by Kay Hooper
“Maybe.”
“Even assuming it works and Ryan comes out of it alive, he won’t thank Dunbar or me. He’ll say we used you.”
“He’ll know better.”
“Will he? You expect him to be rational, then? When he sees what you’ve done, what it’s cost you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Do not try to trick me,” Bishop said. “Climb inside my mind and I’ll shove you out.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” She smiled faintly. “But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
For the first time, his voice softened. “Never mind me. Cassie, this is crazy. Even in top condition, with all your strength, your chances would be slim against Vasek. Like this, drained and exhausted and so scared for Ryan you’re hardly thinking straight, you have zero chance of coming out of this alive.”
“I have the best reason in the world to survive. Willpower counts for a lot, you know that as well as I do.” She paused, then added, “But in case something happens, tell Ben…”
“Tell him what, dammit?” Bishop demanded roughly when her voice trailed into silence.
Cassie shook her head. “Never mind. I should have told him myself when I had the chance.”
“I hate melodrama,” he snapped.
Despite everything, Cassie laughed. “Yes, I rather thought you would. Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to any more of it.”
They were silent for a few minutes, and then Bishop said abruptly, “Cassie, I want you to promise me something.”
“If I can.”
“Once you’re in, don’t let go of the lifeline. No matter what Vasek says or does, no matter what he shows you, do not let go of me.”
“All right. I’ll do my best.”
“So will I,” Bishop said grimly.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the creak of Danny’s shoes as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Cassie sat in the chair and stared into the fire, and Bishop watched her. Danny watched them both. And he was the one who nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone in his hand rang.
He answered, listened intently, then said, “Yes, sir,” and without turning off the phone said to Bishop, “I’m to leave the line open. Sheriff says they’re as close as he dares get, and they’ll move in in exactly five minutes.”
Cassie got up and went to sit on the sofa so she could get the boots, hardly noticing when Bishop came to sit beside her.
“Don’t let go of the lifeline,” Bishop repeated.
She picked up the boots, held them against her with both hands, and closed her eyes. Bishop watched her, speaking the instant he saw the telltale flicker of her eyelids.
“Talk to me, Cassie. Are you in?”
“I’m in.” Her voice was hollow, distant, and Bishop frowned.
“Does he know you’re there?”
“Yes. Yes, he knows.”
“What was the deal with the music box?” Ben asked, watching his captor pick up yet another sharp implement from the cart and study it. “Cassie thought Mike was using it to block her. But it was you, wasn’t it?”
“Of course it was me. Michael has no more telepathic ability than you do. I was using it to distract Cassie—and to keep Michael focused on rituals. It was necessary.”
“In order to maintain your control over him?”
“Why are you stalling?” Bob asked curiously. “Is another hour of life so important?”
“Did you ask that of your other victims?” Ben countered.
“A few. Most were incoherent, however, so I’ve never received a satisfactory answer.”
Despite the chill of the room, Ben could feel sweat trickling down the side of his neck. It hadn’t been difficult to keep the monster talking, but he had the uneasy idea that it was still very much a question of who was toying with whom.
He wished he could reach out to Cassie. Touch her. But even if he had known how to do that, there was no way Ben wanted her there in the room.
What he was afraid of was the very real possibility that Cassie would find her way there anyway. If she knew he was missing, she would reach out, and thanks to his walls, it wouldn’t be his mind she touched. If this insane monster was even half right about the connection between him and Cassie, she would inevitably touch that dark evil.
Ben knew how much of herself she had risked for the relative strangers of Ryan’s Bluff; what would she risk to save the life of a lover?
It terrified him.
All he could think to do was keep the monster talking, keep looking for a chink in that armor of self-satisfaction. And hope he could find some way to free himself before Cassie came looking for him.
“I can give you a coherent answer,” he told his captor. “Another hour of life is important. Another minute. Even another second. Because as long as there’s still some time, there might be enough time.”
“Enough time for what?”
“Enough time for me to kill you.”
Bob stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then began to laugh. But the laugh cut off abruptly, and he rose to his feet, the knife in his hand seemingly forgotten, that earlier look of distraction gripping his features. His eyes had a distant, unfocused look. And his voice dropped to that caressing note that made Ben’s skin crawl and his blood run cold when Bob murmured, “Well. Hello, my love.”
• • •
“He knows you’re there?” Bishop demanded.
“He’s… surprised,” Cassie murmured. “He didn’t think I’d noticed the boots.” She was silent a moment, her features twisting in revulsion. “Oh, God. The things he thinks. His mind is so dark, so… evil. He has no soul.”
Bishop glanced at his watch. “Can you see through his eyes, Cassie?”
“No.” She sounded unsettled. “He’s… he’s holding me too deep.”
“Holding you?”
Her voice was hardly a breath of sound. “He wants me to see… his secret places.”
“Cassie, listen to me. Try to back away. Try to see through his eyes.”
“I want to. I want to see Ben.”
“Try. Very carefully.”
There was a full minute of silence, and then she flinched. Her eyes opened, the pupils enormous and blind.
Ben knew the connection had been made, that Cassie or some part of her was there. He didn’t know if she could see him, but it was obvious to him that his captor was in a kind of trance, eyes blank, all his concentration turned inward.
He wouldn’t get another chance.
“Cassie?”
“He won’t let me see. He… likes this. Likes having my voice in his mind. He wants me there… always. The door. He’s going to shut the door—”
Bishop reached over and grasped her wrist strongly.
“Cassie? Hold on to me, Cassie. He can’t close the door if you don’t let him.”
Her breathing slowed and grew shallow, and the pallor of her skin deepened until even her lips were drained of color. “I’m… trying,” she whispered. “He’s so strong… so strong. He’s getting angry, furious that I would… defy him….”
“Hold on to me, Cassie. Don’t let go.”
You came to me. I knew you would.
I had to come.
Yes. We belong together.
No.
Vasek felt an instant of shock at her calm denial, then a hot and satisfying rush of rage. Yes. We belong together.
I belong with Ben. Utter certainty.
You’re confused, my love. But it’s all right. I’ll show you the truth. He used his abilities to surround her presence with himself, to hold on to her and begin pulling her deeper, and to try to cut off the way behind her. Cut off her escape.
I’m not your love.
Of course you are.
No. Somehow she managed to defy him, to prevent him from capturing her. And you’re no part of me. No matter what you think. No matter how many times you believe you’ve
slipped into my mind without me knowing.
Vasek was more disconcerted than he wanted to admit. You never knew. Never!
Oh, no?
Her laughter in his mind, like quicksilver.
You never knew, he declared, but the assertion was hollow and he heard the emptiness of it. His sense of superiority was rocked, unsteady for the first time.
Of course I knew.
I don’t believe you! He tried to penetrate her certainty, probe her claims, but her presence was smooth and cool and peculiarly detached. He felt her presence but not her spirit. And only those thoughts she allowed him to see.
Rage rose higher in him, hotter, wilder. No. He wouldn’t. He had never—
You lose.
Ben didn’t know how he managed to loosen the ropes enough to free his wrists. Perhaps it was because this particular monster had little experience in binding his victims since he tended to kill them quickly. Perhaps he had been distracted by the anomaly of a male captive, and it made him careless. Or perhaps it was simply that Ben’s desperation gave him a strength he had not known he possessed.
He bloodied his wrists doing it, but his hands were still functional when he wrenched free of the ropes and bent to untie the ones binding his ankles. He kept his eyes on the unmoving, unblinking monster, praying he’d have time to act, to cross the few feet of space between them and get his fingers around that pasty throat and choke the evil life out of the bastard.
Cassie.
He had asked her what would happen if she went too deep, and she had replied with a faint smile that she would not come back. How deep was she now? And what would happen if the monster in whose mind she was trapped died before she was able to escape?
Ben hesitated for only a second, and in that second something heavy crashed through the windows, and two of Matt’s deputies lay on the floor, guns drawn and pointed at the monster. And the monster was turning toward them, face twisting, a terrible triumph in the glance he threw Ben as his arm rose, the knife he held gleaming in a threat any cop would recognize and instinctively act to counter.
“No!” Ben shouted, lunging up from the chair.
He was too late.
“Cassie?”
The room was so deathly silent that Bishop heard the shots through the open line of the cell phone. They were close together, but he was able to count three of them, and each one made Cassie’s slender body jerk. Then her eyes closed, a long breath escaped her, and she went totally limp.
Bishop eased her back against the pillows and felt for a carotid pulse. It was so faint, he could barely discern it, and her skin was like ice.
“Cassie?” He slapped her cheek sharply, getting absolutely no response. Over his shoulder to the deputy, he snapped, “Call EMS.”
“My God,” Danny whispered. “Look at her hair.”
“Get EMS here now!”
MARCH 10, 1999
“I’ve run every test I have.” The neurosurgeon Ben had flown in frowned at his clipboard. “The MRI showed no tumor, no bleeding or swelling of the brain. There’s no apparent injury or trauma, no disease we can detect. She’s breathing on her own. The EEG shows brain activity, though of a kind I find unusual.”
Bishop, who’d been standing on the far side of the hospital bed gazing out the window, turned to look at the doctor. “Meaning?” His voice was cool.
Dr. Rhodes shook his head. “I mean there’s activity in an area of the brain where there is normally little or no activity, especially during coma.”
“Is that good?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor replied bluntly. “Just like I don’t know how that white streak could have appeared in her hair instantaneously. If anyone else had told me it just appeared like that—”
“I was there,” Bishop said. “It appeared in a matter of seconds as she fell unconscious. Started at the roots and went right to the ends.”
Almost to himself the doctor muttered, “The medical literature says that’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Rewrite the literature,” Bishop suggested.
“I may have to. On several counts. I just don’t understand what’s causing this coma. There’s no medical reason to account for it.”
Sitting beside the bed, Ben said, “So what you’re telling us is that you have no idea what’s wrong with her?”
“I know she’s in a coma, Judge. I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know how long it will last. She may recover naturally.” Rhodes clearly felt helpless. “I’m sorry. There just isn’t anything we can do.” He looked from one man to the other, then sighed and left the room.
“She won’t recover naturally,” Bishop said.
“You were her lifeline.” Ben’s voice was harsh. “Why did you let go?”
“If I had let go, she’d be dead.” In stark contrast, Bishop’s voice was calm, even mild.
Ben reached over to touch Cassie’s cheek gently, his eyes fixed on her face as they had been too many long hours during the last week. Her terribly still face. “Then what the hell happened?”
“I’ve told you. She was trapped inside the mind of a maniac when he died. She wasn’t strong enough to pull herself completely free of that psychic backwash of energy.”
“Completely free? Where is she?”
“Somewhere between.”
A laugh escaped Ben, and it held no humor whatsoever. “Christ. That’s helpful.”
“You asked.”
“Look, if you’re going to stand there spouting bits of information like Yoda, at least tell me something I can use to get her back.”
“All right. If you want her back, go after her.”
“How? I’m not psychic.”
Bishop moved away from the window and toward the door with a shrug. “Then she’s gone. Have a memorial service for her and get on with your life.”
“Bastard.”
At the door the agent turned and gave Ben one last, steady look. “You’re the only one she’s allowed to get close to her in more than ten years. The only one with a connection to her that is literally of the flesh. And you’re the only one who can bring her back.” He walked out the door.
Ben stared after him for a moment, then returned his gaze to Cassie’s still, pale face. He was finally getting used to the stark white streak in the black hair above her left temple, but her utter stillness was killing him.
He had tried talking to her. Pleading with her. He had watched Rhodes and the staff try various loud and seemingly painful methods to wake her, all without success. Her heart beat. She breathed. And there was activity in her brain.
But she was not here.
“… a connection to her that is literally of the flesh.”
What was that supposed to mean? That because they were lovers they shared a bond? Ben wanted to think so. But during the endless week past, when he had sat there staring at her, talking to her, trying to reach her, there had been no response at all.
The white streak had made him think of her aunt, and so in desperation he had combed through Alexandra Melton’s journals, searching for something he could do to help Cassie. He had found unexpected and astonishing information, including the fact that Alexandra had left a warning for her niece to stay away from him or be destroyed.
A warning Cassie had clearly ignored.
He discovered that her mother and aunt had quarreled over how to raise her, the mother insisting her child be imbued with a strong sense of responsibility to use her talents to help others while the aunt warned of a dangerous gift that could too easily destroy—as her own psychic ability had very nearly destroyed her.
Ben thought he might have found an answer there, thought Alexandra’s survival after some kind of psychic shock must bode well for Cassie. But what he discovered was that Alexandra had survived simply because her shock had not been as extreme as Cassie’s; she had been pulled from an insane mind, but not a dying one.
Her journals offered Ben no help. And precious little hope.
“Ben?”
/>
He turned his head to see Matt standing in the doorway. “No change,” he reported quietly.
Matt still felt guilty at the unwitting part he had played in what had happened to Cassie, and it showed. “Abby wants to come see her. I said tomorrow would probably be better.”
“Yeah.”
“She said to tell you not to worry about Max, he’s doing fine with us.”
Ben nodded. “Thanks.”
“I told Mary I’d drive her home today, but Rhodes volunteered to do that.”
Despite everything, Ben felt a rueful amusement. “Is it my imagination, or did those two take one look at each other and tumble?”
“Not your imagination.” Matt smiled. “Rhodes seems to be completely smitten, and Mary’s been telling everybody that Alexandra Melton told her a long time ago that because of her son she’d fall in love with a tall, dark man and marry him.”
“Because of me. Well, I did fly him in from Raleigh.” Ben looked back at Cassie. “I’m glad that worked out for somebody.”
“She’ll be all right, Ben.”
“I know. I know she will.” He had to keep saying it. Had to keep believing it.
Matt began to turn away, then hesitated. “I know you probably don’t give a damn right now, but Shaw’s finally talking. And we finally know why the coins.”
“Why?” Ben asked, not giving a damn.
“Vasek. Part of his sadistic fantasy was the need to leave a token of his affection with a victim. He knew his usual paper roses would give him away to Cassie, so he came up with the coins. They actually came from his own father’s collection, locked in a bank vault for twenty years. Traceable. It’s the first tangible connection between Shaw and Vasek.”
“Good,” Ben said.
“And we found out something else. About those kittens Cassie saw in Lucy Shaw’s mind. It seems she had a cat she adored, and she was thrilled when it had kittens. She came home from the store one day to find Mike sitting in the middle of the living room floor. Cutting the kittens into pieces with his Boy Scout knife. He was eight years old.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ben said.
“Yeah. Russell came home to find Lucy trying to… pick up all the pieces. And she’s been trying ever since.”
