Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

"You don't necessarily have to believe in it to use any tool that might possibly help, do you? Cops have been known to use psychics, even if they don't want to admit it publicly. What harm could it do to ask her? Ethan, people are already talking about her."

"Yeah, I know."

"What if the killer hears that and gets worried?"

"You think he'd be less worried if I call her into the station to talk to her?"

"Don't call her in. Make it more casual than that."

"I don't think so."

Deliberately, Shelby said, "So you're so unwilling to have people think you're chasing after her like Max that you won't even ask her if she can help? My mama used to call that cutting off your nose to spite your face."

His mouth tightened. "And did she ever warn you about poking your nose in where it wasn't wanted?"

"Frequently."

"You should have listened to her, Shelby." The sheriff turned and walked away, the stiff set of his shoulders belying his casual air.

Shelby absently took a picture of him when he paused at the curb, making sure her own face remained pleasantly unrevealing. Or at least she hoped that was how she looked.

Tricky, this business of not letting on that she knew more than she was saying. And she had a hunch it was going to get even more tricky as time passed.

She had a feeling she was going to enjoy herself very much.

Not that this wasn't a serious matter, she knew that. Even a deadly matter. But that reminder did nothing to dim Shelby's lively interest.

She watched Ethan Cole stalk away, then turned her own footsteps in a different direction.

Anyway, the first task had been easy. She doubted the next task would be.

Max drew his horse to a stop and sat there for a moment gazing silently toward the Gallagher family home. Then he turned his head and looked at Nell. "I never heard a whisper about Hailey being involved with Luke Ferrier. He was single, so was she. Why keep it quiet?"

Since she knew that answer, Nell merely said, "What I want to find out is whether she had been involved with any of the other men."

"You think she was the connection between them?"

"I don't know what to think. But these men were being punished for their secrets, and Luke Ferrier at least had an apparently secret affair with my sister."

Max frowned. "Everybody knows — now — that Peter Lynch kept a mistress in New Orleans and collected porn of a particularly sick nature, but if he was involved with anybody local, I never heard about it."

Nell turned her gaze toward the house and frowned herself. "I'd say he was most likely, though, given that his secret was of a sexual nature. And maybe Randal Patterson; he was the one with all the sadomasochistic gear in his basement, right?"

"Right. Far as I know, nobody's been able to find out who he played his little games with." He shook his head slightly. "You seriously believe it might have been Hailey?"

It was a question Nell wasn't eager to answer, but she knew there was little choice in the matter. So she merely drew a breath and said, "Let's find out. Isn't Patterson's place within riding distance?"

"Yeah. But are you sure you're up to it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have to be psychic myself to see what it takes out of you to… tap into one of these visions of yours. Maybe we should wait, Nell. Give you some time."

"Time's probably the one thing we don't have a lot of," she said soberly. "This sort of killer tends to escalate his activities sooner or later, and the longer he goes without being caught, the more likely he is to do that. He could kill again in two months — or tomorrow." She hesitated. "But if you need to get back to the ranch —"

"No, that isn't a problem. I have a good foreman and a good crew, so the work'll get done whether I'm there or not. But I still think you should rest for a while before we head out to Patterson's place."

Nell was about to argue when she felt the telltale twinge in her left temple that warned of an approaching blackout. Damn… damn… damn … She knew only too well that Max would insist on staying and watching over her if he knew, and that was something she wasn't prepared for. Not here. Not now.

So all she said, mildly, was, "I guess this afternoon will be soon enough. There are things I need to do here anyway, and no matter what you say I'm sure you should probably at least check in at the ranch. Can you come back around three or so?"

"Yeah, but —"

Before he could finish that, she added, "And you don't have to come in and check all the windows and doors. What you said about the killer possibly seeing me as a threat made sense, so I'm taking precautions. My partner's sticking close."

"I haven't seen anybody."

"You weren't supposed to." She smiled slightly to remove the sting, then dismounted and handed him the pinto's reins. "But he's close, believe me."

Max glanced toward the house as if to try and spot someone lurking about, then looked down at her, his mouth twisting. "And I'm still not supposed to ask who he is?"

"You can ask. I won't answer. I told you, Max — undercover is under cover."

"I could say something nasty, but I won't."

"I appreciate that."

He lifted the reins and began to turn the horses, but paused. He looked away from her and then, as if he couldn't help himself, said roughly, "I got over you."

Nell forced herself to speak steadily, to act as if it didn't matter. "I never expected anything else."

"Didn't you?"

"No."

Still looking away from her, his voice still rough, he said, "I'll be back here about three." He turned the horses and rode off through the woods.

She watched until he was out of sight, then walked slowly to the house. Even before she opened the back door, she knew she wasn't alone so wasn't surprised to find her partner in the kitchen drinking her coffee.

"So you aren't the only one who knows which emotional buttons to push," he observed. And when she stared at him, he added apologetically, "The window is open. Voices carry out here, you know."

"And your hearing is too damned good."

"Sorry about that. In this work it's usually considered a plus."

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped, then frowned as another twinge in her temple reminded her she would soon have to find something soft to fall on. "Never mind that now. I have some stuff to tell you and a photograph to show you. And I don't have much time."

"Blackout coming?"

"Yeah."

"A little close to the last one, isn't it?"

"A little."

"Because the visions are more intense than usual? Or because you're home?"

"Christ, who knows." Nell flexed her shoulders, but more in an attempt to ease tension than anything else. "Maybe both. Home isn't exactly a relaxing place to be right now. Anyway, I only have a few minutes."

"And if Tanner gets back here before you come out of it?"

"They never last more than an hour."

"You mean they haven't so far."

Nell got the manila envelope holding Shelby's photo and negative, then joined her partner at the table. "You and Max have a lot in common. You should sit down and talk someday."

"I'll make a note." He accepted the envelope and opened it. "What's this?"

"This may be a problem."

He slid the photo out and stared at it for a moment, then looked at Nell grimly. "There's no may be about it. This is one hell of a problem."

"Yeah. I was afraid of that."

Justin searched George Caldwell's apartment twice from top to bottom. He checked out the closets, tapped walls, tried to pull up the corners of the carpet — all in an effort to find a secret hiding place, which, if it existed, insisted on remaining secret.

"Shit."

"We've already done this, you know."

He looked up with a start to find one of his fellow CID detectives, Kelly Rankin, standing in the open doorway with a quizzical smile on her face. Very conscious of the black notebook in his pocket, he managed a rueful shrug.