“How? To buy lottery tickets? To predict how the stock market’s going to go in the months and years ahead?”
“Maybe. But among the supposedly dead and definitely missing psychics I’ve listed so far are those who can’t predict the future any more than I can. Psychics whose gifts are along other lines. People with telepathy, telekinesis, the ability to supposedly channel the dead or sense spirits or start fires, or take pictures with the mind. It really runs the gamut.”
“Then I can’t see how there could be a single answer to this.” Sarah rubbed her forehead fretfully. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
He was watching her more closely than she had realized. “Is the pressure building again?”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “No, not really. I’m just…having a little trouble thinking clearly.” And, of course, I’m scared half out of my mind.
Tucker frowned, but said, “They must think they can gain something. I can think of a dozen scams where a medium or fire starter would come in handy.”
She was surprised. “Scams?”
“Sure. A good medium can do a pretty brisk business, and arson can be immensely profitable.”
“Yes, but…A fake medium could probably do okay, especially given the apparent resources of the other side. And as for fire starters, all it takes to start a fire is a match.”
“A match can also leave evidence of arson. Even so, to be honest, this doesn’t feel like a for-profit thing to me. It’s just too damned big, too complicated. And too costly. The payoff has to be big, maybe bigger than we can imagine. I just don’t see that coming from sideshow mediums or burning buildings.”
“So we still don’t know what’s going on.”
He glanced at her. “We know what. Or part of what. We just don’t know why.”
“And all we can do is talk in circles.” Sarah resisted the urge to rub her forehead again. You must think you’re going to get a pretty good book out of all this, Tucker, to stick with me this long.
“We’re putting the pieces together, Sarah. You have to admit, we know—or think we know—a lot more than we did a week ago.”
“For all the good it does us.”
“You’re tired.” His voice gentled. “It’s hard for you to see that we are making progress. But we are. And we’ll do even better once we make contact with another psychic.”
I can’t afford to be tired. You said it yourself. But all she said aloud was, “Assuming we pick the right psychic, and not one who belongs to the other side.”
“You’ll know if we’re right.”
“Will I?”
“I believe you will.”
“Suppose I don’t. Suppose I can’t tell an enemy from a friend. What then?” As hard as she tried, she couldn’t steady her shaking voice.
“Then we’ll think of something else.” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying note of tension.
“And keep running.”
“We can run as long as it takes.”
Sarah rubbed her cold hands together. They always seemed to be cold now. Nerves, she supposed. “How long are you prepared to put your life on hold, Tucker?”
“I told you. As long as it takes.”
Only until October. One way or another, we’ll stop running then.
But all she said was, “Whether they want me dead or not, we know they can kill; if you get in their way…”
“I intend to get in their way. And I’m betting you’re stronger than they suspect you are. I’m betting on you.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on me?”
Without looking at her, Tucker replied flatly, “I already have, Sarah.”
There was really nothing she could say to that.
Beyond the window where he stood, Duran could see most of downtown Syracuse. He didn’t think much of it. Not that he considered the matter with any undue interest. His attention was directed toward a specific building barely a block away, another hotel. It was almost nine o’clock on Tuesday night, and the hotel was flooded with light.
The footsteps behind him were inaudible, but he heard them. “Well? Have they checked in?”
“Yes, sir. Same as before, a junior suite. The door opens into the parlor, where Mackenzie will be.”
“Where we assume Mackenzie will be,” Duran corrected gently.
“Yes, sir.”
Duran turned away from the window. “What does Astrid say?”
“That Gallagher is blocking—probably unconsciously.”
“I wonder if she’s telling the truth,” Duran mused, not a question so much as thoughtful speculation.
Varden did not venture a response, though a faint frown pulled at his brows.
Duran saw it. “You think she wouldn’t lie to us?”
“She was brought over ten years ago. If we can’t trust her…”
“Yes. If we can’t trust her.” Duran smiled, something ironic in the expression.
Varden waited a moment, then said, “It is Astrid’s opinion that Gallagher is on the edge of understanding at least some of what she’s capable of.”
“I can see that for myself without benefit of a psychic’s abilities,” Duran said, dry now.