She seemed to be almost pointing up at him, her pointer finger extended while the others were gently curled. Pointing at him, almost beckoning him to come closer. Without thinking, he bent closer.
That was when he realized that her wrist ended at the ground because the rest of her was under it. That was when he realized she was dead.
That was when Donny Grant wet his pants and began to scream.
SEVEN
Slowly, Sarah said, “Then…we are talking about a conspiracy.”
“I hate to admit it, and I can’t even begin to imagine why it’s happening, but I think so. It would take more than one person to cover up any murder or disappearance, and by definition that makes it a conspiracy. I can’t think of another explanation.”
“Who?”
Tucker let his breath out in a long sigh. “I don’t know. But if this is an organized effort, we’re talking something so big and complex that it almost defies belief. It does defy belief. Think of the cost. Think of the manpower. I mean, they have to be…monitoring the media, for one thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sarah, how do you think they found out about you? Six months ago, you were mugged, but there was no mention in the papers of psychic ability. It was just later, weeks ago, that the Richmond papers picked up the story. And what happens soon after? You realize you’re being watched. And your house burns down. And somebody comes in the night to kill you.”
“You mean they’ve got people just…reading the papers looking for mention of psychics?”
He nodded toward his computer. “The high-tech version. Using computers and keywords, you can search through a hell of a lot of newspapers, blogs, and other social media even in a single day. Could be an automated system. But even so, you need people to monitor, to weigh and consider what they find—and do something about it. A lot of people, assuming they don’t go after one psychic at a time. It would have to represent a huge investment.”
“So what’s the payoff?” she realized.
“Exactly. Why are they taking some psychics—and killing others? What are they doing with the ones they take? What is the threat, or the reward, that makes these actions necessary? In other words—what the bloody hell is going on?”
To Sarah, the possibilities were terrifying. It was one thing to believe that an anonymous someone was after her, but to suspect that her enemy was organized on a national scale, ruthless and frighteningly efficient, and had been taking and killing psychics for more than a decade, was the most chilling thing she had ever even imagined.
She avoided his steady gaze and looked into her coffee cup instead, and said the first thing that came into her head. “Lewis was a cop. If even cops are involved in this…if even cops are expendable…then how can we begin to fight them?”
“We begin with information,” he answered promptly. “We gather the pieces and put them together until we have a complete picture, until we understand what’s going on.”
“While we’re on the run from them?”
Tucker shrugged. “We may be running from them—or running toward something that might help us understand who they are and what they’re doing. We won’t know until we get there.”
“I still think…I’m still afraid that the end of this journey for me will be death.”
“I know,” he said. “I think that’s why you can’t see where it is we’re supposed to end up. You don’t want to see, because you’re afraid you’ll die there. But you won’t, Sarah. Margo’s fate as you saw it was changed. Your own fate as you saw it will not happen the way you saw it. We’re going to change it.”
“You’re so sure of that.”
“Positive.”
But I’m not. I think this is all part of the plan. We’re like rats in a maze, pleased we’re finding our way and unaware that at the center there’s a trap instead of cheese…
Melissa Scanlan picked up the phone before it rang, and said absently, “Hi, Sue. What’s up?”
“Don’t do that!” Susan Devries ordered in a harassed voice. “I hate it when you do that. Let the phone ring at least once before you pick it up, dammit!”
“Sorry,” Melissa said ruefully. “I usually remember, but…never mind. We can’t go to the dance tonight, Sue. There’s weather moving in, and we have a cow out and ready to calve. Joe wants me to help him look for her. It’ll probably take us hours to find her.”
“You might at least wait for me to ask,” Sue said, mild now. “Bad weather?”
“Snow. I think.”
“You’re usually right about that. Okay, I’ll tell Tom. Be careful out there, Melissa.”
“Always. Bye.” Melissa glanced out the kitchen window as she pulled on her gloves. It was still calm out there. Too calm. The weather service said it’d stay that way, but she knew better. It was one of the things she could predict with near-one-hundred-percent accuracy—the Wyoming weather.
She went outside in the cold late-September air and joined her husband in the main barn, where he already had their horses saddled.