Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

"Tony," she said, her voice carefully matter-of-fact, "could you do me a favor?" She wasn't looking at them but toward the living room.

"Sure," he responded instantly, his fixed attention showing that Bishop wasn't the only one whose extra senses were on the alert.

"There must be a carrier or crate for the cat around here somewhere. Could you look for it, please? And put the cat in it when you find it?"

Tony looked at the cat still busily cleaning its forepaw, then sent one quick glance toward the master bedroom. His face paled. "Yeah," he said a bit jerkily. "Yeah, I'll do that."

When he had gone, Bishop stepped to the doorway beside Miranda. He reached out and grasped her arm, needing to touch her.

"I'd read about it," she said. "Even saw a couple of pictures in a training manual. But this is the first time..."

"The survival instinct," Bishop said. "You can't blame the cat for that."

"Yeah. Except that somehow I do." Softly, without looking at him, she added, "Alex is not going to see that."

Bishop didn't argue. He squeezed her arm gently, then went past her into the bedroom. Wary of disturbing any evidence, he stepped inside just far enough to be able to study the scene.

Steeled by Miranda's warning, he wasn't shocked by what he saw, but he was somewhat surprised by a couple of things.

Liz Hallowell lay in the center of her double bed, for all the world as if she'd simply gone to sleep as usual. Had such care been taken for Liz's sake or because her murderer was trying to tell them something?

Guilt? Reluctance? Maybe this time, whether consciously or unconsciously, he wanted them to know he regretted at least this murder, this death.

She looked so peaceful. The covers were drawn up to her chin, sheet and comforter folded neatly, the bed smooth and unblemished — except for the small circle of blood over her abdomen that marked the location of the wound that had killed her.

That must have been what first attracted the cat.

There were only a few flecks of blood on the pillow on one side of her head, the side where some of the skin had been peeled from her face. The cat had been neat.

And, apparently, not very hungry.

Bonnie came out of Amy's room and closed the door. Sedated again, her friend would sleep for a few more hours; it had so far proven unwise to allow her to be awake for long, since all she did was cry. Bonnie felt helpless, and it wasn't a feeling she enjoyed. She was also jumpy, and started when Seth put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey — what's wrong?"

"You just startled me, that's all."

"I know the feeling," Seth said ruefully, taking her hand as they began walking down the quiet hall. "It must be the storm or something, but I've been jumping at shadows all morning."

"Shadows," Bonnie said.

"Yeah, you know what I mean. You get edgy and your mind starts playing tricks on you, starts telling you there's somebody behind you when there isn't. Like that." He didn't tell her about his imaginings of the night before.

Bonnie frowned briefly, but when she spoke, it was to say, "I promised your dad I'd read stories to Christy and Jordan, try to settle them down. They're jumpy too."

"The storm," Seth said. "According to the weather reports, this afternoon will be even worse than last night." He sent her a searching look. "You've been awfully quiet since Miranda came by here. Bonnie, if you'd rather be home—"

"No," she said, "I'd rather be here, with you."

"You're sure? Because I can take you to your house and stay there with you."

Bonnie hesitated, then said steadily, "Here is safer, Seth."

"Safer?"

"I know your dad thought Amy was just hysterical when she babbled all that stuff about me being a medium, but somebody must have taken her seriously; Randy says people are talking about how they were able to find Steve's body."

It took Seth only a moment to understand. He stopped walking and turned Bonnie to face him. "You mean the killer might think you're a threat to him?"

"It's possible. The storm is probably slowing the spread of gossip, but Randy wants me to stay here and not be alone just in case the killer hears something." She didn't add that Miranda had also warned her to keep her shields up in order to protect herself from another potential but more tenuous threat.

"Why isn't there a deputy here?" Fear for her made his voice angry.

"It would only draw attention to me, Seth. You know how garbled gossip gets; chances are, even if the killer hears something, he won't be sure what the truth is." She smiled at him. "If somebody knocks on the clinic door with a flimsy excuse, we probably shouldn't let him in — but other than that there really isn't much to worry about."

"Maybe for now," he said grimly.

Bonnie hesitated again, then said, "Randy thinks it's nearly over. If they can find out who the killer is before he has a chance to ..."

"Come after you?"

"Before he has a chance to come after anybody else." She looked at him gravely. "We're all in danger, you know that. We have been all along. But Randy and Bishop will stop him."

"Will they?"

"Yes. I'm sure of that." But what Bonnie was less sure of was the cost. There was always a cost. Always.

"Okay, look," Seth said in a determined voice. "From now on, I stay within sight of you at all times. Promise me, Bonnie."

"I promise — as long as you allow me a little privacy in the bathroom."

He was young enough that some things still had the power to make him blush, but he said stolidly, "I'll wait outside the door."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his chin. "Deal. Now, why don't we go see if we can calm down two sick little girls?"

Seth nodded and held her hand a bit tighter as they continued down the hall. As they passed a corner, he had another of those weird feelings, and almost told Bonnie that he could swear he'd caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, as if a shadow had fleetingly reached out for them.

But he decided once again not to let his imagination get the better of his good sense.

Bishop stepped out onto the porch and zipped his jacket. The gray sky looked heavier and more threatening by the minute. It was just after noon; if the storm held off another hour they'd be lucky.

He was aware of the activity behind him, of Shepherd and Edwards, the muted sounds of voices and Brady Shaw's cameras, but he had gained all he expected to from the scene. Which wasn't all that much.

He looked down at the plastic evidence bag in his hands and studied the Bible through it. Old, dog-eared, and quite distinctive, he had recognized it the moment he'd seen it on Liz Hallowell's nightstand.

Under his breath, he muttered, "Just how stupid do you think I am?" Then he shook his head and tucked the bag inside his jacket.

The door behind him was shoved open wider and Sandy Lynch rushed past him. Bishop didn't have to catch a fleeting glimpse of her pallor or panicked expression to know she was about to lose her breakfast. She stumbled through the snow to just beyond the closest parked vehicle, which happened to be the hearse that would take away Liz's body, and disappeared behind it.

Poor kid. If she still wanted to be any kind of cop when this was over, it would be a miracle.

She came back to the porch a few minutes later and flushed a little under Bishop's sympathetic gaze. Jerkily, she said, "They turned her and I saw her face. I didn't think — but then the doctors were talking about it and — and — God!"

Both to inform and to give her time to compose herself, Bishop said, "You know, when kittens reach adulthood, their mother sees them as just other cats. She's done her job, her babies are grown — and they aren't her babies anymore. Maternal ties last only as long as necessary. That's a very practical idea in nature."