Kay Hooper - Hunting Fear

"Why?" Lucas demanded.

She shrugged. "Well, the killer's already watching me; I just thought it was time to give him some idea of what I can do."

"Are you out of your mind? Jesus, Sam, why not just paint a bull's-eye on your back?"

"And why not rattle the son of a bitch if we can? Why not make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he's not quite as in control of this little game of his as he thinks he is? Everything's been going exactly as he planned so far, so maybe it's time we changed that. I don't know if there's an equivalent in chess to a wild card, but that's me. And I say it's time we let him know the rules just went right out the window."

Lucas was about to say something in response to that-what, he wasn't sure-when he realized, abruptly and belatedly, where they were. In the doorway of the bull pen.

He looked away from Samantha to find that every cop in the place was staring at them with open interest. And even though he felt some embarrassment over losing control, and more than a little anger at the moment, he also noticed that a few faces that had shown open hostility toward Samantha now appeared at least as thoughtful as they were unfriendly.

"When are the search parties going out?" he asked the chief deputy, whose desk was nearest the door.

Vance Keeter looked down at the clipboard in his hand as if it would answer, then said quickly, "Ten minutes, and everybody should be ready to go."

"Good," Lucas snapped, and headed down the hallway to the conference room, pulling Samantha along with him.

She allowed herself to be towed, a little amused and more than a little interested in this definitely less-controlled side of Lucas. Not that he needed to know that. So the moment they were in the conference room, she jerked her arm away.

"Do you mind?"

Jaylene, bent over a map spread out on the table, looked up at them in mild surprise, then sat down in the chair behind her. "Hey, Sam. Thought you were leaving."

She was good, Samantha thought admiringly, even as she was saying, "I got hauled back in here-and got scolded like a kid in front of the entire sheriff's department. Which I don't at all appreciate, by the way."

"You're damned lucky I didn't arrest you on the spot," Lucas retorted. "I can make an obstruction charge stick, Sam, and you'd better keep it in mind."

"You might make it stick as far as court, but you'll play hell proving it," Samantha snapped right back. "I'm not an employee of the sheriff's department or the federal government, which means I'm free to speak my mind to the press if I so desire. And I have done nothing, absolutely nothing, that a rational person would define as obstructing this investigation."

"You had no business saying anything to the press about the investigation."

"I didn't tell them anything they didn't already know."

"That's beside the point, Sam."

"No, that's entirely the point. All I did was finally stop a minute and answer a few of their questions about me. Me, personally. Which is totally my business. And will probably increase my business, now that I think about it."

Lucas refused to wander from the point. "About you? What the hell did you tell them?"

"I told them that sometimes I have visions when I touch things and that the killer left an object in Lindsay's apartment, which I touched. And which told me that this killer is a soulless bastard who feeds on fear."

"Jesus Christ." Lucas was beyond grim.

"Like I said-I want him to know what I can do."

"What makes you think he doesn't already know what you can do?"

Samantha merely said, "If that's the case, no harm done, right?"

"No harm done? God, you're making me crazy."

"Good." She took a step toward him and, in the same fierce tone, demanded, "Where's Wyatt?"

"How the hell should I know?" He was just as fierce, torn between anger at her irresponsibility in talking to the press and surprise that she would do something so reckless, and hardly knew what he was saying.

"You know where he is," she snapped. "Think about it. Feel it. Where is he? Where's Wyatt?"

"Goddammit, how should I-"

Six hours left. Six fucking hours…

Lucas went very still, instinctively trying to listen to that whisper in his head.

…no way to get loose… goddamn guillotine…

"It's the guillotine," he murmured. "Wyatt's strapped into a guillotine."

"Where?" Samantha snapped, her tone still fiercely insistent.

"He doesn't know."

"What does he feel? What's around him?"

"Space. Darkness. Maybe a basement."

"Some part of him felt it when he was being moved, even if he was out cold. What did he feel? Where is he?"

"He doesn't know."

"Listen. Feel. Remember what he can't."

"Water. Running water. A stream."

"What else? Was it dark when he was moved?"

"Yes."

"Was it near dawn? Did he hear birds?"

"Birds. A rooster."

"Dirt roads, or paved?"

"Paved-only for a few minutes. Then dirt. A very rough dirt road. A long time 'til it stopped."

Watching in complete fascination even as she took quick notes, Jaylene almost held her breath. After four years of working with him, she had believed she was as good as anyone could be at directing and focusing Lucas's abilities, but she acknowledged silently, now, that Samantha's method was masterly. At least this time.

The question was, what would it do to Luke?

"Which direction was he moving in?" Samantha demanded.

"He doesn't-"

"He knows. Somewhere inside him, he knows. He has an internal compass, we all do. Find it. Which direction?"

After a long moment, Lucas said, "Northwest. Always northwest."

"Northwest from his home?"

"Yes."

Less than six hours… oh, Jesus…

Abruptly, Lucas was back, that wispy tendril of contact snapped. He blinked at Samantha, then sat down, hardly aware that Jaylene had positioned a chair for him.

"Less than six hours," he said slowly. "Wyatt has less than six hours left. There's a clock counting down. He can see it." He was a little pale.

So was Samantha. But as she joined them at the table, her voice was perfectly calm, even cool. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Jaylene half expected an explosion from Lucas, but he was staring at Sam, curiously intent.

"That's why you've been needling me all morning," he said.

She didn't deny it, saying merely, "You shut down on me once before. Think I'm going to let that happen again? I'd rather you were pissed and snapping at me than looking right through me. Besides, if there's a hope of finding the sheriff alive, you're it."

"You said I couldn't win without you."

"And maybe this is why. Because I can piss you off. A dubious talent, but mine own." With a shrug, she added briskly, "Anyway, now we have a slightly narrower area to search. And we know how much time is left on the clock."

Jaylene was once more bent over the map spread out on the conference table. She pinpointed the sheriff's house, then drew a straight line out from it to the northwest. "How far do I take this? To the Tennessee line?"

Looking away from Samantha at last, Lucas got to his feet and joined his partner. "Yeah. For now. We may have to extend it, but that covers a lot of area."

Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Jaylene said, "And if we start with, say, twenty miles on either side of the line…" She marked the arbitrary boundaries on the map.

They both stared down at what was a considerable search area, its only saving grace the fact that it contained at least half of the small red flags marking specific areas already on their search list.

"Could be worse," she murmured.

Before Lucas could respond, Samantha spoke up to say, "There was a stream. That should narrow it down a bit more."

"And roosters along the way," Jaylene said. "That takes it well out of town, at least from what I've seen. And the fact that he was on a rough dirt road most of the time means we '11 be away from all the main roads in the area."