They met Jonah’s second, Sarah Waters, who was undoubtedly exhausted but didn’t look it. She was a tall, slim woman with very dark hair worn up so it was impossible to guess its length, sharp blue eyes, and a lovely face that was curiously doll-like in its delicacy and would have looked more natural within the pages of a fashion magazine. Her excellent figure looked more model than cop as well, even with the still-crisp police uniform she wore. She greeted them with the information that relatives were with the parents in the upstairs den, making missing-child flyers.
“At least it’s keeping them occupied,” Sarah told Jonah and the agents. “They’ve been just about going out of their minds all day. And I didn’t see the harm, with the Amber Alert out now.”
“You’ve kept in touch with the station?”
“Of course. Nothing coming in on the tip line except the usual crank calls and a few insisting they saw Nessa hundreds of miles away in some unlikely spot.” She shrugged wearily. “If it was within the realm of possible, I had one of our people reach out to law enforcement in those areas so they could check. Every single one of them came up empty.”
“What about media?”
“Well, assuming Nessa’s abduction was tied in with the others, which we are, we’ve been lucky with the media. Local is staying quiet as per your request, and regional is caught up with numerous cases, including that serial in Virginia, the one law enforcement believes they’re finally close to catching after nearly a year and too many bodies.”
“And national?”
“Election year coming up, so there’s that. Plus a train derailment last night that’s still burning crude, a couple of idiot drug dealers barricaded in a Chicago house threatening a shootout with police—and tornado season has started early and with a vengeance in the Midwest. We’re barely a blip on the radar.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way. Go home, Sarah.”
“Look, I want to—”
“You want to keep working the case. And you will. Tonight. But you worked the late shift last night and you’ve been up all day. Go home, get a few hours’ sleep and some food into you. Head back to the station around midnight or later. We’ll either be there or next door.”
Sarah finally nodded. “I told Caroline and Matt they needed to stay here. Just in case. And whatever relatives aren’t out putting up those flyers before dark will stay here and make sure they aren’t left alone. I’ll stop at the station and send one of our people to stand guard at the front door; it’s probably useless security-wise, but at least the family will know we’re nearby.”
“Okay. Thanks. Go home and get some rest.”
She nodded, then left Jonah and the agents standing in the side of the open-concept space that was the living area.
“She’s a good cop,” Jonah said, keeping his voice low. “Sarah was the one to notice there was a defined perimeter around all the outdoor sites where someone went missing.” He paused, then added, “Neither one of you has said—not that you had the chance, really—but I gather there’s no unusual energy here.”
Samantha shook her head. “The opposite of what it should be, just like at the theater. The inside spaces are clear—and the outside spaces are holding on to energy that should have dissipated long before now.” She was studying the area even as she spoke, frowning slightly.
“Energy from what?” Jonah asked. “Tell me how someone or something could have taken these people? It’s like something swooped down out of the sky and carried them away—except that two of them vanished even with roofs over their heads.”
“I don’t have a clue,” Samantha said frankly.
Jonah eyed her. “I was looking for something a little more helpful.”
“Sorry. Though there is still a chance I can pick up some kind of useful information yet.”
“How?”
Luke didn’t appear very happy about it, but said, “Sam is a very powerful touch clairvoyant and seer, remember? Even though she’s sensed energy in some of these places, her true ability is that she picks up knowledge from touching objects involved in crimes, or the belongings of victims.”
Jonah eyed her again, curiously now. “Always?”
Sam shook her head. “Had this thing most of my life, and still can’t really control it. But like most of us, I’ve found that the more traumatic or violent the event, the more likely I am to pick up something.”
A rather unreadable expression in her very dark eyes nevertheless gave Jonah the impression that whatever she “picked up” from those violent or traumatic events was usually not pleasant, but he didn’t question. He figured that time and observation would answer at least some of his questions. So he merely nodded.
“Okay. Well, anything we could even remotely classify as evidence is bagged up back at the station. I’ll have it sent next door to our makeshift command center. I assume we’d all rather you not . . . try to pick up information in a police station.”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice, no.”
Luke looked at her, frowning. “Are you sure you shouldn’t rest first, Sam?”
She smiled faintly. “We made a deal, remember? Even if I collapse at your feet—which admittedly I’ve already done once today—I still get to decide if I’m okay to try to use my abilities. As long as I’m conscious, my decision.”
“I have veto power.”
“Yeah, but only if I’m showing signs of too much strain. Nosebleed, sensitivity to light, pounding headache. I don’t have any of those. So I get to decide.”
Because he couldn’t help himself, Jonah looked at the very intense fed and said, “How on earth did she get you to agree to that?” Then he remembered these two were married and added hastily, “Never mind, nosy question.”
Luke took his wife’s hand, neither of them seeming anything but amused, and said to Jonah, “Some things really are better left as mysteries. Let’s go try to figure out the ones that need to be solved.”
—
DANTE STEPPED AWAY from the evidence board, where he had constructed a neat timeline for the disappearances, and rubbed the back of his neck as he studied it.
In a conversational tone, Robbie said, “I hope you realize that the longer you keep your shields at full strength, the more likely they are to desert you when you really don’t want them to. Like when you’re sleeping.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” he murmured.
She ignored that. “I’m just saying, there’s no negative energy here, so maybe it would be a good idea for you to rest your shields, that’s all. I checked; this building was constructed less than twenty years ago, and nobody ever died here. No deaths in previous buildings at this location, and it’s not some kind of Indian burial ground or anything.”
“So there are no spirits here?” He turned his head to look at her; while he had worked, she had set up, on a small table against one wall rather than the larger round table, one of the laptops they’d brought from Quantico. “Have you ever worked with a medium before?”
“Not as a partner, but in a group, sure. You know as well as I do that Bishop sort of mixes and matches until he gets a good fit.” She frowned. “I wonder why he thought we’d be a good fit?”
“Maybe he’s still mixing,” Dante suggested. “Members of the team generally have to work together before anyone—including Bishop—knows whether they’ll work well together.”
“Are you saying we don’t?” She was curious rather than offended.
“I don’t think either of us knows yet. We haven’t really had to do anything so far that required a collaborative effort. But, for future reference, most mediums will tell you that whether someone died in a place has absolutely nothing to do with whether spirits are present. As a matter of fact, according to Bishop, and based on both lab and field studies, one thing we’re reasonably sure of is that mediums tend to attract spiritual energy. Whether we’re tryin
g to or not.” He rubbed his neck again. “This place could be filled with spirits, gathered from all over town and God knows where else, waiting for me to open a door for them.”
She couldn’t help looking around rather warily, even though she knew she’d see nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you intend to keep your shields up regardless?”
“Regardless of what?”
“Regardless of whether this case suggests or even demands that we investigate spiritual energy.”
“I don’t know,” he said finally, adding, “If there’s no negative energy here, why don’t you drop your shields?”
“I meant what I said about seldom if ever dropping them completely,” she replied. “But I do have a window open. That’s how I knew your shields were still up.”
“Maybe you just can’t read me.”
“Actually, I can.” When he frowned slightly, she shrugged. “You, Luke, Sam—and Chief Riggs. I can read all of you. Riggs is clearest, since he only has the bare shield nonpsychics develop—especially if they’re cops.”
“You can read Luke and Sam?”
“Yeah—probably because both have abilities they generally have to concentrate to use, so neither needs much in the way of shields. I mean, they’re sort of guarded people by nature, both of them, but they have an emotional and psychic link that’s just a bit like neon, to me anyway.”
“Like Bishop and Miranda?”
“No, not like that. Bishop and Miranda’s link is a link between two telepaths, and exceptionally deep. Luke and Sam haven’t been together as long, and neither one is a telepath, so the link is different. But they’re still connected. Not quite two halves of a whole, but stronger together than they are separately.”
Dante was still frowning. “What about my shields?”
With a slightly apologetic gesture, Robbie said, “That’s why I wanted to warn you to give them a rest now and then. They’re slipping, Dante. Not much and not often, but if you’re not completely focused on keeping them up, like you were at the stream, then . . . they slip.”
“And when they do, you read my thoughts?”
“It’s more like catching your thoughts. Or, rather, not catching them. I don’t focus on them or anything; they’re more like whispers kind of slipping past me. And only when I have a window open.”
He sighed. “Does that help you, to open a window?”
“Yeah, usually. I don’t like doing it with lots of people around, so I tend to wait for quieter moments. If I don’t open a window now and then, my shields tend to slip too, and usually when I’m least prepared for that to happen.”
“Like when you’re asleep.”
“When I’m asleep. Or when something unexpected happens.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at us now. We’re doing ordinary things we tend to do on cases, the usually boring gathering of information and getting it organized so it becomes useful to us. You’ve combed through various files to assemble information, developing a timeline; I’ve set up this laptop to receive more info from Quantico—which is actually scheduled to come through in the next hour, according to a brief e-mail from Bishop.”
After a moment’s thought, Dante said, “The security footage?”
“Hopefully examined and enhanced by the techs at Quantico so it’s useful to us, yeah. And Bishop said he was sending along some aerial views of Serenity as well.”
“He did? Why?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Bishop never does anything without a reason,” Dante said slowly.
“That’s what everybody says.”
“So . . . what? He retasked a satellite to get aerial images of this town?”
“Well, I doubt he went online and used one of those find-your-house-on-a-map sites.”
“Robbie, retasking a satellite is a big deal. As in a national-security-sense big deal. Those birds tend to be busy doing things like watching enemies or potential enemies, tracking storms, facilitating communications, and God knows what else.”
With a shrug, she said, “I guess he believes it’ll help us, or that we really need it for some reason he suspects or knows and just hasn’t had the chance to tell us yet. I mean, he has to justify doing something like that, right? To the Director, at least?”
“I would think so. But I don’t actually know. Remind me to ask Luke about it. He was part of the earliest group of psychics Bishop found and recruited, so I assume he’d know.”
Robbie tapped neat pink fingernails on the table beside the laptop. “You know, when I first joined the unit, one of the other agents warned me that I would always be able to trust what Bishop tells me—but that he almost always leaves stuff out. Sometimes fairly important stuff.”
“I was told the same thing,” Dante admitted.
“So . . . what do you think he left out about this case?”
Dante hesitated, then said, “From all I’ve heard, we probably won’t know whatever it is. Until we fall over it.”
“Or into it,” Robbie said.
“Yeah,” Dante agreed somewhat hollowly. “Or into it.”
—
HE NEVER MOVED until it got dark. Never came out.
The darkness was what fueled him, fed him. What gave him his power. The darkness allowed him to work.
He was aware of the hunters, those who belonged here and those who had come to join the hunt. They didn’t disturb him.
He had the darkness.
The weapons they wielded were puny by comparison.
They just didn’t know that. Not yet.
He passed by his Collection on the way out, all of them still and silent behind the bars.
In the darkness.
His Collection that was not . . . quite . . . complete. He needed to hunt again. Tonight, in the dark, he needed to hunt. To choose his prey.
And then decide when and how to take her.
—
SAMANTHA CLOSED THE take-out box that had held a rather good dinner and pushed it away, saying absently, “That Diner guy is a really good cook.”
Jonah, sitting on the other side of the round table from Sam, had closed his own box some time before and was staring at the evidence board with the timeline. In an equally absent tone, he said, “Yeah, he really is. Listen, does anybody else think there’s something weird about having a timeline when something at most of the abduction sites messes with time?”
“We don’t know that’s what’s happening,” Robbie objected, still working on her supper. “It’s what seems to be happening.” She waved her fork for emphasis.
The chief turned his gaze to her. “Do you have another explanation?”
“I don’t have an explanation at all. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She looked at Lucas. “You’ve been at this the longest, right? Can you explain it?”
“No, lost time is a new one on me, except for time lost during a blackout. None of us have blacked out, so that explanation won’t fly. But most of us in the SCU have dealt with things we couldn’t explain—at the time. If you can’t explain a thing, leave it and look at the case another way. Very often, the pieces don’t seem to fit together until you have them all. Then they fit. Then the puzzle makes sense.”
“Victimology?” Sam suggested. She had been talked out of touching any items belonging to the victims for the time being, as requested by her husband, who wanted to “use our brains before the extra senses.”
He hadn’t fooled anyone, including his wife. He’d wanted to give her more time to recover from the strange collapse earlier in the day, to get some food into her system. And to give them all time to become more familiar with the facts—such as they were—of the disappearances.
Luke nodded an agreement with her suggestion. “We have an energy signature we can’t explain, but not at all the abduction sites. We have miss
ing people, but we don’t know if they’re still alive, or dead. We don’t have a suspect or a motive. The victims are the only thing we have to profile. We have to look for something they all have in common.”
Recalling the FBI courses he’d attended, Jonah said, “Isn’t most profiling done on the basis of crime sites?”
“No, it’s a pretty individual thing. You work with what you’ve got. In most cases, the crime scene is apt to provide a lot of information. Other times, especially if you don’t have a crime scene but a dump site, or someone just missing, then you have to concentrate on victims.”
Samantha said, “To study a hunter, you study his prey.”
Luke nodded again. “At first glance, the only things connecting these victims is that they were all white, and they all lived in Serenity.” He frowned suddenly. “Two of them were leaving Serenity.”
Jonah wanted to correct the past tense usage but couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.
Dante asked, “Think that could have been his trigger? Two teenagers leaving town?”
“It’s worth considering. If he has abandonment issues, and especially if he was close to either of those teens, their leaving could have been the stressor. Something had to set him off. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to start disappearing people, leaving no clues behind. This is something you work up to.”
Dante said, “Think he’s had practice runs? If not here, then somewhere else?”
“Maybe.”
“Not here,” Jonah protested. “I would have known.”
Robbie said, “I imagine you would have. And assuming he lives here, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to take anyone local until he was sure he could do it. So we should check missing persons for—what?—couple hundred miles all around?”
Sam was making notes on a legal pad. “At least.”
Jonah frowned, but before he could speak, Luke was continuing. “He’s moved awfully fast, taking six people in less than a month. Not much of a cooling-off period. Except . . . He took Luna Lang just three days after he took the judge. The other abductions were more widely spaced. He also took her earlier than the others, before midnight.”