Kay Hooper - Sense Of Evil

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you guys know this stuff you do is going to kill you one day?”

“I’d call that a radical interpretation of the text,” she murmured.

“Hollis.”

“We’re not the only stubborn ones, I see.”

“Answer my question.”

“I can’t.” She shrugged, more than a little impatient now. “Rafe, we don’t know. Nobody really knows. We’re all checked out medically after assignments, and the doctors have noted some changes in some agents. They don’t know what that means, we don’t know what it means. Maybe nothing.”

“Or maybe something. Something fatal.”

“Look, all I can tell you is that for some agents, there’s a price for using their abilities. Some, like Isabel, live with pain most of the time, usually headaches. Some finish up assignments so exhausted it takes them weeks to fully recover. I know one agent who eats constantly during a case, and I mean constantly; it’s like her abilities cause her metabolism to shoot into high gear and she has to fuel her body continually in order to do her job. But there are other agents who never seem affected physically by what they do. It varies. So, no, I can’t tell you using our abilities is going to kill us one day. Because we just don’t know.”

“But it’s possible.”

“Sure, it’s possible, I guess. It’s also possible-more than possible, really-that we’ll be killed in the line of duty by a regular old bullet or knife or explosion of some kind. The risk comes with the job. We all know the potential hazards, believe me. Bishop is very careful to make certain we understand what we might be risking, even if it’s only a theoretical possibility. Anyway, Isabel made the decision that was hers to make, to use her abilities this way. She’s been doing it for years, and she knows her limits.”

“I don’t doubt that. What I doubt is that she’ll stop before those limits are reached.”

“She’s dedicated” was Hollis’s only response.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“You face risks in your job. Why keep doing it?”

Rafe didn’t answer, just shook his head and said, “T.J. and Dustin will be a while, and there’s really nothing more you and Isabel can do here. Is there?”

It was Hollis’s turn to avoid the direct question. “We can go back to the station, work there while you guys finish up here. Get the information on the two previous series of murders posted on the boards.”

“Good idea,” Rafe said.

Hollis took the first chance she got to call in, which turned out to be about an hour later, when Isabel left the conference room to make copies of a stack of paperwork.

The number was still a bit unfamiliar, but her cell phone’s address book had been carefully programmed, so it was easy to find the number and make the call.

As soon as he answered, Hollis said, “I didn’t like doing that. Isabel’s business is her own. She wouldn’t talk about me behind my back, not that sort of personal stuff.”

“He needed to know,” Bishop said.

“Then Isabel should have been the one to tell him.”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t. Or, at least, wouldn’t tell him right now. He needs to know now.”

“And why is that, O wise Yoda?”

Bishop chuckled. “I’m guessing ‘Because I say so’ is not going to be a satisfactory answer for you.”

“I didn’t accept that even from my father; it definitely won’t work for you.”

“Okay. Then I’ll tell you the truth.”

“I appreciate that. The truth being?”

“The truth being that certain things have to happen in a certain order if we’re to avert a catastrophe.”

Hollis blinked. “And we know that catastrophe lies ahead because…?”

“Because some of us occasionally catch a glimpse of the future.” Bishop sighed. “Hollis, we can’t fix everything. We can’t make the future all bright and shiny just because we know before they happen that there are troubles and tragedies waiting there for us. The best we can do sometimes, the absolute best, is to chart a careful path somewhere between bad and worse.”

“And that path requires that I spill part of Isabel’s story to Rafe.”

“Yes. It does. This time. Next time, you may be asked to do something else. And you’ll do it. Not because I say so, but because you can trust in the fact that Miranda and I would never do anything to injure or betray any member of the team-even to save the future.”

Hollis sighed. “I wish that sounded melodramatic, but since I know the stories and I’ve seen a few things myself, I’m afraid it’s the literal truth. The saving-the-future business, I mean.”

“We have to do what we can. It’s seldom enough, but sometimes the right word or the right information at the right moment can change things just a bit. Shift the balance more toward our favor. When we can even do that much. Sometimes we can’t interfere at all.”

“Going to tell me how you know that this is one of the times you can interfere?”

“Miranda sees the future and takes me along for the ride. Sometimes we see alternate futures; that’s when we know we can change things. Sometimes we see only one future. We see what’s inevitable.”

“That’s when you know you can’t.”

“Yes.”

“And the future I just changed by telling Rafe some of Isabel’s past?”

“Was a future in which he died.”

“So why hasn’t her cameraman reported her missing?” Isabel asked Dana Earley.

“I think he’s ashamed of himself. Apparently, she told him to wait in the van while she went to check something out. He claims he doesn’t know what. Anyway, she hadn’t been gone ten minutes before he was asleep. And he didn’t wake up until Joey and I banged on the side of the van about half an hour ago.”

“That’s a long nap.”

“He says he’s been running short on sleep for days. Probably true; a lot of our technical people get fascinated with their toys and keep the weirdest hours you can imagine.”

Isabel frowned. “You’ve checked with her station, with the other media people across the street?”

Dana nodded. “Oh, yeah. The last anybody saw of Cheryl was just before dark last night. Dammit, I warned her to watch her back, brunette or not.”

“Why?”

“Because I think the spotlight on a small town like Hastings can get pretty uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this maniac targeted a journalist just to get us to back off.”

Isabel rested a hip on the corner of an unoccupied desk, where the conversation was taking place. “That’s not a bad theory, assuming he isn’t too far gone to think logically. Off the record.”

Dana nodded again, this time somewhat impatiently. “And I’m no profiler, but I’d expect him to target somebody who doesn’t fit his clear preferences so far, just to make a statement.”

“You’re not the one I want, but you’re in my way. Nobody’s safe,” Isabel murmured. “Go away.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Thanks for filing the report, Ms. Earley.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help look for that kid-”

“The best way you can help her and us is not to get yourself added to our missing-persons list. Don’t go anywhere alone. I mean anywhere, unless it’s into a locked room you know damned well is safe. Pass the word to the other journalists, will you?”

“Will do.”

“Male and female journalists,” Isabel added.

Dana nodded wryly and left.

Isabel remained where she was for several minutes, frowning at nothing. She was tired. Very tired. And worried.

If this bastard had grabbed a brunette journalist, had been angry enough to stray so far from his preferences, then why hadn’t Isabel felt it?