by Kay Hooper
“Using technology in a way you said was impossible.”
“Next to impossible, given the safeguards in my system and the fact that I wasn’t even connected to the Internet at the time. I know what you mean, though. If they can manipulate technology with that kind of expertise, then maybe we have some nameless friends who do know how to deal with our enemy.”
“So how do we ask for help?”
“We don’t. Not until they surface, at any rate.”
Sarah nodded, and said, “So we’re still on our own. And we can’t count on another warning—either from our nameless friends or from me.”
“True. But I think the enemy will be more cautious now; they didn’t catch us off guard when they expected to, and that has to give them pause. They can’t know how much you see. I think that’s one reason they move at night.”
A flicker of interest narrowed her eyes. “Because I’m presumably asleep?”
“Yeah. It’s just a hunch, but…Sarah, the day we met, the day your house burned, I watched Lewis when he talked to you. I noticed that he started to touch you—and then drew back.”
“A lot of people are that way about psychics.” She shrugged. “Or so-called witches. They’re afraid their darkest secrets will be revealed to me if I come into contact with them. I’ve noticed quite a few friends and acquaintances doing the same thing.”
She looked briefly at the careful foot of space between them and added, “It surprised me when you touched me so calmly that day.”
Tucker refused to let himself get sidetracked. “But Lewis wanted to touch you, I could see that. He didn’t stop because he was afraid. It was more like he…remembered something he wasn’t supposed to do. Sarah, what if they know their darkest secrets will be revealed to you if you touch them? What if that’s the reason they keep their distance except at night when you should be sleeping? Because if they get too close or linger too long when you’re awake and aware, you’ll recognize them for what they are.”
“Lewis was close, even if I didn’t touch him.”
“Yeah, but he was also a cop. You had no reason to be wary of him, you thought. Trust dulled your sense of self-preservation—and all your other senses as well. Plus, he may not be one of them in the strictest sense, but rather a tool they use when necessary.”
Sarah thought about that, her gaze returning to the cross on the other side of the street. “You are good with puzzles, aren’t you,” she murmured at last. “That makes sense.”
“It makes sense, but it’s still only a guess. Plus, even if I’m right, this is still new to you, so I can’t see how we can use the theory, make it work for your protection. As you said yourself, it’s something you haven’t yet learned to control; they may very well be wary of you but we don’t yet know how to use that.”
“So…half an ace?” She offered him a faintly twisted smile.
“Better than nothing.”
Her smile faded, and Sarah said, “If only there were others like me I could talk to. Psychics with more experience than me. People who know how to control this, how to use it.”
“Maybe there are.”
“Still alive?”
“It’s possible. According to the research, there have been psychics in the news recently for reasons other than death or disappearance. Names we’ve ignored because they didn’t fit our search criteria.”
“Psychics who aren’t targets? But why isn’t the…the other side interested in them? If they’ve killed and taken so many, if they’re after me now, why ignore others?”
Tucker frowned. “Maybe there’s some common denominator among some psychics that makes them less valuable, or less of a threat. That has to be it. A particular kind of ability, maybe, or the strength of their abilities. Hell, maybe it’s something so subtle we could be looking right at it, something as simple as eye color or background, something like that. The only way we’re going to find out is to get more information, and then…”
“And then…approach another psychic?”
“It’s a possibility. Another psychic, one more experienced, could probably help you, Sarah. Help you learn to use your abilities.”
“Have you considered that it’s also possible those psychics aren’t targets because they already belong to the other side?” she asked steadily.
Tucker had not considered that, and the possibility chilled him.
Down to the bone.
NINE
It was fairly late when they got to Cleveland, nearly nine o’clock that evening. They found a hotel with rooms available, and Tucker got them a small suite on the tenth floor.
“I think we should stay together,” he told Sarah. “But at least in these suites, there’s a separate bedroom to give you a little privacy.”
Sarah didn’t argue. She was slightly surprised that he wanted them to be together now when, presumably, they had a bit of breathing room; when things had been a lot more tense en route to Chicago, he had gotten them separate rooms. Keeping a careful distance, she’d assumed. She didn’t know what his reasoning was now and was too tired to think much about it.
The hotel had an underground garage, which was one reason Tucker had chosen it; their Jeep would have a bit more security than if it were parked out in the open, and it would certainly be less visible to passersby. It was also a fairly busy hotel, with people coming and going; it was hosting some kind of business convention, and that made it a virtual certainty that there would be people about at all hours.
The suite turned out to be a nice one, with a spacious sitting room that had a sleeper sofa (which Tucker matter-of-factly claimed for his bed), a couple of good chairs, a desk, and a comfortable bedroom with a king-sized bed.
Sarah barely noticed. Travel-weary and just plain tired, all she wanted was to take a long, hot shower and get ready for bed. Tucker told her to go ahead while he plugged his laptop in to charge the battery while his system continued gathering the information that might help them.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Yeah, but too wound up to sleep just yet. I need to wind down, and I’ll sleep better if I work on this for a while.” He looked at her searchingly. “It’s been hours since we stopped for supper; I think I’ll order some soup and sandwiches from room service. Okay?”
“Fine.” She was surprised to find herself a little hungry. Tucker had been feeding her at regular intervals, and she was beginning to get used to it.
Leaving him in the sitting room, she went and took a luxuriously long and hot shower. It felt wonderful. She washed her hair with shampoo thoughtfully provided by the hotel, and as she stood at the vanity drying it with the dryer also provided, she reflected with a bit of rueful humor that someone really should publish a self-help book on what to pack for an indeterminate journey on the run for one’s life.
Moisturizer, for example, should go into every woman’s survival kit. You couldn’t always count on a hotel to provide it, after all. When you could even stay at a hotel, of course. And a nice bottle of bubble bath for those rare occasions when a few precious minutes could be spent soothing a travel-weary body. And a small makeup bag and a bottle of pleasing perfume would certainly come in handy when you were traveling with a man. A nice man.
A sexy man.
Idiot. Get him out of your head.
The only sleepwear Sarah had brought with her was something styled like a man’s button-up, cuffed-sleeve shirt. It was fairly short, reaching just below the middle of her thighs, and rather sheer.
She looked at her reflection on the back of the bathroom door and sighed. Too pale and still too thin despite Tucker’s regular meals, she looked almost anemic. And the stark white sleep shirt didn’t help.
My kingdom for some blush and lipstick. A touch of foundation. Something.
The faint spurt of self-derisive humor faded. She leaned her forehead against the cool mirror for a moment and closed her eyes. Her head was hurting, throbbing. It was almost like a sinus headache, an aching pressure behind her eyes,
but she knew it wasn’t sinus. It was this thing inside her, this thing that had been born in violence six months before.
It was growing.
Tucker hadn’t understood when she’d told him that; she knew he hadn’t. How could he? How could anyone know what it felt like to have something alien inside you, something that was part of you and yet not under your control? Not…normal.
“Go away,” she whispered.
For a moment, she could have sworn the pressure inside her head increased, as if in protest, and far back in her mind she thought she heard the echo of a whisper.
Sarah…
Fate. Destiny.
Sarah lifted her head away from the mirror and opened her eyes. They looked very bright and shiny, and felt hot. But she refused to let the tears fall. She locked them inside her and angrily wished they’d drown that thing that kept growing, that thing that wouldn’t go away and leave her in peace.
Then she squared her shoulders and left the bathroom. Reluctant to let Tucker see her looking so damned ghostlike and…insubstantial, Sarah put on one of the bulky terry-cloth robes also provided by the hotel. It was also white, which hardly lent her any color, but at least it made her look less in need of care and feeding.
Even so, he looked at her for an unnervingly long moment when Sarah went back into the sitting room just a couple of minutes after room service had arrived. But all he said, lightly, was, “Feeling better?”
“Much.”
“Good. Here, I had the waiter leave the cart in the room so we can use it as our table…”
The food occupied them for some time, but finally Sarah nodded toward the laptop set up on the desk and asked, “Find anything yet?”
“More of the same, so far.” He leaned back in his chair and frowned slightly. “I’m still sorting through all the information the computer gathered while we were at the lake. Every news item just seems to confirm what we believe—that someone is abducting young psychics and killing older ones. There are some exceptions, of course. I’ve read articles on at least a couple of very young psychics who seem to be doing fine, and a number of articles about older psychics who’ve been in the news more than once.”
“So what does that tell us?”
“I’m damned if I know. Unless it’s a question of genuine versus phony. Maybe all the ones still alive and kicking just didn’t satisfy whatever criteria the other side is using to determine the real from the fake.”
Sarah thought about it. “Can you set up your computer to look for a pattern? I mean, in case there’s something we’re just not seeing?”
Tucker nodded. “When we have more information, sure. I’ll probably have to write the program, but that won’t take too long. In the meantime, I’m also starting a list of psychics who don’t appear to be under any kind of threat. And I’ll narrow that list to those living in the northeast.”
“You still believe we should approach one?”
“I think we have to try, Sarah. We’ll be as careful as we can in choosing who to approach and how we approach them.”
“How do we know we’re being careful?”
“Good question,” he said ruefully. “The only answer I have is—we do the best we can. Maybe the computer will provide us with something useful. Maybe your senses and instincts will kick in. Or maybe, in the end, we’ll just have to wing it.”
Sarah sipped her decaf for a moment, then said slowly, “We can only gather information about those people who’ve been in the news or some kind of official report. Tucker…don’t you think there are probably people out there who’ve successfully hidden their abilities? I mean, I would have, if it hadn’t hit me so suddenly and so hard at first that I blurted things out without caring who was listening. If I’d had my druthers, nobody would ever have found out about me.”
“I’m sure there are others out there who think that way,” he agreed. “And maybe they’ve escaped notice. But it means the same thing to us as it does to the other side: those psychics will be virtually impossible to find.”
“Unless the other side has ways of finding them besides the media and official reports.”
“Right.”
She nodded. “I can’t help wondering about them, though. The ones that might be hiding out there. What if they’re so quiet because they know what’s going on?”
“That could be.”
She felt a little chill and unconsciously drew the lapels of the robe more closely together. The throbbing behind her eyes intensified. “I just…I just have this unsettling feeling that there are people moving all around us, and that they know what the hell’s going on. That if we only knew who to ask, it would all start to make some kind of sense.”
Tucker smiled slightly, his gaze intent on her face. “I have a lot of faith in your feelings. Maybe…” He hesitated, then said, “Sarah, maybe if you concentrate on those feelings, if you…open yourself to them…you’ll be able to sense some information the computer could never provide.”
Sarah set her cup down on the table and stared at it. Lovely pattern. Roses. Unusual, since most hotels stuck with utilitarian white…
“Sarah?”
“I don’t know how to do that.” Her head throbbed.
“I think you do. Now, I think you do.”
Softly, starkly, she said, “I’m afraid to do that.”
“I know.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she realized that he did know. But he didn’t understand, not really. He still didn’t understand. She managed a faint smile. “Can’t help being a coward, you know. It’s the way I’m made.”
“You aren’t a coward.”
“Sure I am. Do you think I’d be doing all this if you weren’t with me? I’m leaning on your strength, Tucker. And your confidence. And your belief that, somehow, we can change a future burned into my mind. Left alone, I’d still be back in Richmond. Waiting to die.”
Tucker shook his head. “You are not a coward, Sarah. You were blindsided by all this and it shook you off your balance, but there’s nothing fainthearted in you. A coward would never have left Richmond, with me or anyone else. A coward wouldn’t have survived—with astonishing calm, by the way—seeing men come to kill her on two separate occasions.”
She didn’t believe him but shrugged slightly. “If you say so. But I know what’s inside me, and right now there’s little but fear.”
“Fear can help you. Every soldier knows that, Sarah. It can keep your instincts and your senses sharp, keep you alert to danger. And it doesn’t make you a coward.”
“It does if it keeps you from acting. I’m afraid to open myself up, to deliberately try to look into dark places I’d rather not see.” She got up abruptly and went over to the window. The curtains were partially drawn, but through the narrow opening, she looked out on city lights. It looked very cold out there, and she felt very alone.
Softly, she added, “I’m really afraid to do that.”
“Sarah…”
He was behind her, too close, but there was nowhere she could go. She was trapped. Trapped. The hot throbbing behind her eyes was like an alien heartbeat. In a voice that was suddenly harsh and angry, she said, “You have no idea how it feels, none at all. I told you once, at the lake, but you didn’t listen. There’s something inside me, Tucker, something alien. And it’s growing. It whispers to me, telling me what I should do and how I should feel—and I don’t trust it.”
“Sarah—”
“You think it’s just another tool, like your laptop, something you can use to get information. Push the right button and get what you want.” She did turn and look at him then, through hot eyes, and her voice was low and strained. “But it’s not that easy. It’s like claws inside me, do you understand that? Something alive and struggling—and hurting me. Every bit of information I manage to tear free leaves bloody wounds behind it. How long do you think it’ll be before I bleed to death?”
“Sarah.”
“Leave me alone.” She avoided his intent gaze an
d tried to move around him, but he was too close.
“You’ve been alone too damned long.” He put his hands on her shoulders to keep her still. “Sarah, you’re right, I can’t even imagine what it’s like—and I make my living imagining things.” His voice was low, steady. “But I can understand fear. And the only thing I know for sure about fear is that we have to face what frightens us. We have to. Otherwise it can cripple us.”
“Then I’m crippled.”
“Not yet. You’re only crippled if you let yourself be.”
She looked up at him, feeling so nakedly vulnerable that it actually hurt. “Everything I’ve seen has been…darkness. Violence. Death. I don’t want to see that anymore, Tucker.”
His hands tightened. “Then don’t look for death or violence. Try to control it, Sarah. Ask yourself a specific mental question and concentrate on finding the answer to only that. I don’t know if it’ll work—I’m not psychic, so I can’t know that. But I know the mind is an incredible instrument, one that can be focused and fine-tuned. One that can be controlled. I believe you can do that. If you try.”
Sarah didn’t know if she could try. What she did know was that she didn’t want to. And she knew she was too weary to be standing here this close to Tucker. She knew that tonight it would be all too easy to make a mistake. She wanted him to put his arms around her and hold her. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him to hold the darkness at bay.
She wanted him.
But Tucker had made it clear to her that he considered their brief kiss at the lake a mistake. He had avoided even the most casual touch since then, and he had withdrawn so completely from her that Sarah found it difficult to gauge even his mood, much less his thoughts. Even now, with his hands on her, all she sensed from him was wariness and reserve.
And even knowing that, even being painfully sure that he didn’t want her, she still wanted him.
Before she started clinging to him like an idiot and made a total fool of herself, she carefully drew back away from him until his hands released her. “I’m really tired,” she said. “I think I’ll turn in.”
