After Caroline (49 page)

They were all three disconcerted.

The visitor was functioning under an enormous level of stress. That was his first realization. He was accustomed to weighing people, and this young woman weighed in as someone carrying a burden too heavy for her.

She was of average height but too thin by a good twenty pounds, a feet obvious even under the bulky sweater she wore. She might have been pretty if her face hadn’t been so thin. Her head was bowed a bit, as if her attention were focused entirely on the floor, and her shoulder-length, straight black hair swept forward as if to shelter her face, the long bangs all but hiding her eyes.

Then she looked at him through those bangs, a quick, surprised glance darting warily upward, and he caught his breath. Her eyes were amazing—large, dark-lashed, and a shade of gray so pale and clear, they were hypnotic. And haunted.

Ben had seen suffering before, but what he saw in this woman’s eyes was something new in his experience.

He found himself coming around his desk toward her. “Miss Neill. I’m Ben Ryan.” His normal speaking voice had softened, so much so that the uncharacteristic gentleness startled him.

Something else startled him. Ben was a Southern lawyer, a one-time judge, and had been for years involved in
politics at the local and state levels; shaking hands with strangers was as natural to him as breathing, and sticking out his hand during an introduction was automatic. Yet somehow this woman not only managed to elude shaking hands with him, she did it so smoothly and with such perfect, practiced timing that there was nothing obvious in the avoidance of physical contact, and nothing at all awkward. He was not left with his hand hanging in the air, and was conscious of no slight

She simply circumvented the gesture by moving promptly toward his visitor’s chair and glancing casually around at his office. “Judge Ryan.” Her voice was low and beautifully modulated, the accent not Carolina. “Thank you for seeing me.”

When she looked at him doubtfully with another of those guarded, darting glances, he realized that she had probably expected him to be older. More … judgelike.

“My pleasure.” He gestured to the chair, inviting her to sit, then looked toward the doorway with a lifted brow. “Thank you, Janice.”

Janice took her gaze off the visitor finally and, still frowning slightly, backed out of the office and closed the door.

Ben returned to his chair and sat down. “We’re pretty informal around here,” he told her. “I’m Ben.” His voice, he noted in some surprise, was still gentle.

A faint smile touched her lips. “I’m Cassie.” Another quick glance at his face, and then she stared down at the hands clasped in her lap. Whatever she had come there to say, it was obviously not easy for her.

“What can I do for you, Cassie?”

She drew a breath and kept her gaze fixed on her hands. “As I told your secretary, I’m new in Ryan’s Bluff. I’ve lived here a little less than six months. Even so, that’s long enough to get a sense of who’s respected in this town.
Who is apt to be … listened to, even if what he says is unbelievable.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, very curious but willing to let her get to it in her own time.

She shook her head. “I’ve done my homework. You’re descended from the Ryans who founded this town. You left only to go to college and law school, returning here to practice. You became a much admired and highly respected district court judge—obviously at a young age-but chose to retire after only a few years because you felt your true vocation was as a prosecutor. You were elected district attorney for Salem County, and you are very involved in community affairs as well as local and state politics. Your … support would count for a lot.”

“My support in what?”

She answered his question with a matter-of-fact one of her own. “Do you believe in the paranormal?”

That was unexpected, and threw him for a moment. “The paranormal? You mean ghosts? UFOs? ESP?”

“Specifically extrasensory perception. Telepathy. Pre-cognition.” Her voice remained calm, but she was sitting just a bit too stiffly and her clasped fingers moved nervously. She darted another glance at him, so fleeting that all he caught was a flash of those pale eyes.

Ben shrugged. “In theory I always thought it was garbage. In fact, I’ve never encountered anything to make me change my mind.” It was the fairly cynical mind common
to
many law enforcement officials, but he didn’t add that

She didn’t look discouraged. “Are you willing to admit the possibility? To keep your mind open?”

“I hope Pm always willing to do that” Ben could have told her that he himself was given to hunches, to intuitions he found difficult to explain rationally, but he said nothing since it was a characteristic he hardly trusted. By training and inclination he was a man of reason.

Still utterly matter-of-fact, Cassie said, “There’s going to be a murder.”

She had surprised him again, unpleasantly this time. “I see. And you know that because you’re psychic?”

She grimaced, registering the disbelief—-and the suspicion of a prosecutor—in his voice. “Yes.”

“You can see the future?”

“No. But I … tapped into the mind of the man who intends to commit a murder.”

“Even assuming I believe that, intentions don’t always translate into actions.”

“This rime they will. He will kill.”

Ben rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at her. Maybe she was a kook. Or maybe not “Okay. Who’s going to be murdered?”

“I don’t know. I saw her face when he watched her, but I don’t know who she is.”

After Caroline
A Bantam Book

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1996 by Kay Hooper.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 96-5741.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56709-3

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