Кей Хупер - Whisper of Evil

Ethan's surprise was brief. "I didn't hear his truck. You sure he's outside?"

"Just turning into the drive."

"A vision?"

"No."

Ethan decided not to try and figure that one out. "So he really is playing watchdog, huh? Or is it because you're with me?"

"Six of one and half a dozen of the other, I'd say."

Ethan couldn't tell how she felt about that. He wasn't sure how he felt about it either. "Okay. And I'm supposed to let him tag along during an official investigation?"

Nell sighed again. "Look, the last thing I want to do is worsen the tension between you two, but we both know how stubborn Max can be. He knows I'll be trying to use my abilities here, and he knows I pay a price for that, so short of arresting him you are not going to be able to keep him out of this."

"Price? What kind of price?"

Nell kept it simple. "Headaches, blackouts. It takes a lot of energy, Ethan, and sometimes my body rebels. Max knows that. He… worries." She shook her head. "It's my risk to take, and I want to help if I can. As for Max sticking close, that's something you don't have to like, but you do have a murder investigation very much at the top of your priority list, so I think we can all be grown-ups about it. Don't you?"

"Think that'll work on Max?"

"It will if you tell your deputy to let him pass before he's stopped at the door and loses his temper."

After a moment, Ethan nodded and reached for the radio clipped to his belt. He issued a brief order to Deputy Critcher to allow Max into the house, then turned the volume back down so they wouldn't be disturbed by radio calls but he could hear it if any were directed specifically at him.

"Thanks," Nell said.

Ethan grunted. "I should have known you'd call him. It was when you went back into the house, right?"

Nell hesitated for only an instant. "I didn't call him."

"Then how did he know we were here? Christ, don't tell me he's watching you that closely?"

She was spared having to answer when they heard the front door open, and a moment later Max came into the living room. Nell knew at once from his guarded but calm expression that Max had made up his mind to keep his temper under control and avoid any confrontation with Ethan, which eased her mind at least a bit.

The last thing she needed was these two at each other's throats.

In lieu of a greeting, she said to Max, "I thought I might be able to offer something useful to Ethan's murder investigation."

Ethan lifted a brow at her in silent appreciation but didn't comment on her version of who called whom for help.

And all Max said, with a brief nod to Ethan, was, "Anything so far?"

"We hadn't had time to get started. Ethan, you said he died upstairs?"

"In the master bedroom."

"Lead the way," Nell said.

Nell wasn't sure she would be able to tap into anything at all with both Ethan and Max so near, the tension between them unexpressed but obvious. And even without that, given her druthers she would have avoided trying to use her abilities again so soon after the trauma of this morning's vision. But she was more conscious than ever of time ticking away, and she knew she couldn't afford to wait.

"So how does this work?" Ethan asked when they had reached the airy, light-filled master bedroom.

Nell stood in the center near the foot of the bed, looking around, and answered absently, "I concentrate and try to tap into whatever energies and memories this room might hold."

"And we stand very still and don't bother you?" She looked at him and smiled. "Something like that." Max said, "Are you sure you're up to this, Nell?"

"I'm fine." She didn't give him a chance to question further or protest, but simply closed her eyes and began to concentrate, forcing herself to drop her shields and open herself up, to begin to reach out.

Since Peter Lynch had died in this room more than eight months before, and since his death had been sudden and apparently without warning, Nell really didn't expect to pick up much from that event. She had discovered that she seldom saw anything of an actual death scene, a fact that both relieved and puzzled her.

But she often got something of the minutes before or after, depending on the violence or intensity of emotion involved, and since she was concentrating as specifically as she could on Peter Lynch and his death, she expected to see something of that.

Instead…

It was initially difficult to reach out, as if she had to push her way through something, and she was dimly aware of using more energy or energy of a different kind to do that. Finally, she felt that distinctive time-out-of-sync sensation, but veiled again, oddly distant, and she was uneasy about that even before she opened her eyes and found herself in a different room entirely, a living room.

A completely unfamiliar room.

Nell looked around, trying to figure out where she was as well as find something to mark time, something to tell her when this was. An open magazine lay facedown on the coffee table, and when she stepped closer, she saw that it was dated January of the previous year. Most people read magazines the month they arrived, didn't they?

She stood looking around, uneasy. Where was she? And why was she here? What she saw was definitely a vision: The edges were blurred, softened, her attention as always directed to the center. But there was something peculiar about it, about the sensations of it, so much so that Nell felt a chill of real fear. Her first instinct was to try and fight her way out of the vision, but both an innate curiosity and an even deeper need to understand the limits of her own abilities made her hesitate. And in that moment of hesitation, she saw Hailey stalk into the room, obviously upset.

Ethan was right behind her.

"What, I'm not supposed to be pissed about it?" he demanded, grabbing her arm and swinging her around to face him just as they came abreast of Nell.

"No, you're not. You have no right, Ethan, and we both know it."

"No right? I've been in your bed for two months — that doesn't give me the right to get just a mite upset when I find out you've also been sleeping with Peter Lynch?"

"I told you, it's none of your business. We don't have a relationship, Ethan, we fuck." She pronounced the harsh word with complete deliberation, even enjoyment. "Period. You have fun, I have fun, that's it. No strings, expectations, or obligations on either side."

Ethan didn't seem to be buying that; his face was tight, eyes grim. "Not even respect, huh?"

Hailey laughed, and the smile she gave him was incredulous. "Respect? What does respect have to do with anything we do together? If we did it outside in the dirt instead of in a bed, we wouldn't be the slightest bit different from two stray dogs meeting up when one of them's in heat."

"So which one of us was in heat?" he asked roughly. "Which one just had an itch that needed scratching?"

Hailey laughed and jerked her arm free of his grasp.

"Me, of course. I'm always in heat, didn't you know? Hadn't you heard? Jesus, Ethan, don't try to pretend you weren't convinced I was a whore long before you came on to me. And what about the scars left by a whip on my back? The cigarette burns? You never even asked about those, did you? Because it's just what you expected to find when you got my clothes off, isn't it?"

"Hailey —"

"Whores are always marked, aren't they, Ethan? Not with a scarlet A, maybe, but we're always marked. So men like you won't feel guilty kicking us out of your beds before dawn."

"Goddammit, I never asked you to leave. Never."

"You didn't have to ask. I knew what you wanted. I always know what men want." She began to turn away from him abruptly, obviously on the point of storming out of the apartment — but then froze.