“Right.”
She nodded. “I can’t help wondering about them, though. The ones that might be hiding out there. What if they’re so quiet because they know what’s going on?”
“That could be.”
She felt a little chill and unconsciously drew the lapels of the robe more closely together. The throbbing behind her eyes intensified. “I just…I just have this unsettling feeling that there are people moving all around us, and that they know what the hell’s going on. That if we only knew who to ask, it would all start to make some kind of sense.”
Tucker smiled slightly, his gaze intent on her face. “I have a lot of faith in your feelings. Maybe…” He hesitated, then said, “Sarah, maybe if you concentrate on those feelings, if you…open yourself to them…you’ll be able to sense some information the computer could never provide.”
Sarah set her cup down on the table and stared at it. Lovely pattern. Roses. Unusual, since most hotels stuck with utilitarian white…
“Sarah?”
“I don’t know how to do that.” Her head throbbed.
“I think you do. Now, I think you do.”
Softly, starkly, she said, “I’m afraid to do that.”
“I know.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she realized that he did know. But he didn’t understand, not really. He still didn’t understand. She managed a faint smile. “Can’t help being a coward, you know. It’s the way I’m made.”
“You aren’t a coward.”
“Sure I am. Do you think I’d be doing all this if you weren’t with me? I’m leaning on your strength, Tucker. And your confidence. And your belief that, somehow, we can change a future burned into my mind. Left alone, I’d still be back in Richmond. Waiting to die.”
Tucker shook his head. “You are not a coward, Sarah. You were blindsided by all this and it shook you off your balance, but there’s nothing fainthearted in you. A coward would never have left Richmond, with me or anyone else. A coward wouldn’t have survived—with astonishing calm, by the way—seeing men come to kill her on two separate occasions.”
She didn’t believe him but shrugged slightly. “If you say so. But I know what’s inside me, and right now there’s little but fear.”
“Fear can help you. Every soldier knows that, Sarah. It can keep your instincts and your senses sharp, keep you alert to danger. And it doesn’t make you a coward.”
“It does if it keeps you from acting. I’m afraid to open myself up, to deliberately try to look into dark places I’d rather not see.” She got up abruptly and went over to the window. The curtains were partially drawn, but through the narrow opening, she looked out on city lights. It looked very cold out there, and she felt very alone.
Softly, she added, “I’m really afraid to do that.”
“Sarah…”
He was behind her, too close, but there was nowhere she could go. She was trapped. Trapped. The hot throbbing behind her eyes was like an alien heartbeat. In a voice that was suddenly harsh and angry, she said, “You have no idea how it feels, none at all. I told you once, at the lake, but you didn’t listen. There’s something inside me, Tucker, something alien. And it’s growing. It whispers to me, telling me what I should do and how I should feel—and I don’t trust it.”
“Sarah—”
“You think it’s just another tool, like your laptop, something you can use to get information. Push the right button and get what you want.” She did turn and look at him then, through hot eyes, and her voice was low and strained. “But it’s not that easy. It’s like claws inside me, do you understand that? Something alive and struggling—and hurting me. Every bit of information I manage to tear free leaves bloody wounds behind it. How long do you think it’ll be before I bleed to death?”
“Sarah.”
“Leave me alone.” She avoided his intent gaze and tried to move around him, but he was too close.
“You’ve been alone too damned long.” He put his hands on her shoulders to keep her still. “Sarah, you’re right, I can’t even imagine what it’s like—and I make my living imagining things.” His voice was low, steady. “But I can understand fear. And the only thing I know for sure about fear is that we have to face what frightens us. We have to. Otherwise it can cripple us.”
“Then I’m crippled.”
“Not yet. You’re only crippled if you let yourself be.”
She looked up at him, feeling so nakedly vulnerable that it actually hurt. “Everything I’ve seen has been…darkness. Violence. Death. I don’t want to see that anymore, Tucker.”