"Our boss says it's the universe reminding us that nothing is ever as simple as we think it should be. He's probably right. He usually is."
"Mmm. Do you think I will be able to communicate with her? Or just… receive?"
"No idea."
"Will I mess up anything by trying?"
Jaylene smiled and shrugged. "There aren't any rules, Caitlin. Or not many, at any rate. Do whatever feels best to you at the time."
"Easy for you to say."
"Unfortunately, it is." Jaylene got to her feet, still smiling. "I'll call Luke and let him and Sam know about the warning. In the meantime, the two deputies will be outside keeping an eye on this place. If you need anything, or you feel too uneasy to be alone, let them know."
"I will. Thanks, Jaylene." Caitlin sat there for a long time after the other woman had gone, until it occurred to her that she was waiting-and that this room was going to get very quiet and very boring if she just sat here for hours.
What she needed to do, she decided, was what she would usually do this time of the evening. Call the nearest Chinese take-out place and order her dinner to be delivered and settle in for the night.
Reaching for the phone book in the nightstand drawer, she murmured, "I'm ready when you are, Lindsay."
And she could have sworn the lamp beside her flickered. Just a bit.
Samantha unlocked her motel-room door and came in, saying, "There are two deputies out there keeping an eye on this place; why do you have to be here too?"
"Because they aren't watching you, they're watching Caitlin."
"And because they wouldn't get out of their car to help me if I was on fire?" Samantha waved away his response before he could offer it, adding, "Never mind." She was almost too tired to care. About anything.
"Sam, you heard what that kid told you."
"I heard a lot of things tonight, most of them inside my own head. I'm tired of listening."
"Sam-"
"I'm going to take a long, hot shower. Do us both a favor and don't be here when I get out."
His jaw firmed. "I'm not going anywhere."
Samantha heard a little laugh escape her. "Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you." She got a nightgown from one of the dresser drawers and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. All her toiletries were there, as well as her robe, and she lost no time in stripping off and stepping behind the shower curtain into the tub.
It was after eleven, the usual time she tended to return from the carnival when she was working. And usually, after the hot shower, she ended up lying in bed staring at the TV or reading far into the night. She was a voracious reader, partly due to a stubborn determination to be well-educated despite her lack of formal schooling, and partly out of simple interest.
Letting the hot water stream over her chilled skin, Samantha tried her best to get warm even though she knew the cold came from inside, where no amount of hot water could touch it. It came from that limbo where the visions took her, where even the wispiest bit of precognitive or clairvoyant knowledge came from, a place she had tapped into far too many times today.
She hadn't been lying to Luke. She had heard too much today, and it had left her feeling raw and, for one of the few times in her life, unsure of herself.
So the kidnapper was watching her.
She had expected that, sooner or later, but still…
What was her next move?
She stood under the hot water for a long, long time before finally, reluctantly, getting out and drying off. She towel-dried her hair but didn't do anything more than finger-comb it, put on her nightgown and wrapped herself in the thick terry robe.
As promised, Luke was there when she came out. He was sitting in the so-called reading chair, his feet propped up on the bed, the television tuned, low, to the news.
His holstered gun was on the table near his hand.
That indication of her own vulnerability made Samantha feel even more raw, and she heard herself say tensely, "Don't you have someplace else to be? I mean, isn't there an investigation in full swing right now?"
"It's been a long day for everyone," he reminded her, oddly quiet. "We'll start fresh in the morning."
A little voice in her head warned her that it had been a long day and that decisions made when she was this tired had always, always backfired on her, but Samantha ignored it. No more voices. Not tonight.
"I hated you for a long time," she told Lucas.
He got to his feet slowly. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, don't be sorry. Hating you was better than hurting. I wasn't going to let you hurt me, no matter what. That's why I laughed when you said you hadn't meant to hurt me. You didn't. I didn't let you."
He took a step toward her. "Sam-"
"Don't you dare tell me you're sorry again. Don't you dare."
He took another step toward her, then swore under his breath and yanked her into his arms.
When she could, Samantha murmured, "Took you long enough. Here we are, right back where we left off. In a cheap motel room."
"It wasn't cheap," Lucas said, and pulled her with him down onto the bed.
Samantha had believed she'd forgotten how it felt, his body against hers, his mouth seducing her. That she had forgotten how well they fit together, how his skin burned beneath her touch, how her own body responded to his with a fierce pleasure she had never known before or since.
She had believed she had forgotten.
She hadn't.
Part of her wanted to hold back, to save something of herself, but she had never been able to do that with Luke. And he was just as unrestrained, his mouth eager on hers, hungry on her body, his hands shaking as they touched her. Even his voice, when he murmured her name, sounded rough, urgent, as potent to her senses as any caress.
Two wary, prickly, guarded people forged a connection in the only way they would allow themselves, flesh to flesh and soul to soul. And even as she lost herself in the pleasure of it, Samantha was conscious of an almost wordless hope.
That, this time, it would be enough.
CHAPTER 11
Tuesday, October 2
It was probably around two in the morning when a quiet storm began to rumble outside. Lucas lay in the lamplit room and listened to it, just as he had listened earlier to Samantha's soft breathing.
She slept with the boneless tranquillity of an exhausted child, held close to his side, her dark head pillowed on his shoulder. She fit him perfectly and always had, something that had once made him feel a wordless unease.
He wondered now why he had felt that way. And why he no longer did. Had he changed so much in three years? Or had it been then, as Samantha had said herself, simply a case of lousy timing? Not that the timing now could possibly be better. No one had to tell Lucas that he was not the easiest of personalities, or that he tended to keep others at a distance at the best of times, a trait that was magnified many times over when he was in the middle of an investigation. He was driven, obsessive, often single-minded to the point that he unintentionally shut out those around him. But that was the work, not his personal life.
Is there a difference?
Of course there was. He could separate the two.
Can you?
What had Sam said to him? That he had taken the easy way out, letting Bishop clean up behind him as he moved on and told himself it was for the best? Was that what he'd done?
Could he have been that arrogant? That cruel?
"You should sleep," she murmured.
She had always had that facility, he remembered, able to shift in an instant from deep sleep to full wakefulness. Like a cat, she was more likely to nap for short periods than to sleep heavily through the night, no matter how tired she was.
"I will," he said.
Samantha pushed herself up on an elbow to look at him, solemn. "Your gun's under the pillow, and you have one hand on it. Not exactly relaxed enough for sleep."
After a moment, he slid his hand out from under the pillow and lifted it to cup her cheek. As quiet as she had been, he said, "Christ, Sam, can't you see that you're in danger? The bastard is watching you."