Sleeping With Fear (11 page)

Trust me-if it's occult-related, it's worse.

But Riley didn't say it out loud. And wasn't sure why.

Ash said to her, "I gather you copied a friend at Quantico on the postmortem results?"

She nodded. "With Jake's permission, of course. Couple of hours ago."

"Your friend works fast. I stopped by the station after I left the courthouse, and Leah gave me a message to pass on; apparently, your cell phone is off or dead."

"Damn." She didn't bother to check her bag, knowing she had turned the phone on before leaving the house. It was dead-and losing its charge even faster than what was normal for her. Yet another sign of things out of whack in her world.

To Jake, Ash added, "Your phone seems to be off as well."

"I left it in the Jeep."

"Good thing there was no emergency requiring the sheriff."

"We're a block and a half from the station, Ash; somebody could have stuck their head out one of the doors and yelled for me."

Riley wasn't in the mood for a pissing contest, so she stopped this one before it could really get going by saying to Ash, "The message?"

He looked at her. "Short and fairly enigmatic. Quote:
First test, human. Second test, same type as donor.
End quote. Hope it means more to you than it does to me."

Riley laced her fingers together around the strap of her shoulder bag, hoping neither man would notice them shaking. Or would simply believe she was just in need of calories if they did notice. But that wasn't why.

The message was all too clear to her. The blood on the clothing she'd awakened wearing the previous afternoon was human. And the blood type was the same as that found in their victim's stomach.

Which meant it was pretty damn likely there was another murder victim out there somewhere.

Someone whose blood Riley had been covered in.

"
Is
it something Jake should know about?" Ash asked as he drove Riley to the café where they'd planned to have lunch. They had left behind a frustrated sheriff who wasn't at all happy that she wasn't willing to completely decipher the message from Quantico.

"He already knows what's important; his own M.E. told him. That the blood in the victim's stomach is human but doesn't belong to the victim. Which means there's probably another victim we haven't found yet."

"So why did your pal at Quantico have to verify that?"

I can't think. Why can't I think?

She needed fuel, of course, yet again, which was one reason she hadn't protested Ash's arrival at the arson scene. She needed fuel, and once she had that, once her energy level was optimal, then she could begin to make sense of the bits and pieces of information scattered in her mind.

Occult activity: possibly. Arson: definitely. Murder: definitely-probably two of them, dammit. Connection? God knows.

Replying finally to Ash's question, she said, "Just…making sure, that's all."

"Riley, what aren't you telling
me
?"

She took a chance. "A lot."

Ash didn't seem surprised by that. Or else he had a great poker face. "I see. Professional reasons, or personal ones?"

Taking another chance, she answered honestly. Sort of.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other. I'm sorry, Ash. It's just…I'm used to working alone. And I'm not used to being personally involved with someone while I'm working, I told you that."
And I can't read you at all, can't tell what you're thinking or feeling, but I look at you and feel…uneasy. Uneasy and I don't know why.

"And I'm the DA of Hazard County."

"That too. I can't-I can't just tell you everything I know, or think I know or suspect, not without evidence to back it up. Without evidence, it's just speculation, useless speculation. And most of it's probably dead ends anyway, because most investigations are full of them. That's one reason I haven't told Jake much of what I'm thinking either."

"Because he'd grab what might look like a lead and run with it. Focus all his suspicions on one person or one area to the exclusion of all else. Rush to judgment."

Riley was glad Ash seemed to understand that. She nodded. "He's the type, or at least I think he is. Wants to do something ASAP, frustrated because he can't. He's more than ready for concrete answers. And that would be fine-if I was right. But I'm not sure of anything yet. Until I am sure, or at least reasonably sure, I'd rather keep most of the speculation to myself."

After a moment, Ash said in a deliberate tone, "The danger in that is your isolation, Riley. Keep everything to yourself, and if the murderer even suspects you might know something, he could also believe that taking you out would eliminate or at least lessen the threat."

"I know," she said.

"You're willing to risk that?"

"I usually do." Usually-but not always. Because Bishop tended to know, even if she hadn't told him, what was going on in her investigations. In her life. Hell, in her mind. Other team members often knew as well because, hey, hard to keep most things secret among a group of psychics.

But not this time. With Bishop and the other members of the unit obviously preoccupied with their own demanding cases and scattered across the country to boot, the sense of unity she had felt since joining the SCU was missing.

Or maybe that was just her, just the disconnect of her own dulled or missing senses. Either way, this time the inherently risky nature of her job felt more dangerous than ever.

This time she felt alone.

Really alone.

"I don't know that I'm willing to risk it," Ash said in a thoughtful tone. Then, almost immediately, added, "As a matter of fact, I'm sure. I'm not willing to risk you, Riley."

"Ash-"

"Yes, I know your job is dangerous no matter what the circumstances. Situation normal, for you. I also know you're highly trained by the army
and
by the FBI, which means you can more than take care of yourself in just about any situation I could name. Including, undoubtedly, this one. And I know you've done just fine without me for thirty-odd years."

He pulled the Hummer into a parking space outside a busy café, turned off the engine, and looked at her steadily. "But I am asking you, in this investigation, in this place and time, just this once, to break a few of your rules and talk to me about what's going on."

"It's never just once," she murmured. "Break a rule, and before you know it life is chaos. You're running with scissors, coloring outside the lines, putting your elbows on the table. Anarchy."

"Quit stalling. Look, I can separate personal confidences from my professional responsibilities."

"I'm not sure I can," she admitted.

"I'm sure. Trust me, Riley."

Hating the gambit, Riley nevertheless fell back on a handy excuse and tried to keep it light. "It's not fair to ask anything of me when I'm starving and can't think straight. You don't want to win that way, do you?"

"I," Ash said, "am willing to win any way I can. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

He didn't press her for a response just then, which was good since Riley didn't really have one. Instead, he got out of the vehicle, and as she followed suit Riley was aware of the unsettling realization that she was going to have to decide whether to trust Ash completely-and decide without the aid of the extra senses she had counted on her entire life.

Blind trust.

Something she wasn't at all sure she was capable of.

R
iley decided to approach the Pearson house casually, from the beach. Having made that decision, she returned to her own house after the lunch with Ash, exchanged her shoulder bag for a fanny pack just large enough to hold her weapon, I.D., a couple of PowerBars, and house keys, found a pair of sunglasses behind which she could at least partially hide a multitude of uncertainties, and went out for a seemingly casual stroll.

"Casual" out on the beach meant carrying her gun out of sight. Or at least that was what she told herself.

Judgment call. Sometimes I wear the weapon on my hip and sometimes I hide it away. That makes sense. Right?

Her wavering was both uncharacteristic and unprofessional-and scary. Riley pushed it away, telling herself one more time that things would become clearer.

Eventually.

Other people were hitting the beach as well, since it was after two and therefore considered a safer time of day for the sun worshippers. A number of people nodded and smiled as Riley passed, but nobody called out to her-which was a relief, since the faces were those of strangers.

She was, in any case, more intent on scanning the oceanfront houses as she passed; no one had been specific as to the actual location of the Pearson house, other than to say it was "up the beach from your place."

Jake had been so pissed at her when she'd left the arson scene with Ash that she hadn't wanted to ask him. As for Ash, she'd been preoccupied wondering when he was going to repeat his request that she confide in him about everything and had forgotten to ask him.

Oh, yeah, some cop I am.

Rather than repeat that request, he had instead talked casually of casual things, and Riley had reached the uncomfortable conclusion that he was simply going to wait until she brought up the subject.

Either he knew her well enough to know that she despised both ultimatums and feeling cornered, or else he was utterly confident that she would, sooner or later, confide in him.

She found either possibility disconcerting.

"Hey, Riley!"

She stopped but remained where she was on the beach, just above the high-water mark. A man, waving an arm to get her attention, was walking rapidly toward her across the wooden walkway that provided beach access from one of the houses.

The Pearson house? Riley didn't know. Had she visited the house at all? She didn't remember. The house at which she was looking was no more familiar to her than any other one in the neat row of attractively individualized yet basically similar houses along the beach: lots of deck space, lots of windows, colorful beach towels fluttering in the breeze as they hung over deck railings to dry. Nothing made this particular house memorable.

But the man…

I know you. Your face is in my mind.

One of the faces in her mind, at least. Not a bad face, on the thin side with the bones a bit too prominent. It matched his thin body, which was currently dressed in an old T-shirt featuring the logo of a seventies rock band and a pair of slightly baggy, too-long shorts.

At least he's not wearing a Speedo…

Riley did her best to shake off the irrelevant thought and concentrate on the man trudging awkwardly toward her through the deep sand piled up at the bottom of the walkway stairs.

Early to mid-forties, at a guess. Fairly tall, thatch of dark hair in no particular style, and very pale skin already showing the first pink signs of sunburn.

Already? Do I know he's only been here a short while or just assume it from what Ash said?

"Sunblock," she said casually as he reached her. "You can get burned before you know it on the beach. It's that nice breeze coming off the water." She was still groping in her mind but so far had found no name for this vaguely familiar face.

He grimaced. "Yeah, that's what Jenny keeps telling me. She also says the punch lines are too easy when you're a sunburned satanist."

"That is a point," Riley said.
Satanist? Oh, shit. But if he's this open about it…

"Anyway, I'm wearing sunblock today. Plenty of punch lines for that, now that I think about it. But never mind. Riley, what's this we're hearing about the body found yesterday? He was a sacrifice?"

"You must know I'm not free to discuss any of the details with civilians. It's an ongoing investigation"-
Your name, dammit. What's your name? It's-
"Steve."
So ordinary? Damn, bet I've got it wrong.

But apparently not.

"Riley, if he
was
killed and hung above the altar inside a circle of salt, we both know that's ritual."

She pulled her sunglasses down her nose and peered at him over the tops.

"Not
my
ritual," he added hastily. "Or ours, rather. Come on, Riley, you know we don't do that kind of shit. I don't know anybody who
does.
And a human victim is sure as hell not what we expected when we were invited out here."

Invited?

"Yeah, about that," she said, testing the waters cautiously. "About that invitation."

"What about it?" Steve frowned. "I told you when we talked about it Saturday afternoon."

"A lot's happened since then." She kept it vague.

Steve didn't appear to find that strange. "No kidding. I guess the sheriff has you on the murder officially, huh?"

Riley pushed her sunglasses back up her nose so she could hide behind them. "Like I said, Steve, it's an ongoing investigation."

"Right, right. Well, just so you know, I'd a lot rather talk to you than the sheriff. He thinks we're a bunch of nuts-probably dangerous nuts, at that. You know better."

Do I?

Mildly, she said, "Well, you can't really blame the sheriff. You've been talking to people. About your beliefs."

"We have nothing to hide," Steve insisted.

"Mmm. Having nothing to hide is one thing. Going around telling people you practice Satanism when weird things have been happening in the area is asking for trouble."

"Yeah, so you said when we talked on Saturday."

Riley waited, hoping that silence on her part would keep him talking. It was a technique that had worked for her often in the past, and it worked now.

"I know you warned me, Riley, but, Jesus, I didn't know some poor bastard was going to get killed. If I'd had any idea
that
was in the wind, I never would have brought my people here. We concentrate on compassion rituals, I told you that. We don't do
any
destruction rituals; the energy required and expended is just too negative. We don't want that coming back to us."

"Even if you had an enemy you'd prefer to get…out of your way?"

"Even if. And we don't make those kinds of enemies. I told you. We're harmless."

"Okay. So who invited you out here?"

Steve frowned at her. "I told you that too. He said his name was Wesley Tate."

Desperately trying to read his expression and pick up on verbal clues, Riley said, "I'm still having a hard time believing you'd bring your people here on the word of a stranger, Steve. I would have thought you'd know better than that. You've been practicing-what? Twenty years?"

"Nearly that." He sighed. "Yeah, I know it could have been a setup of some kind. At best somebody trying to take our money, and at worst a hate group out to make an example of us. But he just sounded so damn charming and welcoming, Riley. We've been taking heat back home, getting pressure to go elsewhere, so the invitation to visit Opal Island came at a perfect time."

A suspiciously perfect time.

Riley mentally crossed her fingers and guessed. "But to accept the invitation of a man you hadn't even set eyes on…"

"I know, I know. Not something I'd normally have considered, except that he knew all the right things to say. I mean, we're not some secret brotherhood with code words and bullshit like that, but you know as well as I do that there are…"

"Code words?" she supplied dryly.

"Well…yeah. The right words, anyway. The right names. He knew people. He checked out. And it wasn't like he was inviting us to his own place or asking for anything. Just suggesting we might want to check out Opal Island and Castle because people were laid-back here and because there were some even like-minded."

"And have you found them?"

"No. But it's just been a few days, after all. We've sort of put out the word." He grimaced. "As you said, rotten timing, obviously. And I've gotta tell you-if those
like-minded
people are into human sacrifice, we're not gonna have much in common with them."

"If anything at all," a new voice added pleasantly.

Riley looked past Steve, unsettled yet again that she hadn't noticed the approach of the tall, dark woman now joining them on the beach. Especially since the woman was strikingly beautiful and had a strong, definite presence. Probably in her mid-thirties, she was both exotic and sensual, her centerfold body ripe to bursting and her dark eyes practically smoldering.

"Hey, Riley," she said as she joined them. Her voice was as sultry as the rest of her, low and rather throaty. And her night-black hair fell straight and gleaming down her back all the way to her hips.

Put her photo in the dictionary beside the name of the alternative religion of your choice and she'd look the part.

Even wearing a very brief swimsuit. Maybe especially wearing a very brief swimsuit.

Riley dredged in her mind and produced a name. "Hey, Jenny."

"Guess the shit's really hit the fan with this murder," Jenny said, shaking her head. "Is that what you came to tell Steve? That we should pack up and get out?"

Though the other woman's voice was casual, the question was, in some peculiar way Riley couldn't define, some sort of challenge. She was sure of that, even if she didn't understand what lay behind it.

At least…I think I'm sure.

"I was just stretching my legs after lunch," she said mildly. "Steve was the one who wanted to talk to me."

"
Should
we pack up and leave?" Jenny asked.

"Not my place to say. But there's been a murder, and plenty of evidence left behind to point toward the occult. So if I were you, I'd be careful. Maybe stick close to the house. Maybe keep my beliefs to myself for the duration."

"If you were us."

Riley nodded. "Something like this happens, and people get jumpy as hell. Things snowball. So I'd lay low for a while. If I were you."

"Understood." Jenny smiled. She linked her arm with Steve's and with her free hand reached out to pat Riley on the shoulder. "You don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

…the candlelight cast dancing shadows around the room and shimmered off the velvet hangings and silken robes. On the wall above the altar hung an inverted cross fashioned of some metallic material that also caught the light. Below the inverted cross was the usual platform, and upon it the altar.

She was naked. Her head raised on a pillow, she lay in the center of the rectangular platform so that one of its long edges came to the backs of her widely parted knees. Her arms were stretched out to either side, and each hand grasped a silver candlestick containing a black candle.

The candles were lit.

Her body was pale, her long black hair arranged to frame her bold nakedness with no attempt to coyly conceal. Her lush breasts were tipped with artificially blood-red nipples, and as Riley watched, the robed celebrant-the "priest" conducting the ceremony-stepped between the altar's spread legs and dipped his thumb into the silver cup he held, then drew with the viscous liquid an inverted cross onto the pale flesh of her lower stomach.

Red. Blood.

The room smelled of incense and blood, and Riley had to breathe through her mouth to avoid coughing.

Couldn't cough.

Couldn't give herself away.

She peered through the narrow opening in the draperies, trying to look for anything familiar in the robed individuals. Height, build, a gesture-anything to help her identify at least one of them. But it was an exercise in futility. They were eerily featureless, their faces concealed by the hoods.

They were chanting in low voices, in Latin, and she could only catch a few words of what they were saying.

"…Magni Dei Nostri Satanas…"

Riley sat up with a smothered gasp, her heart pounding.

A Black Mass. That was what she'd seen, part of a version of the satanic ceremony known as a Black Mass.

Seen? Seen when? Seen where?

She was in bed, Riley realized. In her own bed, in her own bedroom of the beach house with moonlight streaming through the blinds on the windows. When she turned her head cautiously, it was to see Ash sleeping beside her. Beyond him she saw the clock on the nightstand.

5:30 A.M.

Wednesday?

No, that wasn't right. That couldn't be right. She'd been on the beach, talking to Steve and Jenny, and it had been no later than three or so on Tuesday afternoon. And then…

Here. Now. Waking in bed with Ash.

More than twelve hours later.

Resisting panic, she slipped from the bed without waking him. She found one of her sleep-shirts on the floor and put it on, then crept from the bedroom.

As usual, several lights had been left on dimly in the main living area of the house, and the blinds in there were firmly closed against the night. The latter fact told her only that she must have, as usual, closed all the blinds at dusk; Riley disliked the exposed sensation of uncovered windows at night, especially when people were likely to walk along the beach on the other side of those windows.

A holdover from her army days, when being too visible and presenting too much of a target had never been a good idea.

Riley paused for a moment and held out her hands, studying them. Not too shaky, but hardly steady. Rather the way she felt inside.

She went to the kitchen to collect an energy bar and a glass of orange juice. The TV remote was on the breakfast bar, so she used it to turn the set on, hitting the MUTE button as she did so. Automatically turning it to CNN, hopeful of verifying the date, she swore softly to see a commercial for some diet product.