Sleeping With Fear

Chapter 17

She called Gordon from Ash's Hummer, using his cell and plugging it into the car charger even before she began to place the call.

"Saves time," she explained to Ash. "It's why I didn't even bother to bring mine; I seem to be pulling energy out of them."

"I gather that's new," he said, not really a question.

"They never last long as a rule but, yeah, the speed they're dying on me is new. At this rate, I'll count myself lucky if the Hummer doesn't die on us."

Ash eyed the vehicle's power outlet and shrugged. "I'll keep the engine running."

Riley placed her call, and as soon as Gordon answered, asked without preliminaries, "Did I talk to you yesterday?"

Gordon, unflappable under even extreme conditions, replied simply, "No. Haven't seen or heard from you since Tuesday morning."

"Damn."

"Why? What's changed?"

"I'll fill you in later."

"Yes," Gordon said. "You will."

"It's okay, I'm with Ash. Will you be home this afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I'll be in touch."

Riley closed the phone and placed it, still plugged into the vehicle's power socket, on the console between the two front seats. Then she automatically leaned back away from it.

Ash said, "Have another PowerBar."

Riley dug into her shoulder bag for one of the half dozen she'd brought with her, saying only, "It's getting obvious, isn't it?"

"Your hands are shaking," Ash replied. "There are a few bottles of orange juice in the cooler behind your seat. After what happened yesterday at the crime scene, I figured I'd better stock up."

She managed to get a bottle without having to climb back there, and washed down the PowerBar with the juice. "This," she said, "is getting ridiculous."

"It's getting scary," Ash said, his tone remaining calm, almost offhand. "I know you said things could get worse, but…"

"This isn't what you bargained for. Sorry."

Ash sent her a glance. "I can handle whatever I have to, Riley. You're the one I'm worried about."

She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to focus, to steady herself. "I have to figure out what's going on. If there really are black-occult rites being practiced here, and why. Why Wesley Tate died and whether I was somehow involved in his murder. Why I was attacked. Even why I'm getting worse instead of better when the attack against me was days ago. It all fits somehow. It's all part of the puzzle. I just have to find all the pieces."

"And then put them together so they make sense."

"Yeah." Riley reached for another PowerBar. "And I've got around thirty hours in which to do it. Otherwise, by the end of the day tomorrow, Bishop will recall me. And I'll spend the next month being tested from my DNA outward and looking at inkblots for SCU doctors."

"For a number of reasons," Ash said conversationally, "I'd rather that not happen."

"Me either."

"So how can I help?"

"Just try to keep me focused."

"Do my best." He turned the Hummer into the short driveway of Wesley Tate's rental and parked.

It wasn't a crime scene, so the big third-row house hadn't been taped off or left under guard. But Riley had nevertheless called Jake before they left her rental to ask his permission to go through the place, and also requested that he and Leah meet them at the Pearson rental in an hour or so.

He had agreed to both requests and cleared their visit to Wesley Tate's rental with the realtor, so someone from that office met them at the house with the key.

She was a gorgeous brunette dressed to kill-or seduce-and Riley knew the instant she set eyes on Colleen Bradshaw that here was one of those "available" women in Ash's life.

It wasn't just the outfit, far more dressy than was the norm on the island; realtors showed houses to prospective renters and buyers, and Riley had seen enough of them to know that most dressed well during office hours for just that reason. It wasn't even the warm smile or the way Colleen touched Ash's arm three times during the brief introduction to Riley.

It was the way that smile never reached her chilly gray eyes.

This woman hates me.

Riley was mildly surprised but not disturbed; she had too many things on her mind to worry about Ash's former lovers.

Much.

"Jake said I was to give you the key," Colleen said to Ash, handing it over as if it were a precious jewel that needed to be placed reverently into his palm. And caressed for a beat or two.

Riley shifted her stance slightly, just to make the gun she wore on her hip more obvious. "Thanks, Ms. Bradshaw," she said in the indifferently polite tone reserved for bank tellers and waitresses. "We'll see that it gets safely back to your office when we're done here."

"Of course. It was nice to meet you, Agent Crane."

"Likewise. Oh-Ms. Bradshaw? Did you meet Wesley Tate? Speak to him?"

"Sorry, no. Another agent handles this account."

"I see. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Ash, I'm sure we'll be talking."

"See you later, Colleen."

They both watched the tall brunette fold herself-with quite unnecessary ceremony, Riley thought-into her little sports car and drive away, and it wasn't until then that Riley said, "How long did that last? You two?"

Ash didn't seem surprised. "A few months over last winter."

"Obviously she wasn't the one who broke it off."

"No." Ash held up the key she'd given him. "Shall we?"

"Ah. You don't kiss and tell. Good to know."

"There isn't anything to tell." He led the way to the front steps of Wesley Tate's rental. "An attraction, but not a lot in common."

"A spark but no fire."

"Exactly."

"So how come she hates me?"

Ash was smiling faintly. "Does she hate you?"

"Innocent isn't a good face for you, Ash. There's something completely unnatural about it."

"Why would you think she hates you?"

"Let's just say I'm glad I was the one with the gun."

He paused at the top of the steps to look at her, still smiling. "Jealousy. This is a new side of you. I think I like it."

"I am not a jealous person. And I have nothing to be jealous about. Do I?"

"Of course not."

"Well, then." So what if that Amazon is six feet tall and dresses like she should be standing on a street corner somewhere? So what? Why is this bugging me so much?

Why am I even thinking about this?

"Okay, you're not a jealous person." Ash unlocked the door and opened it. "Shall we?"

"I'm really not a jealous person. And, anyway, you're supposed to be helping me stay focused."

"Right. Sorry."

I am a cop, and this is where a murder victim lived the last days of his life. At least-

"How long was Tate here before he was killed?" she asked, putting leggy brunettes out of her mind as they went into the house.

"Not long. He got here on Saturday." Ash was all business now.

"Jesus. Did he even have time to unpack?"

"According to Jake, there's clothing from an overnight bag in the master bedroom and a shaving kit in the master bath. Either he wasn't planning to stay long or expected to buy whatever else he needed."

They walked from the foyer into the great room, a living and dining area that lived up to its name; it was not only a huge, open space but had been decorated with high-end products and furnishings and the very latest thing in amenities, including a large-screen plasma TV and a fireplace.

Momentarily distracted yet again, Riley indicated the fireplace. "Does anybody around here even use those?"

"We have a few chilly nights in winter. Not many, as a rule, but a few. Rentals with fireplaces do better in winter, obviously."

"Oh. Makes sense, I guess." Focus, dammit. Focus. Riley looked around at what was a very large house, clearly designed to hold a dozen or more people. "How many bedrooms?"

"Six. And seven baths. There's a level below this floor and one above."

Frowning, Riley went over to one of two refrigerators and opened it. "Curiouser and curiouser," she said. "It's stocked." She checked the other one. "Both of them are stocked. Bet the pantry is too."

"Yeah, Jake said the local grocery store made a big delivery on Saturday, before Tate arrived. Prearranged. People go online and make out their shopping lists ahead of time; the store delivers as soon as the cleaning crew is out behind the previous tenants. The delivery people put away perishables and leave the rest on the counter for the renter."

"I had no idea you could do that," Riley said, closing the fridge door. "I just stopped on the way in and bought what I needed."

"Frozen pizza and PowerBars mostly. Yeah, I remember."

"If you don't cook, that's what you buy." She frowned again. "Question is, why did Tate have so much food delivered? What's in there would feed a dozen people or more for a couple of weeks."

"I would say he was expecting company. And for more than just a meal or two." Ash studied her. "Are you getting anything clairvoyantly?"

"I haven't tried. Yet." As difficult as it was for her to concentrate, Riley was more than a little bit wary of dropping her guard.

Assuming she still had a guard, which was probably arguable.

"So what's the plan?" Ash was still watching her. "I don't know much about this kind of thing, but I'm guessing the guy didn't leave a lot of his own…energy…here anyway, not considering how little time he spent here. A cleaning crew was here the day he checked in, and Jake's forensics team is neater than most and clean up after themselves, so this place has pretty much been spit-shined."

Riley wondered if he was offering her an out because he was afraid she'd fail-or afraid she'd succeed.

She wasn't sure which one she was afraid of.

"Where's the master?" she asked.

"Usually has some of the best views, so I'm guessing upstairs," Ash replied. He led the way, adding over his shoulder, "It's not that I mean to hover, but I'd rather stick close just in case."

"I appreciate that," Riley said. Because she did.

The master bedroom was spacious for a rental, and boasted both a large adjoining bathroom and a private deck with a-distant-view of the ocean.

Riley ate a PowerBar and prowled the space, looking, touching, cautiously trying to open senses she wasn't sure were doing anything except barely functioning. She was getting nothing. No scents, no sounds, no appreciable texture; even the brightly decorated room looked oddly washed-out to her.

The strange veil was back, a layer of something indefinable separating her from the world. And it was getting thicker.

Riley was cold. So cold. But she tried not to shiver, tried to keep doing her job.

"He was neat," she said, peering into a closet where a suit jacket and two shirts hung evenly spaced.

"He didn't have time to get messy," Ash pointed out.

Riley opened a dresser drawer and pointed to several pairs of socks and Jockeys, folded precisely. "He was neat."

"Okay, he was neat." Ash paused, then said, "You know, if there's a possible connection between Tate and the people in the Pearson house, why not just follow that lead to get information? Why put yourself through this if you don't have to?"

She looked at him, frowning. "Put myself through this. Does it seem to you this is an effort for me?"

Ash returned her stare for a long moment, then came to her and turned her to face the mirror above the dresser.

"Look," he said.

For just an instant, no more than a split second, Riley thought she saw another woman standing there with Ash behind her, a weird sort of double image, the way slight movement shows as a blur in a photograph.

And then it was gone, and Riley saw herself. With Ash standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

At first, she couldn't see whatever it was that caused him concern; the weird veil that had faded colors and muted her other senses lay between her and the mirror, just as it lay between her and the world.

But then, slowly, the veil grew thinner, more wispy. And Riley felt curiously stronger, steadier on her feet. In the reflection she watched, fascinated, as the room behind them became brighter, the colors more vivid. Her pale blue short-sleeved blouse and jeans, Ash's khaki slacks and dark shirt, even his vivid green eyes, all became clearer, sharper.

No longer distant.

No longer out of her reach.

She looked at his hands on her shoulders, and her scattered thoughts began to focus.

Damn, Bishop was right. Again.

"Look at your face," Ash began. "It-"

Riley held up a hand to stop him. "Wait. Just a minute." Taking the chance of further depleting her energy reserves, she concentrated on listening, on reaching out to hear the ocean, too far away from this house to be easily discernible through insulated walls and triple-pane glass.

Almost immediately, as though a door had opened just yards from the beach, she heard the waves, the rhythmic crash of water against earth. She could almost feel the foamy surf lapping around her ankles, smell the slightly fishy salt air.

Her spider sense was back.

She reached farther, tried harder-

– he was already dead by the time she reached the otherwise-deserted clearing.

Smoke from the final glowing embers of the fire curled upward, and the smell of sulfur and blood was almost overpowering. She didn't approach the headless corpse, still dripping blood, but circled the clearing warily, gun in hand and senses flaring.

All her senses.

She wasn't getting much, just faint impressions of dark figures that had moved here, danced here, damned their souls here. The lingering echoes of chanting, and bells, and invocations in Latin.

But no sense of identity, and no real sense of life. It was…weird. As though the ghosts in her mind were only that, unreal figures conjured like a nightmare of images superimposed on this place.

Yet the corpse was real. He had been tortured and killed in this place, without doubt. She knew that if she touched it the body would still be warm.

The blood-spattered rocks were real. The dying fire. The circle of salt she found on the ground.

To sanctify the circle, or protect whoever had stood within it?

She didn't know. And the harder she tried to open her senses, the more Riley had the uneasy realization of…a barrier. There was a muffled quality to the normal night sounds she heard. The acrid stench of sulfur was fading more rapidly than she expected, more rapidly than it should have, and the blood-

She couldn't smell the blood anymore.

Riley looked quickly at the corpse, half-convinced she would find that it had been conjured by her own imagination. But the lifeless body hung there still.

She took a step toward it and then froze, abruptly aware that she had stepped inside the circle for the first time.

The unbroken circle.

Utter silence closed around her, and her vision began to dim. She tried to move but couldn't, couldn't even lift her gun or make a sound, and the darkness became a tangible thing, wrapping her in a cold embrace she couldn't escape.

There was barely time for the first faint hints of comprehension to fight their way through the dark fog of her mind.

Barely time for her to begin to understand what was happening to her.

And then the force of a train slammed into her, hot agony blazing along her nerves, bright fire in her mind. For an eternal instant she felt herself literally connected to the ground beneath her feet, a spear of burning energy impaling the earth.

Discharging all her strength into it, like a lightning rod-

"Riley."

She realized she had closed her eyes only when his voice pulled her back to the room in which they were standing, and she opened them to see the reflection of his worried frown. And feel his hands still on her shoulders but tighter now, almost holding her upright.

With an effort, she steadied herself. "Sorry. But, Ash-"

"Look at your face, Riley."

She realized she had been looking at his, and turned her gaze instead to her own.

The earlier chill came back with a vengeance.

Her face looked…gaunt. Not so much as if she had aged, but as though she were starving.

Riley lifted probing fingers, shaping the sharp cheekbones and the hollows beneath them. Hollows that hadn't been anywhere near this pronounced only hours before.

"This isn't normal," Ash said, his voice roughening for the first time.

"No…it isn't natural," she corrected slowly.

"What's the difference? Christ, Riley, you're burning calories so fast there's no way you can keep up with the demands of your body. You've got to stop pushing yourself, stop trying to use abilities that Taser must have destroyed."

Still looking at that haggard face in the mirror, at eyes staring back at her with a feverish intensity that belied the chill shivering through her body, Riley said, "I don't think that's it. The start of it, maybe. Probably. The first step. Only it wasn't intended to take me out of the game. It wasn't intended to kill me. It was intended to weaken me. To make me vulnerable."

"What are you talking about?"

"The biggest piece of the puzzle, Ash. It's me."

He turned her around to face him, keeping his hands on her shoulders. "How could that be? Honey, all this occult shit started weeks before you got here. Weeks before you had any intention of coming here."

"But it was a dandy lure, wasn't it?" She was working it out even as she spoke, slowly putting together what had seemed to be disparate facts and events. Ragged memories and uncertain visions. "Possible occult activity in a sleepy little seaside community, nothing violent or vicious, no need for a whole team to come investigate. Just one. Just me. Just the unit's expert in the occult."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Gordon Skinner is the one who called you down here. Someone you trust. Right?"

"Yes. And that had to be part of the plan. Going into a situation knowing a trusted friend had my back if necessary, I wouldn't have felt any hesitation in coming alone."

"Are you saying he's involved?"

"No." Riley shook her head, hesitated, then lifted her hands to grasp Ash's wrists. Almost instantly, she began to feel a little stronger. Her head was clearer, thoughts and conclusions falling rapidly into place in her mind.

She was right about this.

It's about connections. And this is a connection I need to work this case. Hell, maybe I need it just to survive.

"No, I don't believe Gordon's part of it. Willingly, at least. Knowingly. But he could be a pawn. Maneuvered just like so many other people and events have been maneuvered."

"Riley-"

"Ash, this isn't natural, what's happening to me. It shouldn't be happening. What damage the Taser did my brain should be repairing, even now. Which means there's something else here, something else affecting me. Something that was here from the beginning. Stealing my strength, my abilities, playing with my memories, my sense of time, of what's real and what isn't."

"What could be doing all that?"

"Negative energy. Dark energy. Created, controlled, channeled, directed by someone."

"Another psychic? You said that wasn't likely."

"I don't think it is another psychic. Or at least not like any psychic I've ever heard of. I think this is someone who went looking in very dark places for enough power to achieve whatever it is they're after."

"Which is?"

Slowly, she said, "Whatever it is, I think it has everything to do with me. I had a flash of memory just now. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a memory. Of Sunday night. Of reaching the clearing, finding the body hanging there, already dead. I was alone. But I felt uneasy, my senses didn't seem to be working well. And then I stepped inside the circle."

"The circle made up of salt?"

"Yeah. It had been left unbroken. When I stepped over it, stepped into the circle…I was trapped. Caught. I couldn't move. Couldn't hear. Everything was going dark. That was when I was Tasered. I was held in place like a fly in resin, then deliberately electrocuted."

"Held? How? Are you talking about elemental forces? Or something supernatural?"

"Both. I'm talking about someone with the ability to harness negative energy. Torturing and killing a human being? That's about as negative as it gets. Suffering generates power. Dying violently creates an incredible amount of power; destruction always creates something to replace what's destroyed, even if it's only sheer energy. Couple that with a black-occult ceremony intended to generate even more dark energy, and you'd have enough psychic poison to cripple even a strong enemy."

"You?"

"I'm the one who walked into the trap. I'm the one who woke up crippled."

"I'd argue with that assessment, but never mind. You're saying it was all designed for that end? To disable and then harm you? Using energy?"

His doubt was clear, and Riley hardly blamed him for it. What she was suggesting was incredible.

I bet that's the conclusion I'd come to just before the blackouts, what I began to explain in the report, that-incredible as it seemed-someone was manipulating energy deliberately, dark energy, and that it had all been a setup to get me here. And then destroy me.

But there was something Riley's enemy hadn't counted on, she was almost sure of it. Something she herself was only beginning to understand.

The wild card was Ash.