“No,” Maggie said.
He gazed at her with lifted brows. “No?”
“No. That was just the shell evil lived in for a while.”
“You mean because he’s dead now?”
“Because the evil was destroyed this time before the flesh was.”
Andy blinked, looked at John and Quentin, then shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know what it was all about.”
“Wise of you,” Quentin murmured.
Scott joined them, saying, “The Caddie is parked in that shed over there. A ’72, looks like. Just what your friend Joey described, Quentin.”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah, he always did know cars.”
Jennifer asked, “How the hell did Hollis Templeton get here?” Since Hollis had left in the ambulance with Tara Jameson, she asked the question of the others.
Maggie shrugged. “She said . . . a little voice told her she should be here. So she came. Didn’t say how.”
“Jesus,” Scott said.
Andy looked at him, seemed about to say something, and then obviously thought better of it. He settled his shoulders with the air of a man deciding things.
“Well, as far as we’re concerned, Simon Walsh raped and killed women. He was the Blindfold Rapist.”
“Nobody’s arguing with you, Andy,” Quentin said mildly.
“No?”
“No.”
Andy heaved a sigh. “Good. Now, will somebody please tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to put in my report?”
Quentin grinned at him. “You can try the truth. Of course, the truth is a bit complicated. I mean, what with Maggie and Hollis being here, to say nothing of Annie.”
“Annie?”
“The little voice Hollis heard,” Quentin explained solemnly. “She was here. Well, sort of.”
John looked at him. “So you saw her too?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good. I was afraid it was just me.”
Andy stared at them both for a moment and, again, very obviously decided he didn’t want to know. They all heard the sounds of sirens approaching, and he groaned. “I’ll either get a medal or get committed.”
“Welcome to my world,” Quentin said.
EPILOGUE
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2001
Sitting up in her hospital bed to better talk to her visitors, Kendra said to Hollis, “So Annie was Robert Graham’s twin sister, the first one he killed.”
“Apparently. I’d had her voice in my head since the attack, but it was only the last few days that she told me who she was. And what she needed me to do.”
“I’m glad you were there,” Maggie told her. “I think you were the clincher. Standing there looking at him even though he’d thought he had blinded you for good.”
“I wasn’t sure what I was doing,” Hollis confessed. “Just . . . saying whatever popped into my head.” She shook her head. “Annie had told me I had to be there, that it was the only way to help you. When she told me that, told me I had to see or else he’d be free to go on killing, I just—all of a sudden I could see. It was easy to distract the cop guarding my door, easy to slip out. And I knew, somehow, where to go.”
“You and Maggie,” Quentin said. He looked at Maggie. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Don’t you give me a hard time,” she warned him with a faint smile. “I’ve already heard enough about it from John. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I knew—or thought I knew. It was just that so much of it was vague or unclear. I was afraid if I said too much I’d cause things to go even more horribly wrong.”
“We’ve been there,” Kendra told her ruefully. “Sometimes we walk a very fine line between what we think we know and what’s actually going on.”
Maggie nodded. “It can be a challenge. I mean, there were flashes of memory or bits of information I wasn’t sure I could trust, but all I really knew absolutely for certain was that I had to be there at the end, confronting him.”
John said, “Because you’d been his wife long ago and weren’t able to stop him from killing.”
Maggie looked at the others with slightly lifted brows. “He’s having a hard time with this.”
“No, I’m not,” John denied. He was stared at politely, and finally sighed. “Okay, I am.”
“He’ll get used to it,” Quentin assured Maggie. “Between us, we’ve nearly worn away that high gloss of logic and rationality he used to wear.”
Hollis looked at John. “Aren’t you grateful?”
“Oh, immensely. The world’s beginning to look almost normal standing on its ear.”
“It’s all about balance,” Maggie murmured.
John took her hand with a determined air and said to the others, “If you’ll excuse us, we have things to discuss.”
“Thanks for the visit,” Kendra said, smiling.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Maggie told her.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
As they left the hospital room, they heard Quentin saying to Hollis, “Listen, our boss should be here any minute, and he’s sort of anxious to meet you—”
Maggie said, “Do you think she will? I mean, join Bishop’s unit?”
“You know her better than I do,” John replied. “But from what I’ve seen, I’d say Hollis Templeton is very aware of having a brand-new life stretching in front of her, and I doubt that after this she’ll be eager to . . . embrace the ordinary.”
“Very poetic.”
“Thank you.”
“And probably true,” Maggie added. “There are certain corners that, having once been turned, change your view of the world forever.”
As the elevator doors closed and the car started downward, John looked at her gravely. “I’ll say.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re seriously considering it, aren’t you? Helping to build some sort of civilian resource organization similar to Bishop’s unit?”
“Quentin’s had worse ideas,” John admitted.
“Admit it—you’re just beginning to enjoy seeing the world standing on its ear, that’s what it is.”
“Well, that’s part of it. And there’s you, of course. You’re not about to stop doing what you do best just because that greater evil got buried this time around. And much as I respect Andy and the other cops, I think we both know that your talents deserve . . . a broader canvas.”
“So do yours, for that matter,” she said. “Building the kind of organization Quentin was talking about won’t be easy. Lots of strikes against it, beginning with the uneasiness most people feel about psychic ability.”
“Which is why I’m perfect for the job. I know how to build organizations from the ground up, and I’m about as nonpsychic as they come.”
They left the elevator and walked down the bustling hallway toward the doors, and it wasn’t until they were outside in the clear, chill air that Maggie stopped, looked up at him with a smile, and said, “It’s all about balance.”
“So I can say it now?” he asked, smiling but intent.
“You still don’t have to.” She slipped her arms up around his neck as he pulled her close, both of them oblivious to the people walking past them. “We balance perfectly. I love you, John.”
Just before his lips touched hers, John murmured, “That’s all I needed to hear.”
If you loved Kay Hooper’s
TOUCHING EVIL,
you won’t want to miss any of her
novels of psychic suspense!
Turn the page for her next tantalizing thriller,
WHISPER OF EVIL, coming from
Bantam Books in spring 2002!
TUESDAY, MARCH 14
Whoever had dubbed the town Silence must have gotten a laugh out of it, Nell reflected as she closed her car door and stood beside the vehicle on the curb. For a relatively small town, it was not what anyone would have called peaceful even on an average day; on this mild weekday in mid-March, at least three school groups appeared to be trying to raise money fo
r something or other with loud and cheerful car washes in two small parking lots and a bake sale going on in the grassy town square. And there were plenty of willing customers for the kids, even with building clouds promising a storm later on.
Nell hunched her shoulders and slid her cold hands into the pockets of her jacket. Her restless gaze scanned the area, studying the occasional face even as she listened to snatches of conversation as people walked past her. Calm faces, innocuous talk. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It didn’t look or sound like a town in trouble.
Not far from where Nell stood was a newspaper vendor selling the local daily, and she could easily make out a headline announcing the town council’s decision to acquire property on which to build a new middle school. There was, as far as she could see, no mention on the front page of anything of greater importance than that.
Nell walked over to buy herself a paper, and returned to stand beside her car as she quickly scanned the three thin sections. She found it where she expected to find it, in the obituary section.
GEORGE THOMAS CALDWELL
42, UNEXPECTEDLY, AT HOME
There was more, of course. A long list of accomplishments for the relatively young man, local and state honors, business accolades. He had been very successful, George Caldwell, and unusually well liked for a man in his position.
But it was the unexpectedly Nell couldn’t get past. Someone’s idea of a joke in very poor taste? Or had the sheriff’s department simply refused to announce the official cause of death?
Unexpected. Oh, yeah. Murder usually was.
“Jesus. Nell?”
She refolded the newspaper methodically and tucked it under her arm as she turned to face him. It was easy to keep her expression unrevealing, her voice steady. She’d had a lot of practice.
“Hello, Max.”
Standing hardly more than an arm’s length away, Max Tanner looked at her, she decided, rather the way he’d look at something distasteful he’d discovered on the bottom of his shoe. Hardly surprising, she supposed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was just uneven enough to make it obvious he couldn’t sound as impersonal as he obviously wanted to.
“I could say I was just playing tourist.”
“You could. What’s the truth?”
Nell shrugged, keeping the gesture casual. “I imagine you can guess. The will’s finally through probate, so there’s a lot I have to do. Go through things, clear out the house, arrange to sell it. If that’s what I end up doing, of course.”
“You mean you’re not sure?”
“About selling out?” Nell allowed her mouth to curve in a wry smile. “I’ve had a few doubts.”
“Banish them,” he said tightly. “You don’t belong here, Nell. You never did.”
She pretended that didn’t hurt. “Well, we agree on that much. Still, people change, especially in— what?—a dozen years? Maybe I could learn to belong.”
He laughed shortly. “Yeah? Why would you want to? What could there possibly be in this piss-ant little town to interest you?”
Nell had learned patience in those dozen years, and caution. So all she said in response to that harsh question was a mild, “Maybe nothing. We’ll see.”
Max drew a breath and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, gazing off toward the center of town as if the bake sale going on there fascinated him.
While he was deciding what to say next, Nell studied him. He hadn’t changed much, she thought. Older, of course. Physically more powerful now in his mid-thirties; he probably still ran, still practiced the martial arts that had been a lifelong interest. Whatever he was doing, it was certainly keeping him in excellent shape.
His lean face was a bit more lived-in than it had been, but just as with so many really good-looking men, the almost-too-pretty features of youth were maturing with age into genuine and striking male beauty. There might have been a few threads of silver in the dark hair at his temples, and she didn’t remember laugh lines at the corners of his heavy-lidded brown eyes.
Bedroom eyes. He’d been known for them all through school, for bedroom eyes and a hot temper, both gifts from a Creole grandmother. Maturity had done nothing to dampen the smoldering heat lurking in those dark eyes; she wondered if it had taught him to control the temper.
“You’ve got a hell of a nerve, I’ll say that for you,” he said finally.
“Because I came back? You must have known I would. With Diana gone, there was no one else to . . . take care of things.”
“You didn’t come back for the funeral.”
“No.” She offered no explanation, no defense.
His mouth tightened as his gaze returned to her face. “Most people around here said you wouldn’t.”
“What did you say?” She asked because she had to.
“I was a fool. I said you would.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Max shook his head once, an almost violent negation. “You can’t disappoint me, Nell. I lost ten bucks on a bet, that’s all.”
Nell didn’t know what she would have said to that, but she was saved from replying when an astonished female voice exclaimed her name.
“Nell Gallagher? My God, is that you?”
Nell half turned and managed a faint smile for the stunning redhead hurrying toward her. “It’s me, Shelby.”
Shelby Brennan shook her head and repeated, “My God,” as she joined them beside Nell’s car. For a moment, it seemed she would throw her arms around Nell in an exuberant hug, but in the end she just grinned. “I thought you’d probably show up here eventually, what with the house and whatnot to take care of, but I guess I figured it’d be later, maybe summer or something, though I don’t know why. Hey, Max.”
“Hey, Shelby.” He stood there with his hands in his pockets, expressionless now, dark eyes flicking back and forth between the two women.
Nell kept her own gaze on Shelby’s glowing face. “I thought about waiting until storm season was mostly past,” she said easily, “but it worked out that I had some time now before beginning a new job, so I came on down.”
“Down from where?” Shelby demanded. “Last we heard, you were out west somewhere.”
“Heard from Diana?”
“Yeah. She said you were—well, I think the word she used was entangled—with some guy in Los Angeles. Or maybe it was Las Vegas. Anyway, out west somewhere. And that you were taking college courses at night. At least, I think that’s what she said.”
Rather than commenting on the information, Nell merely said, “I live in D.C. now.”
“Did you ever get married? Diana said you came close once or twice.”
“No. I never married.”
Shelby grimaced. “Me either. Matter of fact, half our graduating class seems to be single these days, even though most of us have hit thirty. Depressing, isn’t it?”
“Maybe some of us are better off alone,” Nell offered, keeping her tone light.
“I think there’s something in the water,” Shelby said darkly. “Honest, Nell, this is getting to be a weird place. Have you heard about the murders?”
Nell lifted an eyebrow. “Murders?”
“Yeah. Three so far.”
Max said, “We’ve had murders here before, Shelby, just like any other town.”
“Not like these,” Shelby insisted. “People around here get themselves killed, the reason why is generally pretty obvious, just like the killer is. No locked-room mysteries or other baffling whodunits, not in Silence. But these deaths? All fine, upstanding men of the town with reputations the next best thing to lily-white, then they’re murdered and all their nasty secrets come spilling out like a dam broke wide open.”
“Secrets?” Nell asked curiously.
“I’ll say. Adultery, embezzlement, blackmail—you name it, we’ve had it. It’s been a regular Peyton Place around here.”
“Have the killers been caught?”
“Nope. Wh
ich is another weird thing, if you ask me. Three prominent citizens killed in the last eight months, and the sheriff can’t solve even one of the murders? He’s going to have a hell of a time getting himself elected again.”
Nell glanced at Max, who was frowning slightly but said nothing, then looked back at Shelby. “It does sound a little strange, but I’m sure the sheriff knows his job, Shelby. You always did fret too much.”
Shelby shook her head, but laughed as well. “Yeah, I guess I did. Oh, hell—is that the time? I’ve gotta go. Listen, Nell, I really want to catch up—can I give you a call in a day or two, after you’ve settled in? We can have lunch or something.”
“Sure, I’d love to.”
“Great. And if you get lonesome in that big old house and want somebody to talk to in the meantime, you call me, okay? I’m still a night owl, so any time’s fine.”
“Gotcha. See you later, Shelby.”
With a wave to Max, the redhead rushed off, and Nell murmured, “She hasn’t changed much.”
“No.”
Nell knew her best bet would be to get in her car and just leave, but she heard herself saying slowly, “These murders sound pretty unusual. And to go unsolved for so long . . . Doesn’t the sheriff at least have a few suspects?”
Max uttered an odd little laugh. “Oh, yeah, he has a few. One in particular.”
“One?”
“Yeah, one. Me.” With another laugh, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Nell looked after him until he disappeared around the next corner. Then she looked at the busy little town that seemed oblivious of the storm clouds moving in, and half under her breath murmured, “Welcome home, Nell. Welcome home.”
FBI Agent Noah Bishop has a rare gift for
seeing what others do not, a gift that helps
solve the most puzzling cases.
Read his electrifying adventures in three
stand-alone novels of psychic suspense from
Kay Hooper, available at your
favorite bookseller’s!