Hunting Fear

CHAPTER 10

Sam-" Lucas knew the instant Samantha touched the sheriff that she'd been yanked into a vision. What surprised him was how frozen Wyatt seemed to be, his gaze fixed on her face while his own was both pale and somewhat defiant.

"She is wide open," Lucas muttered, watching them. "It wasn't like this before."

"We all mature in our abilities," Jaylene reminded him. "It's been three years, so maybe a lot has changed."

"Maybe. But for her to do this… Dammit, I warned Wyatt to get off her case."

"He seems the type that needs to learn a lesson the hard way," Jaylene suggested wryly. "Maybe it had to happen, sooner or later."

Lucas half agreed with her, but then he realized that Samantha's nose was bleeding. Swearing under his breath, he went quickly around the table to her, digging for his handkerchief and saying to Jaylene, "Not if this is the price."

"I've never seen-"

"I have." He grasped Samantha's wrist and firmly pulled her hand from Wyatt's shoulder. "Sam?"

"Hmm?" She blinked and looked up at him, frowning, and accepted the handkerchief he gave her as if it were something alien. "What's this?"

"Your nose is bleeding."

"Not again. Shit." She pressed the handkerchief to her nose and looked at Wyatt, adding, "I'm sorry. That was an invasion of privacy, and unforgivable."

"You said it, not me," he muttered. But he was watching her intently, frowning, and no one had to ask what he was thinking and wondering.

"I'm also sorry about your friend," she told him matter-of-factly. "But we both know the seer who told him he was going to die didn't force him to kill himself."

He paled and went very still once again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Samantha knew all too well that most people disliked having their secrets dragged out into the open, and it went against her nature to expose Wyatt's when there were others present. But the other two people in the room were also psychic, and as much as she hated doing it, Samantha felt that they all needed to know why Wyatt Metcalf so hated and distrusted "fortune-tellers."

"You were very young," she said, holding her voice level. "Maybe twelve or so. You weren't here in Golden-it was on a coast somewhere, at the ocean. You and some friends went to a carnival, and on a dare you all had your fortunes told by the seer."

"She was no seer. She-"

Samantha kept talking, ignoring the interruption. "She let all of you remain in her booth while she told your fortunes, one by one. Most of what she told each of you was vague and positive, not surprisingly. No reputable psychic would ever deliberately tell a client- especially a young one-that something tragic would happen to them, particularly if they could do nothing to avert that fate. But your friend, your best friend, was troubled. He'd been troubled a long time, and you knew it. He'd even talked about killing himself."

"He didn't-I didn't believe-"

"Of course you didn't believe him. Who believes in suicide at twelve except someone who wants to die? But the seer believed him. She knew he was serious, and she took a chance. With all of you listening, she warned him that he would die if he didn't change his life. And that dying would solve nothing, help nothing, and only hurt those he left behind." Samantha paused, adding quietly, "She was trying to help."

"No," Wyatt said. "If she hadn't said that, hadn't put it into his head-"

"It was already in his head. Already his fate. And you know it was. If you want to go on blaming her, then at least be honest with yourself. She wasn't trying to con anybody or deceive anybody, and she certainly intended no harm. She did the best she could for a stranger."

Wyatt stared up at her for a long moment, then pushed back his chair, got up, and left the conference room.

"I just keep making friends, don't I?" Samantha murmured, refolding the handkerchief and pressing it to her still-bleeding nose.

Realizing he was still holding her wrist, Lucas let her go, saying, "Nobody likes their secrets dragged out into the light."

"Yeah. But at least we know he has a reason for his distrust and dislike-not to say hatred. I really was hoping it wasn't just blind prejudice."

She sounded tired, and Lucas heard himself say roughly, "Dammit, will you go back to the motel and get some rest?"

"Maybe I'll take a nap before tonight." She looked at the clock and grimaced. "Or maybe not. Damned makeup takes forever if I want to do it right and not scare the clients."

"Sam-"

"I'll be fine, Luke."

"Will you?" He grasped the hand holding the handkerchief and drew it back so they could all see the scarlet blood. "Will you?"

She looked at the handkerchief, then up at him, saying only, "Has it stopped?"

She had the darkest eyes he'd ever known, unfathomable eyes. He wondered just how much she had not told them. He also wondered why he was so hesitant to press her in order to find out.

And it was Jaylene who answered her finally, saying, "Looks like it. Sam, I don't have to be a doctor to guess that nosebleeds triggered by a vision aren't a good sign." She considered, adding, "If you'll forgive the pun."

Samantha waited until Lucas released her hand, then refolded the handkerchief again and dabbed at her nose to wipe away the last of the blood. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

Lucas moved away far enough to rest a hip on the conference table, and said, "It's happened before, hasn't it? Earlier today?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Jaylene's right, Sam. It is a sign." He tried to control his voice sut knew it emerged harshly. "A sign that you're pushing yourself too hard. The last psychic I saw have regular nosebleeds ended up in a coma."

After a moment, Samantha said, "Twice in one day isn't regular. It's… an aberration."

"Jesus, Samantha-"

"I'll get this laundered and back to you. Good luck in searching Lindsay's place. Hope you find something. See you later, Jay."

"Bye, Sam."

Lucas remained where he was for several moments, then said to his partner, "I've never met anybody so goddamned stubborn in my life."

"Look in the mirror."

He turned his head to frown at her, but said only, "She needs to be watched, especially tonight while she's reading. Whatever this bastard's rules are, I'm willing to bet they don't include sticking to the timetable we've come to expect."

"No, that would probably be too predictable of him. So you really do believe Sam's at risk?"

"He knows about her. He maneuvered her here. That means she's important to him or his game."

Jaylene nodded. "Agreed. But, Luke, other than Glen Champion-who's already pulled a couple of double shifts in the last few days-there's nobody in this department who would willingly guard Sam. And you know as well as I do that unwilling cops can be more dangerous than no cops."

"I'll do it."

Jaylene didn't ask him how he planned to watch Samantha twenty-four hours a day. Instead, she said, "We'll get going on canvassing Lindsay's building and searching the apartment. I'll call Caitlin Graham and tell her. As a matter of fact, I think I'll ask Wyatt to assign a couple of deputies to keep an eye on her."

"Think she might be a target?"

"If he was watching to see who found the pendant, he knows she's here. Better to be safe."

"Yeah."

"The pendant's on its way to Quantico; maybe they can come up with something useful. In the meantime, we have the photos here, if you want to take another look at it."

"You didn't get anything at all from it?"

"No. Maybe because Sam already had." She shook her head. "I really don't like to think about this guy being so far ahead of the game that he knew Sam would get her hands on that pendant."

"Neither do I."

"Think he's psychic?"

Lucas frowned. "No. Everything we have so far suggests that he's maneuvering people, maybe influencing or even creating events, but nothing says he's anticipating them in any paranormal sense."

"Then how did he know Sam would touch the pendant?"

"Logically. We've agreed he knows about her. That means he knew or could strongly suspect that she'd get involved in the investigation."

"Especially with you here," Jaylene murmured.

Lucas ignored that. "Logically, he could assume that sooner or later Sam would be asked to touch any object or evidence we bund."

"Umm. Now tell me how he managed to imprint all that energy, all that fear, on the pendant."

"I don't know. Unless…"

"Unless?"

"Unless he carried it from the beginning. Unless it was a kind of… silent witness to everything he did. All the terror he created. All the pain and suffering. All the death. Nothing Sam described sounded like one of the kidnappings or murders, but maybe she got a glimpse into his soul. Maybe that's what she saw. Images of terror and death."

"Christ. No wonder she got a nosebleed. It's a miracle she didn't have a heart attack."

"Yeah." Lucas straightened and glanced toward the door, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, and his absent voice reflected that when he said, "Call me if the canvass or search of Lindsay's apartment turns up anything."

"You don't expect it to."

"I think the only thing he left there was what he wanted us to find. The pendant."

"So who makes the next move?"

"I do." He walked out of the room.

Gazing after him, Jaylene murmured, "Wrong chessboard, though. Then again… maybe not."

Caitlin didn't protest when two deputies from the sheriff's department knocked on the door to her room and announced that they'd be close by, should she need anything. She was somewhat relieved, in fact, since the occasional media person-apologizing profusely for "intruding"-persisted in knocking on her door.

She watched from the window as the cops turned away another one not ten minutes after they arrived, and shook her head as the disappointed young woman took her little cassette recorder and returned to her car.

It made Caitlin feel more than a little queasy. What did they expect from her? A sound bite about grief? How it felt to have a sister murdered? A dramatic direct appeal from her to the killer to give himself up?

Jesus.

She moved away from the window and sat on the bed for a moment staring at the muted news on TV, then rose again, restless but barred from moving very far in any direction. Small motel rooms provided little space and even less interest, she'd decided.

Room with a bed, low dresser with the TV atop one end and a big mirror above the other. Nightstands. A round table with two chairs near the window, so-called reading chair on the other side of the bed near the bathroom. Tiled bathroom, with just enough counter space for the little coffeemaker and maybe a small case of toiletries.

Caitlin knew every corner. She knew one of the chairs at the table sat unevenly on its legs. She knew the right-hand nightstand had a drawer that stuck. Ironically, she thought, the drawer containing the Bible.

She knew the shower nozzle was frozen in position so that it couldn't be adjusted, that the water stream was just enough un-derpressured to be an irritant. She knew the towels were rough. She knew the bed sagged.

It was edging into evening on the day of her only sister's funeral, and Caitlin was alone in a fairly shabby motel room she knew too well in a town she hardly knew at all.

Why had Lindsay chosen this little town in which to live? Because being a cop in a small town was simpler? Because it was easier to be a cop when you recognized most of the faces you saw in the course of your day, when you knew the people you worked to serve and protect?

"I wish I'd asked you, Lindsay," Caitlin heard herself murmur. "I wish I'd asked you."

She jumped as the TV suddenly switched channels and came unmuted, the dry dialogue of an old movie filling the silence of the room. Frowning, she got the remote from the nightstand and hit the previous channel and mute buttons.

Silence fell as the TV returned to the earlier settings.

Caitlin sat back down on the bed, sighing. The news was depressing, so an old movie might just as well-

The TV began cycling through its channels, pausing on each one only a few seconds before going on. The mute function again turned itself off, and the volume rose slightly. An old movie. A sitcom from the seventies. A biography on a long-dead film legend. A science program on dinosaurs. Music videos.

Unnerved, Caitlin quickly reached for the remote and this time turned the set off.

Silence.

But before she could put the remote down again, the set came back on and, again, cycled steadily through its channels.

Caitlin turned it off again, and this time went over to fumble behind the dresser and pull the plug.

As she straightened in the silent room, the lamp on her nightstand flickered, dimmed, then went out. Seconds later, it came back on.

"A problem with the power," Caitlin said aloud, hearing the relief in her voice. "That's all it is-"

The phone on the opposite nightstand offered an odd, abbreviated ring. Long moments passed. It rang again, and again the sound was shortened, wrong.

Caitlin chewed on her bottom lip, watching the instrument as one would watch a coiled rattlesnake. When it rang again, she went slowly over and sat on the edge of the bed. Drew a deep breath. And picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

Silence greeted her. But not an empty silence. Instead, there was a low hiss, the faint crackle of static, and an almost inaudible hum that made Caitlin's teeth ache.

She hung up quickly and stared at the phone. Weird. But just… weird. Uncommon, but not unexplainable. There had been storms recently, and the phone lines were probably old and wonky in a little town like this anyway-

The phone rang again, this time one long, continuous ring.

She stood it as long as she could, then picked up the receiver again. "Hello? Who the hell is-"

"Cait."

It was almost inaudible, but clear for all of that.

And it was her dead sister's voice.

"Lindsay?"

"Tell Sam… to be careful. He knows. He…"

"Lindsay?"

But the voice had faded away. Caitlin sat listening to the weird, hissing silence for a long time before she finally replaced the receiver with a shaking hand.

Despite Samantha's words to her earlier today, Caitlin had never believed there was anything beyond death.

Until now.

As soon as the shaken client backed out of the booth, Lucas emerged from the curtains behind Samantha to say, "You were too blunt, telling him he wasn't going to get that promotion."

"He won't get it." Samantha rubbed her temples. "And stop backseat reading, will you?"

"You wouldn't have been so blunt if he hadn't been a journalist, that's all I'm saying."

"I thought journalists were supposed to be hot after the truth."

"In a perfect world. These days, it's mostly being hot after a good story and hang the truth."

"You've gotten more cynical." She eyed him as he came around her to check the curtained front entrance of the booth. "I can't imagine why," she added dryly.

He turned to look at her, saying only, "Nobody waiting at the moment, so it looks like you'll get at least a short break."

"I had a break an hour ago when Ellis brought tea," she reminded him. "Luke, I don't need a watchdog."

"The hell you don't."

"I don't, whatever you think. And, besides, it's distracting to have your cell phone ring from behind me when I'm trying to concentrate."

"I forgot to set it on vibrate, sorry. Jay was just reporting in on the canvass and search. It'll take at least another day to talk to everyone in Lindsay's building, but so far no joy-and they didn't turn up anything useful in her apartment."

"Big surprise."

He sighed. "Well, we had to try."

Samantha watched him steadily, forcing herself to stop rubbing her temples before he commented on it. "You think the kidnapper will take someone else soon?"

"I think he'll make some kind of a move. He has to know that the longer he's active here in Golden, the more time it gives us to find him." Lucas shrugged. "It'll take time to check out every property in the area, but it can be done. The town's small enough that we can probably talk to every household individually, not just the remote ones."

"And he's bright enough to know that. He can't afford to stay here for much longer. So he has to move faster, force your hand."

"I would, in his place." He studied her, then said, "I never could get used to talking to you as Zarina. It's not so much the shawls and turban as it is the makeup. You do a very skillful job of aging yourself."

"A true glimpse into the future." She smiled wryly. "It takes less makeup now than it used to, of course."

"Without the makeup you still look like a teenager."

"I wasn't a teenager even when I was one. You know that."

"I never knew it all, though, did I?"

Samantha wasn't at all sure she wanted to drift into this territory with Lucas, but the strange and unsettling day seemed to have done something to the guards she normally kept raised solidly between them. Her head throbbed, and she reached up again to briefly rub her temples, hearing herself say, "You didn't ask. I didn't think you needed to know."

He took a step toward her and leaned his hands on the back of the client's chair. "Would you have told me, if I'd asked?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. We were sort of busy, if you recall. There wasn't a lot of time to dredge up the past."

"Maybe that's what we should have done. Taken the time to do."

More than a little surprised, she said, "You were obsessed with the investigation, remember?"

"Missing kids do that to me."

Again, Samantha was surprised, this time by the defensive tone in his voice. "I wasn't criticizing. Just stating a fact. Your focus was on the investigation, as it should have been. The timing for anything else was, to say the least, lousy."

"So I'm forgiven?"

"For what happened during the investigation, there's nothing to forgive. I'm a big girl, I knew what I was doing. For what happened after… Well, let's just say I learned my lesson."

"Meaning?"

Samantha was saved from replying when a new client appeared hesitantly in the curtained doorway. Lucas was forced to retreat to the area behind Samantha, and he was clearly not pleased by the interruption.

As for Samantha, she had to mentally prepare herself yet again to read, even as she was automatically beginning her spiel for at least the tenth time that evening.

"What may Madam Zarina see for you on this night?"

The teenage girl sat down in the client's chair, still looking hesitant, and said, "I'm not here for a reading. Well, not really. I mean, I have this"-she placed her ticket on the satin-covered table- "but I didn't pay for it. He paid for it."

Everything in Samantha went still, and she was conscious that, behind her, Luke had frozen as well. Relaxing her voice into its normal tones, she asked, "Who paid for it?"

The girl blinked in surprise at the change, but answered readily, "That guy. I don't know him. Actually, I couldn't see his face very well, because he was standing in the shadows near the sharpshooting booth."

Because she couldn't help it, Samantha said, "You're a little old to need to be warned not to speak to strangers. Particularly strange men."

"Yeah, I thought about that," she confessed. "After. But, anyway, there were people all around, and he didn't come near me. He just pointed to the edge of the counter there at the booth, and I saw a folded twenty and this ticket. He said the twenty was mine if I'd come tell you that he was sorry he missed his appointment."

"His appointment."

"Yeah. He said to tell you he was sorry about that, and he was sure he'd see you later." She smiled brightly. "He seemed awfully sorry about it."

"Yes," Samantha murmured. "I'll just bet he was."

Jaylene said, "We've checked the phone lines, Caitlin. The phone company says they're working fine. There's nothing wrong with them."

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Caitlin said, "I'm not surprised. Or very reassured." She eyed the other woman uncertainly. "Sam told me that if anything happened, I should call you. She said you'd understand."

Jaylene sat down at one of the chairs at the table and smiled faintly. "I do understand, believe me. And if it helps, what you experienced is fairly common, one of the most common events in the annals of the paranormal."

"It is? But I'm not psychic."

"No, but you shared a blood connection with Lindsay; the bond between sisters is usually one of the strongest, no matter how emotionally distant that may seem during adulthood. There are many documented cases of recently deceased persons appearing or speaking to relations. Since you were her sister, it makes sense that if she tried to reach out, you would be the one best able to hear her."

"Through the goddamned telephone?"

Jaylene said, "It does seem weirdly prosaic, doesn't it? But, again, it isn't terribly uncommon. Our best guess is that, like so much about psychic ability, it has to do with electromagnetic fields. Spiritual energy appears to be based on that, so it follows that the need to communicate could be directed through the natural conduits of power and phone lines. Energy manipulating energy."

"So she couldn't just talk to me, she needed to use… a device?"

Jaylene hesitated, then said carefully, "I've been told by mediums that there's a transition time between death and the next phase of existence. During that time, it requires an exceptionally powerful or determined personality to communicate at all to a nonpsychic. It's fairly difficult for them to communicate even to psychics. The fact that Lindsay was able to reach you is remarkable enough. That she was actually able to speak to you…"

"Have you ever talked to the dead?" Caitlin demanded.

"No."

"Well, it's creepy, let me tell you." Caitlin shivered unconsciously, then frowned. "What about what she said? The warning to Samantha?"

"I'll certainly pass it on. My partner is with her now, so she should be safe enough." It was Jaylene's turn to frown. " 'He knows.' Knows about what?"

"Beats me. But it must be important, or Lindsay wouldn't have worked so hard to get through to me." She eyed the unplugged TV uneasily. "At least, I think that was her, scanning through the channels. It didn't hit me at the time, but when we were kids she used to drive me crazy turning the channels constantly. So do you think that was her?"

"Probably. Televisions seem more easily affected by spiritual energy, or so I'm told. Something about the literal transmission of energy through the air around us."

Caitlin was more interested in results than in methods, at least at the moment. "Do you think… she'll try to get in touch again?"

"I honestly don't know, Caitlin. If it's important enough to her, then maybe. Try, at least. Though it may take a while to refocus her energy." Jaylene studied her for a moment, adding, "If you'd rather not be alone, then I'm sure we can arrange something."

"No. No, that's okay. If Lindsay wants to communicate, I want to hear what she has to say. I didn't listen enough when she was alive, so I'm damned well going to listen now."

"She wouldn't want to scare you, Caitlin."

"She would if that's what it took to get my attention. She was very single-minded, my sister."

"In that case, you may be hearing from her again."

Dryly, Caitlin said, "Anything you want me to ask her?"

"Well, I would suggest you ask if she knows who killed her, but we've tried before and that question never seems to get us anywhere."

Briefly distracted, Caitlin said, "I wonder why?"

"Our boss says it's the universe reminding us that nothing is ever as simple as we think it should be. He's probably right. He usually is."

"Mmm. Do you think I will be able to communicate with her? Or just… receive?"

"No idea."

"Will I mess up anything by trying?"

Jaylene smiled and shrugged. "There aren't any rules, Caitlin. Or not many, at any rate. Do whatever feels best to you at the time."

"Easy for you to say."

"Unfortunately, it is." Jaylene got to her feet, still smiling. "I'll call Luke and let him and Sam know about the warning. In the meantime, the two deputies will be outside keeping an eye on this place. If you need anything, or you feel too uneasy to be alone, let them know."

"I will. Thanks, Jaylene." Caitlin sat there for a long time after the other woman had gone, until it occurred to her that she was waiting-and that this room was going to get very quiet and very boring if she just sat here for hours.

What she needed to do, she decided, was what she would usually do this time of the evening. Call the nearest Chinese take-out place and order her dinner to be delivered and settle in for the night.

Reaching for the phone book in the nightstand drawer, she murmured, "I'm ready when you are, Lindsay."

And she could have sworn the lamp beside her flickered. Just a bit.

Samantha unlocked her motel-room door and came in, saying, "There are two deputies out there keeping an eye on this place; why do you have to be here too?"

"Because they aren't watching you, they're watching Caitlin."

"And because they wouldn't get out of their car to help me if I was on fire?" Samantha waved away his response before he could offer it, adding, "Never mind." She was almost too tired to care. About anything.

"Sam, you heard what that kid told you."

"I heard a lot of things tonight, most of them inside my own head. I'm tired of listening."

"Sam-"

"I'm going to take a long, hot shower. Do us both a favor and don't be here when I get out."

His jaw firmed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Samantha heard a little laugh escape her. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you." She got a nightgown from one of the dresser drawers and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. All her toiletries were there, as well as her robe, and she lost no time in stripping off and stepping behind the shower curtain into the tub.

It was after eleven, the usual time she tended to return from the carnival when she was working. And usually, after the hot shower, she ended up lying in bed staring at the TV or reading far into the night. She was a voracious reader, partly due to a stubborn determination to be well-educated despite her lack of formal schooling, and partly out of simple interest.

Letting the hot water stream over her chilled skin, Samantha tried her best to get warm even though she knew the cold came from inside, where no amount of hot water could touch it. It came from that limbo where the visions took her, where even the wispiest bit of precognitive or clairvoyant knowledge came from, a place she had tapped into far too many times today.

She hadn't been lying to Luke. She had heard too much today, and it had left her feeling raw and, for one of the few times in her life, unsure of herself.

So the kidnapper was watching her.

She had expected that, sooner or later, but still…

What was her next move?

She stood under the hot water for a long, long time before finally, reluctantly, getting out and drying off. She towel-dried her hair but didn't do anything more than finger-comb it, put on her nightgown and wrapped herself in the thick terry robe.

As promised, Luke was there when she came out. He was sitting in the so-called reading chair, his feet propped up on the bed, the television tuned, low, to the news.

His holstered gun was on the table near his hand.

That indication of her own vulnerability made Samantha feel even more raw, and she heard herself say tensely, "Don't you have someplace else to be? I mean, isn't there an investigation in full swing right now?"

"It's been a long day for everyone," he reminded her, oddly quiet. "We'll start fresh in the morning."

A little voice in her head warned her that it had been a long day and that decisions made when she was this tired had always, always backfired on her, but Samantha ignored it. No more voices. Not tonight.

"I hated you for a long time," she told Lucas.

He got to his feet slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry. Hating you was better than hurting. I wasn't going to let you hurt me, no matter what. That's why I laughed when you said you hadn't meant to hurt me. You didn't. I didn't let you."

He took a step toward her. "Sam-"

"Don't you dare tell me you're sorry again. Don't you dare."

He took another step toward her, then swore under his breath and yanked her into his arms.

When she could, Samantha murmured, "Took you long enough. Here we are, right back where we left off. In a cheap motel room."

"It wasn't cheap," Lucas said, and pulled her with him down onto the bed.

Samantha had believed she'd forgotten how it felt, his body against hers, his mouth seducing her. That she had forgotten how well they fit together, how his skin burned beneath her touch, how her own body responded to his with a fierce pleasure she had never known before or since.

She had believed she had forgotten.

She hadn't.

Part of her wanted to hold back, to save something of herself, but she had never been able to do that with Luke. And he was just as unrestrained, his mouth eager on hers, hungry on her body, his hands shaking as they touched her. Even his voice, when he murmured her name, sounded rough, urgent, as potent to her senses as any caress.

Two wary, prickly, guarded people forged a connection in the only way they would allow themselves, flesh to flesh and soul to soul. And even as she lost herself in the pleasure of it, Samantha was conscious of an almost wordless hope.

That, this time, it would be enough.