Sleeping With Fear

by Kay Hooper

  “Well, at least we didn’t go to bed mad. My mother insists that’s the secret to happy relationships. Never go to bed mad.”

  Ash smiled, but said, “I know this psychic deal with us is one-sided, but I don’t have to be clairvoyant or telepathic to know that all this casual humor is more of that dandy camouflage you pull on the way other people pull on their socks. So what’s really bothering you?”

  Riley looked at her hand on his thigh, to any outward observer the casually intimate touch of a lover but to her a connection that might well be vital to her very survival, and spoke slowly.

  “When I woke up after that Taser attack, it was like there was a kind of veil between me and the world. Everything was…muffled. Muted. Faded. Once I was able to tap into your energy, that veil began to disappear.”

  “But?” he prompted.

  “Back there, in the Pearson house, a couple of times I…felt myself starting to drift. Even with you touching me, even with plenty of energy, it was difficult to focus.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “That’s what worries me. It felt like something outside myself.”

  “But you were picking up information outside yourself while we were there. How was this different?”

  “Because it wasn’t just there in my mind, like the clairvoyant bits or Jenny’s thoughts. It was…pulling at me.”

  “Sounds like a confirmation of your theory.”

  “Yeah. Which is all fine and dandy, except that if I felt the attempt, whoever was on the other end felt the failure of it.”

  “You mean, if there really is somebody out there trying to mess with your mind—”

  “Then whoever it is not only is still trying, but may now be aware that the attacks are less successful. That I somehow have the means to fight back. And I’m guessing the next attempt will be the sort with teeth and claws.”

  “You know,” Gordon said after having been brought up-to-date, “I really wish now I hadn’t called you down here, babe.”

  Riley shrugged. “I have an enemy, that’s clear. If it hadn’t been here, this way, it would have been somewhere else and maybe another way. I’m glad it was here, Gordon.” She nodded toward Ash.

  “Well, I’m glad for you, on that account. You been needing somebody to run in harness with as long as I’ve known you.” He looked at Ash, adding, “A lightning rod for trouble. Can’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  “Trouble she can mostly handle,” Ash pointed out dispassionately.

  “Yeah. But, see, the thing is, it never occurs to her that maybe she shouldn’t handle everything that comes along all by her lonesome. That it’s not just about what she can do, but also about what she should do. And sometimes that means acceptin’ a helping hand.”

  “Stop talking about me as if I weren’t here, Gordon. Besides, I have help now—you two.”

  “And you managed to keep both of us out of the loop for the better part of three weeks,” he countered.

  “Okay, okay. But you’re in the loop now, so some brainstorming would be helpful. I hope.”

  They were seated around a patio table and under the shade of an umbrella behind Gordon’s house and near his dock, a place which provided both privacy and a refuge from the hot afternoon sun.

  Gordon pursed his lips. “I guess you’ve already made your enemies list?”

  “More or less.” She and Ash had discussed that over lunch. “You know as well as I do that I made a few in the army when I worked intelligence and investigation. And since I joined the SCU I’ve helped put away some genuinely evil scum. But that’s the thing—they were put away. Or killed.”

  “None of them on the loose?”

  “Not that I can find out. We went back to my place after lunch long enough for me to get online and check the databases.”

  “Which she had apparently done before, during one of the blackouts,” Ash added.

  Gordon frowned. “So you been thinking about enemies for a while now.”

  Riley nodded. “Looks that way. My computer log shows I not only checked but also double-checked the whereabouts of every perp I helped put away during the last five years. They’re all dead or safely locked up still.”

  “Maybe you need to go back further.”

  With a slight grimace, Riley said, “That takes me back to active service overseas, when enemies were all over the place. But I doubt any of them would target me specifically, at least to this extent; they saw the uniform, not Riley Crane.”

  “Then maybe this isn’t personal.”

  “It feels personal. Very personal. Very specific in terms of an attack. Like somebody figured out what makes me tick and deliberately aimed to take away all my defenses. Not just the spooky senses, but even my memories, my sense of self. Gordon, somebody has been getting inside my head.”

  “You sure about that, babe? I mean, no disrespect, but, fact is, your memory is shaky and the spooky senses are AWOL, so—”

  “They aren’t AWOL anymore, thanks to Ash. Not a hundred percent yet, but getting there.” She sent Ash a quick smile when he reached over and took her hand.

  “So what’re they telling you?” Gordon asked.

  “That I’m part of the puzzle. Maybe even the reason all this is happening. That somebody has been getting inside my head.”

  “And using black-occult energy to do it?”

  “At least partly.” Riley frowned. “I’ve been trying to think of a possible enemy with that sort of knowledge, because it really is specialized and not something you read about in a textbook. But I’ve only encountered two black-occult practitioners during investigations, and both of them are dead.”

  Ash said, “You only mentioned one when we talked at lunch. The last time you investigated supposed occult activity, a few months back, and found a serial killer operating.”

  She nodded. “He wasn’t psychic but had learned how to channel dark energy pretty damn effectively nevertheless. At least to the extent of being able to…oh, cloud my senses, for want of a better phrase.”

  “Which is what this enemy seems able to do,” Ash pointed out.

  “Yeah, but aside from the fact that I was present when the guy was autopsied, his effect on my senses was very different from what I’m going through now.”

  “Maybe because he didn’t Taser you first,” Gordon suggested.

  That possibility gave Riley pause. “Well…could be. If you start out with an artificial disruption of the electrical activity of the brain, any additional sort of attack is bound to have a more extreme result. On the other hand…”

  “What?” Ash was watching her intently.

  “I’m just wondering if the Taser was the initial attack. If whoever this is has the ability to channel dark energy, then maybe he was having an effect on me from the very beginning. Blocking me somehow, distracting me. Slowing my reaction time, even clouding my judgment. Maybe that was why I had the sense there was something wrong here, despite the lack of any real evidence of occult activity—before we found Tate’s body, at least.”

  Gordon shook his head slightly, and said, “I’ve seen your spooky senses at work long enough not to easily doubt them, babe, but I got to wonder this time. If you’ve got an enemy deadly enough to set all this up as a lure to get you here and then spend weeks messing with your head and your life, how can you not know who he is?”

  “I thought I did know,” Riley admitted. “Especially when I found out about the serial the police are after in Charleston. But it can’t be him, that’s why I didn’t mention him. He’s dead.” Bishop said so, and I can trust that.

  “Who did you suspect?” Ash asked.

  “The only other serial I’ve ever encountered who had an interest in the occult,” Riley said. “John Henry Price.”

  She thought for an instant it was only her hand that had gone cold suddenly, but then she realized it was Ash, his hand, and when she looked at his face, the coldness went all the way to her bones.

  “You knew him,” she said.<
br />
  “Still no luck?”

  Leah looked up from her desk, surprised that the sheriff had come to her rather than summon her to his office. “The background checks? No, nothing new. We do have confirmation of Jenny Cole’s marriage to Wesley Tate—and their divorce. Just as she said.”

  “Shit.” Jake scowled. “There’s gotta be something more.”

  “Sorry, but so far nada. None of the group was anywhere in the area when the arson took place, so we can’t connect any of them to those crimes. So far, all the background checks are coming up clean, just like the preliminary ones did. A couple of watch groups that keep an eye on occult activities have these people on their lists, but nothing violent has ever been reported, much less proved.”

  Still scowling, Jake said, “What about the background check on Tate? Any reason somebody’d want to kill him?”

  “Nothing’s come up so far.”

  “Nothing nothing, or just nothing you consider motive enough?”

  Leah blinked. “Sheriff, as far as we’ve been able to determine, Wesley Tate was respected in the business community of Charleston and well-liked. He didn’t date much, there was no special woman in his life, and the women he had seen in the last year or so were available and without obvious jealous boyfriends, past or present. Everybody liked the guy. Everybody we’ve talked to seems genuinely shocked he’s been killed—especially like that.”

  “No interest in the occult—despite his ex-wife’s lifestyle?”

  “He was a Baptist. A deacon of his church, and in the family pew every Sunday.”

  “Including the years they were married?”

  “Yes. According to friends and family, he just said she ‘wasn’t religious’ whenever anyone asked. Didn’t seem to be a big deal to him, as far as anybody could tell.”

  “And his will?”

  “Bequests to friends and family, most to charity.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. A half-dozen charities he gave to while he was alive pretty much split his estate now. And, before you ask, his ex-wife was not mentioned. At all. So it looks like Jenny Cole was wrong in believing he was still hoping for a reconciliation.”

  “Then why’d he invite them here? Come to think of it, why here? He didn’t live in Castle, on Opal Island. Not a single realtor has him on the books as a previous tenant, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why here? Why invite them to a place he’d never been to himself?”

  “He may have come here before as part of a group,” Leah pointed out. “Just never had a previous rental in his name, is all.”

  Jake grunted. “Or maybe he used his version of your famous pin-in-a-map way of deciding his future.”

  Leah cleared her throat. “You weren’t supposed to hear about that.”

  “I hear everything. What about Tate’s phone records?”

  “They back up what Steve Blanton told us. Tate called the house where the group was living outside Columbia.”

  “Did he call anybody here in Castle? On the island?”

  “Not as far as we’ve been able to determine.”

  Jake swore, not exactly under his breath.

  “Sorry, Sheriff, but it’s a dead end. Pardon the pun.”

  He turned without another word and stalked back toward his office.

  Not exactly beneath her own breath, Leah muttered, “Thanks so much, Deputy Wells, nice job. I’m sure talking to all those shocked people wasn’t much fun but, hey, them’s the breaks.”

  “I heard that!”

  She winced and reached hastily for her phone, rolling her eyes when one of the other deputies in the bullpen grinned at her.

  Riley drew her hand away from Ash’s, repeating slowly, “You knew him.”

  “No. And yes.”

  She waited.

  Ash glanced at Gordon, then returned his intent gaze to Riley’s face. “I told you I left the Atlanta DA’s office because I got tired of the politics.”

  A memory, wispy and incomplete, flitted through her mind, but Riley made no effort to catch it. She simply waited.

  “That was only part of the truth. I also left because I lost a case I should have won. Before he started his multistate crime spree, John Henry Price was indicted for one count of murder in Atlanta. He was guilty. I couldn’t convince a jury.”

  This time, the memory surfaced clearly in Riley’s mind. “I never saw your name. In the case file. Just the notation that Price was only caught once, in Atlanta, more than five years ago. That he stood trial and was acquitted.”

  His mouth twisting, Ash said, “Circumstantial evidence, not so unusual in a murder trial. But it was enough, I thought. It needed to be. Because I looked that man in the eye…and it was like looking into hell itself.”

  “I know,” Riley said. “I tracked him for months. I stood over the hacked-up bodies of his victims. I even got inside his head. Or—he got inside mine. Whichever. By the time I caught up to him, I’m not sure I would have taken him alive even if I’d had the chance.”

  Ash drew a breath and let it out slowly. “I never saw your name either. Just the newspaper reports that he’d been shot and killed by a federal agent. After killing all those men. Men he never would have killed if I’d done my job.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. He was smart. And he was careful.”

  “And a good prosecutor wouldn’t have let him get away.” Ash shrugged. “That’s knowledge I live with every day.”

  After a long moment, Riley reached out and twined her fingers with his once again.

  Gordon, who had watched and listened without a word, spoke up then to say slowly, “Am I the only one at this table who doesn’t really believe in coincidence?”

  Riley shook her head.

  “Me either,” Ash said. “But I don’t see the point. I mean, if we’re saying this has something to do with Price.”

  “He’s dead,” Riley said. “They never recovered the body, but he’s dead.” But hunting him is one of the strongest memories in my mind. I keep reliving that time, like flashbacks. There must be a reason for that. There must be.

  Gordon rubbed his jaw briefly, then said, “You said he got in your head or you got in his. That couldn’t still be, right?”

  “No. I’d know if that were the case. The unit’s had to deal with cases where disembodied energy—a soul, if you like—was able to inhabit and even control another individual.”

  “Possession?” Ash shook his head. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Stick with me and I’ll take you to all the impossible places.” Riley sighed. “Possession may be real enough, but I don’t see it in this case. Tracking him like I did, whether he was in my head or I was in his, I got to know him very, very well. Price had a soul so black I don’t see how it could…hide…inside another person. Not without giving himself away.”

  “The murders in Charleston?” Gordon wondered.

  “A copycat, according to Bishop.”

  “And he’d know?”

  “He’d know.”

  “Okay. So maybe you and Ash both having a connection to Price doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Yeah. And you also believe in the Easter bunny.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Gordon reminded her. “We’ve both seen ’em. You say Price is dead and isn’t walking around wearing somebody else’s body, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “I wish,” Riley said, “it was good enough for me.”

  2½ Years Previously

  Got you,” Riley whispered, her eyes fixed on her quarry as he walked briskly along the buckled sidewalk. To call the area shabby would have been a considerable understatement; these dark streets close to the river had pretty much been abandoned long before, when a spring flood had turned this port into no more than an inlet far from the flow of traffic.

  It was nearly dawn, the full moon low and bright in the sky, and Riley had been shadowing Price all night. She had expected him to make a move
long before now, but although he had been in and out of several different bars, he had left each one alone. And currently he was headed for what used to be a major dock but was now mostly a rickety wreck with a few small boats tied alongside it.

  Riley was conscious of a prickle of unease, but she didn’t allow it to cause her to hesitate. She had her weapon in hand and was dressed for tracking tonight in jeans and track shoes, and most importantly, she had John Henry Price in sight.

  No way was she backing off just because of some nameless anxiety.

  Except…after more than a week of glimpses, why had he been so visible tonight? Hell, why had he let himself be seen at all?

  Let himself?

  You’re falling behind, little girl. Can’t keep up?

  Riley picked up her pace instinctively, pushing the doubts aside. She was not going to miss this opportunity.

  But…why was he moving along the dock now, past the boats, toward the end where there was nothing except murky, slow-moving water?

  Because it ends here, little girl.

  She hadn’t realized they were so close, less than ten yards apart, when he whirled suddenly to face her, his hand lifting, arm extending.

  Fast as she was, Riley had barely begun to react when the gun bucked in his hand and she felt the bullet slam into her.

  You don’t get to win, you bastard. You don’t get to win!

  I’ve already won, little girl.

  But even as she was falling, Riley was taking aim, driven by a determination stronger than anything she’d ever felt before to stop Price here and now. She shot twice as she was falling and three more times after she was on the ground.

  And hit Price square in the chest.

  His gun fell from his hand and he staggered back a step or two, teetered for a few eternal seconds at the end of the dock, and then went over backward into the sluggishly moving river.

  Vaguely aware of the throbbing agony in her left shoulder, Riley lay on the ground and stared at the end of the dock, where Price had stood. Instinctively, she tried to open her mind, her senses, and even as she heard the distant sirens begin wailing, she could have sworn there was a final whisper in her mind.