The First Prophet (45 page)

Then he understood.

He almost turned around and retreated then. But she did know him better than he knew
himself, because Sarah never hesitated. She led him through the graveyard to the very
back, where a big oak tree stood bare-limbed in the cold October air.

There were two headstones placed where they would
be shaded in the summer. Side by side. One was the standard size for a headstone.
The other one was…very small.

Sarah had been right. Here was where something had ended.

She left him there by the graves, slipping away silently so he could be alone to say
his good-byes to Lydia.

And the son she had named after him.

Sarah stood on the sidewalk in front of the church and looked vaguely down on the
small town of Holcomb. It was still early, but the town was awake, people moving along
the sidewalks, in and out of stores and the small café and the bank.

She wasn’t really aware of time passing but thought it was probably at least an hour
later when Tucker came up behind her. He slipped his arms around her, and she relaxed
back against him.

“All right?” she asked.

“Yes. Finally.” His cheek rubbed against her hair. “Thank you.”

She felt his inner sense of peace, the relief of a burden long carried finally lifted
from him, so Sarah didn’t have to ask anything more. Instead, looking down on the
town, she said, “Look at them. Going about their business as if nothing has changed.
As if nothing is different.”

“For them,” Tucker said, “nothing is. Not yet, at least.” He took her hand, and they
walked back down the hill together.

Miranda Bishop closed the folder and returned it to her husband. “Are you sure this
is something we need to monitor?”

“Aren’t you?”

She hesitated, then swore beneath her breath. “None of our people have been touched
by this. None of the Haven operatives. Maybe because we’re too visible as and to law
enforcement?”

“That’s one of the unanswered questions. I don’t like unanswered questions.”

“Just what you’ve found out so far…there are some damned powerful psychics out there.
We don’t have any agents or operatives who can do what Sarah Gallagher can do. If
they manage to teach her better control, who knows what she’s truly capable of.”

Bishop nodded. “And we have no way of knowing—yet—how many others are out there with
powerful abilities. Within this…network, or on the other side, being somehow used.
More unanswered questions.”

Miranda was frowning. “I know you let yourself be seen this time, and I know why,
but I think we need to be very careful. A psychic they assumed to be safe turned out
to be a target; we can’t make the same assumption about our people. Or about us.”

“Especially,” Bishop agreed, “if they really do have a traitor in their midst. We
both know how damaging just the suspicion of a traitor can be when our lives depend
on the teammates we expect to be watching our backs. The stakes are just as high for
them. Maybe higher.”

“So…we wait and watch. Gather information when we can, as quietly as we can. Keep
our own people close. And don’t stick our noses in unless and until we know what’s
really going on. Or know we can help the network somehow.”

“It seems the best way to handle this, at least for now, and unless something changes.”

“You trust Murphy.”

Slowly, Bishop said, “I think Murphy has more secrets than her allies know about,
her contact with me being one of them. But is she a traitor to their cause? I’d be
surprised if she turned out to be that. On the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised
to find out she has her own agenda.”

“Another unanswered question?”

“Another piece of the puzzle, at least. We just have to
figure out where the pieces go. What the big picture really is.”

“Oh, is that all?” His wife’s tone was dry.

“Another challenge,” Bishop noted with a faint smile. “Whatever the truth is, whatever
that big picture turns out to be, we’ll be ready when the time comes.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Miranda responded. “We’ll be ready. I’m just not sure the rest
of the world will be.”

“No,” Bishop said. “Neither am I.” He tapped the edge of the folder against his hand
and repeated slowly, “Neither am I.”