Kimberly Derting
THE LAST ECHO
Dedication
To Connor, Amanda, and Abby. My everything.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Attraction
Chapter 3
Exclusivity
Chapter 4
Uncertainty
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Engagement
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Intimacy
Chapter 9
Anger
Chapter 10
Fate
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Denial
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Bonding
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Melancholy
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acceptance
Chapter 23
Estrangement
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Kimberly Derting
Credits
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
VIOLET STRAINED, SEARCHING FOR THE SENSATION through the suffocating blackness. It wasn’t the kind of thing she could see or hear, making it all the more difficult to pinpoint. She didn’t know how exactly to describe what was leading her—pulling her. But it was definitely an echo. That much she knew for certain.
Her fingertips tingled, her toes too. And even though it wasn’t painful, or even uncomfortable, it was still . . . odd. Like the prickling sensation of sitting on your foot for too long.
She followed it by its intensity. If she turned one way, the sensation weakened. The other, it grew stronger.
It was almost completely black in this part of the abandoned warehouse. Her feet crunched over broken glass, the sound slicing its way through the calm that had settled over her, blanketing her fears and dulling the rhythm of her heart. She paused, her stomach tightening as her eyes searched the shadows, trying to discern one shape from another, trying to convince herself that she was all alone in here.
“I’m okay,” she whispered into the emptiness around her, telling herself she should stop. That she’d already gone too far. But after a moment, when the need to follow the echo became too strong, she started moving again, her feet shuffling over the concrete and kicking debris out of her path. The last thing she wanted to do was to trip and fall on the glass-littered floor.
She reached a doorway and the prickling shot through her arms and legs, surprising her and making her gasp. She gripped the exposed wood of the doorjamb to steady herself. “What the hell . . .” She wheezed as she reached up to knead the puckered flesh of her arm so hard she worried it might bruise.
She shook her head, ignoring both the sting and the concerns that refused to be silent now.
Moving more slowly, but still cautious of her surroundings, Violet continued toward the echo. It hadn’t always been like this; she hadn’t always been so careful. But she was learning . . . trying to think past the overpowering need to find the dead and be aware for her own safety.
But it wasn’t easy. Especially now, when the echo was so strong, and she was so close. When a body was calling to her . . . begging to be found.
Ahead of her, she could see something in the darkness. Something solid and out of place in a building that had been stripped all the way down to its studs.
Violet’s heart raced and her entire body itched as if she were being gouged by a million tiny thorns. She wasn’t sure what to do now: Her training told her to walk away, call for help, and bring them back here. But her instincts demanded something different.
She took a single step closer. She had to be sure. Her skin was pierced and stabbed, although whether those sensations came from inside of her or outside, she was no longer certain. She took another step forward, wincing from the discomfort as she rubbed her arms and gritted her teeth.
When she was within reach, she held out her hand and ran it along the surface of what looked to be a box. But her fingertips stilled when she felt how smooth it was—how firm, how solid. She’d been right when she’d suspected it was out of place here. It hadn’t been there for long, she could tell just by feeling it. It was clean; there was no dirt corroding it, no layers of dust and grime coating its glossed surface. Her hand moved down, finding the latch.
Even without opening the top of the freezer her fingers brushed across, Violet knew it was her: the girl they’d been searching for. She was in there.
“I found her.” Violet spoke quietly, reaching up with one hand to brush her hair away from her face, her fingertips settling over the earpiece still firmly embedded in her ear. The gesture was unnecessary; she knew they were listening. “I’m in the old Pacific Storage building.”
She took an uncertain step back and waited, ignoring that part of her that wanted to peek inside—to see the girl, to confirm that her intuition wasn’t mistaken. Instead, Violet decided to give her a few more moments of peace, to let the girl lay silently, peacefully, in the darkness . . . before the others came and disentombed her. Before they prodded and poked and probed.
Before she became evidence.
Violet heard their shouts, and their boots grinding over the glass. For a moment, she thought about not answering them, about just remaining quiet and waiting. She knew eventually they would find her there, in the gloom of the huge warehouse, even if she didn’t respond. But they didn’t have an echo to follow, and it could take them considerably longer than it had taken Violet to find the body.
“Dude, even I can hear them now.” Krystal’s voice practically shattered Violet’s eardrum. She’d nearly forgotten her earpiece was still in place. “If you don’t answer, they’re going to pull their weapons and start blasting down the walls.”
Violet smirked, not answering Krystal, but getting the point of the warning. “I’m over here!” she finally called out, although not quite loud enough. And then, knowing that she had to, she called again, louder: “Back here!”
She saw the beams of their flashlights bobbing through a doorway on the other side of the warehouse and their footsteps grew closer, more disorganized, chaotic.
“Are you safe?” It was Sara this time, although not through her earpiece. Her voice came from the frenzy the police officers brought with them.
“I’m fine,” Violet answered, biting her lip and wishing she’d taken those extra few minutes. “She’s in here. I’m sure it’s her.”
A shaft of light reached her face, blinding Violet, and she turned away, shielding her eyes with her arm. The beam dropped to the ground—no apologies—as another fell on the freezer behind her.
Violet stepped out of the way and let them work. This was their operation, the local police department. And at least for the moment, Sara Priest had become one of them.
But not Violet. She was part of another team altogether.
She stood back and was immediately forgotten. She watched as procedures were followed: The room was cleared and the dogs were brought in; they had to be careful to not taint any potential evidence.
The stinging sensation continued; it would for as long as Violet remained near the body. And it was a body, Violet knew. She didn’t need the dogs to tell her that—she had her gift. The ability she’d inherited to find those who’d died at the hand of another. Those who’d been left with a
unique sensory signature—an echo—that only Violet could find.
For this girl, it was the tactile feel of pins and needles.
From behind, Violet felt a strong hand reach for her. Its gentle tug pulled her back to reality, reminding her of where she was and what she was doing. The tingling that rippled through her now had nothing to do with the echo coming from the girl. She allowed herself to be drawn away from the mayhem and farther into the shadows.
“Why didn’t you respond when Krystal asked for your location?”
Violet didn’t need to see the expression on his face to know Rafe was glaring at her.
She pulled her hand from his, ignoring that weird crackling of electricity that sparked between them whenever her skin so much as brushed his. It was so strange, that sensation, like static, and she was, once more, left with just the needling barbs from the girl’s echo. “I did. I distinctly remember saying I was in the old Pacific Storage building.”
His voice tightened. “Before that, V? When you were ignoring her questions? Why the hell did you wander away from the team? From me?”
She didn’t bother trying to explain that some of the cops were distracting her, that at least two of them had distinct imprints that interfered with her ability to track the girl’s echo. Because not only could she sense the echoes of the dead, she also felt the imprints left behind on their killers. She doubted Rafe even realized he was wandering into slippery territory with this line of questioning. She still wasn’t comfortable discussing what she could do. It was just too weird. It was hard to undo years of secrecy.
But of all people, Rafe should understand that. Despite working together for the past two months, she’d learned that he didn’t like prying questions about how his ability worked either. Or about anything, really.
“I found her, didn’t I? Why do you think it’s your job to keep track of me anyway? Sara didn’t put you in charge. You’re not my boss.”
If there’d been enough light, Violet was sure she would have seen the slow smile spread over his face, because she knew it was there . . . she could feel the change in the atmosphere as he reached for her hand again, this time to lead her away. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. It’s too dark. Besides, it’s more fun if I can see you while you’re bitching me out.”
Violet didn’t pull her hand away this time; she was secretly glad she’d had Rafe around these past months. Someone who’d been willing to show her the ropes. With Rafe she felt like she’d met someone who really understood her . . . someone who knew what it felt like to be truly different.
But it wasn’t just Rafe. They were all different.
“I’ll be right with you,” Sara said, raising her finger in the universal sign for “give me a minute,” although in this case Violet thought it probably meant “stay put” instead. She watched as she rushed across the lot to talk to a man who’d just emerged from the warehouse. Judging from his jacket and tie, she guessed he was one of the detectives in charge.
Violet could only imagine what the three of them must look like to the man, and to the officers and crime-scene investigators who’d taken over once the body had been located: a trio of misfit teens who had no business being at the scene of a murder investigation. She wondered how they’d feel if they knew what the three of them could actually do. If they’d earn any respect for their unusual abilities, or if they’d simply be treated like any other tools of the trade. Like those drug- or bomb-sniffing dogs they used in their canine units. Or in her case, she supposed she’d be more of the cadaver-sniffing variety.
She smiled inwardly as she turned to Krystal. “How’d you draw the short straw for this assignment?”
It made sense for Violet to be here—she was the resident body finder, after all. But Krystal was the self-proclaimed medium of the group, talking to spirits and getting messages from ghosts. It wasn’t like her specific talent was all that useful on this case. At least not today.
Violet recalled the first time she’d met Krystal, the same day she’d first been introduced to the rest of the team. She’d never really shared what she could do with anyone besides her family and Jay, and suddenly it wasn’t just Sara and Rafe she was expected to open up to, it was Krystal and Sam and Gemma too. But everyone else had become background noise to Krystal during that first meeting. At twenty-one, and the oldest of the group, Krystal was tough to ignore. Yet even though her outward appearance screamed: Emo chick with issues and attitude, her entire demeanor shouted: Let’s hold hands and be friends! At least that’s the way Violet felt whenever she was around Krystal. And she found herself drawn to her brand of openness, especially since Violet wasn’t exactly an open book. She found Krystal’s noncynical approach to life refreshing.
Krystal looked at Violet now and tapped the headset she wore, the one that made her look more like she belonged onstage at a pop concert than as part of a high-tech tactical response team, especially with her heavily kohl-lined eyes, bright purple tights, and Harley-Davidson boots. “Someone’s gotta be in charge of Comm. Sara’s”—she waved her hand in Sara’s general direction, where Sara was just closing the file she was holding and shaking hands with the detective—“doing whatever it is Sara does. Liaising and whatnot. And it’s not like Rafe’s gonna do it. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s not much of a talker.” She cast wide, innocent brown eyes at Rafe when he turned to glare at her. “Well, I’m not lying, am I?”
He just shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Whatever.”
Sara joined the three of them near the edge of the parking lot, where they’d been trying to stay out of the way of the police who swarmed the building. “Good job, Krystal,” she said, interrupting them. And then she shot a meaningful glance in Violet’s direction, her eyebrows rising slightly, and it wasn’t hard to tell she was annoyed. “Rafe, Violet, would you two mind staying behind for a minute? I’d like a word.”
Krystal pursed purple lips that were the exact same shade as her tights, her eyes widening. “Ooh, sounds like someone’s in trouble. . . .” The I-told-you-so in her voice was obvious. “Should’ve answered me when I asked where you were.”
“Whatever,” Violet whispered back to Krystal as discreetly as she could. “We found her, didn’t we? Neither of us did anything wrong.”
But Krystal just snorted, as if Violet was being ridiculous. “Except you broke contact with your team. And Rafe was supposed to keep track of you.” As she stripped off her headset, her collection of necklaces—long chains strung with healing crystals, stones, and charms—clattered noisily together. “Later, losers. Hope you don’t have to stay in detention for too long.”
Violet shook her head as Sara walked with Krystal across the blacktop, toward the car Krystal had affectionately dubbed “Roxy,” her heavy black boots looking oversized for her scrawny legs. A crowd had already gathered, probably people who worked in the area, those who’d heard the sirens and wanted to know what was going on. Violet knew it wouldn’t be long before the news crews arrived too, and started asking questions.
She waited until Sara and Krystal were out of earshot, then turned to Rafe. “What did Krystal mean?” she insisted. “Did Sara ask you to watch me?”
Rafe just shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Um, yeah, it sorta does. I’m a big girl. . . . I don’t need you babysitting me.”
Rafe’s blue eyes glittered mischievously, but before he could respond, Sara was already coming back.
She crossed her arms, looking first at Rafe, and then to Violet, her gaze serious. “What happened back there, Violet? I thought we talked about this? You said you were ready.”
Violet let out a gusty sigh, stalling as she tried to decide whether to defend her actions, or to outright lie to Sara. Looking at the woman standing in front of her, always starched and no-nonsense, Violet finally lifted her shoulders, settling on the truth. “I honestly don’t know. I thought I could handle it, but then I was there . . . and I could feel it. . . .” She glanced uneasily a
t Rafe, who stood beside her, no longer holding her hand but making her just as uncomfortable. “Her . . . I could feel her pulling me to find her and suddenly nothing else mattered.” Her shoulders sagged again, defeatedly. She knew she’d let Sara—and her team—down. “I’m sorry.”
Violet waited for the reprimand about leaving the safety of the team, especially after how often they’d talked about that very thing.
But it was Rafe who Sara turned to, her blue eyes narrowing. “I asked you not to let her out of your sight, didn’t I?”
Rafe just shrugged again, in his usual Rafe-ish way, like he didn’t really care what anyone else thought. “I told you she needed more time,” he retorted, his quiet voice never rising.