The First Prophet (4 page)

She turned her head and looked at him as he shut off the engine. “I don’t need you
to look in the closets for monsters. I don’t mind being alone.”

For the first time, Tucker felt he was getting a sense of her, and he thought she
was lying. She did mind being alone. She minded it very much. Ignoring her protest,
he said, “If there’s no way to make coffee here, I can get some at that restaurant
down the street and bring it back for us.”

After a moment, Sarah nodded and reached for the door handle. “I can make coffee here.”

He couldn’t tell whether she wanted his company or
was merely resigned to it, and didn’t ask. He was very good at getting his foot in
the door, and for now that was all he wanted.

Sarah led the way around to the rear of the building, where a flight of stairs provided
access to the second-floor apartment. They were greeted at the top by a large cat
who was sitting on the railing. A large black cat.

Of course, it would have to be a
black
cat.
Tucker reached out and scratched the cat under his lifted chin while Sarah got the
door key from under a flowerpot also on the railing. “Yours?” he asked, reading the
cat’s name tag in surprise and with a vague sense of familiarity.

“He seems to think so. He showed up a few days ago, and so far no owner’s come forward
to claim him, so I’ve been feeding him.” She unlocked and opened the door, stepping
just over the threshold to reach inside and deactivate a security system using a keypad
by the door. Then she looked back at the cat. “You want in, Pendragon?”

Pendragon did. He jumped down from the railing and preceded them into the apartment.

The place had the slightly stale smell of infrequent use, but it was cheerfully decorated
and bright enough. The main room was a combination kitchen/dining area/living room,
with low bookshelves separating the dining and sitting areas and a breakfast bar partitioning
the kitchen from the rest. There were area rugs in muted colors on the polished hardwood
floor, light and airy curtains hanging at the few windows, and overstuffed furniture
chosen for comfort in light neutral shades, with
plenty of colorful pillows scattered about. There was even a gas-log fireplace and
compact entertainment center.

A doorway led to a short hallway, off which Tucker assumed was a bathroom and one
or two bedrooms.

Sarah went first to the thermostat on the wall near the hallway and adjusted the temperature
so that warm air began to chase away the slight chill of the room. Then she went into
the kitchen and got coffee out of one cabinet and a small coffeemaker out of an appliance
garage to one side of the refrigerator.

“I stocked the place with groceries just the other day,” she said conversationally
as she measured coffee. “And I have spare clothes here. When either Margo or me is
out of town, the other one usually spends at least a few nights here. It gives us
a chance to catch up on paperwork while we’re keeping an eye on the place.”

Tucker wondered whether she was talking just to fill the silence, or whether it was
her way of keeping reality at bay. The numbness couldn’t last forever; sooner or later,
she would have to face the loss of her home and belongings, with all the shock and
grief that would entail. But if her choice was later, it was, after all, her choice.

He sat down on one of the tall bar stools at the breakfast bar, watching her. “Have
you had break-ins here?”

“No. Most burglars are looking for valuables they can put in a sack, or at least carry
by themselves; our stock is made up mostly of furniture, with very few easily portable
valuables. But Margo is paranoid about theft, which
is why we have an excellent security system. And I don’t mind spending time here when
she’s out of town.”

“How long will she be gone this time?”

“Another week, maybe two.” Sarah got a pet bowl out of the dish drainer beside the
sink and filled it with kibble, then set it on the breakfast bar in front of the stool
beside Tucker’s. He watched in silence as Pendragon leaped up on the stool, sat down,
and began eating delicately from his bowl, then looked at Sarah.

She met his quizzical gaze and smiled for the first time in genuine amusement. “I
found out quickly that Pendragon likes to sit up and eat like people. I hope you don’t
mind.”

“No. It’s more his house than mine.”

She nodded, the smile fading, then said, “I think I’ll go change. If the coffee’s
ready before I come back, help yourself. Cups are in that cabinet, and the sugar and
cream are already out on the counter.”

“Thanks. Take your time. I’ll be fine.” He watched her leave the room, then absently
reached over and scratched Pendragon behind one ear. The cat made a faintly disgusted
sound, which Tucker took to mean he disliked being touched while eating. “Excuse me,”
he told the cat politely, drawing back his hand.

Pendragon murmured something in the back of his throat, the sound this time so obviously
mollified that Tucker blinked in surprise.

Peculiar cat.

The coffee was still dripping down into the pot,
beginning to smell good but not quite ready to drink. Restless, Tucker left the bar
stool to prowl around the room, studying the decorations and furniture without really
seeing them. After only a slight hesitation, he turned on the gas-log fire, which
immediately made the room seem more cheerful but didn’t do much for the little ripple
of coldness chasing up and down Tucker’s spine.

That unnerving sensation drove him to one of the two narrow dormers that provided
a view out the front side of the building, and he found himself cautiously drawing
aside filmy curtains so he could see the street below without calling attention to
himself.

But the caution was wasted, because the tall man in the black leather jacket seemed
to have a sixth sense of his own, vanishing into the shadows of an alleyway across
the street before Tucker could catch more than a glimpse of him.

“Shit.” Brodie straightened from the crouch holding a piece of charred wood in his
hand, his lean face as grim as the curse. He turned the wood in his hands—it had,
once, been a piece of decorative porch railing—then dropped it and rubbed his hands
together angrily.

“We don’t know they did it,” Cait Desmond reminded him.

“We don’t know they didn’t,” he retorted. “I prefer to err on the side of past experience.”

His partner looked at him for a moment, then looked back at the ruins of what had
been Sarah Gallagher’s home. It was nearly dark now, but the devastation was still
obvious. A cold wind whined miserably past the chimney that still reared up in a stark
silhouette above the dead house, and Cait shivered as she turned up her collar and
thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Did you find out anything?” Brodie asked her, the anger muted now in his brisk tone.

Cait moved closer to him and kept her voice low even though there seemed to be no
one else about and certainly no one within earshot. “Yeah. I talked to one of the
neighbors while she was out walking her dog a little while ago. Arson is definitely
suspected; a couple of people reported a stranger hanging around today.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” It wasn’t a question. Brodie sighed, his breath misting
in the cold air. “Well, they didn’t get her, or you would have said so by now. So
where is she?”

“According to the neighbor, Sarah Gallagher left here with a tall blond man who ‘looked
vaguely familiar.’ Not another neighbor, and not a cop. He was driving a late-model
Mercedes.”

Brodie whistled in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like our guys. Their wheels tend
to be very unobtrusive.”

Cait nodded. “That’s what I thought. Unfortunately, the neighbor didn’t get a license
plate, so that’s no good. She did, however, say that she thought the cop in charge
talked to both Sarah and the blond stranger before they
left, so there’s a solid chance the locals know where Sarah’s supposed to be. Especially
since she probably hasn’t been ruled out as a suspect herself.”

“Yeah, they will check the obvious first.” Brodie nodded slowly.

“So we need eyes and ears inside the local police department,” Cait said. “They probably
wouldn’t know me, so—”

Brodie was shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Cait. We need to move too fast; planting
someone on the inside takes time. But…I might know someone who already has eyes on
the inside.”

“Someone you can trust?”

He smiled faintly, as though he found the question amusing. “I don’t deal with people
I can’t trust. Come on—we need to get out of here before that squad car makes its
next scheduled pass by here. And let’s find a landline; I don’t want to use the cell
for this call.”

When Sarah came out of her bedroom wearing a bulky sweater and jeans, Tucker didn’t
mention the watcher outside. It was not out of some outdated—and no doubt unwanted—sense
of chivalry that he kept silent, but simply because he was convinced Sarah would not
be surprised by the knowledge. She knew she was being watched; he thought she knew
why, or had some suspicion why—and it had nothing to do with frightened neighbors.

It was an answer he wanted.

Sarah glanced toward the fire without comment as she passed through the living room,
then turned on a couple of lamps and went into the kitchen area.

“I didn’t know how you took yours,” Tucker said, lifting his coffee cup in a slight
gesture.

She poured a cup of coffee for herself, taking it black. “No problem. Look, it’s after
six; I have some ready-made stew and bread in the freezer, if you’re planning to stay
for supper.”

Tucker had to smile at the wording. “I’d hate to impose.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, either another shrewd guess or certain knowledge. Whichever,
it was accompanied by a slight smile as Sarah began getting out a pot and the frozen
stew, and turning on the oven for the bread.

Tucker reclaimed his stool at the breakfast bar, sitting beside a cat who was neatly
washing his paws and face after his own meal. “Okay, so I wouldn’t hate it. I’ve got
the nerve of a burglar, according to most of my friends. But I was trained right;
if you’re going to do the cooking, I’ll do the dishes.”

“Suits me.” She put the bagged stew into the microwave to thaw, then leaned back against
the counter and sipped her coffee, looking at Tucker across the space separating them.
“Are you planning to spend the night?”

That question would have bothered Tucker, except for the fact that she sounded totally
uninterested in the subject. “That depends on you.”

“I told you I didn’t mind being alone. There are no
monsters in the closet or under my bed; I just checked.” She wasn’t smiling.

Neither was Tucker when he said, “There’s one outside. Watching. Wearing a black leather
jacket.”

Her eyes seemed to flicker slightly. “You saw him?”

“Yes. A few minutes ago, before it started getting dark. Who is he, Sarah?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is he watching you?”

“I don’t know.”

Tucker shook his head. “And yet you aren’t worried about it? I don’t buy that.”

“Why worry about something you can’t change?” She shrugged.

“Then you
do
know why he’s watching.”

Sarah hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I—I don’t know the
why
of any of it. Just the fact of it.”

Baffled, Tucker frowned and watched her turn to get the stew out of the microwave
and put it in a pot on the stove. “So what is the fact of it?” he asked her.

“He’s watching me. He’s waiting. And sooner or later, he’ll do what he came here to
do.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know.”

After a moment, Tucker drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m spending the night,” he said
flatly.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes flickering again. “To guard the
door? To keep the monster out? Don’t bother. You can’t save me from him.”

Her fatalistic attitude irritated Tucker. “At least I’m
willing to try, which is more than I can say for you. Where’s the phone? This is something
Sergeant Lewis should know about.”