by Kay Hooper
“I hate body armor, Jay.”
“Me too,” she repeated. “But there’s no sense making it easy for the bastard, right?”
Tony sighed. “Right. And has anyone warned all the media people that standing out here in the glare of their own bright lights without any protection at all might not be the best idea in the world?”
“I’ve warned them twice myself.”
“Idiots. Sheriff Duncan has given them the only statement he means to until at least tomorrow—I mean later today—so all they can even do now is film on-the-scene bits for cable news and the morning shows. Still, far as I can see, we’ve got a lot more talking heads than actual investigative journalists, so maybe even those that stay won’t be nosing around.”
She continued to eye him. “You’re a glass-half-full kind of guy, aren’t you?”
Appearing seemingly out of thin air to join them near the sidewalk, Galen said, “He definitely is. Except about the weather. For some reason, the weather tends to bug him.”
Tony started at the first word. “Damn, will you quit doing that? That’s three times so far. You’re worse than a cat, sneaking up on people.”
“I didn’t sneak. I walked. You just didn’t hear me.”
Jaylene smiled faintly but said to Galen, “Any word on Diana?”
“She made it through surgery, but the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical. I take it the doctors aren’t too hopeful—but let’s call them glass-half-empty sort of guys and hope for the best ourselves. Miranda’s on her way back with Duncan.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be touching down in another half hour or so.”
“How about the others?”
“Staying, I take it. I didn’t ask why.”
Soberly, Jaylene said, “I know why Quentin’s staying. I don’t know the other two well enough to guess.”
“DeMarco staying puzzles me,” Galen admitted. “Unless he has a personal stake or Miranda ordered him to stay, I’d expect him to be heading back here, where all the action is. We could definitely use him, especially if the sniper isn’t done.”
“If Diana was a planned hit, DeMarco may be staying as guardian,” Jaylene offered.
“That’s not a role he favors. Watching and guarding are too tame for his tastes.”
“Since when is guardian duty tame?” Tony wanted to know. “Didn’t it get you shot last time?”
“Yeah, but that’s an unusual outcome. Mostly it’s a lot of watching and waiting for something you hope isn’t going to happen.”
Mildly, Jaylene said, “After more than two years undercover, maybe DeMarco’s ready for a lower-key job.”
With a grunt, Galen said, “Trust me, if he’s low-key it’s because the role calls for it. Otherwise, it isn’t in his nature. Guy’s wired and ready to blow pretty much all the time.”
“That sounds dangerous,” she said, still mild.
“It is. But he also has incredible control and self-discipline. And if you tell him I said so, I’ll deny it.” Galen shrugged. “Anyway, I guess we’ll find out all about it when Miranda gets back. Or not.”
Tony said, “I gather you didn’t find anything on the last sweep?” Galen was one of several agents who had been prowling the perimeter of the town all evening, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many times they had missed each other by a hair in the darkness. Then again, maybe ex-military types had special signals they exchanged in such situations.
Tony imagined Galen sounding some kind of birdcall in the night and hastily pushed the ridiculous image from his mind. He managed to do so without laughing out loud, which he considered something of an accomplishment.
Unaware of his fellow agent’s amusement, Galen said, “I found three roaming locals with shotguns, which I confiscated after escorting the owners back home. I am not winning any popularity contests here.”
“I doubt any of us are,” Tony said. “Two days ago this was a peaceful town. Look at it now.”
Jaylene said, “We were following a killer. It’s not our fault the trail led here.”
Frowning, Galen reached for the bagged shell casing she was still holding and studied it for a moment before looking at his companions. “Maybe it is our fault. I mean, granted, none of our people appeared to be targeted before those shots at Hollis and DeMarco on Tuesday. But one working theory is that this is about us—about the SCU. Right?”
“Yeah, that’s what Bishop said when he gave Jaylene and me our orders,” Tony agreed.
“Okay. Then if this bastard is only now taking shots at us, maybe it’s because this is where he wanted us to be.”
“Which,” Tony said slowly, “raises the question: Why here? If we’ve been lured or led, why is the showdown here?”
* Blood Sins
Eleven
DIANA LOOKED at the gray Quentin in this gray time or place and knew it wasn’t the real Quentin. Her Quentin. “She’s lying to you,” he repeated, still smiling.
Brooke didn’t argue or dispute the charge; she merely looked from him to Diana, her gaze dispassionate.
“Say something,” Diana told her.
Brooke shook her head. “In this, I can’t interfere. You have to decide for yourself what’s truth, Diana. What’s real.”
“I know he—that—isn’t real,” Diana said, her gaze fixed on the smiling not-Quentin.
“Of course I’m real,” he said.
“You’re not Quentin.”
“Well, there you may have an argument.”
Diana blinked, then frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to be funny. Because I’m really not in the mood.”
“Look, I only meant that this… form… was chosen in order to better communicate with you.”
“Chosen? Chosen from what?”
He looked surprised, the expression confirmed when he said, “That’s not the question I expected you to ask.”
“Glad I could surprise you. Answer the question.”
“Well, chosen from those in your life you trust. Precious few of them, actually. Your trust in Quentin is the least… shadowed.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Now, that’s the question I expected.”
“So answer it.”
He looked at Brooke, brows lifting. “Demanding, isn’t she?”
“She has reason.”
“Another arguable point, I suppose.”
“You’re wasting time,” Brooke told him.
“Time is something I have in abundance.”
Brooke tilted her head to one side, as though listening to a distant sound, and said, “Not really.”
The not-Quentin’s face tightened, though he continued to smile. “Are you trying to get in my way, little girl?”
Brooke didn’t correct his seeming assumption about her age but instead said in a musing tone, “See, the thing about the gray time, the thing Diana understands, is that nothing living can exist here for long. Actually, not even spiritual essence can exist here for long. And there’s a reason for that.”
Diana wasn’t sure what was going on but felt compelled to say, “It’s because this is a corridor, a place to travel. Not a place to live in.”
“And?” Brooke prompted.
For a moment Diana was even more confused, but then she realized what it was Brooke wanted her to say. “And… there’s a pull from each side of the corridor. The living side—and what lies beyond death. They both pull constantly. That’s why it’s gray and flat and cold here. That’s why it’s so tiring for me to be here. This place saps strength, energy.”
“Energy,” Brooke murmured. “Power.” Her gaze never left the face of the not-Quentin.
He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and went back through the open door, closing it behind him.
Left with Brooke in the seemingly endless corridor lined with closed doors, Diana said, “What the hell just happened?”
“Maybe I bought you a little more time.”
“Before what? And
I thought you said you couldn’t interfere?”
Brooke was frowning now, but her voice was almost absent when she said, “I wonder if you have any idea at all how many people want you to live, Diana.”
“Listen, this isn’t one of those It’s a Wonderful Life things, is it? Because if it is—”
“No, of course not. That’s Hollywood stuff.”
Diana managed a shaky laugh. “As opposed to the gray time, and seeing spirits, and, oh, I don’t know, having visions of the future or the past or seeing auras or making people see what you want them to—that sort of stuff? Because Hollywood angels make it all look a lot simpler than I’ve seen it in my actual life.”
“You have a point.”
Reluctant humor fleeing, Diana sighed and said, “Brooke, give me a clue, will you? You say I’m here because I have to be, here to do something. That… thing… dressed up to look like Quentin says you’re lying. And the only thing I really know, the only thing I feel, is that one of you is trying to deceive me.”
“You have very good instincts.”
“Brooke, for God’s sake!”
“I can only tell you so much, Diana. Help you so much. Most of this you have to figure out on your own.”
“Why?”
“Just because. It’s the rule.”
“Why did I know you were going to say that.” Suddenly aware that she was beginning to feel more tired, Diana fought off a chill from someplace even colder than the gray time and said, “So you can’t tell me who or what that is pretending to be Quentin.”
“No.”
“Can you at least tell me what I’m here to do?”
“I’ve already told you that, Diana.” Brooke turned and began to walk again down the endless corridor. “You’re here to find the truth.”
Diana followed. “Yeah, you said. The truth underneath it all. Underneath all of what, Brooke? How many layers do I have to peel back before I can find the truth?”
“Several,” Brooke admitted. And then, surprising Diana, she added, “There’s the truth at the heart of the investigation you’re involved in. The truth of why you were shot. The truth of your relationship with Quentin. The truth of who is trying to deceive you—and why.”
“And the truth underneath it all?”
“That too. Uncover the other truths, and that one will be exposed.”
“How am I supposed to uncover any of them here, Brooke?”
“The best way you can. And… I expect you’ll have help.”
Hollis really hoped DeMarco had been right when he said secretiveness kept her from broadcasting her thoughts—and intentions—all over the place. But she wasn’t counting on it. She was trying her best to keep her mind quiet and still, pretending to sleep.
She had never been more wide awake in her life, despite being so tired it was a bone-deep ache.
They had been moved to a smaller, more private waiting room just down the hall from the ICU, a space clearly designed for the families of intensive-care patients to spend long hours; several of the chairs were actually recliners, and fairly comfortable ones at that.
Then again, maybe a bed of rocks would have felt no different, Hollis thought.
She opened her eyes a bit to look at DeMarco, deliberately glancing and then looking away so as not to awaken that ever-vigilant primal sense of his. Not that she posed any sort of danger to him, but she had a hunch that sense could warn him about anything he wanted it to.
Such as her leaving the room to do something that was probably really stupid.
He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and hands clasped peacefully across his lean middle, the recliner tipped nearly all the way back. His face—that unexpectedly, almost unnervingly handsome face—was relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake.
Hollis didn’t trust that seeming serenity, especially since she couldn’t see his aura. But according to the big clock on the wall, it was nearly five A.M., and she didn’t want to wait any longer. From what she remembered of her own hospital stays—though the ICU tended to have its own rhythms and bursts of activity—the general hospital routines began early.
Her chances of getting caught and ushered away from Diana increased considerably as the time for doctors’ rounds and mealtimes and visiting hours grew closer.
Almost holding her breath, she slipped from her recliner, grateful there were no creaks or squeaks to betray her, and eased her way to the door. A glance back at DeMarco showed him still sleeping. Hollis wasn’t sure she believed he was asleep, but she did believe it was now or never.
She opened the door just far enough to allow herself to pass through it and within seconds stood out in the hallway, her heart pounding.
Oh, shit.
In her determination to keep her mind calm enough to deceive DeMarco, she had forgotten the other little thing guaranteed to test her nerves here in this place.
Spirits.
She could see five of them in this single stretch of hallway—three men and two women—wandering around aimlessly, their expressions mixing uncertainty and confusion with dread. All of them wore regular clothing rather than hospital gowns, and Hollis wasted a moment wondering fleetingly about that; where had she read or heard or been told that spirits wore the garments in which they’d died, at least until they completely left this world?
“You can see me?”
Hollis realized she was rubbing her hands up and down her arms, because the gooseflesh was actually painful. She felt very cold, and everything except the anxious woman standing in front of her seemed to have faded… or receded… or become less real.
Almost as though she herself had one foot in the world of the dead.
Jesus, is this how it started for Diana? Have I always been able to step toward the gray time but never realized it?
Drawing a quick breath, she whispered, “I can see you. But there’s somewhere I have to go right now.”
“No, please—just tell me. Am I dead?”
Before Hollis could answer, a nurse whose lively print scrubs appeared weirdly faded began to bustle past her and then stopped, her preoccupied expression turning inquisitive.
“May I help you, Agent?”
Hollis cleared her throat. “No. No, thank you. I needed to stretch my legs a bit.” And please move a little to the right, because you’re half standing in this poor woman….
“Don’t wander far, please.” The nurse smiled and bustled on, completely unaware of having passed through the spirit of another woman.
“I am dead, aren’t I?” the spirit whispered.
Hollis glanced around quickly, hoping no one else was nearby to see her apparently talking to herself. She kept her voice low. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t help you. A friend of mine is still alive, and I have to get to her right now.”
The spirit took a step back, nodding. “Oh… okay. I understand. It’s just… I don’t know what to do now.” She looked up and down the hallway, adding somewhat forlornly, “Isn’t there supposed to be alight?”
Oh, shit,
“I’m sorry. I don’t know. But I believe you can… move on… if you want to.”
“I guess I should want to, shouldn’t I?” The spirit nodded and wandered away, looking even more lost and alone than she had before.
Hollis felt worse than useless and made a mental note that, if she survived all this, she would devote a lot more time to the study of mediums in general and her own abilities in particular, so she at least would know the right thing to say to these poor souls. But for now she moved away from the waiting room and headed toward the ICU, keeping her gaze directed downward as much as possible so she wouldn’t make eye contact with any of the other spirits.
There were four more wandering around the ICU.
There were also two nurses.
Guessing that asking to visit Diana at five in the morning wouldn’t go over at all well, Hollis slipped into a room marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, which turned out to be a supply closet. Keeping the door open j
ust a crack, she watched the nurse’s desk.
The waiting was difficult enough, but what really unsettled Hollis was the realization that the whole place had a grayish sheen to it and a kind of remote dimness, as if she was looking at something farther away than she knew it to be. No matter how many times she rubbed her eyes or tried to shake off the sensation, it remained.
Only the wandering spirits looked colorful and close and real, their auras bright with energy.
And that was creepy as hell.
It was another long fifteen minutes before one of the nurses was called away from the desk by something clearly not an emergency and the other turned her back to Hollis to take what looked like a personal phone call.
Hollis was able to slip past the nurse’s desk and into the ICU.
There were only three patients: two men and Diana. All three were on ventilators, so the haunting sound of machines breathing for people was the first thing Hollis was aware of. Then there were the other machines, beeping and clicking as they monitored and measured. Lights blinked faded red numbers. Bags hanging above the patients dripped liquids into tubing and then needles and then bodies; bags hanging lower on the beds received fluids the bodies no longer required.
Trying to ignore all that, Hollis was relieved that at least there were curtains on either side of the beds and, in Diana’s case, they were drawn far enough to provide for some privacy. She stepped into the semi-private space.
“Hey, Hollis.”
His voice was low and rough, still hoarse from shouting the day before and maybe from talking to Diana ever since. His fair hair looked as if fingers had been raked through it many times, even though he was holding Diana’s hand tightly with both his, and on his face was a hollowed-out look of exhaustion and desperation and a terrible need.
Hollis had to look away from that, but when she did it was to see Diana in the bed, lying so still and unnaturally straight. A machine breathed for her with a hush…. thump repeating steadily, and other machines monitored her heartbeat and blood pressure and whatever else they monitored. There were bandages and drains and…
It was even harder to look at Diana. Not because of the machines or tubes or bandages, but because she had the same gray sheen as everything else, and that scared the hell out of Hollis.