Hunting Fear (26 page)

“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 out 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 had 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 corner and out of sight of the deputies.

She waited there for a minute or so for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then got her bearings and moved away from the motel and toward a little side street nearby. Within fifty yards, she crossed the street and stood in the shadow of an old building that had started out life as something better than the storage space it was 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. It’s 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 that. About most of the victims. You saw the devices, the . . . brutal efficiency 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 reading chair, stretching out her legs and gently resting her feet on the bed. She sat there gazing at Luke’s sleeping face for a long time, 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 arrived, 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 a bit of his DNA, is he?”

“He knows better,” Samantha said.

Luke nodded in agreement. The two women watched as he carefully opened the fastened but not sealed envelope and drew out a single page that had been folded only once. He unfolded it on the 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 printer?”

“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.