Hunting Fear (25 page)

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.

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 useful traits, Bishop had noted: she was a nester. So she was completely unpacked, her laptop set up on the small desk near her bed, and she had even stopped by a local florist to get a small vase of flowers to make the generic room-without-a-view brighter.

If she had to live much of her life on the road, Jaylene intended to 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?”