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.”