by Kay Hooper
Ethan hadn’t taken too kindly to the warning.
Still, he’d managed to convince Nate to mind his own business and keep his mouth shut about the business of others, and he hadn’t thought much about the other man since.
Until today.
He hadn’t yet seen the crime-scene photos, but Justin had reported what he and the photographer uncovered—so to speak. That scarf tied in a way that seemed an obvious intent to mock and humiliate the dead man.
It sounded like something a woman would do.
It sounded like something Hailey would do.
He hadn’t intended to fall in love with her. Hadn’t wanted to. When it started between them, he had believed what she obviously believed, that it was just sex, just a good time between a couple of people who had known each other for most of their lives and were comfortable together.
His marriage had broken up by then, and Hailey had seemed just what he needed—an undemanding bed partner uninterested in anything else. A bed partner, moreover, who was so skilled and uninhibited that she gave him quite a few heated, mind-blowing memories he knew he’d have for the rest of his life.
Then, somehow, as the weeks passed, he realized he was bothered by her insistence on secrecy. Bothered by the faded scars on her otherwise beautiful body. Bothered by her refusal to talk about her life outside the bed they shared for a few hours every week. Bothered by the look in her eyes whenever he had tried, awkwardly, to ask for more from her than sex.
What bothered him now was the certainty that it had been Hailey who had precipitated that final argument. He had been pushing, trying to get closer to her, and even though the sex had continued to be explosive and she had seemed to at least need that, she had chosen to walk away rather than allow him to deepen the relationship.
It wasn’t her style to end a relationship quietly; she preferred or needed drama, needed to be able to control the breakup, as she controlled everything else in her life. Needed to be able to pretend it didn’t matter to her.
Ethan wondered if he wasn’t pretending himself when he believed it had mattered to her. That he had mattered to her. But he’d been angry and baffled, and it had seemed best then not to protest when she said it was over. Time, he’d thought, they just needed time, she needed time. Time to herself, time without him pushing and prodding. So he’d waited a few weeks.
The scene Nell had “seen” had actually taken place in early February; Ethan hadn’t tried to approach Hailey again until nearly the end of March. He had found her chilly and elusive and had told himself he had to be patient.
But only a few weeks later, with nothing settled between them, Hailey had shocked the town by running off with Glen Sabella, a married father of two.
As far as Ethan knew, no one in Silence had seen her since. Except, possibly, five murdered men.
“Is it you, Hailey?” he murmured. “Are you doing this? And if you are ... why haven’t you come after me?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nell poured what must have been her third cup of coffee from the pot on the dining room table, then leaned back and thought absently that the formal dining room of this old house had certainly never before hosted a gathering like this one.
Two FBI agents, a cop-turned-private-investigator-turned-cop-again, a rancher with a political science degree, and a photographer who looked more like a fashion model.
None of them quite what they appeared to be.
And all of them wary—except for Shelby, of course.
“Anybody else want the last of the sesame chicken?” Shelby waited for the others to shake their heads, then drew the paper carton toward her and dug in happily. “Now I wish we’d brought some of those sugary pastries as well,” she told Justin.
“Where do you put it all?” he asked, mildly fascinated.
“I burn, I don’t store. Calories, I mean.” She waved her chopsticks in Nell’s general direction. “Hey, I meant to ask earlier how you knew Justin was one of the good guys. Psychic stuff?”
Nell smiled faintly. “We ran background checks on everybody in the sheriff’s department, of course. Justin stood out initially because he hadn’t been here very long, because he’d moved here from Atlanta, and because he had no family here. Plus, shifting from cop to private investigator and back to cop again definitely seemed ... interesting.”
“I thought I’d covered that base,” Justin murmured.
“You nearly did,” Nell assured him. “But we dig deeper than prospective employers—which is why we found the private investigator’s license when Ethan Cole didn’t.”
“So how’d you know he was working for Max?” Shelby asked.
“When we checked more closely, we found that he and Max had been roommates in college. Also that Max had called him several times just before Justin moved to Silence, yet the two of them were never seen together publicly once Justin lived here. So it just made sense.”
“In our world, anyway,” Galen murmured, sipping his coffee.
“I think it’s all fascinating,” Shelby said unnecessarily. “I mean, I know it’s a murder investigation and that men are dead, but finding out about all this stuff that’s been going on behind the scenes is definitely fascinating.”
“But is it helpful?” Nell reached out and tapped a file folder lying on the table. “You and Justin didn’t find anything suspicious in these birth records at all?”
“Nothing that looked suspicious to us. Maybe Ethan will find something.”
Justin said, “I didn’t tell him I made copies of the copies or that I was bringing a set here tonight. Matter of fact, I didn’t tell him I was coming here at all. He thinks I’m at home.”
Since he sounded slightly guilty, Nell said, “It’s more important for Ethan to go over those birth records than to be here listening to a rehash of information. So far, we have nothing new to tell him, at least not in the way of solid evidence or a new lead. Besides which, finding out how the birth records come into it would just put him off. He’s had about all he can take of psychic abilities, at least for now.”
Max stirred slightly and said to Nell, “I know you went to the courthouse a few days ago. Was that when you found a reason to believe the records might be important?”
She nodded. “Being here to settle my family’s estate gave me a good reason to go there at least once, but I wasn’t really looking for anything to help investigate the murders. Then, while I was there, I got a quick image of George Caldwell, and I knew he’d found something he hadn’t expected to find while he was looking through old parish birth records. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I felt sure it was what got him killed.”
Justin was watching her steadily. “And you still believe Hailey could be the killer?”
Nell answered carefully, just as she always did when faced with that question. “I believe Hailey is a common denominator in the first three murders. So far, I haven’t heard of any connection with George Caldwell, but since I believe he was killed for a different reason, I don’t expect to find one.”
“And Nate McCurry?”
“Too early to know anything for certain. But judging by what you said about the way that scarf was tied, it’s at least possible he was killed by a woman.”
“And Shelby’s idea that it could have been something done to mislead us?”
“That is also possible.” Nell sighed. “When I checked my e-mail a little while ago, there was a note from Quantico that they haven’t had any luck tracking down either her or Glen Sabella, so one or both of them could be nearby.”
“But how likely is that?” Max objected. “Nearby all these months yet not seen by anyone? Besides which, everyone seems agreed that this killer is psychic in an unusually powerful way, and you’re positive Hailey never has been.”
“You think it’s a coincidence that the first three victims were all her past lovers?”
“I think the term lover is stretching the truth a mile, but, no, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I just don’t thi
nk Hailey killed those men.”
“Then they were killed because of her.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Nell realized with an odd little chill that it was the truth. “Because of her,” she repeated slowly.
Max was frowning. “We know Patterson played his masochistic little games with Hailey in his basement when she was just a kid, and according to Ethan, Lynch dressed her up like a little girl for his sexual kicks. What about Ferrier? You said they were involved, but you didn’t say he hurt her.”
“I don’t think he did.” Nell shook her head slowly. “At least not in a way that Hailey didn’t somehow enjoy.”
“Yuck,” Shelby murmured.
Nell agreed with a grimace. “It isn’t what most women would enjoy, but Hailey ... seemed to enjoy it, even revel in it, at least judging by what I saw. Still, that doesn’t mean he didn’t abuse her in some way.”
Galen said, “Maybe from the perspective of an outsider, he did. Maybe all these men—at least aside from Caldwell—are being killed to punish them for what they did to Hailey.”
“Because they hurt her?” Shelby said.
“Maybe,” Nell said. “Or because they ... corrupted her. This killer, whoever he is, could have blamed the men rather than Hailey for her lifestyle. He sees or somehow knows about the secretive, sexually brutal relationships, and he believes those men defiled her.”
“Because he’s in love with her?” Galen suggested.
“Could be. Hate and jealousy combined can be powerful motivators.”
“Why start killing them when he did?” Max asked, then answered his own question. “Because she left. She ran away with another man, got disinherited by her own father, so it wasn’t likely she’d come back, and the killer blamed all the men in her life for taking her away from him.”
“It tracks,” Justin said. “And making it harder for us, the killer himself might never have had any direct contact with Hailey; plenty of scorned lovers are scorned only in their imaginations and fantasy lives.”
Intently, Shelby said, “So he might have built up this whole relationship with Hailey in his mind, put her on a pedestal, fantasized about her—and then he began to find out about these other men. But instead of her falling off the pedestal, he saw her as a victim and blamed the men who had victimized her.”
“It was probably the only way he could allow himself to go on loving her,” Nell said. “Self-deception is one of our strongest defense mechanisms.”
Shelby reached over to tap the file of birth records. “So what do these have to do with it?”
Nell tried to remember the flash she’d gotten at the courthouse, but it had been more a fleeting image and sense of knowledge than an actual vision. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing, directly. I mean, it might have nothing to do with Hailey at all, just some bit of information the killer didn’t want exposed. Maybe something that linked him to one or all of the first three murders.”
“Oh, great,” Justin muttered. “Let’s widen the range of possibilities even more. Why is it that each time we find out or figure out something new, it does nothing except give us too much to think about?”
“Murphy’s law,” Shelby offered.
“The question is,” Galen said, “what’s our next step?” He was looking at Nell.
Rather than answer that directly, she said, “Justin, Ethan was planning to go over the birth records tonight, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, from what he said. The last few weeks, he’s pretty much worked ’til long after midnight and then sacked out on the couch in his office for a few hours. I’d expect more of the same tonight, especially after another murder. And Shelby and I can vouch for the fact that it’d take one person hours and hours to go over all these records.”
“I’m certainly not likely to see anything you two missed,” Nell said. “You’re a good cop, and Shelby knows this town and its people. So as far as these records go, we’ll just have to see if Ethan notices anything.”
Max said, “It’s too late for you to check out Caldwell’s apartment or Nate McCurry’s house tonight, even if you were up to it. And considering the possibility that the killer is somehow influencing you when you do try to use your abilities—”
“I’m still not sure that’s possible,” Nell objected, as she had when Galen and Max had brought up the subject earlier.
“You know it’s possible,” Galen said.
“Yeah, I know it’s technically possible for a strong enough psychic to influence another’s mind. I just don’t believe I could be influenced and not know it. Not feel it somehow.”
“If he’s only able to reach you while you’re asleep or in a blackout,” Max pointed out, “how would you know? Nell, you’ve been blacking out too often, and it always seems to be either immediately after a vision or when you’ve pushed yourself too hard. Who’s to say he hasn’t found a way to make damned sure if you get too close to figuring out who he is you’ll black out?”
“Even if that’s true, I can’t stop looking for him,” Nell said. “It’s my job, the reason I’m here.”
“Yeah, we know that. I know that. But you won’t solve this if you’re out cold or worse. All I’m saying is that it might not be such a good idea for you to try to use your abilities again, at least not anytime soon.”
“In the meantime,” Galen said after checking his watch, “it’s nearly ten, and I think we’ll all agree it’s been a very long day. What say we start fresh in the morning?”
Nell was conscious of an uneasy sense of time ticking away, but told herself it was only because things were finally starting to come together now. That was all.
“Suits me,” she said firmly.
It was after eight when Ethan finally managed to settle down at his desk with the copies of parish birth records, and he was so tired by then he was afraid he wouldn’t see something important if it reared up and bit him on the nose. Still, he grimly drank black coffee, turned his office television to CNN with the volume down low, and began going through the records.
It must have been at least a couple of hours and several cups of coffee later that one of the records caught his attention and made him concentrate harder. He’d already found the birth records for several of his deputies and most of the thirty-five-to-forty-year-olds he knew in town without seeing anything odd, but something about this record nagged at him.
Why?
Place, time, father’s name, mother’s name—
Mother’s name.
Ethan Cole knew the history and people of Silence very well indeed. He’d made it his business to know, and for a good many years. So he was pretty current in terms of who was getting divorced or married, who was expecting a baby, who might be in trouble financially, who had drinking problems, and who was cheating on a spouse.
But that was now. Facts dealing with events in his earliest life and even before his birth were not things that had particularly interested him. Like most kids, he had accepted things at face value, so if a childhood acquaintance had mentioned at some point that his mother—his real mother—had died years before, Ethan wouldn’t have questioned or doubted. He’d probably felt no more than a quick rush of fellowship for another semi-orphan and may even have complained himself that his own father’s remarriage to Max Tanner’s mother had landed him with a new mother and younger sibling who were demanding all the time and attention his father could spare after endless ranch work.
A moment of camaraderie with a casual friend, hardly a blip in Ethan’s life.
Until now.
He picked up a pencil and circled the name he’d found. “She raised him,” he murmured. “Her name is here as his birth mother. So why did he say his real mother was dead?”
“You haven’t said a word about me contacting Galen.”
Nell didn’t look up from the copies of the birth records she was studying. “What was there to say? You made a judgment call, probably the right one. We had reached the point where it was undoubtedly best to meet and compare notes.�
� She paused, then added wryly, “Though it taught us both a valuable lesson in being undercover. Next time, we’ll make damned sure our cell phones don’t allow just anyone to access the menu or redial options.”
“I thought that might have been overlooked.”
“Yeah. Well, we live and learn.”
“If we live.”
Nell hadn’t been surprised that Max had—without comment or explanation—remained behind when the others had left. He had helped Shelby clear away the remains of the Chinese takeout she and Justin brought along for everyone, giving Nell the chance to speak quickly and privately to Galen, and then had made a fresh pot of coffee while the others said their good-byes to Nell.
The coffee told her he expected to be here awhile.
He had been watching her more or less steadily most of the evening, and she had been highly conscious of it. He hadn’t said much about the blackout, beyond asking her if she felt better, and since Galen had been present and Justin and Shelby had arrived very soon afterward, there had been no opportunity for them to continue the discussion that the blackout had interrupted.
Something for which Nell had been deeply grateful.
He and Galen had appeared to be perfectly comfortable with each other, which hadn’t surprised her; Galen could make himself agreeable when he wanted to, and since he wasn’t the type to play macho games with other men, Max had undoubtedly found him both informative and easy to talk to.
Informative. Nell hadn’t yet had the nerve to ask exactly what the two men talked about while she was out cold upstairs, but the possibilities worried her.
Still, Max had seemed calm. Surprisingly so, really, given how much her blackouts seemed to upset him. Even the revelation that Nell had known from the beginning that Justin Byers was working for him hadn’t seemed to bother Max too much, though Shelby’s participation had startled him, at least initially.
But Nell didn’t have to look at him now to read his increasing tension; she could hear it in his voice.