"She survived death only to die over and over again"
Reviewed by Elizabeth Crowley
Posted June 7, 2011
Paranormal Romance
When Olivia Wainwright was fifteen years old she was
kidnapped from her own bedroom and murdered. Although
Olivia was only dead for a few minutes, her brush with
death bestowed a unique gift that allows her to experience
the death of a person simply by making physical contact
with the body. Olivia's gift lands her a job at eXtreme
Investigations, a paranormal detective agency. Although Olivia enjoys the peace her gift brings to the
families of the victims, one death experience will forever
haunt her: her own. Olivia's painful past resurfaces when
the skeletal remains of a young boy who has been dead for
twelve years are found hidden in wall of a local bar. The
boy's identity baffles the local authorities, but Olivia
knows the boy was tied to her own murder years ago. Working for eXtreme Investigations, Olivia has experienced
every death imaginable. Although each death is terrifying
in its own way, one thing terrifies Olivia more than
anything she has ever experienced -- water. When Olivia was
kidnapped as a child, her kidnapper was not working alone.
A small boy, who the kidnapper called Jack, occasionally
delivered food, but he also suggested the manner Olivia
should be murdered to her kidnapper -- drowning. Olivia still recalls every detail of her death and how her
physical body slowly ceased to function -- then darkness.
Olivia should have remained dead, but the boy helping her
kidnapper brought her back from the brink of death.
Although reunited with her family, Olivia has never
forgotten her last terrifying moments under water and the
boy who mysteriously chose to save her. Years later, Olivia places herself front and center when
the police begin investigating the identity of the skeletal
remains. There's just one problem: Officer Gabe Cooper
throws Olivia out of the police station when she requests a
few minutes with the remains. But Gabe is transformed from
a skeptic into a believer after he witnesses Olivia relive
the mystery boy's death. When Olivia lives through the
death of the boy she believes to be Jack, she confirms that
the remains belong to the same boy who helped plan her
death, and then brought her back from the darkness. After clues begin to surface which imply Jack's murderer
could be the work of a serial killer who is still at large,
Olivia vows to find the man who killed the boy who brought
her back from her watery grave. Gabe, however, is
determined to protect Olivia from her past which may be
more than just a haunting memory. COLD TOUCH: EXTRASENSORY AGENTS is the second novel in the
Extrasensory Agents series. Whether you enjoy a good
paranormal novel, or simply like curling up with a well-
written thriller, COLD TOUCH: EXTRASENSORY AGENTS will
surprise you with its well-developed plot and unusual
characters. Although I'm not usually a fan of paranormal
thrillers, this book pleasantly took me by surprise. This
is a novel I could easily picture on the big screen!
SUMMARY
Since being gifted-or cursed-with the ability to touch a
lifeless body and relive the deceased's final moments,
Olivia Wainwright has died a hundred deaths. And every
glimpse into this darkness draws her deeper into danger. Though he doesn't believe in psychics, Savannah Detective
Gabe Cooper offers her a glimmer of light. As their bond
deepens, Olivia will have to choose between her cold gift
and the warmth Gabe can provide. And Gabe can't refuse when
she needs his help solving a crime that's haunted her for
over a decade-her own murder.
ExcerptPrologue Twelve Years Ago “He’s gonna kill you.” The boy’s voice shook with both sadness and fear. And with
those four whispered words, Olivia Wainwright’s faint hope
of survival disappeared. The boy. Jack. Was he a victim, too? She wasn’t sure. She
only knew that during the three terrifying days she’d been
tied-up in this hot, miserable barn, his sharp, angular face
was the only one she’d seen. She’d caught brief glimpses of
him in the shadows when he shuffled in to bring her water,
or sometimes a handful of stale nuts that she suspected he
wasn’t supposed to share. Once, he’d even come close enough
to loosen the ropes on her wrists and ankles a little, so at
least she had some circulation again. But he hadn’t let her go. No matter how much she’d begged. He was a couple of years younger than her, twelve or
thirteen, maybe. Skinny, pale, with sunken cheeks and
deep-set eyes. While he was free to go in and out, she
suspected he was a victim, too—of abuse, at the very least.
The kid looked beaten down, his spirit crushed, all memories
of happiness long gone. Olivia began to shake, long shudders making her bound legs
quiver and her stomach heave. She’d eaten almost nothing for
days, yet thought she’d be sick. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d tried so hard to be
strong, to think positively. Her parents loved her, and they
had a lot of money. Of course they’d pay the ransom. She’d
told herself it would all be okay. But it wouldn’t be okay.
Not ever again. “When?” she finally asked, dread making the word hard to
push from her mouth.
“Once he makes sure they paid the ransom money.” “If they’re paying the money, why is he going to kill me?”
she asked, the words sounding so strange in her ears. God,
she was fifteen years old, the very idea that she would be
asking questions about her own murder had never once crossed
her mind. Four days ago she’d been a slightly spoiled, happy teenager
looking forward to getting her driver’s license and
wondering how much begging it would take to get her
over-indulgent parents to buy her a Jeep. Now she was wondering how many minutes she had left on this
earth. She could hear a clock ticking away in her mind, each
tick marking one less second of her life.
“He don’t want any witnesses.” Jack leaned back
against the old plank-board wall and slid down it, like he
couldn’t hold himself up anymore. He sat hunched on the
backs of his bent legs, watching her. A shaft of moonlight
bursting through a broken slat high up in the barn wall
shone a spotlight on his bony face. Tear-tracks had cleared
a path through the grime on his bruised cheeks and his
lips—swollen, bloodied—quivered. “He’s afraid you can
identify him.” “I can’t! I never even saw his face.” That was true. She’d never gotten a glimpse of the man who’d
grabbed her from her own bedroom. Liv had awakened from a
sound sleep to find a pillow slapped over her face, a
hateful male voice hissing at her not to scream or he’d
shoot her and her sister, whose room was right next door.
Their parents’ room was on the other side of the huge house
and Liv didn’t doubt that the man would be able to make good
on his threat before anyone could get to them. A minute later, any chance of screaming had been taken from
her. He’d hit her hard enough to knock her out. By the time
she’d awakened, she was already inside this old abandoned
barn. Jack was the only living soul she’d seen or heard since. “I’m sorry.” “Let me go,” she urged. He shook his head, repeating, “I’m sorry.”
“Please, Jack. You can’t let this happen.” “There’s nothin’ I can do.” “Just untie me and give me a chance to run away.” “He’ll find you,” he said. “Then he’ll kill us both.” His
voice was low, his tone sounding almost robotic. Like he’d
heard the threat so many times it had become ingrained in
his head. “When did he take you?” she asked, suddenly certain this boy
was a captive as well. “Take me?” Jack stared at her, his brown eyes flat and
lifeless. “Whaddya mean?” “He kidnapped you, too. Didn’t he?” “Dunno.” Jack slowly shook his head. “I’ve been with him
forever.” “Is he your father?” she persisted. Jack didn’t respond, though whether it was because he didn’t
know or didn’t want to say, she couldn’t be sure. “Do you have a mother?”
“Don’t remember.” “Look, whoever he is, you have to get away from him. We have
to get away.” She tried to scoot closer, though her
legs—numb from being bound—didn’t want to cooperate. She
managed no more than a few inches before falling onto her
side, remnants of dry, dirty old hay scratching her cheek.
“Come with me. Untie me and we’ll both run.” If she could run on her barely functional legs. She thrust that worry away. If it meant saving her life,
hell, she’d crawl. “I can’t,” he replied, looking down at her from a few feet
away. His hand rose, like he wanted to reach out and touch
her, to help her sit up. Then he dropped it back onto his
lap, as if he was used to having his hand slapped if he ever
dared to raise it. “Yes, you can! My parents will help you. They’ll be so
grateful.” “I can’t.” Again that robotic voice. Like the kid was brainwashed. If
he’d been a prisoner for so long he didn’t even remember any
other life, she supposed he probably had been. He reached into the pocket of his tattered jeans, pulling
out two small pills. “Here,” he said. “I swiped ‘em from the
floor in his room, he musta dropped ‘em. I think they’ll
make you sleep, so maybe it won’t hurt.” A sob rose from deep inside her, catching in the middle of
her throat, choking and desperate. “How will he do it?” The boy sniffled. “I dunno.” “Not a knife,” she cried, panic rising fast. “Oh, please
God, don’t let him cut me.” She hated knives. In every horror movie she’d ever seen, it
was the gleam of light shining on the sharp, silvery edge of
a blade that made her throw her hands over her eyes or just
turn off the TV. “He don’t use a knife, not usually,” Jack said. His consoling reply didn’t distract her from the
implication: She wouldn’t be the first person to die at her
kidnapper’s hands. He’d killed before. And this boy had
witnessed those killings.
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