a prank by some opposing teenage swim team member or perhaps a coach. Then I dropped the creepy letter in a file in my office and told myself to forget about it.

And I had for about two weeks.

The second blue envelope had been sent in the mail to my family's house. Similar in style, this time they had used an old swimwear advertisement that I and my Olympic relay team had posed for. Beneath it was a message made from cut out letters—from what I guessed was other magazines—that spelled out: You don't deserve any of it, you bitch!

The silver medal I'd been wearing had been poked through on the picture, and the hole had been scribbled around with red ink, making it appear as though I'd been stabbed.

I had taken the second letter straight to my sister Brynn's new boyfriend, Austin Callahan, since he was the lead detective with the Alton police department. We'd had a serious talk about it; I passed along the first message I'd received, as well. He promised me he would look into it.

Tim, my wonderful boyfriend of the past few years, was very concerned. He went into a huddle with Austin, and the two of them gave me a big talk about my personal security. Tim already knew my schedule, and he began to keep tabs on me…which at first was endearing.

Then it had turned annoying.

My sisters had rallied around me. We added a few more doorbell cameras to the house and beefed up the security of our historic home. Kenna conjured up protective amulets, and Brynn created a pair of herbal sachets: one sachet for me to carry and the other to keep in my office to repel negativity. Skye worked protection spells too, and so had I. For a time, they'd seemed to be holding.

A week had passed and nothing else had happened. So, I had begun to relax.

Now a third blue envelope had been left on the windshield of my car.

They were growing bolder and not bothering to use the mail this time. Which meant they had walked right up to my car, and most likely had delivered the envelope themselves. Whoever had sent these knew where I worked, where I lived, and also what car I drove.

More angry than frightened, I decided to tap into my emotions and try a scrying. "Let's see if I can pick up anything about whoever is doing this…"

I held the latest message in my hand, closed my eyes, and concentrated. Typically, I had good luck using psychometry—psychic touch—to read objects. Right now, I was hoping to gain an impression or an image of whoever had left the envelope on my windshield.

The vibrations coming off the paper and envelope were strong. Jealousy, envy and hatred swirled off the page and made the skin on my hand begin to feel hot and itchy. My stomach clenched against the onslaught of negativity, but I pushed past it.

"Give me more than their emotions," I whispered, even as I acknowledged them. "Give me a picture, show me something I can use."

In my mind's eye I saw a figure wearing an oversized, gray, hooded sweatshirt. The hood was pulled up and over their head, making it impossible to tell if they were male or female. They walked briskly up to my car and lifted the wiper with a gloved hand. Then this person tucked the envelope beneath and quickly strode away.

The vision faded and it left me with a dull headache and an upset stomach. I blew out a long breath and rested my head back against the driver's seat headrest. My empathy had rolled into clairvoyance exactly as I'd hoped. I'd gotten a brief image of the person—stalker—for all the good that did me…but at least it was something .

With a shaking hand, I put the letter back in the envelope and tucked it carefully inside my swim bag. Checking my rearview, I backed out of my parking space.

Rain had begun to fall by the time I returned home. Pulling my blue Bug into our driveway, I hit the remote and the gate at the entrance slid closed behind me. The brick courtyard and patio at the rear of our Italianate Federal house looked moody and spooky in the rain, even though it was lit by a decorative lamp post. Solar lights lit the brick pathway to the back door, as well as around and down to my lower-level entry on the side of the house.

Although, that night I didn't walk around to my private entrance. Instead I climbed from my car, managed two steps, and then staggered. Shaking my head to clear the dizziness, I blew out a breath.

I tipped my face up to the rain. "Element of water, wash away any negativity I may have absorbed from that hate-filled letter," I whispered. Staying where I was, I drew in power from the rain. After a bit, I squared my shoulders and walked resolutely toward the back door on the main level of the house.

The boost I'd received from the element drained away in the short time it took me to make the entrance to the house. It had been a very long day, and I was feeling it. My stomach began to churn, and that dull headache from earlier slammed back to life. I had barely let myself inside when I came up short, discovering that my second eldest sister, Skye, was standing there waiting for me.

"It happened again, didn't it?" she asked without preamble.

I sighed and let my swim bag drop to the floor. "Lovely to see you too, Skye."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I had the strongest psychic impression about ten minutes ago. Something about you doing a psychometry reading in your car."

Instead of replying, I took off my jacket and hung it up to dry on the hooks by the back door.

"Cordelia," she said firmly. "Answer me."

Deliberately, I brushed at the raindrops that clung to my jacket. "I'm not a child, Skye."

"No, you're not," she agreed quickly. "But I am worried. You are a well-known Olympic athlete—"

"Who's retired from competitive swimming," I reminded her.

"—and you're a woman who has been having issues with a possible stalker," Skye finished as if I'd never interrupted her.

I sighed loudly.

Skye narrowed her gray eyes at my reaction. "Look, you're my little sister and I love you. If someone is messing with you, then they are going to have to deal with me ."

"And me!" Kenna, my auburn-haired sibling, popped her head out from the doorway that led into the family kitchen.

I rolled my eyes at Kenna.

"And me too!" A second woman's head poked out an instant later. This woman had bright orange hair, green eyes, and wore cute, round wire glasses.

"Hi, Angela," I said to Kenna's bestie.

Kenna and Angela marched down the hall together and headed straight for me. Perfect, I thought. Now I have two upset redheads to deal with. I truly hated confrontations—they made my anxiety kick up—but it looked as though I was about to have a big one anyway.

"Are you okay?" Angela Beaumont-Desroches demanded, looking me over for an injury.

"I'm fine," I told her and pressed a hand to my churning stomach.

Kenna began firing off rapid-fire questions. I would have answered her, but she was on a tear. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Meanwhile, Angela tried to ask me if this was a paranormal problem or a mundane one.

"Pretty sure it's a mundane issue," I answered Angela.

"Meaning what ?" Kenna demanded.

I took a steadying breath. "I got another creepy note."

"Did you contact the police?" Kenna asked me.

"No." I shook my head. "Not yet."

"I'll call them now." Skye pulled her phone from her pocket, studied my face, and hesitated. "Unless you'd be more comfortable talking directly to Austin?"

"Yeah. Probably," I said, and the admission made my stomach go tight with fear.

My words set Kenna off, and she and Angela started peppering me with more questions.

I held up a hand and they fell silent. "Why don't we all go in the kitchen, and I'll tell you together." That way, I thought to myself, I can sit down before the inquisition begins.

Skye re-pocketed her phone. "After you." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

Picking up my bag from the floor where I'd set it, I started down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving the three of them to trail behind.

"Maybe we should call Tim too," Kenna murmured.

"Tim is a deputy for Ames Crossing," Skye pointed out. "He doesn't have jurisdiction in Alton."

"I think you should call Deputy Emory anyway," Angela said in a low voice to my sisters.

"You know that I can hear all of you, right?" I asked them.

Angela scooted forward and took ahold of my arm. "Kenna confided in me a couple of weeks ago that you've been having some problems with fan mail."

I glanced over at Angela, and then turned to raise an accusatory eyebrow at my sister. "I see."

"Don't be pissy," Kenna said to me. "Angela promised that she'd keep it between the two of us."

"And I have," Angela swore. "I haven't even spoken to Ryder about this."

We all settled around the kitchen island, and I drew the latest blue envelope out of my bag. "This was tucked under the wiper on my car's windshield tonight." Pulling the page from the envelope, I opened it and placed it on the counter.

Angela gasped when she saw it. Kenna leaned forward and swore. Skye took one look and pulled her phone from her pocket.

"I'm texting Austin, right now," Skye informed me and fired off a message.

I would have replied to Skye, but as I'd expected, Kenna was walking around the room and swearing. I settled in on my bar stool and waited her out. It was Angela who finally got her to simmer down.

"Kenna, I hardly think losing your temper is going to help Cordelia right now," she said firmly.

"This is really bad!" Kenna drug her hand though her long hair.

"I am aware," I told her. "They do seem to be ramping up."

Kenna tossed up her hands and went and busied herself at the counter. It was her way. Whenever she was upset, she stomped and shouted for a bit and then yanked her temper back and channeled that into work.

I looked to Skye. "This one is different. This time there was a handwritten message."

Skye's eyes went sharp. "That's good. Maybe it will help the police identify who is doing this…they can analyze their handwriting."

"I hope so," I said and refolded the letter to put it away.

"You shouldn't touch the envelope and letter with your bare hands," Skye said, drawing my attention back to her. "They'll check it for fingerprints, Cordelia, and find yours."

"Damn it. I didn't think about that." I shook my head in regret, and the room went on a slow-motion tilt. My stomach lurched hard in reaction.

Skye rubbed her hand across my shoulders. "I'm sorry you are dealing with this, sweetie."

Angela reached for her large purse and began to root around. "Here," she said, holding out a pair of medical exam gloves. "Use these so no one else touches the letter."

Skye snorted out a laugh. "Leave it to the nurse. Of course you carry disposable gloves."

I pushed my hair back from my face and saw that my hands were shaking badly. Low blood sugar, I realized. Dropping my hands in my lap, I clasped them together to hide the reaction. I hadn't had the chance to refuel after my work out.

Kenna walked over with a baked good on a plate and a glass of milk. She placed them well away from the letter. "Eat something, Cordy."

"What is it?" I asked, eyeballing what appeared to be a type of bar cookie. My stomach was already upset. The idea of food wasn't remotely appealing now.

"That's an oatmeal and dried fruit bar I've been experimenting with," she said. "Think of it like a better tasting protein bar."

Knowing that I needed to eat, I steeled myself, took a big bite, and discovered that it wasn't too bad. It did however have an odd aftertaste. It was strong enough that I reached quickly for the milk to wash away the bitter taste.

Skye smirked at Kenna when I did so. "Told you those have a weird after-flavor."

I pressed a hand to my stomach. "They really do."

"Damn it," Kenna muttered. "It's probably the protein powder I used. I'll make you something else."

Angela leaned closer, concern written on her face. "Cordelia, you are very pale, and your hands are shaking. At first, I assumed that was from adrenaline and fear—which is understandable—given what's going on." She frowned at me. "Are you diabetic?"

"Hypoglycemic," I answered.

Angela rested her hand on my arm. "Did you eat supper tonight?"

"I was going to grab a sandwich on the way home," I admitted, "but I got a bit distracted."

"Cordelia." Kenna glared in disapproval. "You know you can't skip meals!"

"Do you have a blood sugar monitor?" Angela wanted to know.

I shrugged. "No."

Angela rested her fingers against my face. "You're cool to the touch and clammy." She went straight to the fridge. "Do you have any regular soft drinks or orange juice, Kenna?"

Kenna scrambled for another glass. "Ginger ale. In the fridge door."

Angela pulled a two-liter bottle out and opened it. Kenna passed her a glass and Angela poured the soda in as she walked across the kitchen.

"Drink this now," Angela ordered and held out the glass.

With a nod, I chugged the soft drink. I finished it, placed the glass on the island, and promptly belched, loudly.

Angela didn't flinch. Instead, she filled up the glass again. "Drink some more."

I grimaced.

"I know your stomach is upset," Angela said. "Let's get some sugar in your system. Then we'll back that up with protein."

Silently, I nodded. I knew the symptoms of a blood sugar crash all too well. I'd simply been too distracted by everything to eat, and now I was paying for it.

Meanwhile Kenna was running around pulling lunch meat and cheese from the fridge and putting it onto a plate for me. Skye had been busy. She had used one of the disposable gloves, picked up the letter, and taken it into the dining room.

Angela stood over me and watched me like a hawk. "If you think you might pass out, let me know."

"It's not that bad," I said between sips of soda.

"Liar," she said softly. "How the hell did you drive home, Cordelia?"

"It didn't hit me hard until I climbed out of the car, here at home."

Angela took a firm hold of my arm. "Let's have you take a seat on the couch. I want you to put your feet up."

"Well, I…" My voice trailed off as she hauled me to my feet and steered me into the living room.

A few moments later I was on the couch with my feet up, mildly embarrassed at my predicament and sipping more ginger ale. Angela sat on the coffee table in front of me, taking my pulse, and chatted cheerfully.

"I heard back from Austin," Skye announced. She walked into the room carrying a plate of baked turkey and cheddar cheese slices. "He's on the way."

"You're going to eat all of this," Angela said to me, as she took the plate from Skye.

"Yeah. Okay." I nodded and sat up a little more.

"I bet you were a tyrant in the ER department," Skye said to Angela.

Angela simply gave Skye a bland smile.

"Knew it," Skye said.

Angela turned her attention back to me. "Eat. Let's get some food in your system."

"Yes ma'am," I said, and did as I was told.

"You should have seen Angela that night Ryder crashed into my car on his motorcycle," Kenna said, joining us in the living room. "He's unconscious, bleeding all over the damn place, and Angela was as cool as a cucumber. Slapped a tourniquet on his thigh. She even knelt on top of his wound to apply more pressure. She impressed the hell outta me."

"I've seen and treated much worse injuries," Angela said calmly.

Skye pointed at Angela. "Well, I for one am impressed by this bad ass, take no prisoners side of your personality. It makes me like you better."

Angela adjusted her glasses. "I can't tell you how much that means to me, Skye." Her tone was as dry as toast.

My lips twitched over their exchange. Skye had a prickly personality, and she'd given Angela a very hard time when they'd first met. It was nice to see them getting along—sort of.

***

I woke with a start and glanced automatically at the clock on my nightstand. It was still dark; the time read 4:05 am. With a sigh, I rolled over and discovered that I was not alone. Tim was sitting across the room from me in a chair with his blonde head tilted at an odd angle. He'd fallen asleep.

It made me feel all warm and fuzzy knowing he had been watching over me. I had given him a key to my lower-level apartment a year ago, so I wasn't surprised to find him here. But I was surprised that he hadn't crawled into bed with me.

I frowned trying to remember if I'd called him the night before. Once I had some food in my system I'd had to speak to Austin and then to my dismay, another detective as well. The latest letter had been taken into evidence, and Austin was going to check the security cameras of the aquatic center parking lot to see if they'd recorded anyone leaving it on my windshield.

Privately, I had managed to tell Austin that I used psychometry on the letter and to watch for the person I'd ‘seen' wearing a gray hoodie. Austin hadn't argued or asked questions. Instead, he simply nodded and told me that he would. By the time the interviews were over, I'd been exhausted and had gone straight to bed.

My eyes traveled back to Tim. He was still wearing his khaki-colored deputy's uniform. I guessed one of my sisters must have called him, and he'd come over after his shift had ended at midnight.

Quietly, I got out of bed and went to use the bathroom. While I was in there, I brushed my teeth and splashed some water on my face. I typically rose early—it was an old habit from training back when I was a competitive swimmer—so I knew I wouldn't go back to sleep. Walking back to the bedroom, I peeked in and saw that he was still asleep.

For a moment I seriously considered going in there and pouncing on him. There was nothing like a morning romp to take the edge off things. But instead, I gently shut the door and went into the kitchen.

I sat on my navy sofa, with my feet propped up on the coffee table and sipped at my tea. The hour before dawn was so serene. Wiggling my butt deeper into the soft cushions of the couch, I let loose a contented sigh. The old house above me was silent, and while it was comforting knowing my sisters were right upstairs, it was also soothing to me to have some physical distance between them, their emotions, and me.

My psychic empathy was something I fought hard to restrain. If left unchecked it could put me at quite a disadvantage, and sometimes caused me to experience severe anxiety from the rush and pull of everyone else's emotions. It could be difficult to tell the difference between my own feelings and another's, especially if they were upset, angry, or wound up.

Back when I'd been competing, I had to learn to block everyone out—which earned me the reputation of being ‘ice cold' during a meet. But the truth was it was either block everyone out or become physically ill. Water is the element linked to emotions after all.

Sometimes I would throw up before a race due to the bombardment of the other competitors' emotions...not to mention a boisterous crowd. I'd finally gotten a handle on that in college. Especially while competing in the SEC, the nationals, and finally in the Olympics.

‘Ice Cold Cordelia,' they'd called me. Even now that moniker made my lips twitch. Because the truth was, I wasn't detached or unfeeling. It was simply that I felt too much . So I switched off that part of me during a meet, or I would have been forced to stop swimming competitively in school for my own mental health.

Oh, and in case you wondered, no. I never used my affinity to water as an edge over other competitors in any swim meet. First off, that would have been cheating, and magick is not a crutch. Swimming is a physical and mental challenge. I trained hard, competed hard, and had enjoyed some success.

Nevertheless, the psychic strain of blocking it all out had taken a toll on me. It was one of the reasons I had retired from competition at the relatively young age of twenty-three. Yes, I definitely could have competed in the Olympics again, but my heart was no longer in it. I had been ready to go home and live a normal life. Where the rush and pull of other competitors and large crowds wouldn't affect me so. And far away from the intrusion of the press where I would remain out of the international media's spotlight.

The soft creak of my bedroom door opening had me turning my head. I smiled, looking forward to seeing Tim. He was one person who I didn't mind how he made me feel —which was usually very lusty.

"Good morning, sexy," I said.

He was adorably rumpled after having slept in his uniform. Tim walked over to where I sat and stood over me. I set my mug aside, tipped my face up for a kiss, and was surprised to see an angry scowl on his face.

It looked like I wasn't going to get that good morning kiss after all.

His hazel eyes seemed to bore into mine. "You didn't call me last night."

"Sorry," I said. "Things were kind of crazy."

"Do you know how it felt finding out from your sister that you'd been sent a threatening note again?"

"I—"

He cut me off. "Damn it, Cordelia! You promised me you wouldn't take any risks. That you would be more careful. Not only did you lie to me about that, you didn't even bother to call me when it happened again!"

"Hey!" I rose to my feet, not liking his tone or the fact that he was looming over me and lecturing.

At the same time that I stood, Tim stepped closer, and we ended up colliding with each other. I grunted when my chest bounced off of his. Automatically Tim grabbed my waist, as I grasped at his arms for balance. Bringing us nose-to-nose.

I could feel the aggravation radiating off him. Then, as he looked down at me and realized that I was only wearing a thin, sea-green nightie, the mood in the room swiftly changed. Tilting my head, I studied his facial expression. My lover had gone from angry to aroused in a heartbeat.

Now that was more like it.

Standing so close to him his emotions crashed over me: Aggravation, desire and love . I breathed it all in and felt my body respond. Slowly I ran my fingers over his very well-defined biceps.

"Stop that," he grumbled.

Gently I pressed my long fingernails into his skin. "Stop what?" I asked innocently, knowing full well what that always did to him.

He tensed ever so slightly. "We need to talk."

"Talking is overrated. Kiss me instead," I said. Trailing my fingers over to his chest, I unbuttoned his shirt, and he made no protests. If anything, his breathing had picked up. Pushing the material aside, I ran my fingers over his pecs, his abs, and then lower.

"Cordelia," he warned.

Pressing my hand firmly over his crotch, I discovered that he was rock hard. "Well, hello," I said with an appreciative purr.

Tim groaned as I began to unbuckle and unzip his pants.

While I did, I leaned closer and pressed soft kisses over his jawline and throat. It only took me seconds to have his slacks undone and his briefs pushed aside. I slid my hand over his length, and he strained against me.

"I want you so much," I whispered in his ear. "Let's make love. Right here and right now."