Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

"You said yourself someone had questioned your fitness to inherit the estate."

"Yeah, but nobody's challenged me legally, and the will's through probate. I inherit. And I have a will, which now takes precedence. So if anybody's after any of the property, killing me won't get it for them."

"The killer doesn't necessarily know that," Max pointed out.

"I'd think he'd make sure before getting rid of me. And since I told Wade Keever about my will today, I imagine most of Silence will know by, say, tomorrow afternoon. Sooner, if somebody buys him drinks tonight."

She paused a moment, her green eyes steady on his face, then said, "Besides, this killer doesn't seem to be acting for personal gain. No, whatever your reasons for following me around, they don't include concern about the disposition of my father's estate. So I'd like to know what those reasons are, Max. And the truth would be nice."

"I told you the truth. I was worried about you."

"Then tell me why."

He hesitated, then drew in a breath and let it out roughly. "Because you're a threat to the killer, Nell. And I'm not sure how many people know that."

Anyone who had ever lived in a small town — especially a small Southern town — would probably be quick to admit that skulking around at night for any reason wasn't the easiest thing in the world. There were lots of streetlights, for one thing, and people tended to leave their porch lights on as well.

Welcome, neighbor. Come on in and kill me.

She shook her head as she stood back from a too-lighted area at the edge of downtown Silence and warily watched the passing traffic. For a nervous town, there were sure as hell a lot of people out doing things on a weeknight.

Human nature, of course. No matter how nervous they might feel, most people simply never expected the really bad things to happen to them.

Until they did.

Hearing footsteps, she immediately withdrew deeper into the shadows and watched a young couple as they walked past her, holding hands. Oblivious to any possible threat.

Conscious of the gun tucked at the small of her back, she shifted her weight and breathed a sigh. Just because only men had been victims so far didn't mean the women of this town were safe, but none of them seemed to realize that. There needed to be a curfew at the very least —

All her senses flared suddenly, and she went perfectly still. Waiting. The traffic noises faded, and she no longer smelled exhaust fumes on the damp breeze. The harsh brightness of the streetlights seemed to dim everywhere — except a block away, where a lone man walked, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. As he passed beneath each streetlight, it seemed to brighten, almost as if a spotlight followed him.

She smiled unconsciously, her gaze intent on him. The damp breeze brought her now the scent of his cologne. He was wearing Polo. She could almost feel the faint tremors of the earth beneath her feet as he walked.

Or maybe that was her own heartbeat.

She watched him walk toward her. His head was bent, and he was obviously deep in thought. Oblivious. She unconsciously shook her head. Bad to be so wrapped up in thought that you left yourself vulnerable. Worse to do that when living in a town where nice, seemingly respectable men were ending up in the morgue.

She glanced around warily to make certain there was no one else in the area, and then waited until he had nearly reached her before stepping out of the shadows.

"Hey," she said.

He jumped a foot. "Jesus. You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," she said mildly, her fingers closing around the grip of her gun as she began to draw it from the waistband of her jeans. "I certainly didn't mean to do that."

Nell didn't appear to be alarmed by Max's warning. "Why would I be a threat to anyone?"

"Tell me something. What did you see in the woods yesterday? What did your vision show you?"

She didn't blink or look away, but it was a long moment before she finally answered. "I saw a stormy night. A man in a slicker carrying a woman over his shoulder. I don't know who he was. I don't know who she was. I don't know if she was dead or alive."

"So it could have been the killer you saw."

"Could have. Or someone else, maybe even doing something entirely innocent."

"Do you think so?"

Still without looking away from his face, Nell shook her head slowly. "Not really. Whatever he was doing… there was nothing innocent about it."

"Now for the big question. Did you see the past? Or the future?"

"I don't know that either."

"You still can't tell?"

"Usually, no. Not unless there's something in the vision to place it in time."

"What about other kinds of control? Can you… trigger… one of these things if you want to?"

"Not really. I can put myself in a place where one is more likely, a place where something violent happened, but it doesn't always work. There's no button I can push, Max, no switch to flip when I want to see something."

"Which makes you vulnerable as hell, whether you'll admit it or not. If you could see the killer, identify him, point the cops to him, then maybe you'd be safe. Safer, anyway. But you can't do that. And the thing is, other people don't understand your abilities, Nell. They don't understand — and yet they're talking. Speculating. Wondering just what the Gallagher curse really is. I've heard at least three people wondering out loud if this elusive killer has a chance of hiding now that our very own local witch has come home."

Quietly, she said, "So maybe he's wondering too."

"Maybe he is."

"Or maybe," she suggested, "he doesn't know a damned thing about the Gallagher curse."

"He knows about secrets, Nell, remember? Every man he's killed has had secrets, and those secrets are out or coming out. I don't know much about killers, but this one seems to have his game plan all worked out, and that plan includes exposing the dark sides of people's private lives. So if you ask me, you've got a double chance of becoming a target. Because you've got a secret, and because that secret — that ability — is a threat to him."

"It's no secret if people are talking about it."

"It's something you try to hide, and that makes it a secretive thing."

"A… dark and secretive thing?"

"Some people would call it that. This town hasn't changed all that much, Nell, and your family never did anything to make this curse of yours something to understand and not fear. People fear what they don't understand, and some people still call psychic abilities dark. Even evil."

"Which is why they call me a witch."

"Which is why some do, yes."

She drew a breath. "And that's why you've been following me? Because you believe what I can do makes me a target?"

"That's why." He smiled faintly. "Of course, I didn't know you had a gun. I suppose you know how to use it?"

"Yeah, I know how." She turned her head slightly, looking toward the door with a faint frown. "They teach us how to do that."

"They? Who are they?"

Before Nell could answer, the door opened quietly and Casey Lattimore stepped into the room. Closing the door behind her, the mayor of Silence said dryly to Max, " They are the FBI. The training academy for agents is at Quantico. Right, Nell?"

"Right."

"Last year," Mayor Lattimore said from her position in the room's one armchair, "weeks after Peter Lynch died, I was feeling frustrated. Not that anybody could have been sure it was murder, not then, but nothing seemed to be happening in the investigation. Worse, I didn't really understand police procedure. I thought it was something I needed to understand."

"So you went up to Quantico," Max finished slowly. "Took that course for civilian authorities." He was sitting on the bed, rather gingerly.