Kay Hooper - Sleeping With Fear

Half to herself, Riley said, "There's probably something profound in that, but never mind. What don't I remember?"

"By late afternoon, Jake called with a positive I.D. on the victim. The house-to-house finally turned up an empty rental where someone was supposed to be, and they were able to match prints found there to those of our former John Doe. Not that it's been much help so far to know who the poor bastard was, since we haven't been able to connect him to anyone on the island or in Castle. As of last night, Jake's people hadn't even been able to contact his family. You don't remember any of this?"

This time, Riley didn't even pause to think about what she didn't remember; she was too busy trying to concentrate. "No. Who was he? What's his name?"

"Tate. Wesley Tate. A businessman from Charleston."

A jumble of thoughts crowded into her mind, and Riley did her best to sort through them. What was real? What memories could she actually claim as her own? "He lived in Charleston?"

"Yeah. Jake's people were still working on the background check when we talked last night, so that's all I know for sure."

"He lived in Charleston, but chose to vacation here?"

"Struck me too. If you live in a beautiful coastal city, why rent a house on an island fifty miles away?"

"Maybe he didn't have an ocean view at home."

"He didn't have much of one here. The rental isn't oceanfront, it's three rows back."

"So he didn't come for the view."

"It's a good bet. Neighbors saw him arrive on Saturday, but nobody seems to have seen him after that. Another weird thing is that it's a big house, not really the sort for a single man to rent. Especially with plenty of smaller houses and condos available on the island. The realtor was under the impression that his family or a group of friends was set to join him later."

"And nobody's shown up."

"Not so far."

Riley drained her cold coffee, then got to her feet, relieved to find her legs relatively steady under her. "I want to take a look at Tate's rental. After that, I think Jake and Leah should meet us at the Pearson house."

Ash was also on his feet. "There's a connection between that group and Tate?"

"If I can trust this part of my memory-yes. A big one."

"You didn't seem to recall a connection last night. What if your memory about this is faulty?"

"I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it," Riley said.

She called Gordon from Ash's Hummer, using his cell and plugging it into the car charger even before she began to place the call.

"Saves time," she explained to Ash. "It's why I didn't even bother to bring mine; I seem to be pulling energy out of them."

"I gather that's new," he said, not really a question.

"They never last long as a rule but, yeah, the speed they're dying on me is new. At this rate, I'll count myself lucky if the Hummer doesn't die on us."

Ash eyed the vehicle's power outlet and shrugged. "I'll keep the engine running."

Riley placed her call, and as soon as Gordon answered, asked without preliminaries, "Did I talk to you yesterday?"

Gordon, unflappable under even extreme conditions, replied simply, "No. Haven't seen or heard from you since Tuesday morning."

"Damn."

"Why? What's changed?"

"I'll fill you in later."

"Yes," Gordon said. "You will."

"It's okay, I'm with Ash. Will you be home this afternoon?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I'll be in touch."

Riley closed the phone and placed it, still plugged into the vehicle's power socket, on the console between the two front seats. Then she automatically leaned back away from it.

Ash said, "Have another PowerBar."

Riley dug into her shoulder bag for one of the half dozen she'd brought with her, saying only, "It's getting obvious, isn't it?"

"Your hands are shaking," Ash replied. "There are a few bottles of orange juice in the cooler behind your seat. After what happened yesterday at the crime scene, I figured I'd better stock up."

She managed to get a bottle without having to climb back there, and washed down the PowerBar with the juice. "This," she said, "is getting ridiculous."

"It's getting scary," Ash said, his tone remaining calm, almost offhand. "I know you said things could get worse, but…"

"This isn't what you bargained for. Sorry."

Ash sent her a glance. "I can handle whatever I have to, Riley. You're the one I'm worried about."

She drew a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to focus, to steady herself. "I have to figure out what's going on. If there really are black-occult rites being practiced here, and why. Why Wesley Tate died and whether I was somehow involved in his murder. Why I was attacked. Even why I'm getting worse instead of better when the attack against me was days ago. It all fits somehow. It's all part of the puzzle. I just have to find all the pieces."

"And then put them together so they make sense."

"Yeah." Riley reached for another PowerBar. "And I've got around thirty hours in which to do it. Otherwise, by the end of the day tomorrow, Bishop will recall me. And I'll spend the next month being tested from my DNA outward and looking at inkblots for SCU doctors."

"For a number of reasons," Ash said conversationally, "I'd rather that not happen."

"Me either."

"So how can I help?"

"Just try to keep me focused."

"Do my best." He turned the Hummer into the short driveway of Wesley Tate's rental and parked.

It wasn't a crime scene, so the big third-row house hadn't been taped off or left under guard. But Riley had nevertheless called Jake before they left her rental to ask his permission to go through the place, and also requested that he and Leah meet them at the Pearson rental in an hour or so.

He had agreed to both requests and cleared their visit to Wesley Tate's rental with the realtor, so someone from that office met them at the house with the key.

She was a gorgeous brunette dressed to kill-or seduce-and Riley knew the instant she set eyes on Colleen Bradshaw that here was one of those "available" women in Ash's life.

It wasn't just the outfit, far more dressy than was the norm on the island; realtors showed houses to prospective renters and buyers, and Riley had seen enough of them to know that most dressed well during office hours for just that reason. It wasn't even the warm smile or the way Colleen touched Ash's arm three times during the brief introduction to Riley.

It was the way that smile never reached her chilly gray eyes.

This woman hates me.

Riley was mildly surprised but not disturbed; she had too many things on her mind to worry about Ash's former lovers.

Much.

"Jake said I was to give you the key," Colleen said to Ash, handing it over as if it were a precious jewel that needed to be placed reverently into his palm. And caressed for a beat or two.

Riley shifted her stance slightly, just to make the gun she wore on her hip more obvious. "Thanks, Ms. Bradshaw," she said in the indifferently polite tone reserved for bank tellers and waitresses. "We'll see that it gets safely back to your office when we're done here."

"Of course. It was nice to meet you, Agent Crane."

"Likewise. Oh-Ms. Bradshaw? Did you meet Wesley Tate? Speak to him?"

"Sorry, no. Another agent handles this account."

"I see. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Ash, I'm sure we'll be talking."

"See you later, Colleen."

They both watched the tall brunette fold herself-with quite unnecessary ceremony, Riley thought-into her little sports car and drive away, and it wasn't until then that Riley said, "How long did that last? You two?"

Ash didn't seem surprised. "A few months over last winter."

"Obviously she wasn't the one who broke it off."