Frode will never forget a face. Once he’s touched the same item you have, you’re forever etched into his memory.
Three months ago, Nikolai Nesterova moved back to his hometown. He swore he’d never set foot there again after his family kicked him out, but when his fiancé broke up with him, he needed somewhere familiar to land. There was an opening in the homicide department, but Nikolai wasn’t prepared for a serial killer case to be dropped in his lap.
If Frode Bakke touches an object, he sees all the people who have touched it before him. He can’t control the influx of faces or break the stream once it’s started, and he fears he’s one touch away from frying his brain.
Frode might not want to touch anything, but when he gets a call from the homicide department asking for his help, he can’t say no. Nikolai doesn’t want a psychic anywhere near his investigation, and when said psychic arrives and turns out to be Frode Bakke, his best friend’s younger brother, Nikolai throws a fit. Frode takes one look at Nikolai and wants to run out of there. Why had no one told him Nikolai Nesterova was back in town?
When he’d paid for his ride and was walking up the stairs to the homicide floor, he ate a raisin to try to tamp down the nausea already bubbling inside. For fuck’s sake. He hadn’t touched anything yet, and he was already a trembling mess.
“Sunny!”
He looked behind him and saw a detective he’d worked with a few times jogging up the steps to catch up with him.
“You came.” A big, bright grin.
Eh ... “Medlin called.”
The guy nodded, grin still in place. “Yeah, I asked him to. Come on. Let’s talk upstairs.”
Frode couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He believed they were about the same age, and he’d never been an ass to Frode, unless you counted calling him Sunny, which he was pretty sure came from The Sun Maiden. He didn’t much care what the idiots in law enforcement called him, but couldn’t they have come up with something a little more creative than The Sun Maiden? Did Hjalmar ever hear anyone call him Sunny or The Maiden or some other name? He suspected it would piss him off if he did.
He ate another raisin as they walked up the stairs in silence.
“So ...” The guy looked around. “Worked any interesting cases lately?”
“I don’t work cases.”
“Right. Touched any interesting things lately?” There was a small grin on the guy’s lips.
“Mostly bullet cases.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, that’s pretty neat. Though, I guess someone other than the person shooting can load a gun.”
Frode nodded.
“Still though, you get an idea about who’s involved.”
Frode ate another raisin.
“Here we are.” The guy spread his arms when they reached the homicide floor.
Frode didn’t reply. He might most often work with Hjalmar, but he’d been here several times.
The man grimaced and led the way to Medlin’s office. He’d been there before too.
Loud voices could be heard from within. “I don’t fucking care! I don’t want some creep touching things in my investigation.” The snarl was impressive.
Frode’s escort hesitated then neared the open door. He knocked on the door frame and stepped inside. “The Sun Maiden is here.” Then he winced. “Eh ... I mean ...”
Frode stared as he realized the impressive snarl must’ve come from Nikolai Nesterova, who was leaning against the wall in all his tall, hard-muscled glory. A scowl was adorning his face, and his eyes were shooting daggers. What was he doing here?
When he met Frode’s gaze, there was a second of surprise, then it melted into disgust. “What the fuck is he doing here?” He gestured widely, and Frode’s day went from bad to worse.
Nikolai fucking Nesterova. Hjalmar should’ve prepared him for the possibility of running into him here.
“Nope.” Frode was not doing this. He turned around and stomped toward the exit. The silence behind him was promising, and he sped up his steps. He might make it. The staircase was within view.
“Hey.” Rapid steps were coming closer, so Frode walked faster.
“Sunny, come on. We need help.” The guy rounded him and blocked his path.
“I’m not working with Nesterova.”
Confusion overtook his face. “How do you know Nesterova? He’s new.”
Frode snorted. “The word you’re looking for is back. He’s back. He grew up here, moved away, and now he’s back.”
“Oh, right. Still, we need help.”
“No can do. Sorry.” He tried to walk around him but was blocked. Then there were raised voices from Medlin’s office, and the man winced and allowed him to pass. Frode didn’t waste another second.
