“Seem to be. Not even tired, really.” She looked at him as Luke sat beside her, and said, “Okay, so I’m a little tired. And I have a mild headache. But that was . . . wild. Luke, you still couldn’t sense Nessa, could you? Even after I made contact through Jonah.”
“Not so much as a twinge.”
“That’s what I thought. And I know why. It’s not our unsub blocking you. I’m not sure if she learned it on her own or somebody taught her to, but Nessa knows how to overlay a still, calm surface on her mind. Like one of our shields, but completely organic and natural to her. You couldn’t sense her fear or pain because it was underneath that surface.”
“Jonah could feel it,” Luke objected. “He said her feet were cold.”
“But he didn’t feel that. He was just reporting what she was thinking. That was the only thing she would allow out. Just thoughts, not feelings.”
“Then how was Jonah—how were you both, I guess—able to home in on her like that?”
“Jonah was the one sensing where she was, and I really think it was that blood connection. Maybe just because it’s such an incredibly rare type of blood, and only the two of them have it here. We’ve always thought of our blood as simply the blood we were born with, nothing more. But now . . . I think maybe Bishop is going to have to add a few new suggestions for the scientists to study.”
“But you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She frowned as they heard thunder again. “I’m really hoping we don’t get a nasty storm, though. It’ll be hard to see even slashes on trees if the rain is falling hard enough.”
Luke got up and headed for one of the computer stations. “I’m going to check the weather. And then I’m going to have one of the analysts really dig into the backgrounds of these six people. And Jonah’s as well.”
“Oh, he’s not going to like that.”
“He will if we can point him to the unsub.”
“Especially before dark. What time is it, anyway?”
“A bit after three,” Lucas said, glancing at the clock on the computer’s toolbar.
“Does it feel to you like we’ve been here a week?”
“At least. Hmmm. Storm’s all around us, but I’m not sure if we’ll actually get wet.”
“We’ll hope it stays away at least until Jonah finds Nessa.”
Lucas looked over at her curiously. “You’re certain he will.”
“Yeah. Those two are connected. I have no idea if either will decide to use the connection, or even explore it. The difference in their ages is going to keep Jonah at more than arm’s length, and I’m not sure Nessa wants to be . . . different . . . from her friends. She’s at that age.”
Luke nodded, then returned his attention to the computer screen. “You covered the camera with tape again, didn’t you?”
“Yes. We know hackers can remote-activate those cameras. I don’t like not knowing if someone is watching.”
Lucas sighed but didn’t remove the tape from the computer’s camera. Instead, he talked to the technical analyst he could see, rapidly giving him all the names and information he had on the missing people—and on Jonah.
“You want everything I can dig up?” the tech asked.
“Everything. On every one of them.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be back when I have something.”
Luke turned in his chair to find Samantha wandering around the room. Except that the wandering looked like pacing. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I just have a bad feeling.”
“Nessa?”
“No, actually. I think Jonah is going to find her, and that she’ll be in pretty good shape, all things considered.”
“Then, what?”
“This thing started long before we got here. And it’s pretty obvious that whoever this unsub is, he has a connection to Jonah. Or to one of the people Jonah saved. It just doesn’t make sense any other way.”
“Okay. So?”
“He tried to get in my head—we think—and failed. He got into Robbie’s head and mixed up her memories. He got into Sarah’s head and gave her new memories.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“To test us maybe?”
“Well . . . granted we’ve barely been here twenty-four hours, hard as that is to believe, but a lot has happened. If he’s testing anybody, I’d think it was Jonah. Now, maybe he doesn’t know Jonah is a latent; you have to be a pretty strong psychic yourself to pick up latents. Maybe he was probing us to find out if he could use any of us to . . . hurt Jonah.”
“You think that’s the point of this? To hurt Jonah?”
“To destroy him, more like. We’ve both seen how connected he is to this town. If there’s somebody out there who is convinced—delusional or sane—that Jonah has somehow wronged him, then all this has to be happening for that reason.
“Did Nessa get away because she was able to—or because he let her? If there is a trail back to where the others were kept, what will we find? Nessa heard them breathing. You haven’t picked up on any fear, so I’m betting he’s keeping them sedated. But not so he can control them. I think he’s keeping them like that because he knows Jonah’s been driving himself into the ground trying to find these people. And when he does find them, the others, I think what he finds will be meant to shock and horrify him.”
“Torture?”
“No. Jonah knows this town. These people. I think the unsub wants to torment Jonah with . . . games. If Jonah finds Nessa, and in finding her is able to find the others, then Jonah wins. But it’ll come at a price. The people Jonah cares about are going to be the ones paying the price.”
“Then this isn’t over,” Lucas said.
“I think it’s just beginning,” Samantha said. “At least as far as the unsub’s concerned. And if we don’t stop him . . . I think a lot of people are going to get hurt.”
—
DANTE THOUGHT HE might have slept an hour or three. Surely no longer than that, judging by how he felt. He tried to go back to sleep, but things were tickling at the back of his mind, bothering him, and sleep just wouldn’t come. Finally, he got up and showered and shaved. Pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, since he wasn’t supposed to be back on the clock until midnight.
He was hoping that if he ordered just the right snack from room service, maybe it would help him sleep. Maybe.
Anything was worth a try.
He walked into the common area of the two-bedroom suite, surprised to find Robbie standing at one of the windows, looking out.
“You should be asleep,” he said, adding immediately, “Did I hear it thunder a little while ago?”
“Yes, you did.”
She turned to face him, wearing a hotel robe, her hair piled on top of her head as though in preparation for a shower.
The gun was . . . extra.
Dante had never had a gun pointed at him like that, not for real, not by somebody he knew whose face was all . . . wrong.
“Robbie—”
“Good-bye, Dante.”
The gun went off with an ungodly roar, Dante felt something like a two-by-four slam into his chest, and then everything went dark.
SEVENTEEN
Robbie stumbled back from Dante’s doorway, shocked through to her bones. It took her several minutes to get her heart to slow down, but her hands were still shaking when she examined her gun. It didn’t smell as if it had been fired. She removed the clip and found it full of ammo. Chamber empty.
She wanted to put the gun back in its holster but held it just in case as she slowly eased open the door of Dante’s bedroom.
He was sound asleep. Snoring. Clearly one of those restless sleepers, he was sprawled across the bed diagonally with the covers bunched oddly here and there but decently covering him.
After a long moment of listening to him, alive and breathing, Robbie eased the door shut and went back out into the sitting area of their suite.