"You weren't sure what you saw when all this started, not about hat. About most of the victims. You saw the devices, the… brutal fficiency of an assembly-line killer. And you saw him operating far beyond Golden once he finished up what he meant to do here. No matter what, we can't allow that to happen."
"I know. I wouldn't be here if I didn't agree with that goal. But the balance started to shift somehow with Lindsay; I picked up that handkerchief at the carnival and saw another victim killed on the day Lindsay died. So why didn't it happen? Why was it Lindsay instead?"
"Maybe because you warned the intended victim."
She hadn't really considered that, but even as she did, Samantha was shaking her head. "I warned Mitchell Callahan, and he still died. No, it's not that simple. It's something else. It feels like something else."
"What does it feel like?"
Frustrated, Samantha snapped, "If I knew that-"
"Okay, okay," Quentin soothed. "Look, all we can do-is all we can do. Maybe you'll figure out what feels wrong as time goes on. Maybe you won't. Either way, it doesn't change the game plan."
Samantha offered a last objection. "I don't like being dishonest with Luke."
"You're not lying to him, just… omitting some things."
"And you're splitting hairs."
Quentin sighed. "Do you want to stop the killer?"
"Dammit, of course I do."
"Then play the cards in front of you, the way you've done since you came to Golden. You don't have a choice, Sam. None of us has a choice now."
Samantha drew a breath and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. If I'm right, we should be getting another message from the kidnapper, but this one written. A taunt, probably connected to another abduction. It'll be Luke's first real chance to try and get inside his head."
"An opportunity we need."
"I know."
Frankly, Quentin asked, "Can you do what needs to be done now that you and Luke are lovers?"
"I'll have to, won't I?"
It was Quentin's turn to nod, but he added even more seriously, "The boss also said to tell you to take it easy and rest when you can. Nosebleeds are never a good sign, not for psychics. You burn out now, and we've lost our rudder."
Wryly, she said, "Yeah, well, just tell the captain to keep a steady hand on the wheel, okay? Because the rudder can't hold to the course without it."
Reflectively, he said, "We're getting deep into metaphor here. Never thought of Bishop as a captain. But…"
"It's too early for word games," she said. "You guys stick close, that's all I'm asking."
"Will do."
Samantha lifted a hand in farewell, then moved quickly back across the street and to the motel. She was able to slip back into her room without any sign that the deputies out front had seen her, and as she closed the door behind her she saw with relief that Lucas was still sleeping deeply.
She wedged the chair back under the doorknob and took off her jacket and shoes but didn't bother to undress; it was after six and would be light soon, so she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
Instead, she got one of the books off her dresser and sat in the eading chair, stretching out her legs and gently resting her feet on he bed. She sat there gazing at Luke's sleeping face for a long ime, then stirred and opened her book.
Softly, she murmured, "You aren't in my future, Luke. Unless I put you there."
Jaylene was still yawning over coffee when Lucas and Samantha rrived, and she knew with one glance that there had been some disagreement.
The observation was confirmed when Samantha said with faint irritation, "Just how long do you think the sheriff will suffer my presence here? Morning, Jay."
Lucas said, "If he wants to argue about it, I'll argue. Whether he likes it or not, we need you. Hey, Jaylene."
"Coffee's fresh," she informed them.
Samantha said, "I should be at the carnival. I have things to do."
"Sam, do we have to keep arguing about this?" He handed her a cup but didn't let go until she met his gaze. "I want you here. I need you here."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, fine."
It might not have been gracious acceptance, but at least it was acceptance, and Lucas was visibly relieved.
Jaylene knew why. Samantha could be rather slippery when she didn't want to be somewhere.
They sat down at the conference table with their coffee, but Lucas barely had time to ask Jaylene if anything new had come in from Quantico-and she barely had time to reply in the negative- when Deputy Champion knocked on the open door.
"Hey," he said. "I thought the sheriff might be in here."
"Haven't seen him." Lucas looked at the younger man, his brows rising. "Something new?"
Champion sighed and hesitated, then said apologetically, "Sheriff said to take anything to him first, but-hell, it's got your name on it."
"What's got my name on it?"
"This." The deputy produced a small manila envelope, which he slid across the table to Lucas. "It was mixed in with the regular mail, so God knows how many people have handled it. I figured anything useful would be inside anyway."
Lucas was staring down at the envelope. "What tipped you off?" he asked.
"No stamp, let alone a postmark." Champion shrugged, hesitated, then turned and left the conference room.
"Luke?" Jaylene was leaning toward him. "What is it?"
"Addressed to me here at the station. Neatly typed. And Champion was right-no stamp. It had to be hand-delivered." He left the table long enough to don latex gloves, saying, "We all know there won't be prints on it, but might as well follow protocol."
Making an observation, Jaylene said, "The flap is fastened but not sealed. And no licked stamp. He's taking no chance of leaving bit of his DNA, is he?"
"He knows better," Samantha said.
Luke nodded in agreement. The two women watched as he arefully opened the fastened but not sealed envelope and drew ut a single page that had been folded only once. He unfolded it on le table, and they could all see it.
"Goddammit," he muttered. "The bastard's just having fun. Why use newsprint when he has a virtually untraceable ink-jet rinter?"
"For the effect," Samantha murmured. "Imagining our faces, And for the hands-on precision of cutting and pasting the letters and words."
Lucas nodded again in absent agreement, even as he bent forward over the note. It looked crude, the words made up of different-size newsprint, but it was brief and to the point.
THERE IS ONLY ONE RULE, LUKE. GUESS WHAT IT IS. I HAVE HIM. IF YOU DON'T FIND HIM IN TIME HE DIES. HAVE A NICE DAY.
"Him?" Lucas looked at the women, frowning. "He's already taken someone? Who?"
There was a long silence, and then Samantha said very quietly, "Maybe we'd better look for the sheriff."
Wyatt Metcalf felt a little groggy and wondered what the hell he'd had to drink before going to bed. He didn't remember much, just the overwhelming urge to get drunk so he could sleep.
Apparently, he'd been successful, because he felt like he'd been sleeping for a hundred years.
He yawned and tried to shift a bit, realizing only then that he couldn't move. His eyelids felt as if they'd been lined with sandpaper, and it took three tries to force them to scrape across his undoubtedly bloodshot eyes and open.
Everything was blurry at first. He blinked painfully until his eyes finally teared a bit so he could see.
What he saw didn't make sense at first. It didn't make sense because it defied belief. Sturdy wood. A rope-no, a cable. And a heavy, gleaming blade of steel.
A guillotine?
Now, what in the world-
He turned his head a little, watching the light glint off that sharp, sharp blade. The blade that was poised to drop.
He didn't really get it until he tried again to move, then craned his head to see as much as he could. What he saw, finally, made sense.
Terrifying sense.
"Oh, shit," he whispered.
CHAPTER 12