Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

"Is there any way for her to find out? Safely, I mean, without giving away to the killer what she's doing."

Bishop shook his head. "I can't think of a way. She can stay alert and try to keep her senses wide open, but that's dangerous as hell. Even without being a true medium, if she taps directly into something this dark it could leave her vulnerable to attack — psychic and physical. At the very least, he'd know who and what she really is and that she's looking for him."

"And at worst?"

"At worst… if he's as powerful psychically as I believe he is and Nell opens up her mind to him… if this photo is evidence of true, controlled astral projection and not just a one-time, nightmarish event… if Nell has become a focus for his attention, for whatever reason… then she's in danger. And not the kind of danger that can be held at bay with bullets or a badge."

"Lots of ifs," Tony noted after a moment.

"I know. Problem is, I think they could all be the truth of what's happening down there."

"So we've got a very dark and twisted killer who's a cop and who is also psychic. Am I being paranoid, or does the universe seem to delight in stacking the deck against us these days?"

"You're being paranoid. But that doesn't mean you aren't also right." Bishop ran restless fingers through his hair and frowned. "You know, by its very definition, evil is something beyond normal, or at least what most people consider normal. Maybe we should just expect the bastards we hunt to be psychic in some sense until proved otherwise."

"It'd probably save time," Tony agreed wryly.

"Yeah. And in the meantime… there's what's happening in Silence. I'm about a breath away from pulling Nell out."

"Given that she now believes this killer may have started his nasty little habits last year by murdering her father, do you really think she'd be willing to be pulled out?"

"No. Dammit."

"And she's already there and involved, connected to what's happening. If she's meant to be a part of it —"

"I'll make the situation immeasurably worse by pulling her out of there. By pulling any of them out of there. Yeah, I know. I know."

"Nell is aware of what this… thing… could be, right? Knows to be on her guard?"

"For all the good it'll do her, yes. But it's going to be difficult if not impossible for her to protect herself in any meaningful sense when she can't be sure why this bastard is paying this kind of attention to her."

Tony thought about it, then said, "Can anybody else shield her? Psychically?"

Bishop shook his head. "Remember what happens with Miranda when she shields her own mind? When I do? All the extra senses get muffled, even cut off, and we end up psychically blind. We can protect ourselves, or we can use our abilities to reach out and probe — but not both at the same time. Nell needs the advantage of her psychic abilities to get to the bottom of what's happening in Silence, so she can't afford to mute them in any way. She can try to focus and concentrate on specific places at specific times, but that's the only control she has."

"That isn't much protection," Tony noted.

"That isn't any protection."

After a moment, Tony said, "She chose to do this, boss. You didn't order her to. You never order any of us to."

"Do you think that matters, Tony?" Bishop's voice was very quiet.

He started to reply, but in the end Tony realized there was nothing he could say. Nothing that would help.

Nothing at all.

The house where Randal Patterson had lived was somewhat large for a single person, though certainly not a mansion. And given his apparent personal habits, Nell wasn't surprised to find it also rather isolated from the other houses around it. There was nothing so defined as a neighborhood in this rural area, merely houses scattered along country roads; the Patterson house sat squarely in the middle of at least eighty acres and back from the road so that it wasn't visible to passersby.

"I guess privacy was an issue," Max said wryly as they left their horses to the rear of the Mediterranean-style house and approached across a neatly manicured backyard.

"I guess. Nobody to hear the screams coming from the basement. Are you sure nobody lives here? The place is awfully spiffy."

"Randal contracted the yard work by the season, and he'd already paid for this year." Max shrugged when Nell looked at him inquiringly. "Same crew does the yard work at the ranch, and they told me. As for the house, it's still pretty much as it was when Randal died, since he owned it outright. The only relative is a cousin living out on the West Coast, and word has it he's interested only in whatever money is left when the estate is settled."

Nell paused on the very nice flagstone veranda to say wryly, "What's really amazing about all this is that someone actually found a few secrets to get angry about. For the most part, secrets don't seem to stay secret very long in Silence."

"What can I say? Wade Keever was Randal's lawyer."

"Of course he was." Nell produced her small tool case and got to work on the door.

Watching her, Max said, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Why not? If the breaking and entering bugs you, wait out here."

"That isn't what I mean. It didn't seem to bother you out at the bayou, but Randal died in this house, and only a couple of months ago. Plus, there are all the painful little games he apparently played in the basement. If you tap into that —"

"I'm not an empath, Max. I don't feel other people's pain — or the leftover impressions of it. For me, having a vision is like watching scenes from a movie. I'm just an observer."

"You said you sensed what your father was feeling when you saw him."

"Sensed, yes. But it's a knowledge — awareness and understanding without sharing the feelings."

That relieved Max, but not entirely. "Still, the visions take a lot out of you."

"It takes concentration and focus, just like any other physical or mental effort."

A slight edge to her voice made Max decide to change the subject. "When it comes to scene-of-the-crime access, this is as far as I can take you — at least via horseback and unobserved. Peter Lynch's wife still lives in the house where he died, and George Caldwell had an apartment in town; we couldn't get near either place without being observed or falling over a cop."

"Well, if the sheriff does ask for my help, I'll suggest we start with those two places."

Max waited until she unlocked the door and straightened, then said, "You say if but you mean when , don't you? You know he'll come to you for help."

"I didn't know it when I got here."

"Which is at least part of the reason why you asked me for help. Yeah, I figured that out. And now that you know Ethan will show up?"

Nell kept her gaze on him as she pushed open the door. "He can get me access to the other crime scenes. He may even share details of the investigation, details that could help me find the killer sooner."

Her measured words more or less took the teeth out of any argument he might have made against the idea, and Max was sure it had been deliberate. Just as deliberate as it was when she added a quiet statement.

"Whatever your differences with Ethan Cole, the fact remains that he is the sheriff here, and he can help me do the job I came to do."

"You mean if he isn't the killer."

"Changed your mind about that?"

Max hesitated. "I don't believe — can't believe — he's killed four men. Five if we're counting your father. But that doesn't mean he isn't a dangerous man, Nell."

"I'll try to remember that." She walked into Randal Patterson's house.

Max followed, all too aware that he had no right to question her or protest any action she intended to take, whether it be using her psychic abilities to hunt a murderer or walk down Main Street on the arm of Ethan Cole. Max had his own ideas as to why she was so determinedly aloof, convinced it was only partly due to a desire to keep him at a distance so that whatever was between them wouldn't interfere with her job here.