Stealing Shadows Read online

  “Good morning.” She headed for the coffee, desperately in need of caffeine and hoping it didn’t show.

  Max, sprawled out near the back door with a rawhide treat between his front paws, thumped his tail in welcome but didn’t stop chewing. The honeymoon, Cassie decided, was definitely over.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made myself at home,” Ben said casually and without looking at her.

  “How could I mind?” she murmured.

  “I imagine you might.” His voice remained conversational. “Yesterday you told me to leave.”

  She vaguely recalled that. “I told you to leave me alone. You did.”

  He sent her a glance that was no less sharp for being brief. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. Sleep usually helps.” Though not usually sixteen hours’ worth. Sipping her coffee, Cassie looked at Ben, noting both his ease in the kitchen and the fact that he had changed clothes since yesterday. Where had he slept?

  “Do you like pancakes?” he asked. “Say yes.”

  “Yes.” She went to get syrup and butter from the refrigerator, then poured orange juice for them both as he finished cooking.

  She wanted to ask him about the poor girl who’d been taken yesterday, but her mind shied away from it. There was nothing she could do, she reminded herself fiercely. Not for that girl. Not now.

  She remained silent while Ben transferred the food to the table and they both sat down to eat. The silence between them stretched out for most of the meal. It didn’t seem to bother Ben at all. Cassie was in no hurry to break it; she was not uncomfortable with him, though she was highly conscious of his every movement. She just didn’t know what to say to him.

  They were nearly finished when she finally spoke. “This is good. Thanks.”

  “I specialize in breakfasts and steaks. Other than that…” He shrugged, smiling.

  She thought that expertise had probably taken him as far as he wanted it to but didn’t say it aloud. Instead, driven, she said, “That girl—”

  “They haven’t found her yet.”

  “I could—”

  “No,” Ben said. “You couldn’t.”

  “I’m all right now.”

  “Maybe.” He shook his head, watching her intently. “And maybe not. Do you remember it all, Cassie?”

  “More or less.”

  “Do you remember speaking in the first person, in the killer’s words?”

  She felt a chill. “No.”

  “You did. I managed to pull you back, but—” He drew a breath. “Now I understand what you meant when you said you needed a lifeline.”

  Cassie didn’t ask what, specifically, she had said. Instead, she shook her head and murmured, “Every case is a bit different, but… I don’t understand anything about this one. Peculiar things have been happening almost from the beginning.”

  He hesitated. “Something else. Your eyes were open during most of the contact. That isn’t usual, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Your pupils were so dilated, there was almost no color showing at all.”

  Cassie felt more disturbed by what she heard in his voice than by the anomalous occurrence he described. “I can’t explain it. The difference I felt was… a matter of degree.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the contact itself didn’t feel different, just the depth of it. Almost instantly I was deep in his mind, his consciousness, so quick, it was like flipping a switch.”

  “Because you knew the way after finding him the last time?”

  “I guess.” But that didn’t feel right somehow, and she went on slowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he… pulled me in. That he wanted me to know where he was and what he was doing. That he deliberately let me know that much before he pushed me out.”

  “Why isn’t that possible?”

  “Well, because… there was no awareness of me. None at all, not until that very last second when he suddenly looked at me and then pushed me out.”

  “You said he knew you.”

  “Yes. He… he said my name in his mind.”

  “Cassie.”

  She heard that whisper once again in her mind, and a shiver rippled through her. She had never before been caught like that in another mind; a dark inner eye had turned toward her with such swift accuracy that she had felt pinned in place.

  Trapped.

  That was what she could never tell Ben. That she knew with utter certainty she would never have been able to escape from the insane strength of that other mind if he had not contemptuously thrown her free.

  FIFTEEN

  “Cassie?”

  She summoned a smile. “As I said, he knows who I am now. But we expected that sooner or later.”

  “Do you think he’ll block you from now on?”

  “He couldn’t do it continually. Eventually even the strongest mind gets tired or distracted and the guard slips. I’ll be able to get back in.”

  “And if you can? Will he know you’re there?”

  Cassie hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve always been able to hide my presence before. I… must have been distracted somehow this time, and that’s how he caught me.”

  “What if he catches you again? Can he hurt you?”

  “With his mind?” She tried to make sure her voice didn’t sound evasive. “All he did this time was push me out. It’s the natural thing to do.”

  “We’re dealing with an unnatural mind, Cassie.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Ben stared at her, then pushed his plate away with a smothered oath. In a very steady voice he said, “Even if he can’t hurt you, how many more times do you think you can do this without killing yourself?”

  “As many as I have to.” Cassie got up and carried her plate to the sink.

  He followed with his own plate. “I don’t think so, Cassie. Do you realize you scared the life out of me yesterday? I thought I was going to lose you forever.”

  She fixed a fresh cup of coffee to give herself a moment to think. It didn’t help. “I’m sorry.” Her own voice sounded more puzzled than apologetic to her; she wondered how it sounded to him.

  Obviously not apologetic.

  “Dammit, Cassie! Stop acting like I shouldn’t care if you put yourself in danger.”

  She poured milk into her coffee, stirring it with careful concentration. “It’s my risk to take. I told you that.”

  “And I’m not concerned in the matter?”

  She took a moment to respond. “What do you want me to say, Ben?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Look at me.”

  She did, but reluctantly.

  He gave her a little shake. “Stop shutting me out.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’ve been miles away from me since Matt and I came back yesterday afternoon. I want to know why. Is it because I told you how I felt? Are you having second thoughts about getting involved with me?”

  He’ll destroy you.

  Cassie wondered if she could even try to save herself. “Ben, you must see it—it’s no good.”

  “Why?” he demanded bluntly.

  “My God, aren’t all the reasons obvious?”

  “Not to me. So tell me.”

  She drew a breath. “For one thing, I’d make a lousy lover. Ben, I’ve been inside too many male minds filled with nothing but violence and hate. I can’t just push all that aside, pretend I never saw it, that it never terrified me.”

  “You’ve never been in my mind,” he said quietly.

  “I know that.” She steadied her voice with an effort. “And I know those other minds, those… urges and actions are abnormal. Most men never feel such violence. But accepting that in my own mind doesn’t help. I still… I can’t help being afraid. Don’t you see? There’s no trust left in me.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You have to. It’s true.”

  “Cassie, I would never deliberately hu
rt you.”

  “I’m sure you mean that.” She avoided his gaze.

  “But you don’t believe it’s the truth.”

  “I told you. I can’t trust anymore. I don’t want to get involved, not with anyone. Ben, please, just—let it go, okay?”

  He ignored the plea. “Is it because you can’t read me? Because you can’t be sure there’s no violence in me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She had to wonder if it would make things easier if she could read Ben. Or harder.

  His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Cassie—”

  The telephone rang, making her jump, but she was glad to have a reason to move away from him, if only as far as the kitchen wall phone. She picked up the receiver and said hello, hoping she didn’t sound as shaky as she thought she did.

  “Cassie, it’s Matt. Is Ben still there?”

  “Yes. Hang on a second.” She held out the receiver, and when he took it immediately moved away and busied herself loading the dishwasher.

  “Matt? Have you found her?” Ben kept his gaze on Cassie and shook his head when she looked up questioningly. Then he frowned as the sheriff continued to speak. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Matt. We’ll just feed the gossip if Cassie comes to your office openly. I know. Yes, I realize that, but—” He listened for a moment longer, then said, “All right. We’re on our way.”

  He hung up the phone and directed all his attention at Cassie. “You heard. He wants to talk to us in his office. I don’t know why he didn’t want to tell me over the phone, but he was right when he pointed out that your involvement in the investigation is an open secret by now.”

  Cassie closed the dishwasher. “I’ll get my jacket.” She kept her tone as indifferent as she could manage. “Would you let Max out for a minute, please? I’d like to leave him in the house.”

  Ben did as she asked without comment, and by the time she was ready to leave, so was he. He joined her at the front door, picking up a small leather bag she hadn’t noticed sitting by the stairs. Cassie didn’t ask, but he explained anyway.

  “Since my days in the circuit court, I’ve always carried a packed overnight bag with me in the Jeep. I never knew when I might have to spend a night away from home.”

  Cassie set the security system without comment, and they went out to his Jeep. The silence between them was not a comfortable one, and it was broken only once between her house and their arrival at the Sheriff’s Department.

  “What can I do to teach you to trust me?” Ben asked.

  Cassie didn’t tell him that if she had not already trusted him, she would never have been able to accept him as a lifeline.

  He’ll destroy you.

  It was probably already too late, but she had to try. No matter how much it hurt.

  “Nothing,” she answered.

  • • •

  Abby had listened to the radio all morning, but the local station reported hour by hour that the missing Ryan’s Bluff teenager had not yet been found. The Sheriff’s Department was asking that anyone with any knowledge or information please come forward, and in the meantime urged everyone to remain calm. Deputies were out in force.

  Abby was restless. She hadn’t talked to Matt since the previous evening and had slept badly, yet she had been up with the chickens despite feeling tired and out of sorts. She had busied herself all morning by performing her usual weekend chores, but all the housecleaning and washing was done long before noon, and nothing else served to occupy her attention.

  The weather was dreary, cold, and overcast, threatening some kind of precipitation all morning, and the last of the snow clung to spots here and there as if inviting more to join it. The radio said the roads were clear but followed that report by stating that the Sheriff’s Department was asking everyone to stay off the roads unless they had to be out.

  Abby could imagine the calls Matt must be getting, from panicky citizens to furious merchants; no matter what he did, somebody would be unhappy with him, and if he couldn’t quickly make the streets safe for everyone…

  She was worried about him. He hadn’t bargained for this kind of situation, and nothing in his experience had prepared him for it. He was an intelligent man and a shrewd cop, and he would not make many mistakes—but those he made would be out of the conviction that he knew what was best for the town.

  The problem was, in this situation there was no “best,” no right answer for the town—except to catch a particularly brutal, undoubtedly insane killer.

  Abby went cold just thinking of Matt in that confrontation. Because he would be there, of course. If they were able to locate the killer, Matt would be first through the door—not because it was his job, but because it was his nature.

  The phone rang, and Abby went eagerly to answer it, hoping Matt had found a moment to call. She really needed to hear his voice.

  “Hello?”

  No one responded, but the line was not silent. Instead, there were sounds of breathing, faint but unmistakable.

  “Hello?” Abby repeated, unease growing. “Is anybody there?”

  “Abby.”

  Just that, just her name whispered. Then a click, and the dial tone.

  Ben felt as well as saw Cassie stiffen the moment she preceded him into Matt’s office. But that was her only visible reaction as she looked at the man lounging against the filing cabinet beside the sheriff’s desk.

  “Hello, Bishop,” she said, calm.

  “Cassie.” The well-dressed man with the sharp gray eyes smiled, an expression that did not lend the slightest bit of charm to his scarred face.

  As Cassie settled into the visitor’s chair farthest away from Bishop, Matt introduced Ben to the agent, his own feelings clear in the flatness of his voice.

  Ben wasn’t dismayed to find an FBI agent in his town, but he was wary—though not for the same reason Matt was. “Agent Bishop,” he said as they shook hands.

  “Judge Ryan.”

  When Matt nodded toward the other visitor’s chair, Ben took it. There was a leather sofa along the wall beside Bishop, and Ben wondered if the agent remained on his feet because he felt it gave him a tactical advantage.

  Matt said, “Agent Bishop found out about our situation here thanks to newspaper archives and a North Carolina database.”

  “And came to offer his expertise?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Bishop said, “This isn’t an official visit, Judge. As a matter of fact, I’m currently on a sabbatical.”

  “I wasn’t aware the Bureau offered its agents sabbaticals.”

  “It’s an uncommon practice. It might be more accurate to say that I had accrued a substantial amount of vacation and leave time over the years.”

  Ben glanced at a silent and distant Matt, then looked at Cassie, who was gazing at Matt’s desk. The tension in her slight body was visible, even though her face remained expressionless.

  Ben had the feeling he was the only one in the room who didn’t know what was going on.

  “Okay,” he said, returning his gaze to the agent. “So how does that explain your presence here? Just happened to be in the area, or is chasing after serial killers a hobby of yours?”

  “You might say that chasing after alleged psychics is a hobby of mine.”

  “Alleged?”

  “That’s right. There are so many charlatans, you know. So many so-called telepaths whose claims can’t be scientifically documented.”

  “He means me.” Cassie looked up for the first time, her gaze fixing on Bishop. “I don’t perform well in a laboratory setting.” Her voice was cool.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Bishop murmured.

  “The tests were poorly designed and you know it. But it was my fault for even agreeing to be tested.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I’ve stopped trying to prove myself to you, Bishop.”

  “Have you?”

  Two pairs of gray eyes locked together, and Ben could almost feel the struggle of wills. T
hen Cassie looked at Matt and said, “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I can guess he had nothing good to say about me. Want to hear my side of the story?”

  Matt nodded.

  “Okay. A couple of years ago Agent Bishop was called into a missing persons case in San Francisco. The missing woman’s husband was quite wealthy and politically powerful, which was why the FBI was called in even though there was no evidence of a kidnapping. Days went by, then weeks, but neither the police nor Bishop and his people could find a trace of the lady.

  “Her sister, in the meantime, contacted me. She had heard of me through mutual acquaintances, and believed I might be able to help find her sister. So I flew to San Francisco and went to the house where the missing woman had lived.”

  “And?” Matt prompted.

  “And I knew she was dead.” In a wry tone she added, “The police were, naturally, suspicious when I made that claim. But when they started looking for a body, they found one. Just where the husband had dumped it.”

  “He hasn’t gone to trial yet,” Bishop said.

  “You know and I know he killed her.”

  “Maybe.”

  Cassie glanced at the agent, then returned her gaze to Matt. “At any rate, Agent Bishop asked me to allow myself to be tested. I refused, and went back to L.A.”

  “Why did you refuse?” Matt asked.

  “Advice from my mother. It was her belief that until medical science learned a lot more about the brain, psychic ability would never be understood. What science cannot understand it tends to try its best to disprove. The whole process leads to a great deal of tension and pressure, both of which interfere with psychic ability.”

  Bishop made a skeptical sound.

  Cassie didn’t rise to the bait. “Anyway, as I said, I went home. A couple of months later I was asked to advise in a murder case. And Agent Bishop turned up—like a bad penny.”

  “I resent that,” he murmured.

  Cassie ignored him. “It was a difficult case complicated even more by the fact that I had the flu and should have refused to get involved. That’s no excuse, but it is part of the reason I failed.”

  “How did you fail?” Matt asked.

  “Misinterpreted something I saw. What I told them led the police to concentrate on the wrong suspect, and the real killer had time to kill again. Which he did.” She looked steadily at the sheriff. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened, and it won’t be the last. No psychic is a hundred percent right a hundred percent of the time.”