Danger Signals

by Kathleen Creighton

  He wondered, after what he'd said to her about relationships being about sharing, being open with each other, whether she'd answer him now at all. Or. if she did. with her favorite evasion. Nothing.

  Thinking about that made him feel bleaker…sadder. More lonely than he'd ever been before.

  And then she said softly. "Did you ever think…if only a few things had gone differently for James Jeffrey Larson-or for you-that it could be you out there, the hunted…and he with the badge, the hunter?"

  He exhaled in an explosion of shock. "My God. Is that what you think? That I could-"

  "He was abandoned…abused. Terribly. So were you."

  "What? I never was. What gave you-"

  "Wade, I was with you-remember? There, in your nightmare. I know how terrified you were. How traumatized. If you hadn't had someone-"

  "Someone? Who? I can't remember anyone being there. It was a dream, for God's sake. Hell, the guy-angel, whatever-probably wasn't even real. A figment of my imagination."

  "If he was," Tierney said in her quiet, unarguable way, "you invented him because you needed to. Proof enough right there that your situation must have been intolerable. We all have ways of coping, Wade. Some people's personalities fracture into separate pieces, some develop into monsters themselves. Some simply choose to forget."

  Cory's plane touched down in Portland in clear weather, hazy sunshine and 81 degrees Fahrenheit, at shortly after one in the afternoon, local time. By the time he'd rented a car and checked into his hotel near the airport it was almost two-thirty.

  Which made it nearly dinner time on the east coast- and the middle of the night in the Middle East, which was probably closer to the time his body clock was on. He was definitely getting hungry. The first thing he did when he got to his room, however, was dump his suitcase on the extra bed and take out his cell phone. The number for Portland police headquarters was already stored in the phone's memory. He keyed it in, pressed the call button and, when the polite voice answered, asked to speak to Detective Callahan in homicide.

  "Yes, sir…is this an emergency?"

  "No. It's, uh, personal."

  "I'm sorry, sir. Detective Callahan is in the field. Would you like his voice mail?"

  "Sure." Cory said.

  He waited for the connection, then left the message. "Uh…yes. Detective Callahan, this is Cory Pearson, the journalist you, uh… we met last week at the Rose Garden? I wonder if you'd give me a call, please?"

  He left his cell-phone number and. after a pause, added, "It's important."

  He disconnected, then sat for a few minutes on the edge of the bed. nerves twitching with unexpended adrenaline. He was familiar enough with police departments to know what "in the field" meant, and he figured his chances of Detective Callahan calling him back any time soon were pretty slim.

  A growl of protest from his midsection reminded him he should probably go get himself something to eat before he did anything else. After that…

  Well, he still had the man's address. Maybe he wouldn't wait for that phone call. Maybe he'd just drive on up to Wade's place like he'd done once before and wait for him there.

  "Well, so much for that." Wade said grimly as the car sped away from the anthill of activity centered around the staged crime scene. '"The line's in the water, now let's see if this creep bites."

  After much discussion, it had been decided to place the crime scene in a remote but easily accessible industrial park on the outskirts of the city, several miles upriver on the Willamette. This, it was thought, would provide enough cover for the suspected killer to observe the scene without being scared off, as well as plenty of drive time back to the city to allow him to pick up his quarry's trail, without making it seem too easy for him-too much like a setup.

  The crime scene itself, with a young female patrol officer playing the part of the victim, had been gruesomely and graphically real, but it hadn't bothered Tierney as much as she'd expected. Due to the absence of emotions, of course, both residual and present. The CSIs and detectives on the scene were pretty good actors, but their gut feelings had known the difference.

  Naturally, Wade hadn't been happy about any of it. All through the planning and execution stages, his anger had been like the constant shriek of electronic feedback inside

  Tierney's head. Now they were driving home by a meandering route meant to make it easy for Larson to follow, and at the same time, give Tiemey plenty of opportunity to "make" him. But she was having a hard time "hearing" anything except the pounding of her headache and the discordant noise that was Wade's all-consuming fear for her safety.

  She wished she could say something to him, something that would reassure him or make him understand what his revved-up emotions were doing to her and get him to block them-or at least dial them down a notch. But this time the words wouldn't come. Her own emotions seemed to have gotten away from her and were all over the place, creating havoc in her mind. She felt too exhausted, right now, for another emotional battle with Wade.

  And confused. Because, as they drew nearer to the city, she began picking up glimmers of what she believed might be the killer-his intense focus on her, his avid excitement. But, strangely, without the equally intense rage she'd expected.

  Could it be that now he had her in his sights, he was so intent on carrying out his agenda that he'd put his rage on hold? She tried to home in on the impression, but thanks to her headache and the persistent background noise of her own and Wade's emotions, she wasn't able to receive anything clearly.

  And then, further complicating things, back on familiar streets, she began to hear a new voice in the mix. No, not new-one she'd heard before. One she recognized.

  Now she sat tense as wire, hands clasped in her lap to keep from inadvertently making some motion that would prompt Wade to ask his inevitable question. What?

  If he did. what would she answer? That she was almost sure The Watcher was back? How could she tell him what she wasn't even sure of herself? Especially given that Wade wasn't as convinced as she was that The Watcher was benign, and in his current frame of mind he might easily jump to the wrong conclusion.

  She began to feel increasingly edgy and chilled, balanced on the edge of panic, like a small prey animal lost in unfamiliar darkness.

  The predator was out the re… somewhere. Somewhere close. She could feel him. She'd been given all the defenses she needed to elude him, outwit him, defeat him. But now, as the danger grew closer, deep inside she felt the fear…the confusion…the doubt.

  All those defenses… Would they be enough?

  Chapter 12

  Tierney noticed when Wade made the turn that would take him up the hill into his own neighborhood instead of toward hers, and he was so intent on his own thoughts it was a shock when she straightened up like she'd been stung.

  And an even greater shock, after the deafening silence in the car for the past half hour, when she actually spoke.

  "Where are we going? I thought-"

  He smiled without an ounce of humor. "Yeah, I know the plan is to drive you home, pretend Jeannette's gone wandering off again…and off we go to the park to look for her."

  This was the part of the plan he dreaded, the part where he and Tierney were supposed to split up to search the park. Which was supposed to give the killer his chance. Thinking about it now, he swore silent blasphemies, wondering at what point he'd lost his mind and agreed to go along with this insanity. Sure, supposedly there would be cops stationed undercover all over that damn park. But he, better than anybody, knew how the best-laid plans could turn bad.

  "I'm going to stop by my place first, if you don't mind." His voice was a quiet but dangerous growl. "Pick up my mail and a change of clothes." And the backup weapon he wasn't supposed to carry, and which nearly all detectives did. He'd never had to use one, but he knew he'd feel better having it. He sure as hell didn't want to be caught without his weapon the one time he needed it.

  It occurred to him then that she'd looked deathly
pale, in the one quick glance he'd given her in the darkening car. He felt a painful stab of guilt and concern. He probably wasn't making this any easier for her, letting his dislike of this whole bait-the-tiger plan boil over the way he had. He hadn't been blocking the way he felt about her, either.

  He pulled into his driveway, looked over at her and said contritely, "Hey, you okay? Getting any bad vibes?"

  She looked him straight in the eye and said. "No."

  Well, she told herself, it was the truth-the vibes she was getting weren't bad-not at all.

  There was tremendous excitement and anticipation, all mixed up with intense anxiety. The emotions were rolling in on her in waves, from opposite directions, like weather fronts colliding, one benign, the other malevolent. Good and evil…

  How would she know which was which, and which direction it was coming from? She felt paralyzed with panic.

  Gran! Where are you? Please hear me. I need you!

  "Well." Wade said, "I'm not about to leave you in the car. Not this time." He got out and slammed his door, head moving from side to side like a radar antenna, scanning the street as he went around to open hers.

  She got out. moving like a robot, her mind filled with the thunder of those two massive, inexorable forces…

  When a car door slammed across the street, she didn't even hear it.

  Wade heard it. He whirled, shoving Tierney behind him. His weapon was already in his hands.

  On the other side of the street a shadowy figure was moving toward him. Wade couldn't believe it-the dirtbag was going to make his move right here! It was his worst-case scenario, the reason he'd had no faith in this so-called plan. Reminded him of something he'd heard somewhere. You want to make God laugh? Make a plan.

  He was already in his take-down crouch, weapon aimed and ready. "James Larson-stop right there!"

  "Wait-" The figure extended his arms. Too dark to tell if he had a weapon. "I'm not-"

  "Whoever you are-take one more step and I'll be forced to shoot. Don't make me do it…"

  Hell, yeah. Make my day…

  "Look, it's not what you think."

  The man's voice-for an instant, Wade thought it sounded familiar. Hard to tell-it was high with fear and shook with nervous laughter. Uncertain now, he hesitated… turned to look at Tierney, trying to get her take on this guy.

  She seemed frozen…eyes wide with terror. It was all the confirmation he needed.

  "Down on the ground-now!"

  The figure folded slowly to his knees, but his arms were still outstretched in entreaty. "Wade-wait-my name is Cory Pearson. We've met before. I just want to talk to you. For God's sake-I'm your brother!"

  Rage blew through Wade's head, turning his vision red and his voice to ice.

  "Yeah? Well, you just made the worst mistake of your life, pal. Now I know you're a liar. I've only got one brother. His name's Matthew not Cory. Lives in San Diego. In a wheelchair. That's right-he's a paraplegic, goddamn you. Now, get down on the ground! Lace your fingers together-hands behind your head! Come on-do it. Face on the ground! Do it-now!"

  Tierney watched Wade dart into the street and drop to one knee beside the figure lying prone on the ground. The figure of the man who claimed to be Wade's brother. But…could this be right? Was this the killer, after all?

  Her head hurt. Felt like it was going to explode. She felt so many emotions, so many intense conflicting emotions!

  Fear…surprise…glee…menace…triumph…Jury…despair!

  She felt like a dazed rabbit completely surrounded by wolves. Paralyzed…help less.

  In the center of the maelstrom only one thought came to her. Her grandmother's voice, trembling with grief. /I saw, but I wouldna' believe.

  She understood that now, as if a spotlight shone brightly on the words and images in her head. Understood how Jeannette could have "known" about her beloved's peril, but still be unable to prevent it.

  It was, truly, what made The Gift a curse.

  Gran… please help me. I need you!

  The answer came at last, and she almost didn't hear it. Don't listen so hard, darling.

  But the voice inside her mind wasn't Jeannette's. That voice had been crystalline and bright, like water laughing over pebbles. This was a voice she didn't recognize, and yet…had she heard it before? Somewhere… faint, like a whisper…nostalgic, like the softest of breezes on a warm spring morning, bringing with it the scent of lilacs.

  Relax… let it pour over you… Like rain. You'll know…

  Tierney's heart leaped with new hope. Gran?

  Again the soft breeze, a hint of laughter. Not quite…

  She reached out to the voice, incredulous…disbelieving… Mother? But you didn 't-you don't…

  I've always been able to hear you, Tee.

  "Momma?" She said it out loud, in a voice tremulous with tears.

  Wade heard it and turned toward her. Too late.

  To Cory, it seemed to happen in a second. Less. From his position, flat on his belly in the street with his cheek pressing into the gritty and still warm pavement, he saw a shadowy form lunge from the shadows between the trees and parked cars that lined the street. Saw him grab Tierney from behind and envelop her in an evil parody of an embrace-the same one with which he'd surprised his wife last night, on his return from Beirut.

  The pressure on his spine vanished, as Wade sprang up and started for the pair at a dead run-only to come to a dead stop an instant later, hands stretched at his sides like outriggers to help halt his forward momentum.

  A moment later Cory saw what Wade had seen first-the glint of a knife pressed against Tierney's throat. And something else in the man's other hand. A gun. Small, deadly…and pointed straight at Wade.

  This was Cory's worst nightmare. Had it been a premonition? Superstition? Either way, his greatest fear-that he would find his lost brother only to lose him forever at the final moment-was coming true.

  Shouts flew back and forth through the twilight.

  The voice of a killer, high and taut, sobbing with fear and resolve. "Put the gun down, now! I'll kill her, I swear I will-"

  "Don't do it-I'm warning-"

  "I'll kill her right here. I'll cut her throat…"

  "Wade! He means it, man. Don't do anything stupid-"

  "Okay…okay. Look! I'm putting the gun down. Just… don't hurt her. Don't…hurt her."

  Tierney was overwhelmed by the emotions. The sheer brutality of them, like hammer blows inside her head. Battering her. Destroying her. How much more of this could she take?

  Desperately she clung to sanity, and her lifelines were the only clear thoughts she could find in the midst of the chaos.

  The Watcher, Cory…he's who he says he is. He's Wade's brother!

  Wade loves me, more than he does his own life.

  And I love him the same.

  And this man…with the knife I feel cutting into my throat and the gun pointed straight at Wade…he means to kill us both.

  Then…incredibly, another "voice" swelled inside her mind, another voice to cling to in the terror of the moment.

  This one she'd heard before. No words, just feelings. Simple and direct.

  Love! Devotion! Defend! Protect!

  She realized that she was moving backward, that she was being forced, half-dragged down the sidewalk. She could feel the warm trickle of blood down her neck and between her breasts.

  She heard the sound of a man's ragged breathing and a high-pitched keening inside her head. The sound of fear and rage coming rapidly to a boil.

  She heard a click-incredibly loud and outside her head-and even though she'd never heard the sound before, she knew it. The sound of a gun getting ready to fire.

  And she couldn't move, couldn't do anything to stop what she knew was going to happen.

  She kept moving…backward…the pressure on her throat unbearable. Darkness swam into the edges of her vision. She heard Wade's voice, rough with anguish.

  "Come on. don't, man-don't-"


  In utter desperation, her mind screamed. Bruno!

  In the next instant she was falling backward.

  There was an explosion-the gun! So close it seemed to be everywhere-inside her mind, outside her body. But she wasn't deafened by it. not completely-she could hear other sounds-scuffles, grunts of effort, screams of fury, wordless shouts and cries of pain.

  And then…nothing. Darkness. Finally. And blessed, blessed silence.

  Cory saw the man go down-inexplicably-taking his hostage with him. And almost simultaneously he heard the gunshot. Felt the concussion of it as if in his own body. He was already on his feet when he saw Wade crumple to the ground.

  He'd been in enough life and death situations to know what he had to do first, and he did it without hesitation, even while his mind was screaming in agony. He darted across the street to where the shooter lay momentarily stunned, half under the body of the woman, who appeared to be unconscious. He kicked the gun away from the man's hand and sent it spinning across the driveway, then stomped down on the wrist of the hand holding the knife. Breathing hard, he bent down and felt for the woman's pulse.

  Somewhere behind him, like the sound of a cavalry charge in the darkest hour, he could hear Wade swearing and groaning. Shouting at him.

  "Is she all right? Did he hurt her?"

  When Cory didn't reply immediately, being somewhat preoccupied with getting the knife out of its owner's reach and the man away from his intended victim. Wade almost screamed. "Answer me, goddamn it!"

  Breathing hard, Cory yelled back. "She's okay I think- just fainted." He rolled the assailant, unresisting now and sobbing like a child, onto his stomach and planted one knee in the small of his back. And was finally able to ask the question he most desperately wanted the answer to. "How 'bout you? Where did he get you?"

  "In my damn leg," Wade croaked, and started to laugh, the way someone does when he's in unspeakable pain. "I'll be okay…if somebody…will just get this…stinking dog off of me."

  Cory twisted around to look at him, lying on his back at the bottom of the driveway. In the fading light he could see that his brother's arms were flung over his face in a vain attempt to protect it from the attentions of the enormously obese basset hound that was sprawled on his chest.