Hunting Fear

CHAPTER 11

Tuesday, October 2

It was probably around two in the morning when a quiet storm began to rumble outside. Lucas lay in the lamplit room and listened to it, just as he had listened earlier to Samantha's soft breathing.

She slept with the boneless tranquillity of an exhausted child, held close to his side, her dark head pillowed on his shoulder. She fit him perfectly and always had, something that had once made him feel a wordless unease.

He wondered now why he had felt that way. And why he no longer did. Had he changed so much in three years? Or had it been then, as Samantha had said herself, simply a case of lousy timing? Not that the timing now could possibly be better. No one had to tell Lucas that he was not the easiest of personalities, or that he tended to keep others at a distance at the best of times, a trait that was magnified many times over when he was in the middle of an investigation. He was driven, obsessive, often single-minded to the point that he unintentionally shut out those around him. But that was the work, not his personal life.

Is there a difference?

Of course there was. He could separate the two.

Can you?

What had Sam said to him? That he had taken the easy way out, letting Bishop clean up behind him as he moved on and told himself it was for the best? Was that what he'd done?

Could he have been that arrogant? That cruel?

"You should sleep," she murmured.

She had always had that facility, he remembered, able to shift in an instant from deep sleep to full wakefulness. Like a cat, she was more likely to nap for short periods than to sleep heavily through the night, no matter how tired she was.

"I will," he said.

Samantha pushed herself up on an elbow to look at him, solemn. "Your gun's under the pillow, and you have one hand on it. Not exactly relaxed enough for sleep."

After a moment, he slid his hand out from under the pillow and lifted it to cup her cheek. As quiet as she had been, he said, "Christ, Sam, can't you see that you're in danger? The bastard is watching you."

"He's been watching you for months. And don't say you can take care of yourself. We both know I can take care of myself too."

"It isn't a matter of being able to take care of yourself. Lindsay could take care of herself, and she's dead."

"Okay, granted. But there's a patrol car with two deputies in it parked out front. The door's locked, and you've wedged a chair under the handle. And besides all that, if he was watching earlier, and he knows anything at all about you, about us, then he knows you're here with me, he knows you're armed, and he knows you're ready for him."

"Tonight."

"Yes, and after that little message of his, he isn't really likely to make another move tonight, is he? One of the objects of the game appears to be catching us off guard, so warning us ahead of time wouldn't be terribly smart."

"Yeah, I know," he admitted reluctantly.

Half consciously, she rubbed her cheek against his hand. "Then I think we're safe enough for tonight."

Lucas felt his mouth twist. "From him, I guess."

"But not from each other?"

He had to laugh, albeit wryly. "You have a unique way of cutting through all the bullshit, Sam."

"Life's too short for bullshit." Her smile was also a little wry. "Especially with a killer running around playing dangerous games. Luke… you don't have to tell me that neither one of us thought this through."

"Just like last time."

"Not quite."

"What's different, Sam? We're in the middle of an investigation, there's a deadly criminal on the loose, the media are swarming all over you and the carnival-"

"The difference," Samantha said, "is all a matter of expectation. I don't expect happy endings anymore, Luke. So you don't have to worry about that."

"Don't I?"

"No. When the investigation is over, you'll move on to your next case and I'll move on with the carnival. We'll continue with our separate jobs and our separate lives. Which is as it should be."

Her calm fatalism bothered Lucas, and he didn't stop to wonder why. "Says who?"

She smiled, dark eyes very steady. "Says me. I see what will be, remember? The future. And my future doesn't have you in it."

"You're sure of that."

"Positive."

"So I should just relax and enjoy the present, huh?"

"Well, this present. Tonight. Maybe a few more nights, if we can steal them." Her shoulders moved in a slight shrug. "That won't be so hard, will it? We were good together in bed. That hasn't changed."

"It wasn't all we were, Sam."

"It's enough for now."

Lucas might have argued, but her lips were on his, warm and hungry, and his body remembered hers too well and too eagerly to allow for clear thought. Or any thought at all.

She was right. They were good in bed. Very good.

The inn where Jaylene and Lucas were staying was across town from the motel nearer the fairgrounds and, unlike the motel, didn't have a manager who rented at least a few of his rooms by the hour. So it was a quieter place, back off the highway and far enough away from the nearest Wal-Mart to be out of the heavier traffic patterns.

Though they had been here only a week, Jaylene was as comfortable in her room as she was in her own home. One of her most jseful traits, Bishop had noted: she was a nester. So she was completely unpacked, her laptop set up on the small desk near her bed, ind she had even stopped by a local florist to get a small vase of lowers to make the generic room-without-a-view brighter.

If she had to live much of her life on the road, Jaylene intended;o be comfortable.

It was late, so she was already wearing her flannel kitty pajamas, but Jaylene was also a night owl and still up working on her laptop when the storm began-and her cell phone rang.

She checked the caller I.D. and then answered, "You're up late. Or are you still in another time zone?"

"No, we finished up in Santa Fe," Bishop said. He paused, then added, "I tried Luke earlier but got his voice mail."

"He was in Samantha's booth most of the evening. Probably turned his phone off or set it on vibrate after I interrupted a reading with a call."

"I just got the earlier report. Was there any luck in getting an I.D. of the man who passed on his little message through the teenager?"

"No. She didn't get a good look at him and, besides, isn't what you'd call a dependable witness. I think her comment was that he was 'old… like about thirty.' "

"Ouch."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, there was no way to contain that crowd soon enough, not out there. Luke called in some deputies to question all the ticket-sellers and people running the other booths before the carnival closed up shop for the night, but they were busy as hell for a Monday, and nobody remembered seeing anything useful."

"And Caitlin Graham?"

"Just what I reported. Possibly a message from Lindsay warning Sam to be careful because he knows. He is, presumably, the kidnapper. What he knows is still a mystery, at least to me. And all this is assuming the message is genuine, of course."

"You have your doubts?"

"About Caitlin's honesty, no. She definitely experienced something paranormal. I could still feel the energy in the room when I got there. But she also admitted that the phone connection-my second bad pun of the day-was iffy and she may have misheard. No way to know for sure, unless Lindsay gets back in touch." She paused, adding, "We could use a medium."

"Don't really have one available."

"Hollis?"

"No. Tied up on another case." He paused, then asked, "How is Luke holding up?"

"You know Luke. The longer this goes on, the more tightly wound he'll get. Finding out he's a personal target of a serial killer's twisted games didn't exactly make his day. Losing Lindsay was horrible, and he felt that on every level."

"And Samantha?"

"How is she, or how is Luke handling her presence here?"

"Both."

"She's quieter, more guarded. Maybe even secretive. Really pushing herself physically and emotionally to read every night, I think because of something she hasn't told us about so far. And she's had at least two nosebleeds that I know of, both after touching something or someone and getting a vision."

"Was there violence in the visions?"

"The first one, yeah, violent terror, according to what she told us. Second one, not so much. There was a suicide, but I don't think she actually saw that."

"Is she having headaches? Sensitivity to light and sound?"

"Dunno for sure. Sam's not one to give away much."

"Opinion?"

Jaylene considered briefly. "If I had to guess, I'd say she was having headaches. I know damned well she's tired as hell and not planning on taking a vacation anytime soon. Luke's worried about her, that's plain enough."

"How are they getting along?"

"Been able to work together, more or less. He's defended her to the sheriff. More or less. He believes what she's told us but also believes she's holding something back, and that hint of mistrust has been fairly obvious. If I see it, she sees it. They've been prickly as hell with each other, at least until tonight. I don't know, maybe they'll settle some things now that they have a little time alone together."

Bishop was silent for a long moment, then said, "You're all convinced this killer is still in Golden?"

She noted that he didn't even pay lip service to the "kidnapper" definition; to Bishop, a killer was a killer, period.

"We have no way of knowing for certain if the message Sam was given by the teenager was from the kidnapper or just some journalist yanking her chain. Could have been the latter; they want a story and she hasn't been real forthcoming from their point of view. She didn't get anything from the ticket he sent or the twenty he gave the girl, and neither did I. Only the girl's prints, naturally."

"Answer the question, Jay."

She didn't hesitate. "He's still here. For whatever reason, Golden's his endgame."

"Then he'll be abducting someone else."

"I don't find sure things very often, but I'd call that one."

"Testing Luke-or hurting him?"

"Either. Both."

"Which means the killer could be moving closer to Luke. Watch your back, Jaylene."

"I keep my weapon handy, believe me." She chuckled. "But I'm not feeling all that vulnerable, if you want the truth. I spotted your watchdog earlier tonight."

Sounding a little amused himself, Bishop said, "He must be slipping."

"Well, I'll let you tell him that. I gather we weren't supposed to know he was here?"

"Just a precaution. Does Luke know?"

"He hasn't mentioned it. I just noticed myself a few hours ago."

"Do me a favor and don't tell him unless he asks."

"Keeping secrets from my partner? He will not be happy when he finds out."

"Just tell him I asked, and let me deal with the fallout."

"Gladly. In the meantime, as I'm sure you're aware, the local police aren't all that inclined to keep an eye on Samantha for her own safety. And if Luke plans to stick close from now on, he may have to handcuff her."

"Depends on how things are going in that motel room," Bishop murmured.

Severely, Jaylene said, "I just meant that if he intends to be her watchdog for the rest of this case, then the only way the cops in the Clayton County Sheriff's Department are going to accept her presence is if she's handcuffed to his wrist and at least nominally under arrest."

"He can fake it if he needs to."

"You know, for someone who holds a position of legal authority as high as yours, you sure do like to throw away the rule book sometimes."

"Knowing the rules is one thing. Following them blindly all the time is something else again." Bishop sighed, his humor fading. "If it came to that, arresting Samantha would probably accomplish nothing more than brightening the media spotlight on the investigation."

"Yeah, but if she's always with Luke, that's going to happen anyway. A fed with a carnival seer as a sidekick? Or however they choose to define the relationship. And given the high moral standards of the media, sidekick is probably the kindest word they'd use."

"I wonder if Luke's considered that."

"I don't wonder. He hasn't. He gets tunnel vision, you know that. It's what makes him so good."

"And so difficult to work with."

"Have you heard me complain?"

"No, thankfully." Bishop sighed. "You two will just have to deal with Samantha's presence as best you can. In the meantime, I meant what I said about watching your back. If this killer wants to test Luke, he's likely to turn his sights on those closest to him. That means you."

"And Sam."

"And Samantha, yes. What bothers me about that message she was given is that there's no good reason for the killer to alert them he was watching. Unless…"

"Unless?"

"Unless it was sleight of hand. And if so, if Sam's the diversion…"

"Then where's the trick," Jaylene finished.

It was after five and still very dark outside when Samantha stirred and raised herself up slightly. Lucas lay on his stomach beside her, one arm thrown across her and his face half buried in the pillows. He was deeply asleep, totally relaxed in a way he never was while awake.

Samantha watched him for a long time in the lamplight, just studying his face. What he did aged him; he looked older than the thirty-five she knew him to be. At the same time, his was a face that the years would be kind to, and he would always, she thought, be a handsome man.

Of course, he'd also always be a pain in the ass.

She couldn't help smiling at the wry realization, and as she did, the lamp beside the bed flickered several times. She waited, watching it, and within a minute it flickered again.

Samantha slid out from under his arm and from the bed. She didn't take particular pains to be quiet; once Luke was asleep, it required either a very loud noise or the sense of danger to awaken him.

And no matter what doubts he might harbor when he was awake, Luke's subconscious knew she posed no danger to him.

She was counting on that.

Dressing quickly in warm clothing, Samantha went to the door and removed the chair wedged underneath the knob. She turned to the window by the door and peeked out. The patrol car set to watch the motel-Caitlin Graham, actually-was parked at the far end, closer to Caitlin's room, and Samantha could just make 3ut the deputies inside. As she watched, one got out of the car and walked around, yawning and stretching in an obvious effort to stay awake. The one on the passenger side looked as though he lad already nodded off.

Samantha waited until the deputy returned to the car and was facing away from her again, then picked up her key and slipped silently from the room. It took only seconds to vanish around the:orner and out of sight of the deputies.

She waited there for a minute or so for her eyes to adjust to the larkness, then got her bearings and moved away from the motel ind toward a little side street nearby. Within fifty yards, she:rossed the street and stood in the shadow of an old building that lad started out life as something better than the storage space it vas now.

"Good morning."

She didn't jump in surprise, but Samantha's voice was a bit tense when she said, "We need to discuss these little predawn meetings. What if your subtle signal with the light alerted the deputies or woke up Luke?"

"The deputies were all but snoring and not even facing in the direction of your room. As for Luke, once he sleeps, he sleeps like the dead, we both know that. I was counting on you to put him to sleep."

"Quentin, I swear-"

"I wasn't insulting you. Would I do that? I only meant… Well, never mind." Hastily, he added, "I gather he isn't suspicious?"

"He's plenty suspicious. He knows damned well there's something I'm not telling him."

"Well, now, that surprises me. You being such a good actress and all."

Samantha shifted a bit to take better advantage of what little light was available to her, and peered up at him. "Are you trying to make me mad this morning?"

"Take it easy. Jesus, you're as prickly as Luke is. Fine pair you make." Quentin shook his head.

"That," she said, "remains to be seen. I can't stay away long; is there anything I need to know?"

"Yeah. The boss says we're running out of time."

"And they pay him the big bucks to state the obvious?"

Quentin's white teeth flashed in a grin. "You are not going to let him off the hook, are you?"

"Not if I can help it, no."

He smothered a laugh. "Well, I'm not saying he doesn't deserve to be given a hard time in this particular case, but later would probably be better. He's serious, Sam. We've reached a critical point, and if we can't get past it successfully, then this bastard will get away from us here."

"And if he does?"

"You know what happens if he does. You saw it. And what you saw is… unacceptable. We stop him here. Whatever the cost."

"Easy for your boss to say. He's not in the line of fire."

Quiet now, Quentin said, "Yes, he is. We all are."

After a moment, Samantha nodded. "Yeah. I know. Doesn't really make it easier, though."

"No. It never does."

"Look…" She hesitated, then finished, "I don't know how much I can control from this point on. How much I can change. [fs already gotten off-track."

"You mean you and Luke?"

"That didn't happen. It didn't happen because I wasn't here. And I don't know what it'll change. Maybe the wrong things. Maybe too much."

Musingly, Quentin said, "I've got to hand it to Bishop; he said you'd be wavering about now."

She stiffened. "I am not wavering."

"It wasn't an insult," he said in an absent tone. "He said to remind you that when we all agreed to take the first step and try to change what you saw, we were committed. If we stop before the job's done, we could make everything far worse."

"Worse than losing Lindsay?"

"There was nothing you could do about that."

"No?" Samantha let out a brief sigh. "I don't know anymore, she shouldn't have died, Quentin. That's not what I saw."

"You weren't sure what you saw when all this started, not about hat. About most of the victims. You saw the devices, the… brutal fficiency of an assembly-line killer. And you saw him operating far beyond Golden once he finished up what he meant to do here. No matter what, we can't allow that to happen."

"I know. I wouldn't be here if I didn't agree with that goal. But the balance started to shift somehow with Lindsay; I picked up that handkerchief at the carnival and saw another victim killed on the day Lindsay died. So why didn't it happen? Why was it Lindsay instead?"

"Maybe because you warned the intended victim."

She hadn't really considered that, but even as she did, Samantha was shaking her head. "I warned Mitchell Callahan, and he still died. No, it's not that simple. It's something else. It feels like something else."

"What does it feel like?"

Frustrated, Samantha snapped, "If I knew that-"

"Okay, okay," Quentin soothed. "Look, all we can do-is all we can do. Maybe you'll figure out what feels wrong as time goes on. Maybe you won't. Either way, it doesn't change the game plan."

Samantha offered a last objection. "I don't like being dishonest with Luke."

"You're not lying to him, just… omitting some things."

"And you're splitting hairs."

Quentin sighed. "Do you want to stop the killer?"

"Dammit, of course I do."

"Then play the cards in front of you, the way you've done since you came to Golden. You don't have a choice, Sam. None of us has a choice now."

Samantha drew a breath and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. If I'm right, we should be getting another message from the kidnapper, but this one written. A taunt, probably connected to another abduction. It'll be Luke's first real chance to try and get inside his head."

"An opportunity we need."

"I know."

Frankly, Quentin asked, "Can you do what needs to be done now that you and Luke are lovers?"

"I'll have to, won't I?"

It was Quentin's turn to nod, but he added even more seriously, "The boss also said to tell you to take it easy and rest when you can. Nosebleeds are never a good sign, not for psychics. You burn out now, and we've lost our rudder."

Wryly, she said, "Yeah, well, just tell the captain to keep a steady hand on the wheel, okay? Because the rudder can't hold to the course without it."

Reflectively, he said, "We're getting deep into metaphor here. Never thought of Bishop as a captain. But…"

"It's too early for word games," she said. "You guys stick close, that's all I'm asking."

"Will do."

Samantha lifted a hand in farewell, then moved quickly back across the street and to the motel. She was able to slip back into her room without any sign that the deputies out front had seen her, and as she closed the door behind her she saw with relief that Lucas was still sleeping deeply.

She wedged the chair back under the doorknob and took off her jacket and shoes but didn't bother to undress; it was after six and would be light soon, so she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.

Instead, she got one of the books off her dresser and sat in the eading chair, stretching out her legs and gently resting her feet on he bed. She sat there gazing at Luke's sleeping face for a long ime, then stirred and opened her book.

Softly, she murmured, "You aren't in my future, Luke. Unless I put you there."

Jaylene was still yawning over coffee when Lucas and Samantha rrived, and she knew with one glance that there had been some disagreement.

The observation was confirmed when Samantha said with faint irritation, "Just how long do you think the sheriff will suffer my presence here? Morning, Jay."

Lucas said, "If he wants to argue about it, I'll argue. Whether he likes it or not, we need you. Hey, Jaylene."

"Coffee's fresh," she informed them.

Samantha said, "I should be at the carnival. I have things to do."

"Sam, do we have to keep arguing about this?" He handed her a cup but didn't let go until she met his gaze. "I want you here. I need you here."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, fine."

It might not have been gracious acceptance, but at least it was acceptance, and Lucas was visibly relieved.

Jaylene knew why. Samantha could be rather slippery when she didn't want to be somewhere.

They sat down at the conference table with their coffee, but Lucas barely had time to ask Jaylene if anything new had come in from Quantico-and she barely had time to reply in the negative- when Deputy Champion knocked on the open door.

"Hey," he said. "I thought the sheriff might be in here."

"Haven't seen him." Lucas looked at the younger man, his brows rising. "Something new?"

Champion sighed and hesitated, then said apologetically, "Sheriff said to take anything to him first, but-hell, it's got your name on it."

"What's got my name on it?"

"This." The deputy produced a small manila envelope, which he slid across the table to Lucas. "It was mixed in with the regular mail, so God knows how many people have handled it. I figured anything useful would be inside anyway."

Lucas was staring down at the envelope. "What tipped you off?" he asked.

"No stamp, let alone a postmark." Champion shrugged, hesitated, then turned and left the conference room.

"Luke?" Jaylene was leaning toward him. "What is it?"

"Addressed to me here at the station. Neatly typed. And Champion was right-no stamp. It had to be hand-delivered." He left the table long enough to don latex gloves, saying, "We all know there won't be prints on it, but might as well follow protocol."

Making an observation, Jaylene said, "The flap is fastened but not sealed. And no licked stamp. He's taking no chance of leaving bit of his DNA, is he?"

"He knows better," Samantha said.

Luke nodded in agreement. The two women watched as he arefully opened the fastened but not sealed envelope and drew ut a single page that had been folded only once. He unfolded it on le table, and they could all see it.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "The bastard's just having fun. Why use newsprint when he has a virtually untraceable ink-jet rinter?"

"For the effect," Samantha murmured. "Imagining our faces, And for the hands-on precision of cutting and pasting the letters and words."

Lucas nodded again in absent agreement, even as he bent forward over the note. It looked crude, the words made up of different-size newsprint, but it was brief and to the point.

THERE IS ONLY ONE RULE, LUKE. GUESS WHAT IT IS. I HAVE HIM. IF YOU DON'T FIND HIM IN TIME HE DIES. HAVE A NICE DAY.

"Him?" Lucas looked at the women, frowning. "He's already taken someone? Who?"

There was a long silence, and then Samantha said very quietly, "Maybe we'd better look for the sheriff."

Wyatt Metcalf felt a little groggy and wondered what the hell he'd had to drink before going to bed. He didn't remember much, just the overwhelming urge to get drunk so he could sleep.

Apparently, he'd been successful, because he felt like he'd been sleeping for a hundred years.

He yawned and tried to shift a bit, realizing only then that he couldn't move. His eyelids felt as if they'd been lined with sandpaper, and it took three tries to force them to scrape across his undoubtedly bloodshot eyes and open.

Everything was blurry at first. He blinked painfully until his eyes finally teared a bit so he could see.

What he saw didn't make sense at first. It didn't make sense because it defied belief. Sturdy wood. A rope-no, a cable. And a heavy, gleaming blade of steel.

A guillotine?

Now, what in the world-

He turned his head a little, watching the light glint off that sharp, sharp blade. The blade that was poised to drop.

He didn't really get it until he tried again to move, then craned his head to see as much as he could. What he saw, finally, made sense.

Terrifying sense.

"Oh, shit," he whispered.