Кей Хупер - Hiding in the Shadows

"Dammit, why do you have to talk in riddles?"

"It's the only way you can hear me."

That made no sense to Faith, and she sighed. "Can't you at least tell me where to look? There has to be a key to all this, and we need it. I don't even know the right questions to ask!"

Dinah returned her attention to the figurine. "Ask yourself this, Faith. Ask yourself how many people you would die to protect. And be careful. Be very careful. He's watching, you know."

It was the second time in as many days that Faith had jerked awake in the darkness just before dawn, but this time no intruder lurked outside the window.

"Just the one in my mind," she heard herself murmur.

She remained in bed for as long as she could, but it wasn't yet six-thirty when she finally got up. She slipped into the bathroom to take her morning shower.

Ask yourself how many people you would die to protect.

What frightened Faith about that question was her certainty that Dinah had done just that, had died believing her silence was protecting someone she cared about. And so far, the only person Faith could imagine the other woman caring for so deeply was Kane.

Had he been in danger even before the last few days?

Because he was somehow involved? Viewed objectively, she supposed it was possible — though nothing she had seen or felt supported the likelihood.

But there was that elusive thing Dinah's torturers had demanded of her, and Faith's apartment had been searched at least twice. She doubted the simple list of names was the cause of all that. Whatever else it was, its threat against the equally elusive villains had to be incredibly explosive to justify torture and murder, gunshots and bombs.

No, it wasn't the list. She thought it was something she herself had found not long before the accident, some evidence that not only identified but condemned those behind the blackmail, and the murders of her family and Dinah.

The list was a beginning, at least, the beginning where Dinah had started.

Faith made her way to the kitchen. She didn't go near the couch, hoping that Kane was sleeping. He needed to sleep. She turned on the dim light above the stove and got the coffeemaker started. Then she leaned back against the counter and waited, trying not to think because she felt so weary of her thoughts chasing one another around in her mind.

"You're up early." Kane stood in the doorway, his pale hair tousled and stubble on his jaw.

"Sorry if I woke you," she said.

"You didn't." He came in and busied himself getting the cups.

Faith moved away a bit nervously to get the cream from the refrigerator. Kane didn't appear to be watching her, but she thought he noticed.

"You cried out in your sleep," he said suddenly.

That surprised her, and she looked at him uncertainly.

"About two-thirty. I opened your door and looked in. You seemed restless, and you'd thrown off most of the covers."

Remembering the thin nightgown she'd slept in, Faith felt heat rise in her face. But Kane was pouring coffee into their cups and didn't notice.

"I went in to straighten the covers, and I thought for a minute you were awake. You said my name. But you were sound asleep."

"I must have been. I don't remember."

"Bad dreams?" He looked at her finally, as he handed her a cup.

"Just the usual. Bits and pieces." Faith dumped sugar and cream into the coffee and took a sip. Kane tasted his and grimaced.

"Sorry," she said wryly. Clearly, he didn't like the way she made it. She sipped her own again; it tasted to her the way coffee always tasted — slightly bitter.

Kane said, "If you don't mind ..." and poured the entire pot down the drain.

She was not offended. "I suppose there's a knack to it. I don't seem to have it."

He got the second pot started. "Some people don't. I'll shave and shower while this is getting ready. You wanted to go by your apartment for your watch, and I have that appointment with the building inspector. We might as well clear out before the work crew gets here."

"Okay." She thought he was a little abrupt but didn't protest or question his mood. She was still unsettled by his announcement that he had gone into the bedroom while she slept and that she had said his name out loud.

She was bothered by the knowledge that some dream or nightmare had caused her to cry out, had caused her to say his name.

There's another body, of course.

"My subconscious doesn't know what it's talking about," she murmured to herself. But she went into the living room and turned on the TV anyway.

She wanted to see the news, even though she didn't believe there would be another body. Not really.

The first part of the program was taken up with a rehash of Dinah's disappearance and the discovery of her body, complete with all the gory details the media had been able to obtain through their various sources. There were numerous shots of Kane as he had been in the early days, haggard with worry but determined to find Dinah, saying little except that.

And someone had unearthed a short video clip of Dinah herself, caught unawares about six months before by a news crew as she was working on interviews for her magazine article about Haven House.

The news crew had been there because a rather well-known Atlanta wife, supposedly taking shelter there, had called a reporter friend to come and tape her tearful accusations of repeated abuse.

It was, of course, a complete coincidence that their divorce proceedings had turned nasty a few weeks before that.

The only positive note about the situation was that the news crew had been responsible enough not to show any identifying characteristic of Haven House such as a street number or a long shot that might have placed its location. Even after having been there, it took Faith a couple of minutes to realize it was Haven House she was looking at.

She listened to the society woman's accusations with half an ear, her attention fixed on the background of the shot, where Dinah, notebook in hand, was cradling a sleeping infant.

She had been a beautiful woman, Faith realized.

And her lovely face wore compassion and empathy so openly and naturally.

It was a face to which even strangers would be drawn to tell their secrets, even their shames, and Faith wondered how many confidences Dinah had carried with her to her death.

Before Faith could do more than ponder that question, her attention was caught by another person moving in the background, someone across whose face an expression of anxiety appeared when she saw the news crew filming the place. And her. Someone who darted through the doorway and disappeared into the shelter. Herself.

Faith frowned at the set as the news piece continued. What was it about the scene that nagged at her?

It wasn't as if she hadn't known she had met Dinah at Haven House when Dinah was researching her article.

What was bothering her?

Kane came into the living room just as a perky weather lady was saying it might rain today, and Faith knew she had to tell him. Whether he believed her or not.

She drew a breath and stared at the television. "I didn't really answer you when you asked if I'd had nightmares last night. I don't remember everything I dreamed, but I do remember one of those ... those odd dreams. There was a warning. A warning that another body will be found."

Kane sat on the arm of a chair near her. He was gazing at her, not in disbelief but in apprehension.

"Whose body, Faith?"

"I don't know."

"Where did the warning come from?"

"I don't know. My subconscious, which seems to know more than I do. Or that psychic ability I might have but can't control. Or even that — that connection with Dinah."

"Dinah is dead."

That's what I keep telling her.