Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

Unaware of his fellow agent’s amusement, Galen said, “I found three roaming locals with shotguns, which I confiscated after escorting the owners back home. I am not winning any popularity contests here.”

“I doubt any of us are,” Tony said. “Two days ago this was a peaceful town. Look at it now.”

Jaylene said, “We were following a killer. It’s not our fault the trail led here.”

Frowning, Galen reached for the bagged shell casing she was still holding and studied it for a moment before looking at his companions. “Maybe it is our fault. I mean, granted, none of our people appeared to be targeted before those shots at Hollis and DeMarco on Tuesday. But one working theory is that this is about us—about the SCU. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s what Bishop said when he gave Jaylene and me our orders,” Tony agreed.

“Okay. Then if this bastard is only now taking shots at us, maybe it’s because this is where he wanted us to be.”

“Which,” Tony said slowly, “raises the question: Why here? If we’ve been lured or led, why is the showdown here?”

DIANA LOOKED at the gray Quentin in this gray time or place and knew it wasn’t the real Quentin. Her Quentin. “She’s lying to you,” he repeated, still smiling.

Brooke didn’t argue or dispute the charge; she merely looked from him to Diana, her gaze dispassionate.

“Say something,” Diana told her.

Brooke shook her head. “In this, I can’t interfere. You have to decide for yourself what’s truth, Diana. What’s real.”

“I know he—that—isn’t real,” Diana said, her gaze fixed on the smiling not-Quentin.

“Of course I’m real,” he said.

“You’re not Quentin.”

“Well, there you may have an argument.”

Diana blinked, then frowned. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to be funny. Because I’m really not in the mood.”

“Look, I only meant that this… form… was chosen in order to better communicate with you.”

“Chosen? Chosen from what?”

He looked surprised, the expression confirmed when he said, “That’s not the question I expected you to ask.”

“Glad I could surprise you. Answer the question.”

“Well, chosen from those in your life you trust. Precious few of them, actually. Your trust in Quentin is the least… shadowed.”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Now, that’s the question I expected.”

“So answer it.”

He looked at Brooke, brows lifting. “Demanding, isn’t she?”

“She has reason.”

“Another arguable point, I suppose.”

“You’re wasting time,” Brooke told him.

“Time is something I have in abundance.”

Brooke tilted her head to one side, as though listening to a distant sound, and said, “Not really.”

The not-Quentin’s face tightened, though he continued to smile. “Are you trying to get in my way, little girl?”

Brooke didn’t correct his seeming assumption about her age but instead said in a musing tone, “See, the thing about the gray time, the thing Diana understands, is that nothing living can exist here for long. Actually, not even spiritual essence can exist here for long. And there’s a reason for that.”

Diana wasn’t sure what was going on but felt compelled to say, “It’s because this is a corridor, a place to travel. Not a place to live in.”

“And?” Brooke prompted.

For a moment Diana was even more confused, but then she realized what it was Brooke wanted her to say. “And… there’s a pull from each side of the corridor. The living side—and what lies beyond death. They both pull constantly. That’s why it’s gray and flat and cold here. That’s why it’s so tiring for me to be here. This place saps strength, energy.”

“Energy,” Brooke murmured. “Power.” Her gaze never left the face of the not-Quentin.

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and went back through the open door, closing it behind him.

Left with Brooke in the seemingly endless corridor lined with closed doors, Diana said, “What the hell just happened?”

“Maybe I bought you a little more time.”

“Before what? And I thought you said you couldn’t interfere?”

Brooke was frowning now, but her voice was almost absent when she said, “I wonder if you have any idea at all how many people want you to live, Diana.”

“Listen, this isn’t one of those It’s a Wonderful Life things, is it? Because if it is—”

“No, of course not. That’s Hollywood stuff.”

Diana managed a shaky laugh. “As opposed to the gray time, and seeing spirits, and, oh, I don’t know, having visions of the future or the past or seeing auras or making people see what you want them to— that sort of stuff? Because Hollywood angels make it all look a lot simpler than I’ve seen it in my actual life.”

“You have a point.”

Reluctant humor fleeing, Diana sighed and said, “Brooke, give me a clue, will you? You say I’m here because I have to be, here to do something. That… thing… dressed up to look like Quentin says you’re lying. And the only thing I really know, the only thing I feel , is that one of you is trying to deceive me.”

“You have very good instincts.”

“Brooke, for God’s sake!”

“I can only tell you so much, Diana. Help you so much. Most of this you have to figure out on your own.”

“Why?”

“Just because. It’s the rule.”

“Why did I know you were going to say that.” Suddenly aware that she was beginning to feel more tired, Diana fought off a chill from someplace even colder than the gray time and said, “So you can’t tell me who or what that is pretending to be Quentin.”

“No.”

“Can you at least tell me what I’m here to do?”

“I’ve already told you that, Diana.” Brooke turned and began to walk again down the endless corridor. “You’re here to find the truth.”

Diana followed. “Yeah, you said. The truth underneath it all. Underneath all of what , Brooke? How many layers do I have to peel back before I can find the truth?”

“Several,” Brooke admitted. And then, surprising Diana, she added, “There’s the truth at the heart of the investigation you’re involved in. The truth of why you were shot. The truth of your relationship with Quentin. The truth of who is trying to deceive you—and why.”

“And the truth underneath it all?”

“That too. Uncover the other truths, and that one will be exposed.”

“How am I supposed to uncover any of them here, Brooke?”

“The best way you can. And… I expect you’ll have help.”

Hollis really hoped DeMarco had been right when he said secretiveness kept her from broadcasting her thoughts—and intentions—all over the place. But she wasn’t counting on it. She was trying her best to keep her mind quiet and still, pretending to sleep.

She had never been more wide awake in her life, despite being so tired it was a bone-deep ache.

They had been moved to a smaller, more private waiting room just down the hall from the ICU, a space clearly designed for the families of intensive-care patients to spend long hours; several of the chairs were actually recliners, and fairly comfortable ones at that.

Then again, maybe a bed of rocks would have felt no different, Hollis thought.

She opened her eyes a bit to look at DeMarco, deliberately glancing and then looking away so as not to awaken that ever-vigilant primal sense of his. Not that she posed any sort of danger to him, but she had a hunch that sense could warn him about anything he wanted it to.

Such as her leaving the room to do something that was probably really stupid.