Malaika Jordan has always had visions, but none as gruesome as this: Innocent people lured to their deaths by a beautiful woman, killed by a man she can not see and left behind for beasts to eat.
Baltimore homicide detective, Jonah Porter, seeks the beautiful young mother's help, recognizing her psychic ability, but blind to the full depth of her powers.
The closer they get to solving the case, the more dark secrets they discover about themselves, their connection to the killers, and to each other.
“Stop banging on my door before you wake my kid,” Malaika snapped, swinging the door open. “Do you know what time it is?”
The detective arched a brow, flashed his badge, and stepped into her apartment, uninvited. “Do you always open your door this late at night without checking who it is first?”
“I knew it was you.”
“Peephole,” she said irritably, her mood growing darker as he looked at her suspiciously, giving her the sense he knew better. “How's your partner?” she asked, knowing the woman had been badly hurt but survived the attack she'd foreseen. The aura surrounding the male detective indicated he felt the need for vengeance but wasn't in mourning.
“She's in the hospital, nearly had her throat torn out.”
Malaika winced at his blunt answer, having seen that part in her mind's eye. How had she survived? In the vision she'd seen beforehand the woman had been ripped to shreds and consumed.
“How did you know what was going to happen?”
“Gut feeling,” she said quickly, folding her arms, wondering if the detective could hear her frantically thumping heart.
“That was one hell of a gut feeling.” He surveyed her apartment, his gaze resting on a picture of Deja which was perched on top of the small table before the window. “That your daughter?”
“Cute kid.” He smiled a little, easing some of Malaika's anxiety but it came back in full force when he whipped his head around and asked point-blank, “What do you know about these murders?”
Malaika gasped, surprised by the sudden question and more than a little afraid. “I don't know what—”
“Don't, Ms. Jordan. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about or that you just had a feeling my partner was going to be hurt. You were terrified, scared out of your mind and you were dead-on. She should have never went in that building and you knew it because you either knew the men who attacked her—”
Malaika tightened her lips together when she realized she'd spoken out loud. The look the detective gave her caused her to shiver.
“Men, Ms. Jordan, but they weren't normal men, were they?”
She forced herself to look him straight in the eye despite the way his intense gaze sent her nerves into a frenzy. “Look, I wish I could help you but I honestly don't know—”
“Are you a psychic?”
The question, presented so abruptly, gave her pause. For as far back as she could remember she'd had the visions. Her mother had told her she was crazy when she spoke of them, said she’d been listening to her grandmother far too much. Due to what her mother considered a harmful influence she hadn't seen her grandmother since she was a child.
She'd learned to keep her gifts secret. The few times she'd tried to clue anyone in to what she could do she was either laughed at, labeled a lunatic, or called a freak.
“Are. You. A. Psychic?” The detective enunciated each word, his irritation and impatience clear.
“Psychics aren't real,” Malaika muttered finally, deciding against telling the truth. It hurt too much to see the looks she received after revealing her gift and it had been a hard day already.
“Neither are monsters, Ms. Jordan, but I killed two of them earlier.”