Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

Max followed suit, swinging aboard the bay and gathering the reins. "His place was a couple miles from here as the crow flies. We'll attract less attention if we ride."

"Lead on."

He did, and for ten minutes or so they rode in silence. Fairly tense silence, really; Nell could feel it in herself and see it in the set of Max's shoulders. Then he chose to direct them along the edge of a plowed field where they could ride abreast, and as soon as she came up beside him he said abruptly, "Didn't you tell me once that you'd been psychic since you were very young?"

"I may have. The first vision I can clearly remember happened when I was about eight. Why?"

"Something you were born with? Or something that was triggered?"

Nell sent him a quick glance. "Born with. It runs in my family, remember? I probably had visions when I was younger but didn't understand what was happening and can't now remember them. That's fairly typical of most born psychics."

"What about the blackouts?"

"What about them?"

Unusually patient even if his voice still sounded a bit edgy, Max said, "How old were you the first time you had a blackout?"

"As far as I remember, about the same age, I suppose. Nobody ever told me I had them when I was younger, but I may have."

"So they're connected. The blackouts and your visions."

"Maybe. One theory is that certain kinds of psychic experiences are triggered or intensified by excess electrical energy in the brain. It's at least theoretically possible that a buildup of that sort of energy might… overload the brain and cause periodic blackouts as a side effect. Other types of physical side effects have been reported."

Max turned his head to look at her steadily. "So it isn't stress at all."

She managed a smile. "Let's call it stress of a certain kind. Not emotional, just… brain chemistry."

"And if that happens too long or too often? Won't it damage the brain?"

"It hasn't so far."

Max swore under his breath. "But it might?"

Nell reined her horse to a stop when he did. "I don't know. Nobody knows. Maybe." She was feeling more raw by the moment, and angry at him for pushing.

He looked more than a little angry himself. "Then how in hell can you justify deliberately putting yourself into situations where your abilities are likely to be triggered? Jesus Christ, Nell, it's playing Russian roulette with your life."

"It's my life," she reminded him tightly. "Besides, it's all theoretical. We don't know what's going on in my brain, Max, not for sure. Nobody knows. Medically, a CAT scan and other tests show increased electrical activity even in parts of the brain normally considered inactive, which seems to be true for every psychic we've tested so far. But whatever is going on doesn't seem to be harming any of us; having periodic medical tests to determine that is one of the requirements for the psychic members of our unit. Maybe our brains adapt to the excess energy, I don't know. All I do know is that there's no sign of any organic damage."

"Yet."

She drew a breath. "All right — there's no damage yet. Maybe there never will be. Or maybe I'll wake up one day with my brain fried. Is that what you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you're going out of your way to trigger experiences that may kill you, Nell."

She said steadily, "I can do my best to use my abilities in the most positive way I can think of, or I can hide from them — and from the world. Is that what you'd prefer, Max, that I end up like my grandmother? That I hide myself away in a little house back in the woods, keeping everyone at a distance while I live in terror of experiences I have absolutely no control over?"

"No, of course not. But there must be a middle ground."

" This is my middle ground. I work with people who are doing their best to understand and master psychic abilities, people who take care of and watch out for each other. And I use my abilities deliberately, trying to have more control so I'm not blindsided every goddamned time it happens to me. Can you understand that?"

After a long moment, Max nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that." He lifted his reins, and the horses moved forward again. "But it's a dangerous choice, Nell."

He had no idea just how dangerous, she thought as she followed him. No idea at all.

It was easy to see why the house hadn't roused any interest in would-be renters in the months since Ferrier's death. No doubt originally constructed to house a tenant farmer or migrant workers who would toil in the nearby fields, it was a small place at the end of a long dirt road that would be unbearably dusty in summer, and though it looked in decent repair there was nothing in the least inviting in its drab appearance.

They tied their horses at the edge of the woods out of sight of the road and walked across the weed-infested backyard.

"I doubt anyone would see us if we went to the front," Max said, "but there are a couple of neighbors down the road who might notice if we make ourselves too obvious."

"Were the neighbors questioned?" Nell asked as they stepped up onto the rear porch. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a small, zippered leather case.

"I think Ethan sent a couple of his people out here — belatedly. Far as I know, nobody reported seeing or hearing anything suspicious, though you'd know more about the police report than I would." He eyed the small case she was opening, and added, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Probably." She selected one of the small tools and bent to begin working on the door lock.

"Burglar's tools?"

"Let's call them tools to unlock doors and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Did my tax dollars pay for those?" he wondered dryly.

"No. Do you happen to know how long it's been since anybody was in this house?"

"Not offhand, no. Did the Bureau send you to burglar's school?"

"Bishop taught us. He thought the skill might come in handy. He was right."

"He was a burglar before he joined the FBI?"

"Actually, I think he was studying criminal psychology and law when the FBI came calling. I have no idea where he picked up his more… esoteric skills."

"He has a lot of those?"

"A few."

Max frowned down at her as a soft click announced her success with the lock. "This is breaking and entering, isn't it?"

"Do you care?" Nell retorted, straightening and pushing open the door.

"Not really." Max followed her inside the house. "But if Ethan or any of his people catch us out here, my ass is in serious trouble."

"Umm. He's convinced you killed Ferrier, isn't he?"

"Wants to be convinced. There's a difference."

"So you two are still at odds?"

With mock surprise, Max said, "Didn't Wade Keever fill you in on that?"

She smiled slightly. "As a matter of fact, he did."

"Yeah, I thought so. Telephone, telegraph, tell Wade. Fastest way short of a billboard to make anything public." Max shrugged. "Ethan and I haven't been close for a long time, you know that. And you know why."

Nell sent him a look, then turned her gaze to their rather musty surroundings. The small house was furnished, though there was certainly nothing to shout about in its worn and threadbare offerings. The tiny kitchen held the bare essentials in the way of appliances, the small living room boasted only a sagging couch and one faded chair, and through the doorway to the bedroom she could see an ancient brass bed.

"Ferrier certainly didn't live beyond his means, did he?" she said.

"Apparently he was stashing all his ill-gotten gains away to finance his planned move to the south of France. At least, so I heard."

Nell frowned slightly and went toward the bedroom, choosing that room automatically because it tended to be the most personal in a house.