Haven

by Kay Hooper

  But there was something else, something he hadn’t mentioned to Emma because it was so…nebulous in his mind. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, really. He looked at Emma, talked to her—and was conscious of the nagging feeling that there was something important he was missing. He just didn’t have a clue what it was.

  He returned to his suite, restless, wondering if Jessie would pay him a visit tonight, either on the defensive or with blood in her eye.

  UPSTAIRS, EMMA WAS wondering the same thing.

  “Maggie should have told me she sent in another operative,” Jessie was saying to her sister, frowning.

  “I gather your cell phone is dead, and has been for a while.”

  Jessie glanced toward her bedroom and, presumably, her backpack, but didn’t go to check out the phone. “I’ll charge it overnight,” she said.

  “I think your boss wants you to check in, and tonight rather than tomorrow.”

  Jessie’s frown deepened. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  Emma tried to hold on to her patience. “The settling with the past business not going so well, huh?”

  A ghost of a laugh escaped Jessie. “You could say that. Things can get awfully…tangled…when you look too far behind you. Things you don’t expect get uncovered.”

  “Things?”

  “Feelings. And connections.”

  “To family? Have you talked to Victor?”

  “He doesn’t like remembering unpleasant things.”

  “Unpleasant?”

  Jessie frowned again. “Egging on a seventeen-year-old cousin to drink too much. And maybe…I don’t know, Em. The memories are still fuzzy. Flashes of faces…I’m still not sure what happened at that last party, but I know something did. Something bad.”

  “How can you find out what it was? Jessie, what have you been doing all week?”

  Jessie looked at her sister almost as if she didn’t see her, and spoke slowly. “There’s more to it all than I can bring into focus. The more I remember or find, the more there is to remember or find. I think something started that night, something that was triggered by what happened to me.”

  For some reason, Emma couldn’t bring herself to raise the subject of a possible killer. “And you don’t know what that might be?”

  “I have…a suspicion. I need to pin it down.”

  “A suspicion of what?”

  Jessie hesitated visibly, then shook her head. “If I’m right, you’ll find out soon enough. And if I’m wrong…I don’t want to put into your head what’s in mine right now.”

  “I doubt you could put in anything worse than what’s there now.” Emma hadn’t intended to, but she heard herself blurt, “I’ve been having nightmares. Nightmares about women being murdered. Tortured and murdered in ways too horrible for me to even describe. Only they might not be…just nightmares.”

  Without reacting in any visible way to the information, Jessie merely said, “What makes you think that?”

  “I had an accident a couple of years ago, got thrown from a horse and hit my head. Nathan seems to believe I might be psychic now.”

  Jessie didn’t seem surprised. “One thing they told us at Haven was that these things often run in families. Me being psychic increases the likelihood that you are at least a latent. And trauma is a major trigger in turning a latent into an active. A head injury could have triggered your abilities to go active.”

  “So, doesn’t that change things? If what I’m seeing in my nightmares has happened or will really happen…then this killer is real. He’s a monster. He has to be stopped.”

  An odd little smile twisted Jessie’s lips. “And he will be. I can promise you that.”

  “Jessie, you’re beginning to scare me. What the hell?”

  Shaking her head again, Jessie said, “Just remember your promise. Whatever happened that summer is my secret to uncover. My baggage to deal with.”

  “But Nathan—”

  “Especially not Navarro. He’s a fellow Haven operative; leave him to me.”

  “Jessie—”

  “You swore. Don’t forget.”

  Emma nodded reluctantly, but said, “Jessie, are you looking for this killer? A serial killer?”

  Jessie lifted an eyebrow. “On my own? Without backup? That wouldn’t be very smart.”

  “Jessie—”

  “I think I’ll find out what I need to tomorrow, at the festival. All the missing pieces. There are people I need to talk to. Information to…fill in the gaps.”

  “What about Nathan?”

  “What about him? He isn’t here investigating my past; he’s looking into the murders that spirit told me about and your nightmare visions apparently confirm. That is what you said, right?”

  “Don’t you think there’s a connection? Between what happened to you and what’s happening now?”

  “I don’t see how there could be.” Jessie’s gaze slid away from her sister’s. “Listen, it’s been a long day and I’m beat. I want to take a shower and go to bed. I’ll talk to Navarro in the morning, before the festival starts and things get crazy. Good enough?”

  “I guess it’ll have to be,” Emma responded, very conscious of repeating Navarro’s words from earlier.

  JULY 4

  They had ended up at Nellie’s house, which told her more, perhaps, than Victor realized. It told her he had somewhere to be on this very warm Saturday morning, that he needed to be there early, before the festival, and that he didn’t want her asking any questions. Easier and simpler for him to leave her bed than for him to maneuver her into leaving his.

  Forgoing morning sex, he was gone when she woke up, leaving a note on the pillow saying he’d see her at the festival.

  Nellie could smell coffee, and knew he had left it hot for her. She stretched languidly in bed, not yet ready to rise even though she was wide-awake.

  And thinking.

  About that other note she had, the very scary note written by someone or something unknown and possibly in blood.

  HELP ME…MURDERED

  FIND THE TRUTH. BE CAREFUL.

  HE’S WATCHING.

  JESSIE…THREAT

  PROTECT EMMA

  Nellie had done what research she could on Jessie—though she was waiting for a callback from a friend who owed her a favor. She had found out what she could about Haven; she was reasonably sure she knew most of the details about Emma’s life. Here, at least.

  Those summers traveling, not so much.

  Nellie’s lively imagination could conjure up all kinds of trouble Emma might have gotten herself involved in while away from Baron Hollow, but murder wasn’t one of them.

  So why did Emma need protecting?

  And from whom?

  SIXTEEN

  Who would think Nellie could protect Emma? How could she? By finding this “truth” the message spoke of?

  Nellie sighed in frustration. There was murder and there was a truth for her to find, and Jessie was either a threat or being somehow threatened, and she was supposed to protect Emma.

  Piece of cake.

  He. Who was he? Surely someone she knew, or else why would the note have been…delivered…to her?

  Still grappling with the notion that a ghostly hand had left her a note possibly written in blood (she had sent scrapings to a friend in the town clinic’s small lab, but hadn’t heard back yet), and not quite ready to believe it just yet despite the evidence, Nellie preferred to ponder a more human puzzle.

  So to speak.

  A murderous he who might have some connection to her. She wanted to believe that whatever was going on in no way involved Victor. Wanted to be able to assure herself firmly and with utter conviction that Victor didn’t have it in him to hurt a fly. But…

  But. You couldn’t know a man most of your life, sleep with him on a regular basis for the better part of a year, and not know him awfully well. And what she knew about Victor Rayburn was that he could be ruthless if he felt the need to be. He had a temper, and even
if she’d never seen him resort to physical violence, something in his eyes on the rare occasions when she’d seen him furious told her that it was, at least, possible.

  And he seemed to be at odds with Emma, something he avoided talking about, at least to Nellie.

  Was it because of Jessie? The tension between them had seemed to increase when Jessie came back to Baron Hollow. Why? Because Emma knew something she hadn’t known before? Maybe—but that didn’t explain whatever discussions they’d been having only in the office of the family lawyer.

  The problem, Nellie decided finally, was that she didn’t really know how things stood between Victor and Emma, and until she did, she couldn’t rule out that line of inquiry and move on.

  Frowning, Nellie threw back the covers and got out of bed, heading for the shower. As she got ready for the day, she considered and dismissed several possible ways she could go about finding the information she needed. The Rayburn family lawyer was out; Trent Windell was the soul of discretion and nobody ever learned about his clients’ business from him or from anyone on his staff.

  Victor had already shown a disinclination to talk about his relationship with Emma, and Nellie didn’t want to awaken his suspicions by pressing the matter.

  Just in case.

  She walked a fine line with Victor, knowing better than to show too much interest in either the parts of his personal life that didn’t involve her, or, indeed, anything other than their casual dinner-and-bed relationship. As the latest in a long string of lovers, she’d had ample opportunity to observe which of the women in Victor’s life had a longer run, so by the time his attention had turned to her—with a nudge or two from her, of course—she’d known to keep things light, casual, amusing, and undemanding.

  So far, it was working.

  And she didn’t intend to rock that particular boat unless and until she absolutely had to.

  She would regret losing Victor as a lover. He was very skilled.

  So she couldn’t ask him what she needed to know, not unless she had no other choice. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it, and pushing him was not a good idea.

  Emma was the logical answer. And Nellie knew just where Emma would be today at the festival. Crazy busy most of the time, so Nellie would have to time her approach.

  That was fine. Vic clearly expected to meet up with her at some point, so she needed to be flexible.

  Nellie debated, the whole time she was showering and getting dressed and drinking her morning coffee with a piece of toast, whether to confide in Emma about the note. It might cause her to open up. Or it could just as easily have the opposite reaction.

  Play it by ear.

  IT WAS EIGHT a.m. when a note was delivered to Navarro’s table in the dining room. A note from Emma saying simply that she was sorry but Jessie had slipped out even earlier than usual. She knew about Navarro’s presence, and Emma had tried to convince her to talk to her fellow operative, but she had the uneasy feeling that Jessie was hell-bent on finishing whatever it was she had started.

  Navarro sighed, not very surprised. Jessie was on the loose, and from everything he’d heard, all of Baron Hollow would be crazed today with the festival.

  Well, shit.

  She had picked a perfect time to be deliberately elusive.

  Navarro had been in the dining room for nearly an hour, and had gone ahead and had his breakfast because he’d had a strong hunch that Jessie wouldn’t show. He forced himself to open up his senses—all of them, in a trick Bishop had taught most of the operatives—searching for any sign that danger, to Jessie or anyone else, was threatening.

  The SCU agents had chosen to call it, at least among themselves, their “spider sense,” this heightening of the normal five senses to a point far beyond what most people could achieve. Even among agents and operatives, the ability varied greatly in strength and, as with all abilities, it wasn’t something every psychic could master.

  Navarro had mastered it.

  It was, in a way, like opening a door; sight, hearing, touch—all the senses became exquisitely sensitive, sometimes painfully so, and the sensory input could be overwhelming.

  He kept his gaze fixed on his coffee because if he looked up, he knew the room would seem uncomfortably bright. Besides, he was trying to focus, to reach out beyond this room. But for the first minute or two, he was busy pushing through the suddenly loud chatter of everyone in the room and out in the reception area, and the scents of the flowers on the tables and the perfumes and colognes worn by fellow guests, never mind the scents of bacon and eggs and onions…

  He pushed through that, concentrating.

  And on the extreme edge of his awareness, almost beyond his reach and for just an instant, he sensed something cold and dark.

  Then it was gone. His ears popped as though he were coming down from a high altitude, and he felt a faint throbbing in his head that he knew from bitter experience would torment him for a few minutes and then gradually lessen and disappear.

  Great. Just great. He sensed something cold and dark—which he already knew existed here. Somewhere. In someone.

  Way to go, champ.

  He needed to find Jessie. He needed to know what she knew or suspected.

  So far, he hadn’t seen Emma, but he was reasonably sure she was also already up and gone, helping prepare for the festival that began in only a couple of hours.

  The tables in the spacious room were far enough apart to offer privacy if a guest wanted to eat in solitude, but he had chosen a table for two, positioned so as to provide an unobstructed view both of the room and the foot of the stairs visible through the wide doorway to the entrance hall.

  Resigning himself to having to track both Jessie and Emma down in what promised to be an extremely crowded downtown Baron Hollow, he sipped his coffee, giving himself time until his head stopped throbbing, and looked around at his fellow guests of Rayburn House. Until now, he really hadn’t paid much attention to most of them.

  About half the tables in the dining room were occupied; though the inn had a full house, it was clear some guests either preferred the breakfast room service offered or else chose to eat somewhere in town. Or they slept in.

  There were several couples, mostly older and talking to each other or sipping their coffee in companionable silence, with the contented air of retirement and time pleasantly on their hands. One young couple was obviously on their honeymoon.

  Very obviously; they could hardly keep their hands off each other. It struck him only then that they must have been the couple he’d picked up on the previous evening.

  Navarro averted his eyes from what he supposed they believed was a private caress hidden by the tablecloth, and continued to study the other guests in the room.

  There were two other singles he had noted earlier: an older woman who always seemed to be reading a book, and an older man who apparently divided his time outside his room between the library when it was hot outdoors and one of the rocking chairs on the front porch when it was cooler, usually with a newspaper.

  Neither appeared to have any wish to be sociable, as far as he could tell. So at least Navarro wasn’t the only one who had kept pretty much to himself.

  The three paranormal researchers were at a table across the room, talking quietly among themselves. Navarro thought the woman still looked tired, but she was bright-eyed and smiling, so he supposed she was just one of those people who always looked frail even when they weren’t. Either that or she was determined to pretend she was fine when she wasn’t.

  Then she turned her head slightly, went visibly pale, and he saw her eyes widen.

  Without even thinking about it, he looked in the same direction, and thought later that his eyes had probably widened too.

  There was a woman standing in the doorway of the dining room. She was tall, slender, fair-haired. Early twenties. Dressed casually but definitely for winter. She might have been another guest, or someone from town who had stopped in at Rayburn House, inexplicab
ly wearing a quilted jacket in July.

  Except that she wasn’t.

  Navarro could see the stairs—through her.

  He didn’t recognize her.

  As he watched, his coffee cup half-raised, he saw her take a step into the room, then another, her gaze fixed on the table where the paranormal researchers sat. By the third step she took, everything about her had grown hazy, and by the fourth step it was as if a slight breeze had dissipated something formed of mist. She was gone.

  When Navarro turned his gaze slowly toward the table where her attention had been fixed, it was to see the brunette woman smiling and talking to her companions as though nothing had happened.

  Nothing at all.

  “BISHOP.”

  “Navarro. Listen, I have another question for you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you have somebody down here in Baron Hollow?” Navarro was in the fairly large garden behind Rayburn House, strolling along a brick-paved path that wound among planters and beds and pots overflowing with summer color. He was alone in the area, and he was far enough from the house to avoid being overheard.

  Besides, he doubted anyone could hear a quiet conversation going on back here when only a few blocks away it sounded like Armageddon. Or the festival getting under way. One or the other.

  Bishop said, “You know we can’t just send FBI agents into situations without evidence of a federal crime or an invitation from local law enforcement.”

  “That,” Navarro said, “was not an answer.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Navarro knew Bishop, and knew he’d get an answer when the SCU chief was ready to give him one and not before.

  Dammit.