The First Prophet

by Kay Hooper

  He hesitated a moment longer, but finally nodded. “Yeah, I’m beat.”

  The admission surprised Cait, but she had the sense not to say so. “See you in the morning.”

  “Right.”

  When she was alone outside, Cait automatically adjusted the pistol stuck inside her belt at the small of her back and started to walk the perimeter—Leigh’s front and back yard. There was no moon, but there were numerous streetlights in the neighborhood, and they lent the area enough light for her to see fairly well.

  Either there were no dogs nearby or else they were no more disturbed by Cait’s almost silent movements than they had been Brodie’s, because no barking greeted her as she made her cautious way around the property. In fact, she heard no sounds at all, other than the usual peaceful night sounds.

  She didn’t think too much, just did what she’d been taught to do. Move slowly and quietly, watch everything, and stay alert. But as time passed, inevitably, she grew a little bored and found her mind wandering even as she completed yet another walk around the house.

  Which was why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a man stepped out of the tall shrubs in front of her not two feet from Leigh’s front walkway.

  “Shit!”

  He chuckled. “Sorry—I thought you saw me coming. You’re Cait, right?”

  Her hand on the pistol’s grip relaxed. “Yeah. And you’re—Nick? Tim? I knew Brodie called in reinforcements, but we weren’t expecting you until morning.”

  “Traffic was light.” He stepped closer, his smile a slash of white in the darkness.

  There was absolutely no indication that anything was wrong, but in her head, suddenly, Cait heard Brodie’s implacable words.

  Never trust anybody who comes to you in the dark.

  She tried to pull her gun, but it never even cleared her belt.

  Sarah woke suddenly, her heart pounding. She had no idea what was wrong, but something was, something was terribly wrong: There had been a scream in her mind. She threw back the covers and got out of bed, not bothering to find her shoes or put anything on over the white sleep shirt. And she didn’t turn on the light.

  She wasn’t trying to be quiet, so it wasn’t surprising that she woke Brodie hurrying past his door; she heard a sleepy curse from inside the room but still didn’t pause, and she was at the bottom of the stairs by the time he reached the top of them.

  “What the— Sarah?”

  “Something’s wrong,” she flung back over her shoulder, struggling with the front door’s lock.

  “Don’t go out there! Goddammit, Sarah—!”

  She could have told him that whatever danger there had been was past, but Sarah didn’t waste the effort or the breath. Instead, she got the door unlocked and flung open before he could reach her and rushed out of the house with no clear idea of where she was going.

  She tripped over something that lay in the shadows of shrubs near the house and went down hard, bruising her knees. But she barely felt that pain, because her hands were in something warm and sticky, and a wave of terrible revulsion swept over her.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  “Sarah?” He was coming through the door toward her.

  She wanted to warn him, to say something, but the only sound Sarah heard escape her throat was a kind of moan.

  Then the flashlight in Brodie’s hand came on, spearing stark white light through the darkness. The light fell on her shaking hands, held out in front of her, and she stared numbly at the blood dripping.

  She heard a sound come from Brodie, saw the light jerk away from her hands…and fall on Cait’s white face and staring eyes.

  And the gaping wound that opened her throat almost to her spine.

  The sun was well up when Brodie came into the kitchen, where Sarah and Leigh sat in silence with coffee cups before them. He poured himself a cup, his hands steady, but his voice was stony when he said, “Nick isn’t here yet.”

  “What about Murphy?” Leigh’s voice was calm.

  He nodded. “Gathering some supplies. We should be ready to move in another couple of hours.”

  Sarah looked at him incredulously. She could still feel Cait’s blood on her hands despite a hot shower and lots of soap, yet this man who had been her partner stood there talking as if nothing had happened. Before she could say anything, however, Leigh spoke gently.

  “We’ll grieve later, Sarah. Cait would understand.”

  “Would she? I’m not so sure I do. You both act as if nothing happened. What about—what about her body?”

  Brodie’s jaw tightened. “We’ve cleaned up the walkway so there’s no visible evidence anything happened. Tim’s taking her back to New York. It’s where she’s from. I’ll talk to her brother after this is finished, though he probably knows already. And…simple enough to arrange to have the body found so it’ll look like one more victim of senseless violence.”

  Sarah moved slightly, not realizing how clearly her feelings showed on her face until Brodie spoke again, harshly this time.

  “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.

  How long?

  He didn’t really have a sense of time passing, but a hollow, queasy feeling told him he hadn’t eaten in at least twenty-four hours, so there was that. He was so damned stiff, he doubted he’d moved or been moved for at least that long. But was it longer?

  Sarah…

  Even as her name rose in his mind, he remembered that just before he had blacked out, he’d felt a whisper of her touch in his mind. Just a whisper, unfamiliar yet certainly her and real, not his imagination. For a brief moment, Sarah had been with him.

  Could he reach her? He didn’t have the faintest idea how to do it, but he’d urged Sarah to try too often not to demand the same thing of himself now. If he just concentrated…

  Shhhh.

  He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until they opened suddenly and he peered warily into the darkness surrounding him. And even then, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t actually heard her until she spoke in his mind again.

  Shhhh. Don’t let them touch you. Whatever happens, don’t let any of them touch you.

  Sarah?

  Do I sound so different this way?

  It’s…I’m not used to hearing you this way.

  No. It’s…strange. Her thought was almost apologetic.

  Not strange. Just different.

  We’ll argue about it later. She seemed amused, he thought, but something else as well. Tired. And shocked, deeply shocked, because of something that had happened…

  No. Don’t go there.

  But what’s happened?

  Never mind. Time enough to talk about that when we get you out of there.

  We?

  You were right; we aren’t alone in this. I’ve found some…comrades. We’re going to get you out.

  Out of where? Where the hell am I?

  In the cellar of a deserted church. Listen to me. Can you pick a lock? Open a locked door?

  Cautiously, he flexed fingers that felt stiff, numb, and wondered whether he could. But he answered with confidence. I learned how to pick locks to research a book.

  I thought you might have. Again, he felt a flicker of amusement in Sarah, but whether it was because of his stated confidence or the actual uncertainty she surely must have felt in him, he didn’t know.

  I don’t have anything to use for a tool, he admitted. And I was being watched.

  But not now.

  No.

  All right. We have to get you out of there, and soon. If this is going to work, you can’t be where they think you are. I want you to get out of that room as soon as possible. When you get the door open, turn immediately to the right and move a dozen paces. There’s a door on the left. A storage room. Go in there, close the door behind you and wait.

  But—

  Tucker, it’s too dark for you to help us in any way except to put yourself out of their reach. That’s vitally important. If any of them touches you now, they’ll kill you. And me.

  That was enough of a threat to gain his obedience. All right. But I may not be able to find a tool in here to pick the lock—

  You’ll find one. Close by. Don’t waste any time, Tucker.

  If this doesn’t work—

  It will.

  But I want you to know—

  Shhhh. I’m going to leave you now. Try not to reach out to me; it distracts me and I need to concentrate.

  He felt her easing away, and it took all his willpower not to try to follow her. Instead, he concentrated on flexing his fingers again, trying to ease the stiffness and cold numbness. To be ready.

  “It’s very simple,” Duran said patiently.

  The boy looked at him, amazed. “Simple? My head’s gonna hurt for a week—”

  “There will be…rewards if you’re successful.”

  “And all you want me to do is take it from her, the way I gave her the cobwebs?”

  “Exactly.”

  The boy sighed, and made himself comfortable. “All right. I’ll try.”

  Softly, Duran said, “Rewards for success, Jeremy. Punishment for failure.”

  Jeremy looked at him and briefly chewed his bottom lip, then shifted a bit on the couch. “All right, all right.”

  Duran didn’t say anything further. He just waited. And watched.

  It seemed to Tucker that he had waited an awfully long time, flexing his fingers and blowing on them, before much feeling returned to them. He put his hand down, finally, touching the stone floor as he prepared to try to push himself up. And his fingers were still so chilled that he nearly missed it.

  Even when he managed to pick it up, it took him several minutes to convince himself that the thin, flexible lockpick was real.

  Sarah opened her eyes and drew a deep breath.

  “Well?” Brodie asked.

  Her right hand was clenched shut in her lap. Sarah held it out palm up and slowly uncurled the fingers. It was empty. Not ten minutes before, it had held a small tool designed to pick a lock.

  “Son of a bitch,” Brodie said quietly.

  Sarah slowed the Jeep as she neared the old church. It was very old, constructed of stone and timbers that had weathered brutal Atlantic storms for probably a hundred years or more. Yet the cross atop the steeple was still straight, even if most of the windows were gone and vegetation had encroached on the building.

  It looked deserted, an appearance Sarah knew was deceptive. There were no other buildings close by, though piles of stones here and there indicated where there might have been other structures once, and a forest of tall trees reared on one side of the property so that the church stood facing the woods with its back to the sea.

  Isolated by miles from the nearest habitation, it was a perfect spot for clandestine activities; a bomb could go off here and the widely scattered neighbors in the surrounding countryside would probably not even notice.

  It lo
oked bleak. And lonely. And with every sense Sarah could lay claim to, it reeked of decay.

  Shadows.

  She could feel them all around the place, feel their attention, their eyes on her. Feel them like the certain knowledge of something twisted and dark hiding among the rocks. And terror crawled over her flesh like the cold touch of a dead hand.

  She actually stopped the Jeep and sat there for several minutes gripping the wheel. Trying to breathe evenly, to get control of her fear. Being here physically felt radically different from being here in spirit had felt, the threat to her more direct and far more deadly.

  All her instincts were urging her to run, to get away. If it had been anybody but Tucker inside, she thought she would have.

  Sarah drew a deep breath and, steadily, sent the Jeep forward once again. No matter what, she couldn’t allow any of them to touch her. Or Tucker. Even Brodie conceded that if they could get Tucker out of there and escape themselves, the other side would back off at least for the moment, but if Duran even guessed what Sarah was capable of, she and Tucker were dead.

  The raw memory of Cait’s blood staining her hands was proof enough of an enemy that wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

  She guided the Jeep to a level place near the church where a parking area might once have been and cut the engine. She got out, trying not to look too conscious of being watched. Not that it really mattered. They had to assume she knew it was a trap, particularly since she had been bluntly invited to come after Tucker. If they were as good as Brodie said they were, they would be looking past her even now, searching for the others they had to assume would be following.

  It was a classical tactical move, Brodie had told her. She went in, seemingly alone, and when the enemy closed in behind her to seal the entrance of the trap, her backup would close in behind them—catching them in their own snare.

  Of course, they would expect the tactic. So they were going to get it.

  Sarah opened the hatch to get out the kerosene lamp she’d brought with her, then brushed her cold hands down her thighs one at a time, took a deep breath, and concentrated on enclosing her mind with the strongest walls she could build. Then she walked steadily into the church.