Kay Hooper - Hunting Fear

She had become accustomed to the needy, desperate people who visited her booth, with their hungry eyes and pleas for help, for the knowledge they craved. She had even become accustomed to the occasional attractive man being interested in her until, ironically, he discovered that her "act" was at least partly genuine and she was in fact psychic.

She had become accustomed. But she had never learned to like it. Any of it.

"They tell me you've been here more than an hour." Lucas came into the room, carrying two cups. He sat down on the other side of the conference table and pushed one across to her, adding, "Tea rather than coffee, right? With sugar. Sorry, there was no lemon I could find."

Samantha thought he looked very tired and more than a little grim, and even the simmering anger she felt toward him couldn't stop her from appreciating the courtesy.

He was most always courteous, Luke.

Damn him.

"Thanks." She sipped the hot tea. "I gather you guys have had no luck."

He shook his head. "No luck finding Lindsay so far. But the bastard apparently guessed where we'd look. He left a note. For me."

"What did it say?"

"Better luck next time."

Samantha winced.

"He's been more than a step ahead all along," Lucas continued. "You were obviously right about this being some kind of twisted game or contest in his mind."

"You couldn't have known that."

"I should have figured it out, and long before now."

Samantha shook her head. "I don't think he wanted you to before now. I think he was busy figuring you out, learning to understand how your mind worked, how you search for lost people."

Lucas frowned. "Are you saying he knows I'm psychic?"

From behind him in the doorway, Sheriff Metcalf said, "What? You're what?"

"Shit." Lucas couldn't help giving Samantha a look, but she was shaking her head.

"No, I didn't ambush you. He popped into that doorway like a jack-in-the-box as you were speaking. I didn't know he was out in the hall, honestly." Metcalf came into the room and moved around the table so he could see Luke's face. "You're psychic? Psychic?"

"Something like that."

"You're a federal agent."

"Yes, I am. And my psychic ability is just another tool to help me do my job, like my training, my weapon, and my proficiency with numbers and patterns."

"No patterns here," Samantha murmured, hoping to turn the focus of the discussion from the paranormal to the scientific.

"That's been one of the problems," Lucas admitted. "Nothing to latch on to, either logically or-intuitively."

"Except that now you know he's matching his wits against yours."

Lucas nodded. "Now I know. Which means I'm playing catchup. If you're right, he knows a hell of a lot more about me than I know about him."

Metcalf sat down at the table, still looking both stunned and distinctly unhappy. "No wonder you were on her side," he muttered.

"I was on her side because I know she's genuine. Not because I'm psychic too, but because I've seen her in action." Lucas turned his head and stared at the sheriff. "We can argue about this, Wyatt, or we can concentrate on finding Lindsay. Which will it be?"

"Goddammit, you know I want to find her."

"Then I suggest we put our energy and abilities into doing that, and discuss the plausibility of the paranormal later."

Metcalf nodded, however ungraciously.

Returning his gaze to Samantha, Lucas said, "I'm guessing you're here because you picked up something during a reading tonight."

"More like had something thrown at me," she said. "Guess who showed up unexpectedly at my booth? Caitlin Graham. Lindsay's sister."

"I didn't know she had a sister."

"Not local; she lives in Asheville." Shifting her gaze to the sheriff, she added coolly, "And heard about her sister's kidnapping, by the way, on the six o'clock news."

Metcalf looked stricken. "Oh, God, I should have called her."

Relenting somewhat, Samantha said, "Find Lindsay, and I'm sure all will be forgiven. Caitlin's staying at the same motel I am for the duration. She wanted to come here and wait, but I told her it'd be hard enough for one of us to run the media gauntlet outside."

"How did you manage?" Metcalf asked, curiosity overcoming hostility.

"Jedi mind control."

He blinked.

Lucas said dryly, "She's kidding. How did you get past them, Sam?"

"I had Leo create a distraction. He's good at that."

"I remember," Lucas murmured.

"Yeah. Well, anyway, he drew them away from the front door, and I slipped in. Hopefully unseen. Despite the news frenzy, I don't think the kidnapper has taken me seriously so far, and I'd just as soon keep it that way as long as possible."

"Why?" the sheriff demanded.

It was Lucas who answered. "So you can continue to be our ace in the hole."

Samantha nodded. "If he's been watching you as long as I think he has, I'm betting he's at least wondered if your ability to find people is paranormal. If he's good enough at research, I also think he may know a lot more about the SCU than Bishop would be at all comfortable with."

"Great," Lucas said.

"Wait a minute," Metcalf said. "You mean all of you, the whole unit, are-"

"Wyatt, please." Lucas was frowning at Samantha. "If you're right about all this, then he might just decide to grab a psychic of his own. To keep the playing field level."

Samantha's smile was grim. "The thought had occurred to me."

Once she realized she was alone, Lindsay began working on the tape binding her wrists. To her surprise, the tape started to give way almost immediately, and it probably took her no more than twenty minutes or so to free her hands.

She immediately reached up to pull the bag off her head, only to be confronted by total darkness.

At least, she hoped it was darkness.

He had ordered her to get out of the chair and lie on the floor, commands Lindsay had no choice but to obey, and had continued to talk to her casually for several more minutes. Then he had simply fallen silent.

Try as she might, Lindsay hadn't heard anything else. She hadn't heard a sound to indicate that he might have gone away. But, gradually, she had become convinced that he had indeed left her alone.

Now, lying on a cool, hard floor and groping in the darkness to free her ankles from more duct tape, she strained to listen just in case he returned. But she heard only her own breathing, shallow and ragged in the silence. It took longer to get the tape off her ankles, but she judged no more than half an hour or so had passed when the tape finally gave way and she was completely free.

That happy illusion lasted only as long as it took for Lindsay to slowly and carefully explore the space around her. Cool, smooth floor; cool, smooth walls; and a cool, smooth ceiling about a foot above her head when she was standing.

The entire space, she realized, was no more than about eight j feet square.

Baffled, Lindsay felt her way around, searching for an opening, a knob, a seam-something. She found only one thing, a small opening that felt like the end of a pipe in one corner of the ceiling. She pulled at it hard, hoping to dislodge it, but it might as well have been frozen in cement.

She thought at first that the pipe might be providing air for the space enclosing her, but she could detect no air coming from it at all. She felt the first real chill of fear then, but shoved it aside determinedly and explored the walls, ceiling, and floors one more time.

Nothing. No opening other than the pipe. No handle or knob. No crack she could wedge something into-even if she had something to wedge into a crack. Nothing.

Lindsay rapped her knuckles against one of the walls, and realized something.

"Glass," she murmured.