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.
NINE
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.