Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

"And I can only hold him for twenty-four hours without charging him. After that, he's out of here. And our killer will know for certain we haven't taken the bait."

"Before that happens, we'll make sure Bonnie is protected. This is hardly the most interesting place for a teenage girl, but—"

"But," Miranda finished, "she's better safe and bored. I won't take the chance of leaving her out in the open much longer. Gossip's probably even more garbled, and Liz's murder will make her involvement look more likely than not, but..."

She'll be all right.

Yes. Yes, of course she will.

But on some level far deeper than thought, Miranda was afraid for Bonnie. Because of this flesh-and-blood killer walking among them and because of a spirit so desperate to live that it had nearly destroyed the first vulnerable psychic to cross its path.

Their killer was, as Bishop had said, the more immediate and direct threat, and Miranda was second-guessing herself every moment for not immediately having thrown a cordon of protection around her sister even if it did draw too much attention. She knew she wouldn't breathe easier until Bonnie was here under her eye, as safe as she could make her.

Except. . . Had Bishop realized, Miranda wondered, how it was tearing at her not to reach out with her shields and wrap Bonnie in psychic protection? It wouldn't protect her from a living killer, but it would protect her from a determined spirit intent on finding itself a living vessel in which to exist again.

It was a choice Miranda had made alone without talking to Bishop, but she knew he would have agreed, however reluctantly. She could not shore up her shields and extend them to protect Bonnie without psychically blinding herself — and now Bishop. And that was a possible edge they simply could not abandon if they were to prevent more murders.

Bonnie's own shields would have to be good enough to protect her, at least for the time being.

As they walked together to the conference room, Bishop said thoughtfully, "Interesting about the car, if it's true. It shouldn't take long to find out if Adam Ramsay's father did register one for him."

"I would say it's odd that nobody else mentioned a car, but we certainly didn't bring it up. Half the town could have noticed it at one time or another, and nobody said anything simply because we didn't ask the right question." Miranda shook her head. "His mother said there was no car, there wasn't one registered to him — so we never gave it another thought. Never asked anyone if they'd seen him driving or even knew that he owned a car."

"No reason you should have."

"Maybe, but — " Miranda broke off as the mayor appeared suddenly from the hallway leading to the front of the building. "John, what are you doing here?"

MacBride sighed heavily. "What do you think? Justin called me the minute your people showed up at his house."

Miranda looked at Bishop. "No wonder he wasn't eager to call his lawyer. He'd already brought in the big guns."

"You have to admire his consistency," Bishop said.

"Has he been arrested?" MacBride demanded. "Justin?"

"He's being held here while we check out a few things, that's all," Miranda replied calmly. "Certain evidence at the most recent murder scene points to him."

"Evidence? What evidence?"

"John, you know I can't discuss that with you. Look, if you want to talk to Justin, go ahead."

"Of course I don't want to talk to him," MacBride said hastily. "I wouldn't even have come if I hadn't needed to go to the office anyway. But. . . Liz gone . . . Jesus, I couldn't believe it. Surely you don't think Justin could have—"

"I think I have to investigate every possibility, John. That's what they pay me for." Her tone was perfectly polite, but she had made no effort to invite him to her office or to join them in the conference room. "And I'm glad you're here, it'll save me a phone call." She looked at the legal pad containing Justin's list. "You were at Liz's coffeeshop Saturday night, weren't you?"

"For a few minutes, yeah."

"Did you happen to see Justin's Bible?"

Startled, MacBride said, "His Bible? Well, since it's always with him, I imagine I did. But if you're asking me if I remember actually seeing it... then I can't say that I do."

Bishop sighed. "Why do I get the feeling that'll be everybody's response?"

"Because nothing's been easy so far," Miranda told him.

"I wouldn't mind a little easy about now."

"Neither would I, but we aren't likely to get it."

"No, I suppose not."

MacBride glanced from one of them to the other, his mouth twisting, but his voice was easy when he said, "Can we talk for a minute, Randy? In private, if Agent Bishop doesn't mind."

"I'll be in the conference room," Bishop said agreeably. He took the legal pad out of Miranda's hands and went on without waiting for a response.

"What is it, John?"

"I just wanted to know how you were," he said with a touch of awkwardness. "We've barely talked in the last week, and—"

"I'm fine. Tired, but otherwise okay, all things considered." She smiled faintly. "Thanks for asking."

"You know I care about you, Randy."

Miranda was aware that Bishop was unabashedly eavesdropping, but it didn't disturb her because her response would have been the same even if the conversation had been a complete mystery to him. Quietly, she said, "I've always appreciated your friendship, John."

"Friendship."

"There was never anything more, you know that."

"There might have been, if not for—"

She shook her head. "It has nothing to do with anyone else, not really. We've known each other for years, John. Don't you think something would have happened long ago if it had been meant to?"

Unhappily, he said, "You're very sure, aren't you, Randy?"

"Very sure. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Yeah, so am I." He settled his shoulders and tried a laugh that didn't quite come off. "I'd better get on to the office and let you get back to work."

"See you later, John."

Miranda stood there for a moment after he'd gone, then went into the conference room. Tony was on the phone, Bishop at his accustomed place on one end of the table as he studied the bulletin board.

It could have been an entirely silent conversation, but instead Miranda went to Bishop and murmured, "That was not exactly fair to John."

"Fair, hell." He smiled. "I told you I wouldn't let you out of my sight, and I meant it."

She eyed him. "Oh, that was why you eavesdropped?"

"Certainly."

"You'd better try it again in a more convincing tone."

Bishop chuckled. "Okay, so I had other reasons."

"Jealousy. I never would have expected it of you."

"Oh, I don't imagine it'll be a problem," he said calmly. "Once you fully commit yourself to me, that is, and tell me I don't have to worry about it anymore."

Miranda was trying to decide how to reply when Tony hung up the phone and said briskly, "Found it. There's a green '89 Mustang registered to Sam Ramsay — Adam Ramsay's uncle. Lives here in the state but not close by, and probably means to come in for the funeral when there is one."

"And pick up his car then," Bishop said. "Yeah, or arrange to sell it, something like that."

"The question is," Miranda said, "where the hell is that car now?"

It took an hour to track down Sam Ramsay, who was indeed Adam's uncle and had indeed agreed about six months before to register a car in his name that was intended for his nephew's use.

"His dad paid the insurance," he told Tony somewhat truculently over the phone. "And made sure the car was inspected and everything. I am — was — holding the pink slip until Adam got old enough to put the car in his own name." He paused, cleared his throat, and added, "I'd planned to see about the car when I came to Gladstone for the funeral. Knew Julie wouldn't want it, and it's too much trouble to drive or ship down to Florida even if his dad was interested."