Haunted (A Bishop/SCU Novel Book 15) (18 page)

The dark, almost absurdly exotic-looking woman was clearly both uneasy and uncertain. She avoided Trinity’s steady gaze. And was rather stubbornly silent.

Trinity spoke up then, her voice still utterly calm. “Toby? Was it the cards? Or the Ouija board?”

Deacon sat up straighter before he could catch himself. “You use a Ouija board?”

“Well, just for fun.” Toby was looking at him now, clearly startled. “At parties sometimes. But I haven’t even opened the box since Scott was killed. I . . . I just couldn’t.”

“Good,” Deacon said. “Don’t.”
Ever,
he almost added.

Trinity glanced at him, and then spoke to Toby before she could even try to express the confusion on her face.

“But you did use the tarot cards yesterday or last night, didn’t you? That’s why you called Melanie. And probably what you were doing just before you saw Scott. Why you were upset.”

“Everybody keeps telling me they’re just for fun,” Toby muttered. “So what does it matter? I might as well be playing solitaire.”

“Not quite,” Deacon murmured. He intercepted another glance from Trinity and reminded himself that this was not his interview. And that she hadn’t exactly been open with anyone other than the feds about anything even vaguely smacking of the paranormal. Until now, at least.

She said, “Toby, did you see anything in the cards? Anything that shook you?”

Melanie said, “Tell her, Toby.”

“Well . . . I saw The Group. Every time I dealt the cards, no matter which layout I used, I saw The Group.” She sent Deacon a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if you know about—”

“I know about The Group. Trinity told me.” He decided in the moment not to mention that the other federal agents knew about it as well. Not that it really mattered, as far as he could see.

“Did you see anything else?” Trinity asked calmly. “Feel anything else?”

“I . . . felt . . . we’re all involved somehow. All tangled up with the killer. And I knew Melanie’s brother was coming to Sociable, that he was some kind of cop. And—”

“And?” Trinity prompted.

“It’s just what I felt,” Toby said, her anxiety obvious now. “I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong.”

“Wrong about what? What else did you see or feel, Toby?”

Toby stole another glance at Deacon’s face, then returned her worried gaze to Trinity. “I saw the other two coming. Them and Deacon, all monster hunters. Come to help us.”

Trinity waited a moment, then prompted again, “And?”

“And I knew . . . I
felt
 . . . one of them would be destroyed.”

—

HOLLIS WAS SITTING
on the conference table, staring at the preliminary timeline they’d been able to assemble, still brooding.

“You think they know? Bishop and Miranda?” DeMarco asked, but not really.

“I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and say they probably didn’t know for sure until that first cross turned up. Until Bishop remembered what I did, from the reports on Samuel’s churches. And even then, I doubt even Bishop could have worked out exactly what was going on, much less figured on two separate
serial killers
operating just far enough apart to demand that he split the investigating team.

“Trinity had a weird murder here, found the cross—and recognized it, or thought it might be what she remembered. Whether or not she knew Samuel was supposed to be dead, any connection to a cult that had preyed on psychics would have had to worry her, especially with Melanie here. And if Toby’s psychic, too . . .”

“Bishop had probably kept in touch,” DeMarco offered. “We know he keeps tabs on psychics outside the SCU, outside Haven. Trinity already trusted him because he helped her get Melanie out in Atlanta. For all we know, they talked regularly.”

Hollis nodded. “So she called Bishop. He knew that at the very least those murders and the murder here could have been connected. Maybe not, because crosses are really common, especially in the South, and word about the victims having them
could
have leaked out somehow. But reason enough to send us.”

“Without warning us.”

“You know,” Hollis said, “as pissed off as I get just about every time something like this happens, I think I’m beginning to get why he does it. He doesn’t send us in blind just so we can stumble around in the dark; he sends us in with what information he believes will be useful partly because he really doesn’t know the specifics beforehand.

“And because he doesn’t want us coming in with preconceived ideas. If we’d had even a hint that Samuel might somehow be behind the mountain serial and what was happening here, we would have focused on that; it would have colored every decision and choice we made.”

She looked at DeMarco wryly. “It’s how a profiler is trained to think. Don’t listen to what people tell you; look for yourself. Don’t try to bend the facts to fit your pet theory; let the facts
lead
you to a theory. Notice details, notice behavior. Look for a signature.”

“So the cross is his signature.”

Hollis shrugged. “It’s the only thing he’s done so far that was both consistent and not necessary to the murders. It’s also the only thing he’s done that even
hinted
at who the killer might be. Or . . . might be working for.”

“So you think Samuel could have arranged, before his death, for a second team of killers to draw out the SCU and, hopefully, Bishop? To destroy it all?”

“It’s more likely than possession.”

DeMarco shook his head. “You don’t believe that.”

“No. When we faced that team of killers he sent to destroy us, I didn’t . . .
feel
Samuel. Ever. Even in Diana’s gray time, I didn’t
feel
him. I don’t think he wanted me to. He was always weird about mediums, and I’m sure he hated having to depend on one—or two of us—to set him free.”

“But you feel him here?”

“It was that gleefulness I sensed up at the church. The girls killed north of here, that was deadly serious, and I don’t think he wasted a thought on games. He was too busy building up his strength. I bet when all’s said and done, we’ll find out that he’s killed a lot more these last months than we ever knew.”

“And now?”

“Think about it. If he’s spent all these months gaining strength every way he could, committing the darkest of acts both openly and in secret, by now he’s probably strong enough that distances don’t matter to him. Time doesn’t matter. He could be killing in the mountains and killing here in Sociable.”

“Seriously?”

Wryly, she said, “I’m not saying he can fly or—or teleport.” She reflected. “On the other hand, I’m not saying he can’t. I don’t think we know his limits now any more than we did then.”

“Just that he’s filled with dark energy, an eternal hatred for Bishop and the SCU, and the bastard just won’t die.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Did you know it was Samuel?” Hollis asked.

Miranda’s voice came clearly and calmly from the speaker in the conference room. “We didn’t know, not for certain. When you kill an enemy, you expect him to be dead. But Diana has been uneasy since you went into the gray time and pulled her out, healed her.”

“She didn’t tell me that.”

“She didn’t tell anybody except us and Quentin. Not that she actually has to tell him anything.”

Diana and Quentin Hayes had been married for nearly three months, and their connection was . . . rather special.

“She believed Samuel had slipped out with us? Escaped the gray time?”

“She thought it was possible. And no one knows that place or time or dimension or realm—whatever it is—better than Diana. She thought he could have escaped, so we had to consider it. We suspected he might be behind all the dark energy you had to channel at Alexander House a few months ago.”

“That wasn’t him?”

“You would have felt it if it had been him. Did you?”

“No. Not a hint.”

“That was what we thought. Noah was suspicious, but . . . When that vortex was closed, the dark energy was trapped again, rendered more or less harmless.”

“More or less?” DeMarco asked wryly.

“You both know energy can’t be destroyed. It can be transformed, it can be channeled—and it can be trapped. But it can’t be destroyed.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Hollis said with a sigh. “And what’s going on there? The fourth pair of girls, have they been found yet?”

“No. But there’s an army searching these mountains, on foot, on horseback, by ATV, and by chopper. He hasn’t tried to hide any of the other girls. We believe if the last two are dead, they’ll be found like the others.”

“If?”

Miranda hesitated, then said, “It’s at least possible that Samuel—whoever or whatever he is now—does have a disciple, an apprentice. The former is probably more likely; being worshipped was part of what made him powerful. At any rate, if that is the situation, then once Samuel fixed his attention on Sociable—for whatever reasons—he could have left his disciple here to continue this part of his plan. Gathering more dark energy.”

It was DeMarco who said, “But that would only work if he and his disciple were connected in some way, probably psychically.”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a woman,” he said definitely. “That’s the way his connections worked, the way he drew power.”

“It’s something we’ve considered. And it’s entirely possible that if Samuel
is
at the heart of this, he does have a woman here in the mountains doing his bidding.” Her voice changed, became more brisk. “But that’s our worry, at least for now. You two have the greater worry.”

“Understatement,” Hollis muttered.

“Hollis, the two of you are there because you’re the best team for the situation.”

“Why?” Hollis demanded baldly.

“Because he’s about energy, about power. He thinks of it as a weapon, so he hoards it, builds on it, covets it.”

“Uses it,” DeMarco reminded.

“Yes, he uses it. Or at least he did. We aren’t at all sure he can do anything now the same way he could before.”

“But if he can?” Hollis held her voice steady. “I felt the force of his energy, Miranda, and it nearly killed me. Would have killed me, if I hadn’t been able to heal myself.”

“You’re stronger now,” Miranda said.

“Am I strong enough?”

“I don’t know. And neither do you. Until you find him. Until you face him.”

“And then? Am I supposed to throw rocks? I have a feeling bullets won’t even slow him down.”

“Hollis. He’s about energy.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, thoughtful.

“I don’t like this,” DeMarco announced.

“No,” Miranda murmured. “I didn’t expect you would. But you’re there, too, Reese. Even if she doesn’t like to admit it, Hollis knows as well as you do that the two of you forged a very unusual connection when she was channeling all that energy—and you were her lifeline.”

“Dammit,” Hollis said.

“Connections are also a tool we can use, Hollis. Believe me, I know,” Miranda said.

Hollis avoided any glance at her partner. “I get that. It’s just . . . I feel a connection to Samuel I don’t like at all. It’s as if he’s gotten inside my head somehow.”

DeMarco said, “You haven’t mentioned that.”

She still refused to look at him. “The headache. The nosebleed. What I felt up there at the church and the parsonage. The . . .
unnatural
way it all felt. It was him. I wasn’t sure what it was at the time. But I’m sure now.”

“He thinks he knows you,” Miranda said. “But you’ve grown incredibly since you faced him in North Carolina. Among so many other things, he’s an utter narcissist, Hollis. He doesn’t really think about anyone but himself. And I’m betting—we’re betting—that you’re going to surprise the hell out of him.”

—

MELANIE RUBBED HER
forehead between her brows and said, “Well, that was weird. Still weird.”

“You still have the headache?” Annabel asked.

“No, the pain’s gone. But I feel kind of lightheaded.”

“Toby?”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Practically, Annabel said, “None of us ate much for lunch. Melanie, you said you didn’t have any more appointments today, and most everybody is getting ready for the storm. Why don’t we go get something to eat and—and then decide where we want to ride out the storm.”

Melanie eyed her. “Is this you not wanting to be alone, Annabel? Because if that’s what it is—”

“No, this is me thinking we all belong to The Group, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to stick together until Trinity and your brother and the other agents figure out who the killer is.”

Toby said, “I agree. Look, why don’t we take that other two-bedroom suite at the hotel? I know the agents have one of them, but the other’s empty, and Bill would probably cut the price in half just to have somebody there this time of year.”

Bill Moss was the hotel owner and manager.

“Toby—”

“It’s right in the center of town, above a good restaurant, and it almost never loses power during storms. Melanie, I don’t think even you want to go home alone. Not now, with all this happening. Why don’t we go together, and each pack a bag at home, leave a couple of lights on, and come back down here to stay at the hotel.”

Melanie studied her for a long moment. “You know, you kept it pretty calm, and you haven’t mentioned it since, but you did say you believed one of the agents would be destroyed.”

“Do we have to talk about that now?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because . . . it’s all shifted. Storms always change things. Energy shifts and things change. Trinity and the agents have to get ready for the storm just like we do; we’ll all be stuck inside. At least they’ll have files and things to go over, and I wouldn’t put it past Trinity to ask at least a couple of the guys she may be suspicious of to come to the station to answer some questions. Good time, with everybody preoccupied by the storm.”

Melanie shook her head. “You’re avoiding, Toby. What do you mean, it’s all shifted?”

Toby frowned. “I don’t know. It’s . . . fuzzy.”

“You don’t still believe one of the agents will be destroyed?”

“I think . . . I feel . . . that somebody is going to suffer. Be in a lot of pain.”

“There’s this killer,” Melanie reminded her, not as dryly as she had intended.

“Not that kind of pain. Not physical injury. Not torture, the way Barry was . . . Something else. Something deeper, in a dark place. From a dark place. An old agony exploding.” Toby shook her head. “Look, I know that sounds like the worst kind of carnival bullshit, but I can’t explain it any better.”

“And in the meantime, you believe we should stay together.”

“Yes. I do.”

“So do I,” Annabel said. “Because I didn’t imagine that voice last night, Melanie. I hadn’t had too much wine. And because we both know Toby
saw
Scott, just like she said she did.”

“Annabel—”

“We need to stay together, Melanie. It’s important.”

Melanie could have thought of several reasons to disagree, but none of them convinced even herself. The truth was that two of her friends had been horribly murdered in the last week, that their killer remained unidentified but was being pursued by another of her friends
and
her brother, that a storm of unknown severity and duration was approaching—and she didn’t want to spend any more time alone than she had to.

And because Toby wasn’t the only one who had seen the spirit of a murdered ex-lover trying desperately to tell her something.

—

“HOLLIS?”

She was alone in the closed conference room, since DeMarco had gone to get coffee, and Hollis hadn’t heard the door opening. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t.

She was surprised at the stab of relief she felt when she pushed back her sleeve to watch gooseflesh rise on her arm, when she felt the odd chill, the change in the very air around her.

When she looked up slowly and saw a grave girl of about twelve standing at the end of the conference table.

Hollis could, just barely, see the closed door behind the girl. Through her. Because she had died violently at the hands of Samuel many months before.

“Brooke,” she said.

The spirit of a little girl who was lifetimes older than she appeared smiled at Hollis. “We thought we’d give you a break,” she said.

Hollis blinked. “What? You mean it wasn’t my fault all these months that I couldn’t see spirits?”

“You needed to rest,” Brooke said seriously. “Clear your head, so to speak. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I thought I was broken,” Hollis told her indignantly.

“You’ve never been broken, Hollis. Even when you thought you were.”

That silenced Hollis, but only for a moment. “You’ve appeared to me even though you’re one of Diana’s guides. But the stakes were high then. Are they now? Is Samuel here?”

“He wanted to live. He found a way. But . . .”

“But?” Hollis was so accustomed to uninformative spirit “guides” that she was honestly surprised when Brooke answered.

“Reese was right. Samuel had spent a lifetime learning how to collect and contain energies. How to use them. How to keep them from destroying him. Even though he was weak when he crossed back over, he still had the ability to collect energy. The dark energy he wanted and needed. What he hadn’t counted on was that his new vessel lacked all those years of building control.”

“So he’s burning out his vessel?” Hollis asked directly, digging for information while she could get it.

“He will, if he expends too much energy. But that isn’t his main problem.”

“What is?”

“His vessel still has . . . the original personality.”

“What? I thought he’d probably choose someone who was brain-dead, no personality of their own left. That must have been an easier thing to do.”

“He thought he had done just that. As it turned out, the doctors and machines didn’t know everything. And Samuel wasn’t strong enough to totally overwhelm the personality he found there.”

Hollis frowned at her. “You’re being awfully forthcoming. Why?”

“I can’t be helpful?”

“Is that sarcasm? You’re actually being sarcastic with me?”

Brooke smiled, but then sobered and said, “I wanted to warn you. There’s still some of the original person left, and he can . . . surface now and then. He’s confused. Sometimes he’s weak. Sometimes he thinks he’s in the middle of a very vivid nightmare where people who wronged him, often only in his own mind, are punished. Other times . . . he knows what’s happening.”

Sober herself, Hollis said, “Oh, man, that’s gotta be hell.”

Brooke nodded. “Poor man. You have to understand . . . his only release is death.”

“Shit. I knew you were going to say that.”

“I just didn’t want you to feel guilty. He wouldn’t have survived physically if Samuel hadn’t taken him. And he won’t survive much longer no matter what you do or don’t do.”

“What about Samuel? We can’t seem to kill the bastard.”

Brooke seemed to hesitate, as though listening to a voice only she could hear, and then she said, “He knows the weakness of his vessel, and he’s beginning to get desperate. He’s tried more than once to invades someone else’s mind.”

“My headache? The nosebleed?”

“You have a kind of shield he didn’t expect.”

“I don’t have a shield at all.”

Brooke smiled faintly, but said only, “He’s tried others. He’ll go on trying. Sooner or later, he’ll find a vessel he can possess that’s strong enough to hold him indefinitely. Or else you’ll destroy him. There is no in-between.”

“
I’ll
destroy him? Brooke—”

The spirit guide was fading.

“When the time comes,” she said in a voice already growing distant, “you’ll know what to do. Don’t be afraid to use your connection with Reese. He’s still your lifeline, Hollis. He always will be.”

Hollis opened her mouth to speak, but Brooke was gone. And before she could gather her thoughts together, a wave of intense dizziness swept over Hollis, she felt icy cold—and then everything went black.