“There’s nothing else we can do. We can’t afford to call in the police, Sarah. We don’t have any answers they’d believe, and no time to even try convincing them.”
“But…just to dump her somewhere…How can you?”
He drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Listen to me. We don’t have a choice. Bodies require explanations. Serious explanations to serious people in authority. And people in authority frown on murder. They look for likely suspects—and they don’t believe in ghostly conspiracies involving psychics and shadowy merciless bad guys. So who do you think they’d suspect?”
“Not us,” Sarah objected. “Surely—”
“Of course us. We found one of Leigh’s kitchen knives out there. The murder weapon. With her prints on it—or mine, or yours. Sarah, the other side doesn’t generally leave bodies lying around just to show they can.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they always have a reason, a purpose. Cait was meant to be a murder victim, and we were meant to be suspects.”
It was Leigh who said slowly, “But, why? They have a baited trap waiting for Sarah. Why this…diversion?”
“I don’t know why.” Brodie, his face still gray and older than his years, stared at his coffee with a frown. “It’s a stupid, senseless waste of a life. A young life. I never should have taken her on as my partner, never. She was too young, too reckless.”
“Brodie, it isn’t your fault,” Leigh said quietly.
He shot her a look but, instead of arguing, said, “The only thing I can think of is that they’re trying to delay us and figured a murder would do it. If Sarah hadn’t awakened knowing something was wrong, the first person to…see Cait would have been that neighbor of yours across the street, Leigh. The one who goes to work so early. When he came out his front door, he would have seen your front walk clearly. And seen her body.”
“And raised the alarm,” Leigh agreed.
Brodie nodded. “Even at best, we’d have been kept tied up with the cops all day. At worst, one or more of us would have ended up in jail.”
Sarah shook her head a little, trying to make her mind work as logically as these two seemed able to. “I just don’t understand why they would want to delay us.”
“Neither do I,” Brodie said. “Stalling for time. But why?” He looked sharply at Sarah. “What’s going on with Mackenzie?”
By now, Sarah didn’t even have to close her eyes and concentrate. All she had to do was pay attention.
“He’s…” She stared at Brodie. “The drug’s wearing off. He’s beginning to come out of it.”
“Then,” Brodie said grimly, “we’re out of time.”
SIXTEEN
Astrid kept her eyes closed, concentrating intensely, her nimble mind feeling its way. Varden watched her, every bit as intent and glancing more than once at his watch.
“Faster is better,” he said finally, impatient.
She opened her eyes with a sigh and stared at him. “Not in this. Look, do you want me to do this, or not? Because if you do, peace and quiet will help me do it.”
There was little Varden could do but accept that, but he made a mental note to teach this one a lesson or two in obedience in the near future. “All right. Just do it.”
Astrid closed her eyes again, and for a good five minutes there was utter silence. Then she frowned, her head tilting to one side in a considering pose. A moment later she opened her eyes and looked at Varden. “I don’t think you want me to do this. He—”
“Of course I want you to do it. Do you know how to follow orders, Astrid?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then do it. Just do it.”
Astrid opened her mouth for further protest, then closed it. A faint smile curved her mouth, and her eyes glittered briefly. “Okay. You want it, you’ve got it.”
“That’s better,” Varden said, satisfied.
Astrid closed her eyes again.
The drug they used made his head pound. That was Tucker’s first clear realization. His head pounded, and his mouth was dry, and as sensation slowly returned to his body, he ached all over. And he was cold.
As before, it took him several minutes—he thought—to get his eyes to open. And, as before, all he saw was a lot of dark. But I’m not blind. It’s just fucking dark in here.
He was sure of that. He wanted to be sure of that.
But there was one difference between this time and last. He wasn’t absolutely positive, but he thought he was no longer being watched. Those eyes that had followed him into nightmares were gone now. There was no sense of anyone nearby sharing this darkness with him.
Or was that just another thing he wanted to be sure of?
No. No, he was alone here. His jailer had apparently left him alone, for some reason he couldn’t fathom or simply because he’d not been expected to recover from the drug so quickly.
He wanted to try moving and test that theory but forced himself to remain still because he had the dim idea that it had been some involuntary movement last time that had caused his jailer to jab him with a needle and knock him back out for God knows how long.