by Kay Hooper
“But if he knows he’s going to kill them, why bother to keep them blindfolded?”
“We have no proof that he does.”
“I’m telling you. He does. Right up until the moment they find out they’re going to die, he keeps them blindfolded.”
“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Metcalf demanded.
“As I said, Sheriff, I don’t expect you to believe me. But Luke knows I’m telling the truth.”
Eyeing the federal agent, Metcalf said, “You two obviously have a history of some kind. Do you believe her?”
The silence dragged on much longer than was comfortable before Lucas finally replied.
“Yes. I believe we can trust what she knows. What she sees.”
Samantha, hearing the qualifiers, smiled wryly. But all she said was, “So why keep them blindfolded if he knows he’s going to kill them anyway? Why kill them? What could he possibly gain by killing them?”
“You tell me.”
“Points, I guess. In the game. Maybe . . . if he gets his money, he also gets points. If you don’t get to the victims before he gets his money, he wins points. You rescue a live victim, and you get points. Which means he’s ahead on points.”
“Goddammit,” Metcalf muttered.
She glanced at him. “Sorry to sound flippant, Sheriff. See, the thing is, all I really know is that he’s playing a game and Luke is his opponent. Everything else is guesswork.”
“This is insane,” Metcalf said.
“Oh, I agree. He’s probably insane too, the kidnapper. That broken mind we were discussing. Broken and brilliant.”
“Why brilliant?” Lucas asked.
It was Jaylene who replied to that. “Because you’re very good at what you do. Because the odds are always stacked against a successful kidnapping, and this guy has been successful way too many times. Because it isn’t about the money.”
Samantha nodded. “He’s invented a very special game just for the two of you to play. And don’t think he doesn’t know his opponent. The first few kidnappings may well have been test runs, just to lure you in and watch what you did.”
“I can’t believe you’re buying any of this,” Metcalf said to Lucas.
“You don’t know all the background, Sheriff,” Lucas responded, frowning. “The cases going back eighteen months. This . . . theory . . . fits.”
“It’s not a theory, Luke,” Samantha said flatly. “It’s a fact. This is all a game to him.”
“Games have rules.”
“Yes. Which means you have to figure out what his rules are before you have a hope in hell of saving the next victim’s life, catching him—and winning the game.”
3
Tuesday, September 25
“I don’t need watchdogs,” Carrie Vaughn said with a considerable amount of force. “I can take care of myself, and I don’t like people hovering around me.”
“They aren’t hovering, Miss Vaughn. I’ve got a patrol car parked across the highway on that old dirt road; you can barely see them when you look out a window.” Sheriff Metcalf kept his voice as patient as possible. “They’re just keeping an eye on things, is all.”
“Because some gypsy fortune-teller says I’m in danger? Jesus, Sheriff.”
“I have to act on information received, Miss Vaughn, especially when we’ve already had one kidnapping that ended in murder.”
“Information from a fortune-teller?” She didn’t try to hide her disgust. “I hope you aren’t planning on running again at the next election.”
The rest of the conversation was brief, and Metcalf hung up the phone a minute or two later, scowling. He turned to face Lucas, who was on the other side of the conference table, and said, “Tell me again why we’re listening to her.”
Lucas didn’t have to ask which “her” the sheriff was referring to. “She’s genuine, Wyatt.”
“You’re saying you believe she can see the future before it happens.”
“Yes.”
“Because she proved it to you in the past.”
Lucas nodded.
“I’ve never in my life met a gullible cop. You sure you’re a fed?”
“Last time I looked.” Lucas sighed. “I know it’s difficult to accept, especially given her role in a carnival.”
“You can say that again. I think the lack of credibility sort of accompanies the purple turban.”
“She warned you about Callahan.”
“A fluke. A coincidence. The one lucky guess in a thousand tries.”
“And if she’s right about Carrie Vaughn?”
“The second lucky guess.” Metcalf grimaced when Lucas lifted an eyebrow at him. “Okay, so a second lucky guess that specific would be pushing it. But you are not going to convince me that she can see the future.”
Lucas had heard that particular note in someone else’s voice often enough to recognize it: for Wyatt Metcalf, believing that it was possible to see the future before it occurred was a direct challenge to some deep and long-held belief. It would require drastic evidence to convince him, and he would be angry rather than happy if that evidence presented itself.
So all Lucas said was, “Then treat her information the same way you’d treat any anonymous tip; take precautions and check it out.”
“In this case, watch Carrie Vaughn and wait.”
“I’d say so. Unless and until we have another lead or information more useful than this lot.” He gestured toward the files, reports, and photos spread out on the conference table.
“Nothing positive from Quantico?”
“Not so far. Your people are thorough and well-trained, just as you said; they didn’t miss anything. Which means we’re not left with much in the way of evidence.”
“What about that handkerchief Zarina says she got her vision from?”
Lucas cleared his throat. “At Quantico being tested. We should have the results by tomorrow.”
Metcalf eyed him. “Something on your mind?”
“I wouldn’t keep calling her Zarina if I were you.”
“What, she’s going to put a gypsy curse on me?”
“She isn’t a gypsy.”
Metcalf waited, brows raised.
Lucas really didn’t want to get into this with the sheriff, and that reluctance was in his tone when he said, “Look, she doesn’t deserve scorn or ridicule. You don’t believe she’s a genuine psychic, that’s fine. But don’t treat her like a joke.”
“I can’t get past the turban,” Metcalf admitted.
“Try.”
“I seem to remember you making a crack about the circus being in town.”
“I’m allowed,” Lucas said wryly, even as he wondered if Samantha would agree with that.
“Oh?”
“I don’t think I’ll show you my scars, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Ah, so there is a history.”
“You didn’t need a crystal ball to figure that out,” Lucas muttered, frowning down at the postmortem report on Mitchell Callahan.
“No, it was fairly obvious. And very surprising. I don’t see you as the type to visit carnivals.”
“No.”
“Then she was involved in one of your cases before this?” Metcalf didn’t try to disguise his curiosity.
“Something like that.”
“I gather it ended badly.”
“No, the case ended successfully; we got the guy.”
“It was just the relationship that tanked, huh?”
Lucas was saved from replying when Lindsay spoke from the open doorway.
“Jesus, Wyatt, you’re worse than a woman.”
“I was investigating,” he told her.
“You were being nosy.” She came into the room, shaking her head. “Luke, Jaylene’s on her way in. She says she didn’t get anything new from Mitch Callahan’s wife.”
“Well, we didn’t really expect to,” he said. “But the base had to be covered.”
“So this is what you guys have been doi
ng for a year and a half?” she asked, curious herself now. “Zipping around the country on that private jet of yours as soon as the kidnapping reports come in? Double-checking everything, combing through reports, talking to family and coworkers of the abductees?”
“When we get a case after the fact, yes.” He knew the frustration was in his voice but didn’t try to hide it; after more than twenty-four hours in Golden and working with Wyatt and Lindsay, they knew much more about the serial kidnappings and Lucas felt more comfortable with what they knew.
He had not, however, told them the whole story of the SCU or his own and Jaylene’s abilities, an omission that bothered him less on his and Jay’s account than on Samantha’s.
A sobering realization.
“What about when you get the case right away—after the abduction but before the ransom is paid or a body found?” Lindsay was asking, still curious.
“It’s only happened twice, and both times we were a step behind him all the way.” He hesitated, then added, “In fact, I got the distinct feeling we were being led by the nose.”
“Which,” Lindsay said, “lends weight to Sam’s theory that this guy is playing some kind of game with you, and has been for some time.”
It was Metcalf who said, “You two seem to be getting awfully chummy.”
“You mean just because I don’t treat her like a leper the way the rest of you do? That I might sit down and have a cup of coffee and a conversation with her?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The hell you don’t.” Lindsay shook her head. “She volunteers to stay here at the station, under your and everybody else’s eye for the duration, and you’re still acting like she stole your dog.”
“Dammit, Lindsay, I’m getting a lot of questions and you know it. I can’t hold her here legally, and explaining that she’s here voluntarily just opens up a whole new can of worms.”
“I don’t see why it should,” Lindsay responded. “She has a cot in one of the interview rooms and she’s paying for her own food, so it’s not like the taxpayers have an extra burden. The press certainly understands what she’s trying to do.”
“Oh, yeah,” the sheriff said sardonically, “they had their headlines for today, all right. Gypsy Seeks to Prove Innocence by Remaining in Police Custody. The problem is, the more astute among the media have figured out that the only way she can prove herself innocent doing this is if we have another kidnapping while she’s in custody.”
“Tomorrow’s headline,” Lucas murmured.
Metcalf nodded. “Judging by the questions I’ve been getting. Naturally, they’re wondering how we could expect another kidnapping. As Luke and Jaylene pointed out yesterday, most kidnappers don’t try it twice, and very few even stick around after a successful delivery of the ransom.”
With a grimace, Lindsay said, “I hadn’t thought about that. But of course they would wonder, wouldn’t they?”
“And they aren’t the only ones,” the sheriff told her. “The mayor called, as well as two members of the town council, demanding to know why I believe someone else could be kidnapped and whether I know who it will be.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell them.”
“Of course I didn’t tell them. There’s no way I’m going to admit to anyone that the ravings of a lunatic carnival fortune-teller are dictating any part of this investigation.”
Lucas stopped himself from wincing at Metcalf’s vehemence, but it was another reminder that Bishop had been right to take the course he had while forming the unit. As unbelievable as psychic abilities often seemed, people were far more inclined to at least accept the possibility when the ones who claimed to have them worked in “serious” jobs and relied on scientific explanations—even if the science was speculative—to describe and define their abilities.
And having a federal badge didn’t hurt.
“Wyatt, she’s not a lunatic and she hasn’t been raving,” Lindsay objected. “Besides, with all the psychic stuff you see on TV and in the movies these days, people are a lot more open to the idea than you might think. Most people, anyway.”
“If you’re talking about that guy on TV who claims to read minds, all I can say is that you’re a lot more gullible than I ever would have imagined, Lindsay.”
“He’s very convincing.”
“He’s a con artist. It’s called a cold reading, and whatever skill it takes I can promise you isn’t paranormal.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” she said.
“Want to bet?”
The argument might have continued indefinitely if one of the young deputies hadn’t knocked on the doorjamb just then, peering into the conference room with a very anxious look on his face. “Sheriff? If it’s okay, I need to run home for a few minutes. I know I’ve already had my lunch break, but—”
“What’s up, Glen?”
“It’s just . . . I need to make sure Susie and the baby are okay. I called, but didn’t get an answer.”
“Maybe she has the baby outside,” Lindsay offered. “It’s a nice day.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’d like to be sure.” He smiled nervously. “Maybe it’s just being a new dad, but—”
“Go ahead, take off,” Metcalf told him. “You’ll worry ’til you know for sure.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
When the deputy had gone, Lucas didn’t give the other two a chance to resume their argument. At least in his presence. “Since we agreed to split the duty as much as possible, why don’t you two go on to lunch? I’ll wait for Jaylene to get back, and we’ll go later.”
“Suits me,” Metcalf said.
Lindsay agreed with a nod, and the two left.
It was probably five minutes later that Lucas swore under his breath when he realized he’d read the same paragraph three times and still didn’t know what was in it. Instead of trying again, he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table, arguing silently with himself.
Finally, however, he admitted defeat just as silently and got up. He left the conference room and made his way to the lower level of the sheriff’s department, which housed the jail cells and interview rooms.
The deputy on duty down there nodded as he passed, then returned to the magazine in his hands. The only occupant of the cells was one very unhappy young man brought in on a destruction-of-property charge, and he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to cause any trouble, so the deputy’s only responsibility was to keep an eye on the cells and on the closed door of Room 3.
Where Samantha Burke was currently staying.
The door wasn’t locked. Lucas hesitated, then knocked once and went in.
The small room was normally spartan, with a table and chairs, a security camera high in one corner, and a small TV high in the opposite one; the addition of a cot and the duffel bag holding Samantha’s things reduced the floor space considerably and did nothing to make her temporary accommodations even appear to be comfortable.
She was sitting at the table, a soft drink and a Styrofoam box containing a partially eaten salad before her.
“Still eating like a rabbit, I see,” he said, mostly for something to say.
“Old habits.” She sipped the drink, eyeing him, then said dryly, “And I doubt interest in my lunch is what brought you down here. What’ve I done now, Luke?”
“That deputy, Champion. He brought you your lunch, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Did he drop something? Did you touch his hand?”
Coolly, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about him leaving here one breath away from panic to rush home and check on his wife and kid.”
“New dads worry, I’m told.” Her voice was still cool. “And he’s such a proud one. Showed me a picture. Pretty wife, cute kid. He’s right to be proud of them.”
“So that was it. You touched the picture. And?”
She leaned back with a sigh. “And I told him
he needed to go home and unplug their clothes dryer until he can get someone to check it. Because it could cause a fire.”
“When?”
“Today.” Samantha smiled wryly. “His wife dries clothes in the afternoon, when the energy demand is lower. Plus the baby likes the sound, it helps her to go to sleep. But drying clothes today wouldn’t be a good idea. So I told him that. And even though he didn’t want to believe me, I expect he went home to unplug that dryer. Just in case.”
He’d been watching her for a while now, so he had her routine down pat. He knew when he would take her, and how. By now, that part of things was almost second nature, so that he could perform on autopilot.
That wasn’t the fun part, not anymore.
This was the fun part, and he was enjoying himself even more knowing that at last all the necessary players were in place and paying attention.
He’d begun to think they would never catch on.
But now . . . now they were finally starting to understand, and all the long months of planning and careful, calculated actions had put all the pieces on the game board.
Really, it was all falling into place so beautifully that it made him wonder if there actually was a God.
He hummed to himself as he checked the seals, making certain there would be no leaks. Going over it meticulously, because he refused to make mistakes.
It wouldn’t be a true test of which one of them was smarter if he made any mistakes.
So he checked every inch, every detail, going over and over the plan until he was absolutely positive there was nothing left out, nothing forgotten, nothing wrong.
He polished the glass and metal until there was no hint of a fingerprint or even a smear, vacuumed the space for the third time, compulsively took apart all the connections so he could wipe down each component individually.
They would find only the signs he wanted them to find.
When he was done this time, he stood back and studied the room, playing out in his head how it would be. She was tough, so he didn’t think she’d be all that scared at first. Which was good for his purposes.
Once he’d figured out it was the fear that drew Jordan, he had chosen his lures even more carefully. He liked the tough ones, the ones that didn’t scare easily. Because that made it all the sweeter when they realized what was going to happen to them and how helpless they were to stop it.
