Wherever She Goes (The Psychic Seasons Series Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Excerpt from Earthbound Bones

  Wherever She Goes

  by ReGina Welling

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2015 ReGina Welling.

  All Rights Reserved, worldwide.

  No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to places or people (living or dead) is purely coincidental. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Dedication

  This book, in fact, this entire series, is dedicated to my friends and family for their unfailing support.

  I love you all. This is for you.

  Description

  What man in his right mind would want to date a blind psychic? For Kat Canton, the answer was none so she turned away from romance completely.

  Until the day a pair of warm brown eyes suddenly came into focus.

  Now, she must decide whether to turn toward the light and let love into her life or walk away and remain in darkness.

  In the fourth and final book of the Psychic Seasons series, Kat’s choice holds more than her own fate in the balance.

  Chapter One

  In the space between one breath and the next, the music stopped, everything slowed and the only thing Kathleen Canton could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat as she gazed into eyes the color of melted chocolate. She blinked, then blinked again but nothing changed.

  She could still see him.

  Feet dragging, she tried to keep dancing. The music faded to a buzzing noise that vibrated through her head in waves while she fought against panic to take the next breath. Her heart lurched in her chest then started to race, each beat sounding like a metronome. Face tingling, Kat felt it when the world started to tunnel down into the fading distance and caught herself just on the brink of fainting in Zack Roman’s arms.

  ***

  Another hour, Zack thought. Just one more hour and then he could slide out the door, go home, and get out of this monkey suit. He glanced around the room alert to that vague tingle that always warned him of trouble. Sworn to protect and serve, he wore the mantle of responsibility 24/7.

  Satisfied all was as it should be, he turned his attention back to the woman in his arms and realized the source of that tingle had been right here all along. Her annoyance was an electric thing, pulsing and sparking at him.

  Nothing like anger to bring out the best in a woman. Like right now for instance. Her head thrown back, shoulders squared off as she prepared to take him down a peg or two. She opened that gorgeous mouth to treat him to a scathing retort for his ill-timed comment about her psychic ability, then snapped it shut again and turned her head away.

  Just about to ask her if something was wrong, he felt her body loosen up as with a sigh, she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder.

  Something was wrong. His cop sense screamed it and he instinctively gathered her closer. Bending his head to see if he could get a closer look, he inhaled deeply when the scent of her rose up to tickle against his nose. Zack did his best to ignore the spark of interest that flared in him and instead tightened strong arms around her and slowed his steps to give her a chance to regain her composure.

  ***

  A deluge of thoughts raced through Kat’s mind but only one seemed to be blinking neon. I can see, I can see, I can see.

  But why now? Did it have something to do with Zack?

  Kat was overwhelmed with the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to shout from the rooftops that her vision had returned. But what if it didn’t last? Just in case, she’d better keep quiet. No sense in jinxing herself.

  Yes, that would be the best thing. Decision made, she carefully smoothed away the shocked expression on her now pale face and lifted her head again. Fixing her eyes straight ahead, she searched her memory for the topic then picked up the discussion where they had left off.

  “You don’t believe in the supernatural.” It was more statement than question and to her surprise, Zack seemed unaware that anything momentous had happened.

  “In what? Ghosts and crystal balls and ‘I see dead people’?” Zack scoffed.

  “What about intuition? Do you believe in that?” Dealing with skeptics went along with the territory when you made a living reading cards and connecting people with the other side.

  She had him there. His “cop sense,” as he called it, was legendary. Or it had been until Logan Ellis came along and there it had failed him miserably. The man had managed to elude arrest ever since Zack’s own sister, Gustavia, had helped expose the con Ellis had been trying to run on her best friend, Julie.

  In fact, Zack had only agreed to attend this wedding on the off chance that Ellis might be crazy or stupid enough to try and sneak in while his ex-fiancé was getting married.

  “I follow my gut—if that’s what you’re asking—but that’s instinct, finely honed instinct. It doesn’t come from spirits or the ether; it comes from paying attention to body language, subtle clues. It’s a skill.”

  “A skill you developed from nothing or one you were born with and honed over the years?”

  Kat already knew the truth just as surely as she could predict his answer. Yet she waited for his confirmation. Most people as intuitive as Zack were born with a heightened level of psychic ability—not on Kat’s level usually—but high enough to notice, if they wanted to admit to it.

  “I have always had a knack for finding things, people, whatever. Let’s not make more of it than it is.”

  “And I have a knack for talking to dead people. Let’s not make less of that than it is.” Kat refused to be dismissed, “It’s not a lifestyle choice or a fad or a party trick.” There was a trace of bitterness in the way she spat out each word. “It’s gift.”

  That it was a gift she would prefer to return was her own business and none of his.

  Continuing this conversation seemed like a waste of time. There was nothing she could say to change his mind and if there were, a tow truck couldn’t drag it out of her. Over the years, she’d learned the most combative of skeptics were often those who most wanted to believe. Unable to ask outright for a reading, they tried to goad her into providing them with proof that the spirit world existed.

  Determined not to let Zack get past her defenses, Kat just kept dancing to what must have been the longest song ever written and tried to ignore the fact that just being near him made her nervous.

  By choice, her experience with men had been limited to little more than the casual contact that came from reading their cards or contacting lost loved ones.

&
nbsp; “You’re not going to go into some kind of trance and connect with one of my old grannies to prove a point, are you?”

  And there it is, she thought. The not very subtle bid for proof.

  Then, despite vowing to herself that she would keep quiet, Kat heard herself say, “Certainly not. But, if you send someone out to Shanahan’s barn, you’ll find the hockey equipment that was stolen from the school the day before winter break.” Through the fingers that rested lightly on his shoulder, she felt his jolt of surprise. “Up in the loft, look for two bags covered with hay.”

  Surprise brought his feet to a stop. Kat got one last dig in, “And, what’s more, it wasn’t the Shanahan boy who put the stuff there. When you find it—and you will—make sure you talk to the younger sister.”

  When he didn’t speak, she continued, “or you can assume I’m just playing you and keep blaming it on the Hastings brothers. Now, the song has ended, I think I would like to go back to my seat.

  Without another word, he guided her to the head table where she hoped to have a moment or two alone with her thoughts.

  As he walked away, her vision dimmed but stopped short of fading to total blackness. Ironic really, she thought, that fear of seeing ghosts caused my blindness and now everyone looks ghostly.

  Still, it was an improvement and the timing confirmed that proximity to Zack played a part in the change. Kat sighed. Getting her vision back should make her life less complicated, not more.

  The background of wedding sounds, rustling dresses, happy laughter, and music were a distraction from the volume of spirits vying for her attention. Generally, Kat found it easier to avoid large crowds for just this reason. Family members understandably wanted to contact their living loved ones when they saw an opportunity, whether it was appropriate to the occasion or not. A wedding was not the time to approach a skeptic with the knowledge that the spirit of his dog was barking around her ankles or even to reassure a mother that her son was safe and happy on the other side.

  Moreover, being blind complicated any method she could use to provide those connections with any dignity. Yelling out names to the crowd or having someone guide her around the room and—well—that was a spectacle she refused to create. Of course, given what had just happened, that might all be about to change.

  So why wasn’t she more excited. She’d been able to see clearly without having to channel Estelle. That was huge.

  Amazing.

  But—and it was a big but—it had involved close proximity to the major complication named Zack Roman.

  Chapter Two

  With Kat safely escorted to her table, Zack stepped outside. He needed a moment to cool off and maybe make a phone call. Or not.

  Did he really want to know if that hockey equipment was concealed in Shanahan’s barn? If it was, he might have to change his dinner order for the reception and have the crow entree. And, if it wasn’t—well, then he would be right. Nothing wrong with that.

  Nothing except some small part of him wanted her to be right. Not because he wanted to believe she actually was psychic but because she had seemed to fit perfectly in his arms while they were dancing. She smelled nice. Not flowery. Fresh like a summer day. And when was the last time he had noticed how a woman smelled?

  The late December chill initially felt nice after the warmth and closeness created by the wedding guests inside. Zack preferred smaller crowds—less jangling to the nerves. Any large group of people automatically put him on alert. Watchful for any signs of trouble.

  Thankfully, the guests at this wedding were proving not to be the rowdy type, though, the night was still young so he intended to reserve judgment on that.

  Once the brisk wind had blown away the last remnants of party-generated heat, Zack stepped back into a more sheltered area of the porch, pulled out his phone and with a few terse words, sent a deputy on what he assumed was an expedition in search of the undomesticated goose.

  On one hand, it would be nice to find the equipment, put an end to the mystery—on the other, he had a distinct mental image of picking his way across a floor littered with the worms that would surely have flown out of the can he would have opened by depending on a psychic prediction.

  Either way, in half an hour or less, he would know. Whichever way it went—goose or crow—he would own it. That was his job and the way he chose to live his life.

  Zack slipped back inside while shrugging off the tiny voice in the back of his mind that kept insisting if she was right, he could dance with her some more.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Zack was thankful when his phone rang. Somehow, he had gotten caught up in a conversation with Tyler’s great aunt Tilly that involved his looking at numerous pictures of her latest grandson.

  “Sorry, official business, I need to take this.” He breathed a sigh of relief and slipped back outside to the frigid porch.

  “Roman’s famous gut strikes again. It was all there, right where you said it would be—and get this—the daughter was the culprit, not the Shanahan boy. Says she was mad because Coach wouldn’t let her on the team. The girl was already having second thoughts and planned to return everything before the storm hit and then it was too late. You want me to take her in or let the principal and her folks hash it out?”

  “Give Slater a call; see if he wants to press charges. I’d bet he won’t. What does your own gut tell you about her? Does she need more?”

  “Nah, she’s a good kid who got mad enough to do something stupid then regretted it immediately and tried to make it right before anyone noticed. My instincts say she’s not a troublemaker and it was just an impulsive act.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it and get back to the party.”

  Zack hung up but did not return to the reception right away. He needed to think over what he was going to say to Kat. There must be some diplomatic way to save face but still admit he had been wrong. Too bad nothing came to mind.

  Unless she had had some type of inside knowledge and used it for gain. But what would be the benefit of that? Pacing to keep warm, steam from his breath clouded the air as Zack huffed his way to a conclusion.

  No benefit at all.

  Kat had asked for nothing in return for the information—neither money nor admiration. Her tone of voice had made the latter quite clear. Accusing one of her best friends of colluding with a criminal would not win him any points with Gustavia either.

  Nevertheless, it was the only thing that made any sense.

  A white gust of frozen breath plumed from his nose while Zack paced. Since twenty more measured steps back and forth across the porch had changed nothing, Zack swung the big door open and stalked back to where Kat sat quietly amid the celebration.

  ***

  She heard him coming—the slap of each footfall, sure and purposeful, mingled in with the sounds of dancing but was still distinct enough for her to pick up their cadence She smelled him before he got close—subtle cologne mixed with soap and the cold scent of winter. That last sent a shot of tension up her spine. Was there trouble? Had Logan returned?

  Julius, resident ghost and great-grandfather to the bride had been tracking Julie’s ex-fiancé for the past few days and assured them that Logan was well away and not in a position to cause trouble at the wedding. Still, she reached out to Julius with just a tendril of thought.

  “All is well,” was the faint reply. Kat breathed a sigh of relief before lifting her head toward where Zack loomed over.

  “How did you know?” His voice sounded like steel coated with a thick layer of scorn. Gradually, everything around her came again into focus. Now she had no doubt her returning vision was somehow tied to him.

  “I could answer but we both already know the explanation is going to make you cranky.”

  He snorted. Cranky?

  For some reason, the snort amused Kat so instead of treating him to a scathing retort, she let her smirk tell the tale and was rewarded with a groan of frustration.

  “Did someon
e tell you? The girl?” There were limits to her patience, ones that he was pushing past with all the finesse of a bulldozer.

  Now that she could take a closer look at him, there was some small amount of pleasure in seeing the frustrated expression on his handsome face. Eyes that could crinkle when he laughed but go hard and flat when he went into cop mode blazed with indignation—one eyebrow raised as he anticipated her answer. Of course he did not want to hear what she had to say.

  “Sure,” she infused the word with sarcasm. “That must be it because I’m a hack, a charlatan. Psychic confessor to confused adolescents everywhere. I see all. I know all. Come—tell me your secrets and I’ll rat you out to the cops first chance I get. Keeps the clients coming back and you know I can’t think of anything more fun than taking allowance money from thirteen-year-old girls. You can’t see it but in my head, I’m presenting you with a rude hand gesture that is greatly inappropriate for a wedding.”

  “If it wasn’t the girl, then the mother?”

  “That gesture? With both hands and before you ask, it wasn’t her brother or her father or the family dog.”

  “Then how?” Zack settled in the chair beside her and gentled his voice while maintaining a sense of skepticism, which did not fool Kat at all.

  Kat countered, “How does your “cop sense” work?”

  Her question surprised him into an effort to articulate the experience, something he had never done before.

  “I’m not sure I can explain.”

  “Try me.” The words dropped from her lips as dry as desert sand.

  “There’s no voice in my head, no spirit whispering in my ear. I just look at the evidence, talk to the victims, the suspects, read the reports, and get a tingle, see the pattern, the balance.”