by Rebecca York
"Can you shoot left-handed?" she asked.
"I need some practice. Can you shoot at all?"
She laughed. "Grandma believed in self-protection, so she dragged me to a target range every few months."
"Good for her!"
When they reached the car, he said, "I'd like to get out of town right away, but I need to stop by police headquarters. I want to check out a laptop computer, so I can get into the databases I use."
She unlocked the door, then waited while he cursed as he buckled the seat belt.
"Make sure nobody's following us," he said as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
She looked in the rearview mirror, then looked again as she pulled out into traffic. As far as she could see, no car was sticking behind them.
"Nobody I can see, unless he's using a magic spell to track us," she murmured.
"Let's hope to hell not."
SIMON was still seething with anger. Things weren't working out the way he'd been sure they would. The cop hadn't died when he'd driven off the road.
But he was right there in the hospital—hurt and helpless. With his closet full of disguises and fake ID's, it had seemed like an easy matter to finish Thornton off. And he'd been so close to breaking the demon's unholy alliance. Then the woman had come charging into the room, stopping him from injecting the insulin into the IV line. It wasn't a poison; it had legitimate medical purposes, which was the beauty of it. The authorities could think that someone had made a mistake. Except that Miss Bitch, Kathryn Reynolds, had come in and fucked up his plan. He'd sprinted for the stairs and gotten out of the building. Then some dark-haired dude had come charging after him, but he'd escaped and driven home, wanting to speed but staying under the limit.
Jesus! That had been close. He'd thought he'd had the perfect solution. Now…
Well, he wasn't exactly back to square one. He was aware of Kathryn and the cop even now. The demon had established a connection among the three of them—a connection that went more than one way. Simon had used it to find them in that sexual fantasy of a dream last night. They'd had sex. And they'd dropped their guard. He smiled as he remembered the expression on their faces when he'd joined them in their wet dream. And he would do it again, the next time they both slept. Meanwhile, they were in his mind, like a background buzz. They were both awake, so he couldn't go to them now. But he was working on it.
He thought about Sugarloaf Mountain, and anger flared again. He'd had a bad feeling about the place since he'd buried Heather DeYoung's body. He wouldn't go back—ever again. But there was still the matter of Gary Swinton. Well, there were plenty of other places besides Sugarloaf. He'd used some before. He'd get rid of Swinton's body somewhere else tonight. Most of his body.
KATHRYN turned right, toward police headquarters.
Ten minutes later, Jack directed her to a parking space in the detectives' lot, saying, "It would be better if I had the unmarked."
"Do you want me to wait for you?"
His answer was sharp and instantaneous. "Not out here! Come up to the waiting area. I'll be as quick as I can."
She could see his energy was seeping away, see that he was in pain. He left her on a bench in a wide hallway and was back in twenty minutes, carrying a black case that she presumed held the computer. He still looked like he should be in bed—which was where she was going to put him as soon as they got where they were going.
Before they could make their escape, the door he'd come through opened again, and Captain Granger stepped into the hallway.
"Where are you going with that computer?" he asked.
Jack turned to face him. "I need it for research."
"But you're on medical leave."
"That doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking for the serial killer."
"I've assigned Dave Culligan to the case."
Jack leaned back against the wall and took several quick breaths. She wanted to turn and scream at Captain Granger to leave him alone. But she managed to keep silent.
"Good," Jack said. "But I want to do some research on my own. I've been in direct contact with the perp. Culligan hasn't. You should be getting a report from Carl Boswell. The guy who told you his name was William Strong came into my hospital room this morning and tried to eliminate me. There are several witnesses. The lab will give you a report on the stuff he tried to inject into my IV line. And, FYI, he was the cause of last night's accident."
"Did you put that into the accident report?"
"Like I told Boswell, I was concussed last night. My brain's functioning better now. The perp has found me twice. Once on the road and once in the hospital. Apparently he's been stalking Kathryn, too. So we're going to disappear for a while. Maybe when you dig up those bodies, you'll get some clues to his identity. If I hear you've arrested him, I'll get back into contact with you."
"How will you hear?"
"On the evening news. In the newspaper."
"I can't just have one of my detectives disappear." She saw Jack's mouth tighten. "If I don't—if we don't—he'll get us. Because it looks like he's made this personal. You want to be responsible for our deaths?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
« ^ »
KATHRYN WATCHED CAPTAIN Granger shift from one foot to the other as he pondered how to respond. "I can put a twenty-four-hour guard on you," he finally said.
"In this case, that's not going to work," Jack answered.
"Why not?"
Jack looked like he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He shrugged. "Okay, if you want to know, it's because this guy is psychic," he said, punching out the answer. "And he's using his powers to fight us."
The captain goggled at him. "You got hit on the head last night. Did the doctor discharge you, or did you leave against medical advice?"
Kathryn's gaze swung between the two men.
"My brain is working fine. I'm not delusional," Jack growled. "The guy used his psychic powers to find me on the road last night. He didn't follow me. He just came out of nowhere."
"More like you didn't know he was on your tail," Granger countered.
Jack didn't bother to argue. Instead, in a quiet voice, he said, "When you catch up with him, you'll find that he's using the victims he murders as a part of magic ceremonies."
"Jesus!"
Jack sighed. "I guess I can't blame you for thinking I've gone off the deep end."
Kathryn had held her tongue because this was between Jack and his boss. Now she couldn't stop herself from jumping into the conversation. "If he's gone off the deep end, so have I. Because we've both experienced the same weird phenomena since this guy came after us."
Granger pivoted toward her, looking her up and down. "Oh, yeah? Such as what?"
"Such as sharing the same dreams," Jack answered. "And when we wake up, we've exchanged verifiable information. Stuff we couldn't have known before we discussed it in the dream."
Granger looked like he'd swallowed a bottle of vinegar. "You expect me to believe that?"
"No," Jack answered. "Because I think he's messing with your mind, too."
Granger's face darkened. "You'd better explain that."
"Okay. You remember that I wanted to compare the various missing person cases and see if I could find any link between them. The way I remember it, you asked me to drop the Westborn suicide investigation and look into the missing person cases."
"You're still on that kick?"
"Yes. I was busy with my own stuff. I didn't even know we had that many missing person cases until you brought them to my attention. Until you pulled the files and gave them to me. What would be my motive for launching an investigation? You know I'm not a glory hound. I'm just a working stiff detective who already had enough on his plate."
Kathryn took in shallow breaths as she watched the captain consider that. Instead of responding directly to Jack, he said, "You signed out the computer?"
"Yeah."
"Then take it. And get out of here before I change my mind about your s
anity."
Jack followed his advice. Pushing away from the wall, he picked up the black case and headed for the exit.
Neither Kathryn nor Jack spoke until they were back in the car.
"What if he comes out here and asks what the guy's motive was for getting into his mind?" she asked as she started the engine.
"I guess he hasn't gotten that far yet. Good thing, because then we'd have to tell him it wasn't the killer—it was the being from the other universe who did that!"
It struck them both funny, and they started chuckling. She sat with her hands gripping the wheel, laughing hysterically.
Jack stopped first.
"I suppose you're going to tell me it only hurts when you laugh," she said.
That set them off again. Jack leaned his head back. "Actually, it does hurt," he finally said between puffs of breath.
She immediately turned serious again. "You need something for the pain."
"I need to keep my head clear."
"Do you have a prescription?"
"Yeah."
"Let's fill it, then go pick up some of my clothes, if you're planning for the two of us to get out of Dodge."
"That's what I'm planning. But I wasn't including a stop at your house."
She swung her head toward him. "We have to stop there."
"Why? You can pick up what you need at a cheap department store."
She didn't want to answer the question out loud. Just hearing the words in her own head made her chest constrict. But she felt like she had no choice. "I need my magic wand," she said in a low voice, watching his eyes narrow.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Unfortunately, no."
"You need it for—what? Casting spells?"
"Are we back to thinking I'm a witch?" she asked, hearing her voice go high and thin.
"You said it—not me."
She dragged in a breath. "I said it because I knew it would be a serious mistake to leave it behind. I don't know why I need the damn thing. I just do. I'm sorry, but I have the terrible feeling that if I leave it at home, we're both going to be sorry."
She watched him consider that. Lifting one hand off the wheel, she pressed it over his. "This is like your discussion with Granger," she said. "We're talking about something that can only be taken on faith."
He sighed. "Okay. You can get the damn thing. I just hope Black Trousers isn't waiting at your house—the way he was last night."
"You want to skip it?"
"No!" He sounded angry. Probably he was in pain. As she drove away, he closed his eyes.
She was torn. She hadn't been home since her frantic drive across the grass. But she knew with gut-tightening certainty that the wand was important.
So she drove home, casting frequent glances at Jack, seeing the tension in his jaw. The jaw relaxed, and he looked like he could be sleeping, but his eyes blinked open when the car slowed. Sitting up, he looked around.
"Drive around the block," he said, "I want to check out the neighborhood."
"Okay." She followed directions, her eyes scanning the streets, the houses, the cars, looking for one of the vehicles she remembered. The strangely angular car, the old Ford, or the white van. None of them was on the street. Everything looked peaceful and normal. But she had learned that looks could be deceiving.
The last time she'd been in the driveway, she'd almost been killed—or kidnapped. The thought of being trapped made her throat close. After a quick glance at Jack, she pulled to a stop at the curb and cut the engine.
He opened his door and stepped out, swayed slightly, and reached to steady himself against the car.
She was almost to the door when something lying on the porch caught her eye. At first, all she saw was a ring. The ostentatious gold ring with the round diamond that Gary Swinton always wore on his right hand. She'd asked him about it once, and he'd told her with considerable pride that he'd won it in a poker game.
She'd never seen it off his hand. Now it was wrapped around something pale and white that lay slightly curled on the porch like a bleached slug. She stared at it, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. At first her brain refused to take it in. When she finally did, she let out a high, bloodcurdling scream and backed away, bumping into the wall of the house and lurching to a stop.
Jack was instantly at her side, his gun in his left hand as he turned in a circle, checking the area for invaders.
When he saw nothing, he came back to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"
She pointed to the porch floor.
"Jesus!" Stooping, he examined the object—which she had recognized as a human finger—circled by the gaudy ring.
She tried to speak, heard her voice crack, and tried again. "That's Swinton's ring. I… I guess… that he must be…" She couldn't say it.
"You're sure it's his?" Jack asked, his eyes fixed on the grisly object.
She pressed back against the wall. "Yes. He was really proud of it. He always wore it."
"Okay. This should help Granger focus his mind on the case."
Jack ushered her inside, away from the porch. When she started up the stairs, he called out, "Wait! I want to check the apartment first."
"Okay." She eyed the gun in one hand and the other arm strapped to his chest. "I guess I'd better unlock the door for you."
"Details!"
They made their way up the stairs, where she opened the door, then stood back with her heart pounding while he entered the apartment and checked out the interior. The door had been locked—but that didn't prove Black Trousers wasn't inside.
Her breath was fast and shallow as she waited for him to deliver his verdict.
"All clear," he said when he returned.
She felt like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders as he tucked his gun back into his waistband. "You've got ten minutes to grab what you need. Then we're out of here."
While she hurried into the bedroom, he pulled out his cell phone and began punching in numbers. She could hear him saying that he and Kathryn Reynolds had found a human finger wearing a ring belonging to Gary Swinton outside her house, then asking for a crime scene team.
The unnerving conversation continued in the background while she threw shirts, pants, and underwear into a small bag, then grabbed the magic wand off her desk. She was going to shove it right in with the other things, but the feel of the hard rod in her hand stopped her. It was only a plastic toy, but it felt almost alive in her grasp.
Jack had finished his phone call, and was watching her. "You sure you don't work spells with that thing?"
She flushed. "Not so far."
"But you're planning to."
"I don't know what I'm planning," she insisted, her voice coming out more strident than she'd intended. "I just know that this thing is important. Remember, I told you I saw it as a guidepost when I was in that… that place… where we think the creature lives."
"Speaking of which—I notice he hasn't put in an appearance lately."
"Actually, in the hospital, he told me I shouldn't sleep at the same time you do."
"Why not?"
"He said if we do, the magician will find us."
Jack grimaced. "You're sure it was him? And not the magician trying to trick us?"
She slumped against the wall. "No! I'm not sure of anything. We could assume it was my imagination," she offered, even though she was pretty sure that wasn't the case.
"I guess I'm beyond that point," he replied, his voice gritty. "It was one of them. I'd just like to know which one."
She studied him, hardly able to believe the conversation.
"You mean you've gone from a true doubter to a true believer?"
"Christ, if I could walk away from this mess, I would. But it feels like I don't have any choice. Neither of us does!"
She swallowed. "I guess not."
"So tell me—where's the fantasy creature now?"
"I don't know. Sometimes he goes away."
"You keep track?"
He gave a tight nod.
"But he wasn't here when the old man came by my house and lit into us," she said without making any reference to what had actually happened on that occasion.
"I guess not."
She felt a strange tingling on her skin, like small electric prickles. At the same time a thought popped into her head. "You said Ross lent you a bunch of books. Maybe… maybe we should ask him for some more. Maybe we'll find something… that will explain this."
She could see he was considering the suggestion. "Yeah. We need to understand what's going on. And like Ross said, we don't seem to be getting very far by ourselves." His brow wrinkled. "When we went up to Sugarloaf, I asked him to meet me at the Park and Ride on this side of Frederick…"
A sound outside made them both start. Jack drew his gun and moved to the window, staying next to the wall as he looked out.
When she saw him put the weapon away, she let out the breath she'd been holding.
"It's the cops. Unless the perp has a patrol car," he added. Then, "No, I recognize the officer. It's Dick Hamilton."
Several long moments passed before the officer came up the stairs. After he and Jack greeted each other, he said, "I saw the finger. Nice calling card."
"For a serial killer. You know that the guy is after me and Ms. Reynolds?" Jack asked.
Hamilton nodded. "Yeah, it's gotten around the department pretty fast."
"Okay. That's why we don't want to stick around. Can I leave this crime scene to you? It's just the porch. He hasn't been in here. The door was locked, and there were no signs that anything had been disturbed. Captain Granger said Dave Culligan has been assigned to the case—since I'm officially out on sick leave. So you'll want to inform him."