The First Prophet (22 page)

“That’s a cheerful thought.” He managed a smile. “Look, everything they’ve done so
far has either been designed to look accidental or scheduled for the dead of night
with no witnesses. Lewis didn’t come to ‘arrest’ us openly, and I’m betting no other
cop will. They don’t
want to be that visible, Sarah. What they’re doing is secret, and they want to keep
it that way. That’s our ace.”

“Our only ace.”

Deliberately, he said, “No. You’re our ace too. One vision warned us to move. You
could have others.”

“Don’t count on me, Tucker.” Her pale eyes were completely unreadable, her voice matter-of-fact.
“I can’t control what I see. Or when I see it. Don’t forget—I never saw them coming
to the lake.”

He frowned slightly. “But somebody did. Somebody knew, and warned us.”

“Using technology in a way you said was impossible.”

“Next to impossible, given the safeguards in my system and the fact that I wasn’t
even connected to the Internet at the time. I know what you mean, though. If they
can manipulate technology with that kind of expertise, then maybe we have some nameless
friends who
do
know how to deal with our enemy.”

“So how do we ask for help?”

“We don’t. Not until they surface, at any rate.”

Sarah nodded, and said, “So we’re still on our own. And we can’t count on another
warning—either from our nameless friends or from me.”

“True. But I think the enemy will be more cautious now; they didn’t catch us off guard
when they expected to, and that has to give them pause. They can’t know how much you
see. I think that’s one reason they move at night.”

A flicker of interest narrowed her eyes. “Because I’m presumably asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s just a hunch, but…Sarah, the day we met, the day your house burned, I
watched Lewis when he talked to you. I noticed that he started to touch you—and then
drew back.”

“A lot of people are that way about psychics.” She shrugged. “Or so-called witches.
They’re afraid their darkest secrets will be revealed to me if I come into contact
with them. I’ve noticed quite a few friends and acquaintances doing the same thing.”

She looked briefly at the careful foot of space between them and added, “It surprised
me when you touched me so calmly that day.”

Tucker refused to let himself get sidetracked. “But Lewis wanted to touch you, I could
see that. He didn’t stop because he was afraid. It was more like he…remembered something
he wasn’t supposed to do. Sarah, what if they
know
their darkest secrets will be revealed to you if you touch them? What if that’s the
reason they keep their distance except at night when you should be sleeping? Because
if they get too close or linger too long when you’re awake and aware, you’ll recognize
them for what they are.”

“Lewis was close, even if I didn’t touch him.”

“Yeah, but he was also a cop. You had no reason to be wary of him, you thought. Trust
dulled your sense of self-preservation—and all your other senses as well. Plus, he
may not be one of
them
in the strictest sense, but rather a tool they use when necessary.”

Sarah thought about that, her gaze returning to the cross on the other side of the
street. “You are good with
puzzles, aren’t you,” she murmured at last. “That makes sense.”

“It makes sense, but it’s still only a guess. Plus, even if I’m right, this is still
new to you, so I can’t see how we can use the theory, make it work for your protection.
As you said yourself, it’s something you haven’t yet learned to control; they may
very well be wary of you but we don’t yet know how to use that.”

“So…half an ace?” She offered him a faintly twisted smile.

“Better than nothing.”

Her smile faded, and Sarah said, “If only there were others like me I could talk to.
Psychics with more experience than me. People who know how to control this, how to
use it.”

“Maybe there are.”

“Still alive?”

“It’s possible. According to the research, there have been psychics in the news recently
for reasons other than death or disappearance. Names we’ve ignored because they didn’t
fit our search criteria.”

“Psychics who aren’t targets? But why isn’t the…the other side interested in them?
If they’ve killed and taken so many, if they’re after me now, why ignore others?”

Tucker frowned. “Maybe there’s some common denominator among some psychics that makes
them less valuable, or less of a threat. That has to be it. A particular kind of ability,
maybe, or the strength of their abilities. Hell, maybe it’s something so subtle we
could be looking right at it, something as simple as eye color or background,
something like that. The only way we’re going to find out is to get more information,
and then…”

“And then…approach another psychic?”

“It’s a possibility. Another psychic, one more experienced, could probably help you,
Sarah. Help you learn to use your abilities.”

“Have you considered that it’s also possible those psychics aren’t targets because
they already belong to the other side?” she asked steadily.

Tucker had not considered that, and the possibility chilled him.

Down to the bone.

It was fairly late when they got to Cleveland, nearly nine o’clock that evening. They
found a hotel with rooms available, and Tucker got them a small suite on the tenth
floor.

“I think we should stay together,” he told Sarah. “But at least in these suites, there’s
a separate bedroom to give you a little privacy.”

Sarah didn’t argue. She was slightly surprised that he wanted them to be together
now when, presumably, they had a bit of breathing room; when things had been a lot
more tense en route to Chicago, he had gotten them separate rooms. Keeping a careful
distance, she’d assumed. She didn’t know what his reasoning was now and was too tired
to think much about it.

The hotel had an underground garage, which was one
reason Tucker had chosen it; their Jeep would have a bit more security than if it
were parked out in the open, and it would certainly be less visible to passersby.
It was also a fairly busy hotel, with people coming and going; it was hosting some
kind of business convention, and that made it a virtual certainty that there would
be people about at all hours.

The suite turned out to be a nice one, with a spacious sitting room that had a sleeper
sofa (which Tucker matter-of-factly claimed for his bed), a couple of good chairs,
a desk, and a comfortable bedroom with a king-sized bed.

Sarah barely noticed. Travel-weary and just plain tired, all she wanted was to take
a long, hot shower and get ready for bed. Tucker told her to go ahead while he plugged
his laptop in to charge the battery while his system continued gathering the information
that might help them.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah, but too wound up to sleep just yet. I need to wind down, and I’ll sleep better
if I work on this for a while.” He looked at her searchingly. “It’s been hours since
we stopped for supper; I think I’ll order some soup and sandwiches from room service.
Okay?”

“Fine.” She was surprised to find herself a little hungry. Tucker had been feeding
her at regular intervals, and she was beginning to get used to it.

Leaving him in the sitting room, she went and took a luxuriously long and hot shower.
It felt wonderful. She washed her hair with shampoo thoughtfully provided by the hotel,
and as she stood at the vanity drying it with
the dryer also provided, she reflected with a bit of rueful humor that someone really
should publish a self-help book on what to pack for an indeterminate journey on the
run for one’s life.

Moisturizer, for example, should go into every woman’s survival kit. You couldn’t
always count on a hotel to provide it, after all. When you could even stay at a hotel,
of course. And a nice bottle of bubble bath for those rare occasions when a few precious
minutes could be spent soothing a travel-weary body. And a small makeup bag and a
bottle of pleasing perfume would certainly come in handy when you were traveling with
a man. A nice man.

A sexy man.

Idiot. Get him out of your head.

The only sleepwear Sarah had brought with her was something styled like a man’s button-up,
cuffed-sleeve shirt. It was fairly short, reaching just below the middle of her thighs,
and rather sheer.

She looked at her reflection on the back of the bathroom door and sighed. Too pale
and still too thin despite Tucker’s regular meals, she looked almost anemic. And the
stark white sleep shirt didn’t help.

My kingdom for some blush and lipstick. A touch of foundation. Something.

The faint spurt of self-derisive humor faded. She leaned her forehead against the
cool mirror for a moment and closed her eyes. Her head was hurting, throbbing. It
was almost like a sinus headache, an aching pressure behind her eyes, but she knew
it wasn’t sinus. It was this
thing inside her, this thing that had been born in violence six months before.

It was growing.

Tucker hadn’t understood when she’d told him that; she knew he hadn’t. How could he?
How could anyone know what it felt like to have something alien inside you, something
that was part of you and yet not under your control? Not…normal.

“Go away,” she whispered.

For a moment, she could have sworn the pressure inside her head increased, as if in
protest, and far back in her mind she thought she heard the echo of a whisper.

Sarah…

Fate. Destiny.

Sarah lifted her head away from the mirror and opened her eyes. They looked very bright
and shiny, and felt hot. But she refused to let the tears fall. She locked them inside
her and angrily wished they’d drown that thing that kept growing, that thing that
wouldn’t go away and leave her in peace.

Then she squared her shoulders and left the bathroom. Reluctant to let Tucker see
her looking so damned ghostlike and…insubstantial, Sarah put on one of the bulky terry-cloth
robes also provided by the hotel. It was also white, which hardly lent her any color,
but at least it made her look less in need of care and feeding.

Even so, he looked at her for an unnervingly long moment when Sarah went back into
the sitting room just a couple of minutes after room service had arrived. But all
he said, lightly, was, “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Good. Here, I had the waiter leave the cart in the room so we can use it as our table…”

The food occupied them for some time, but finally Sarah nodded toward the laptop set
up on the desk and asked, “Find anything yet?”

“More of the same, so far.” He leaned back in his chair and frowned slightly. “I’m
still sorting through all the information the computer gathered while we were at the
lake. Every news item just seems to confirm what we believe—that someone is abducting
young psychics and killing older ones. There are some exceptions, of course. I’ve
read articles on at least a couple of very young psychics who seem to be doing fine,
and a number of articles about older psychics who’ve been in the news more than once.”

“So what does that tell us?”

“I’m damned if I know. Unless it’s a question of genuine versus phony. Maybe all the
ones still alive and kicking just didn’t satisfy whatever criteria the other side
is using to determine the real from the fake.”

Sarah thought about it. “Can you set up your computer to look for a pattern? I mean,
in case there’s something we’re just not seeing?”

Tucker nodded. “When we have more information, sure. I’ll probably have to write the
program, but that won’t take too long. In the meantime, I’m also starting a list of
psychics who don’t appear to be under any kind of threat. And I’ll narrow that list
to those living in the northeast.”

“You still believe we should approach one?”

“I think we have to try, Sarah. We’ll be as careful as we can in choosing who to approach
and how we approach them.”

“How do we know we’re being careful?”

“Good question,” he said ruefully. “The only answer I have is—we do the best we can.
Maybe the computer will provide us with something useful. Maybe your senses and instincts
will kick in. Or maybe, in the end, we’ll just have to wing it.”

Sarah sipped her decaf for a moment, then said slowly, “We can only gather information
about those people who’ve been in the news or some kind of official report. Tucker…don’t
you think there are probably people out there who’ve successfully hidden their abilities?
I mean, I would have, if it hadn’t hit me so suddenly and so hard at first that I
blurted things out without caring who was listening. If I’d had my druthers, nobody
would ever have found out about me.”

“I’m sure there are others out there who think that way,” he agreed. “And maybe they’ve
escaped notice. But it means the same thing to us as it does to the other side: those
psychics will be virtually impossible to find.”

“Unless the other side has ways of finding them besides the media and official reports.”