Sense of Evil

by Kay Hooper

  “Then,” Rafe said, “your senses really are in a box. And I'm not just talking about the extra ones.” His voice was very calm, almost offhand. He got to his feet. “When do I meet this telepath?”

  Isabel checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes. We'll have to leave in thirty to make the meeting.”

  “Okay. I'll be in my office until then.”

  She watched him leave the room and continued to gaze at the open doorway until Hollis appeared just a minute or two later.

  “Isabel?”

  “The thing that actually scares me,” Isabel said as though they were continuing a conversation begun sometime before, “is that I have this uneasy feeling he's at least three steps ahead of me. And I don't understand how he's doing that.”

  “The killer?”

  “No. Rafe.”

  Hollis closed the door behind her, then came in and sat down at the conference table. “He's still surprising you, huh?”

  “In spades. He just never reacts to things the way I think he's going to.”

  Mildly, Hollis said, “Then maybe you're thinking too much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stop trying to anticipate, Isabel. Instead of thinking about everything, why not try listening to your instincts and feelings?”

  “You sound like Bishop.”

  Hollis was a little surprised. “I do?”

  “Yes. He says I only get blindsided when I forget what my senses are for. That I have to accept and understand that what I feel is at least as important as what I think.”

  “More important,” Hollis said. “For you. Especially now, I imagine.”

  “Why now?”

  “Rafe.”

  Isabel frowned and looked away.

  “He reached out to you, Isabel. You wanted him to. You let him. But you couldn't reach back. You weren't quite ready to take that chance.”

  “I've known the man a grand total of about four days.”

  “So? We both know time has nothing to do with it. You and Rafe connected in those first few hours. You were wide open because you always are—or were. He was definitely attracted and unusually willing to open himself emotionally, or so it seemed to me. Jesus Christ, Isabel, you two strike sparks when you touch. Literally. Are you telling me you can't see a sign from the universe that clear?”

  “We're going over old ground here,” Isabel said tightly.

  “Yes, but you keep missing the point.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Those control issues of yours. You can be flip about them if you want, but we both know they're at the heart of this entire situation.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You came into this as confident as always, sure of yourself and your abilities. In control. I don't know, maybe you were a little more vulnerable than usual because it's this particular killer, this old enemy, that you were after. Or maybe that had nothing to do with it. Maybe it was just a case of right place, right person—and really lousy timing.”

  “I'll agree with that much, anyway,” Isabel muttered.

  “Doesn't really matter. The fact is, you found yourself losing control, and not just of your own emotions. Your abilities were suddenly different. You were so wide open you didn't have a hope in hell of being able to even filter all the stuff coming at you. You could do that before, I'm told. Filter what came through, exert a kind of control over it even if you couldn't block it out. But once you got to Hastings, once you connected with Rafe, you didn't even have that.”

  “What happened here was nothing that hadn't happened before, as far as my abilities go.”

  “No, but the scale of it was different. You've already admitted that much yourself.”

  Reluctantly, Isabel nodded.

  “And there he was, so close. Too close. All of a sudden, you got very spooked. So you opened the door to your chamber of horrors, thinking that would drive him away and things could get back to normal. But it did just the opposite. It brought him even closer, and it strengthened the connection between you two. So much so that he was somehow able to use it himself, even if only unconsciously.”

  Hollis shook her head slowly. “I guess it was easier for you to just let him be the one in control for a while. Let him do what he wanted to do, needed to do. Protect you, shut out all the pain. Even if it meant shutting off your abilities and blinding you to the evil you know is almost close enough to touch.”

  14

  THE POUNDING IN HIS HEAD was almost as rhythmic as his heartbeat, as though his very brain pulsed inside his skull.

  The imagery pleased him briefly.

  The pain made him reach for yet another handful of painkillers. He'd considered going to a doctor and getting the stronger prescription stuff but was wary of doing anything that might call attention to himself.

  That bitch agent, it might occur to her that the change kept him in pain most of the time, and she might start calling doctors, checking for just that.

  No, he couldn't take the chance.

  But he had a hunch that all the painkillers on top of not being able to eat much these days might be causing other problems. There was a new pain, deep in his gut, a burning. It got better when he was able to eat something, and he knew what that meant. An ulcer, probably.

  Was that part of the change? Was it intended that his own digestive acids—helped along by handfuls of painkillers—would eat through the lining of his stomach?

  He didn't see how that would help him become what he had to be, but—

  It's punishment, wimp.

  “I haven't done anything wrong.” He kept his voice low, so nobody else would hear.

  You're dragging your feet. You haven't done that agent. You haven't done the reporter. Or the other one. What're you waiting for?

  “The right time. I have to be careful. They're watching me.”

  I knew I wouldn't be able to count on you to keep it together. You're paranoid now.

  “No—”

  You are. All you should be thinking about is what those women have done to you. Those bitches. You know what they've done. You know.

  “Yes. I know.”

  Then there's nothing else to think about, is there? Nothing else to worry about.

  “I just have to kill them. All six of them. Just like I did before.”

  Yes. You just have to kill them.

  “I'm not that self-destructive,” Isabel said.

  “You're that scared.”

  “And you know that because of your degree in psychology?”

  “I know it because I was brutalized too.”

  After a long moment, much of the tension drained visibly from Isabel and she said, “Yeah. We belong to a very select club, you and I. Survivors of evil.”

  “It doesn't have to be a lifetime membership, Isabel.”

  “Doesn't it?”

  “No. And if you let it be, then you let him win. You let evil win.”

  Isabel managed a faint smile. “If this is what Maggie Barnes did for you, then I wish I'd had her around fourteen years ago.”

  “What Maggie did for me,” Hollis said, “was put me in the same place you're in now. As if years have gone by. The memories are still there, the pain is only an echo—and the scars are fear. I can be more objective than you because I'm not the one falling in love.”

  “And if you were?” It was a tacit admission.

  “I'd be scared to death.”

  “I'll remind you that you said that.”

  It was Hollis's turn to smile faintly. “Believe me, I'm counting on you to help me through, if it ever happens.”

  “The blind leading the blind.”

  “You'll have figured things out by then. You'll have to. As our esteemed leader says, the universe puts us where we need to be. You obviously need to be here, now. With Rafe.”

  “And a killer.”

  Hollis nodded. “And a killer. Which is why I think you can't try to ignore or deny your own feelings. Not now, not this time. You don't hav
e that luxury, not with a killer in the equation. You need your abilities at full strength, plus whatever Rafe brings to the relationship.”

  In a slightly suspicious tone, Isabel asked, “Did Bishop tell you anything else about what's happening here? I mean, aside from having you give Rafe just the information he needed to keep that little confrontation at the dairy farm from having a tragic ending?”

  “No, but I've been thinking about that.”

  “I'm almost afraid to ask.”

  “Oh, it's nothing definitive. You know how Bishop and Miranda are when it comes to seeing the future. Maybe they did see this and knew that Rafe needed to be part of it; maybe that's why they made sure he'd survive Helton's drunken paranoia. But even if they did, they'd hardly tell me anything about it.”

  “Probably not,” Isabel agreed wryly. “They feel very responsible for what they see and the actions they take or don't take, so they don't say a whole lot about it to the rest of us.”

  “One of these days,” Hollis said, “I'd love to talk to them about the whole philosophical question of playing God.”

  “Good luck.”

  Hollis smiled faintly, but said, “Getting back to the point I wanted to make, I think there's a very simple reason why you and Rafe reacted to each other so instantly and on a basic chemical and electromagnetic level.”

  “I guess you're going to tell me even if I don't ask.”

  “Yes. It's that balance thing the universe tries to keep going. In your case, you needed something outside yourself to be whole, balanced. And so does he. I think you two were meant to be a team, Isabel. Just like Bishop and Miranda. The two of you together are potentially . . . greater than the sum of your parts. A perfect balance, something the universe keeps aiming for and so often misses.”

  “Hollis—”

  “I don't know why I believe that, but I do. Maybe it's the sparking thing. Or just the way you talk to each other, as though you've been close for years. All I know is that I believe what I believe. And I think the only difference between you two and Bishop and Miranda is that it took them years and a lot of tragedy to figure things out.”

  “What makes you think I—Rafe and I—can get there any faster or easier?”

  “You do. You charge at things head-on, Isabel. It's your instinct as sure as Rafe's instinct is to protect. So stop holding back. Stop being afraid. Trust yourself.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Yeah, it is. Like I said, I'm not the one falling in love and trying to cope with all this. But the universe put me here for a reason, too, and maybe it wasn't to talk to dead victims. Maybe it was to talk to you. Maybe it's not time for me to learn to control my abilities.”

  “That's a handy excuse,” Isabel said, not unkindly.

  “You don't have to worry that I'll stop trying.” Hollis grimaced slightly. “Okay, you don't have to worry that I'll keep on not trying.”

  “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “I know I need to learn to control this. And I know I won't be able to if I don't start trying. So I will. You have my word on that. My abilities might be the only edge we've got in this. Especially if it's going to take time for you and Rafe to get this shield thing figured out.”

  “The thought had occurred.”

  “So we both have a lot of work to do. And Rafe'll have to get a crash course in being psychic.”

  Isabel sighed. “Well, after my last little discussion with him, Rafe may not be all that willing, no matter what he said. I don't need any extra senses to know he was not happy with me.”

  “If I have to say it again, I will. Subtle is not your strong suit, pal.”

  “It comes of being a platinum blonde almost six feet tall,” Isabel said wryly. “Like being a neon sign in human terms, at least according to what the therapists say.”

  “Since you've never been able to melt into the background physically . . .”

  “Exactly. Another reason I—to use your phrase—charge at things head-on. Usually. Everybody tends to be watching me, might as well give them something to see. Never really got much of a chance to practice subtle.”

  “It shows.”

  “Yeah, I'm getting that.”

  “Mmm. In any case, I've got a strong hunch that Rafe will meet you halfway even if he is pissed at the moment. But only halfway. You're the profiler, so consider this: what is it you have that Rafe needs to balance himself—and vice versa? And I'm not talking about the shield thing. Emotionally. Psychologically.”

  “You obviously think you know the answer.”

  “Yeah, I think I do. I also think it's something both of you will have to figure out for yourselves.”

  “Jesus. You really are beginning to sound like Bishop.”

  Hollis considered a moment, then said, “Thank you.”

  Shaking her head, Isabel checked her watch, then got herself off the conference table. “I'm taking Rafe for his . . . psychic litmus test.”

  “Say hello for me.”

  “I will. In the meantime, the focus of the investigation needs to be on locating that box of photographs and the missing women, and trying to figure this bastard out before he kills another one. In other words, same old, same old.”

  Hollis nodded, then said, “This morning, you asked Ginny McBrayer if she was feeling okay.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw the shiner, didn't you? It got more obvious as the day wore on, despite her attempts to cover it up.”

  Isabel sighed. “She did a good job with the makeup, which makes me think it's not the first black eye she's had to hide. What do you know about her home life?”

  “I asked Mallory, casually. Ginny still lives at home, with her parents. She's trying to pay off college loans and save for a place of her own.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Mallory didn't know. But I can ask Ginny outright. I'm not especially shy.”

  “I noticed that.” Isabel thought about it, then nodded. “If you get the chance, do. She may think we're butting in to something that's none of our business, but there's a lot of tension in this town, and borderline situations can get pushed over the edge really fast.”

  “An abusive boyfriend or parent could get worse.”

  “Much worse. Besides, she's got a lot on her plate as a young officer, especially right now, and stress can cause different reactions in people. Like the rest of us, she takes her gun home with her.”

  “Oh, hell. I hadn't even thought of that.”

  “Let's hope she hasn't either.”

  “So, are you still mad at me?” Isabel asked Rafe as they got into her and Hollis's rental car.

  “I wasn't mad at you.”

  “No? Then I guess an arctic cold front swept through the conference room despite all those walls. I nearly got frostbite. Amazing.”

  “You know,” he said as she started the engine, “you don't talk like any other person I've ever met.”

  “One of a kind, accept no substitutes.”

  He looked at her, one brow rising. “Where are we going?”

  “West. That little motel on the edge of town.”

  “Great. The only motel in Hastings that charges hourly rates.”

  “Oh, I doubt anybody will pay attention to us going in, if that's what you're worried about. I took Stealthy 101 at the Bureau.”

  Rafe's mouth twitched. “You don't play fair either.”

  “Well, at least we both have our little tricks. You can kiss me until my knees get dizzy, and I can make you laugh even when you're pissed.”

  He laughed, but said, “I was not pissed. Just . . . annoyed. You are a very difficult woman, in case no one has ever told you that.”

  “I have been told, as a matter of fact. It doesn't seem to help, knowing about it. Sorry.”

  He turned slightly in his seat to watch her as she drove, but let a few minutes pass before saying, “Dizzy knees, huh?”

  “Oh, don't say you didn't know.”

  “I knew there was some e
ffect. That was the only reason I didn't get pissed in the conference room when you were so busy backpedaling.”

  “You weren't supposed to see me backpedaling. Hollis says I don't do subtle real well.”

  “You don't do subtle at all.”

  “Then I'll stop trying, shall I?”

  He grinned. “So you do have a few buttons.”

  Isabel got hold of herself. Or tried to. “Apparently. Look, it's not all that much fun to keep hearing how blatant you are. I'm an almost-six-foot blonde, which makes me real visible; I'm a clairvoyant without a shield—usually—which makes me a high-wattage receiver for an amazing range of trivia that tends to come at me like painful bullets, and now I find out I might as well be wearing my heart on my sleeve. Just look for my picture beside the word obvious in the dictionary.”

  “You do defensive very well.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Rafe chuckled. “You'll feel much better when you just admit it, you know you will.”

  “I don't know how I'll feel. And neither do you.”

  “You're wasting a lot of energy, I know that. Want to talk about our primitive instincts? You're a fighter, Isabel; backing away from this isn't doing anything except keeping you rattled and off balance.”

  “All of a sudden everybody has a degree in psychology,” she muttered.

  “Just tell me this much. Is it going to make a difference, finding out whether I'm psychic?”

  Isabel knew that was a serious question and answered it seriously. “You mean will I love you more if you can provide a shield for me? No. Being shielded for nearly twenty-four hours has taught me I'd rather be without one. I mean, nice place to visit now and then, but I really do feel like I've suddenly gone deaf, and I don't like it.”

  “So if I am psychic and have somehow put a shield around your abilities, you're going to run to the ends of the earth to escape it?”

  “I didn't say that. And no. We'll just figure out a way for one or both of us to control the damned thing, that's all. Having psychic abilities never makes life easier, but the whole point is learning to live with them.”

  “So you'll love me either way?”

  Isabel opened her mouth, then closed it. She allowed the silence to lengthen for a moment before saying, “You're very tricky.”