"Hey, watch the tone," he snapped right back. "We're in the office, not at your place or mine, and I damned well outrank you."
"Then fire my ass if you want to, but stop acting like an idiot," she told him. "Wyatt, she's not involved. You know that, and I know that. We wasted a hell of a lot of time yesterday trying to break her alibi, and we couldn't do it."
"That doesn't mean-"
"What? That she isn't involved?" Lindsay counted off facts on her fingers. "She didn't know Mitch Callahan. She's been in Golden barely two weeks. She has absolutely no criminal record. There is no trace anywhere around Samantha Burke or that carnival of the ransom money. Absolutely no forensic evidence ties her to the place where Callahan was grabbed or to his body and where it was dumped. And lastly, in case you hadn't noticed, she's not exactly a bodybuilder, and Callahan was a martial-arts expert twice her size. We didn't find a sign of a gun or other weapon in her possession, remember?"
"She did not see the future," he said grimly.
"I don't know what she saw. But I do know she didn't kidnap or murder Mitch Callahan."
"You can't know that, Lindsay."
"Yeah, Wyatt, I can know that. Fifteen years as a police officer tells me that. And nearly twenty years as a cop would be telling you the same goddamned thing if you'd just get past this rampant hatred of anybody you perceive as a con artist and look at the facts."
The sheriff stared at her.
Lindsay calmed down, but her voice was still flat and certain when she went on. "It'd be easier and a lot less painful to blame something like this on an outsider, and she's certainly that. She's an easy target, Wyatt. But, just for the sake of argument, what if you're wrong? What if she had nothing to do with it?"
"She's a viable suspect."
"No, she isn't. Maybe she was Saturday or yesterday, but we know now she couldn't have done it. She flat-out couldn't have. Yet you still had her brought in to answer more questions. And how many reporters are lounging around keeping an eye on the comings and goings here at the station? How many saw her brought in?"
His jaw tightened even more. "A few."
"Uh-huh. And just what do you think the anxious and worried people of Golden are going to do when they read in the papers that an avowed fortune-teller from a little carnival just passing through town is under suspicion for the kidnapping and murder of a local man?"
Metcalf was beginning to look unhappy, and not just because Lindsay was telling him how he should be doing his job. He was unhappy because she had to tell him. "Shit."
Quiet now, Lindsay said, "She doesn't deserve what might happen to her because of this. All she did was try to warn us. We didn't believe her, and I doubt we could have stopped the kidnapping even if we had. But either way, she doesn't deserve to have a target painted on her back."
He struggled with himself for a moment, then said, "It's not possible to see the future."
"A hundred years ago, it wasn't possible to land on the moon. Things change."
"You're comparing apples and oranges. Landing on the moon was science. Physics, engineering. Touching something and seeing into the future is…"
"Today's new-age voodoo, yeah, maybe. And maybe tomorrow's science." Lindsay sighed. "Look, I'm not saying I believe she did what she says she did. I'm just saying that there's a hell of a lot more going on in this world than we understand-today. More than science understands today. And in the meantime, all our police science and procedure says that lady didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping, and common decency as well as due process says we let her off the hook unless and until that changes."
"Christ, I hate it when you're right."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "And I love it when you admit that. The thing is, you have to go back into that conference room with two FBI agents and one maybe-psychic and try to salvage the situation."
"There's nothing to salvage. I might have gone overboard, but-"
"Have I ever told you how pigheaded you are?"
"Yes. Look, I am not going to apologize to her."
Lindsay shrugged. "So don't. Just move on. Maybe she'll be the gracious one."
"You're pushing it," he warned her.
Lindsay turned toward the door, saying dryly, "Just trying to make sure you get reelected. I like sleeping with the boss."
"What did you expect me to do?" Lucas demanded of Samantha, his voice a bit tight.
"Oh, I don't know. Vouch for me? Confirm that I am, in fact, a genuine psychic, all tested and validated and everything? Maybe say that even the FBI has legitimized psychics, so the good sheriff might want to table his hostility and pay attention."
It was Jaylene who murmured, "We had pretty much decided not to go into detail about the unit or our abilities."
"Right. And of course that decision had nothing to do with me showing up."
"No, it didn't," Lucas said.
"Bullshit. There can't be any taint of carnivals or roadside fortune-tellers to sully your precious unit's serious reputation; you don't have to remind me of that."
"Even you have to admit Metcalf would have taken you a lot more seriously if he hadn't seen a picture of you in that wild gypsy outfit."
"I wasn't born independently wealthy, Luke; I have to make a living. Please excuse me for using the only skill I have in the only way available to me. At the time, I really didn't have a whole lot of options."
"And I don't have a lot now, dammit. We're investigating a series of fatal kidnappings, Samantha, and we do not have time to educate every cop we have to work with in the reality of psychic abilities. Sometimes the best we can do is get in, do our jobs, and move on with as little discussion as possible."
"You're good at that, as I recall. Moving on without discussion."
Whatever Lucas might have replied to that cutting comment was lost-at least for the moment-as the sheriff and his detective returned to the room.
"Any progress?" Lindsay asked cheerfully.
Jaylene murmured, "Not so you'd notice."
Lindsay lifted an eyebrow at her, but said to Samantha, "If there's nothing else you can tell us, we won't keep you any longer."
"Yes, you will." Samantha sat up straighter in her chair and looked at the sheriff. "You'll put me in your jail or under house arrest with a couple of watchdogs-or I'll sit out in your damned lobby where everyone can see me."
"Why?" he asked warily.
"Because there's going to be another kidnapping. And considering the way people are beginning to look at me around here, I'd really rather not continue to be a suspect in anybody's mind."
Lucas was on his feet immediately. "Another? Christ, why didn't you say something before now?"
"Because she's not in danger yet," Samantha replied.
"How do you know that?"
"The vision. I saw her tied to a chair in what looked like a small, windowless room, and on a desk nearby was a newspaper with this coming Thursday's date. I think he'll send a photo of her with the newspaper, to prove she's alive when he demands the ransom. I think he'll expect to be doubted, especially after Callahan was found dead."
"So you know he'll have her on Thursday," Lucas said. "What's to stop him from grabbing her tonight or tomorrow?"
"He never does, does he? Grabs them late on Wednesday or early Thursday, and always makes the ransom demand on Thursday to give the family just enough time to get the money."
"That's the pattern," Lucas said grimly. "Want to tell me how you know about it?"
"Wait a minute," Metcalf interrupted. "Do you know who she is? What she looks like?"
"This time I made damned sure I found out who she is."
"How?" Lucas asked.
"In the vision, she was wearing a shirt with the logo of a local softball team on it. Turns out she's the assistant coach. Carrie Vaughn. She lives out on Highway 221.I tried to warn her a couple of hours ago, but I got the feeling she didn't believe she could be in any danger."
"Get somebody out there," Metcalf said to Lindsay. "I'd rather be embarrassed than sorry later."