Ben did as she asked without comment, and by the time she was ready to leave, so was he. He joined her at the front door, picking up a small leather bag she hadn't noticed sitting by the stairs. Cassie didn't ask, but he explained anyway.
"Since my days in the circuit court, I've always carried a packed overnight bag with me in the Jeep. I never knew when I might have to spend a night away from home."
Cassie set the security system without comment, and they went out to his Jeep. The silence between them was not a comfortable one, and it was broken only once between her house and their arrival at the Sheriff's Department.
"What can I do to teach you to trust me?" Ben asked.
Cassie didn't tell him that if she had not already trusted him, she would never have been able to accept him as a lifeline.
He'll destroy you.
It was probably already too late, but she had to try. No matter how much it hurt.
"Nothing," she answered.
Abby had listened to the radio all morning, but the local station reported hour by hour that the missing Ryan's Bluff teenager had not yet been found. The Sheriff's Department was asking that anyone with any knowledge or information please come forward, and in the meantime urged everyone to remain calm. Deputies were out in force.
Abby was restless. She hadn't talked to Matt since the previous evening and had slept badly, yet she had been up with the chickens despite feeling tired and out of sorts. She had busied herself all morning by performing her usual weekend chores, but all the housecleaning and washing was done long before noon, and nothing else served to occupy her attention.
The weather was dreary, cold, and overcast, threatening some kind of precipitation all morning, and the last of the snow clung to spots here and there as if inviting more to join it. The radio said the roads were clear but followed that report by stating that the Sheriff's Department was asking everyone to stay off the roads unless they had to be out.
Abby could imagine the calls Matt must be getting, from panicky citizens to furious merchants; no matter what he did, somebody would be unhappy with him, and if he couldn't quickly make the streets safe for everyone…
She was worried about him. He hadn't bargained for this kind of situation, and nothing in his experience had prepared him for it. He was an intelligent man and a shrewd cop, and he would not make many mistakes – but those he made would be out of the conviction that he knew what was best for the town.
The problem was, in this situation there was no "best," no right answer for the town – except to catch a particularly brutal, undoubtedly insane killer.
Abby went cold just thinking of Matt in that confrontation. Because he would be there, of course. If they were able to locate the killer, Matt would be first through the door – not because it was his job, but because it was his nature.
The phone rang, and Abby went eagerly to answer it, hoping Matt had found a moment to call. She really needed to hear his voice.
"Hello?"
No one responded, but the line was not silent. Instead, there were sounds of breathing, faint but unmistakable.
"Hello?" Abby repeated, unease growing. "Is anybody there?"
"Abby."
Just that, just her name whispered. Then a click, and the dial tone.
Ben felt as well as saw Cassie stiffen the moment she preceded him into Matt's office. But that was her only visible reaction as she looked at the man lounging against the filing cabinet beside the sheriff's desk.
"Hello, Bishop," she said, calm.
"Cassie." The well-dressed man with the sharp gray eyes smiled, an expression that did not lend the slightest bit of charm to his scarred face.
As Cassie settled into the visitor's chair farthest away from Bishop, Matt introduced Ben to the agent, his own feelings clear in the flatness of his voice.
Ben wasn't dismayed to find an FBI agent in his town, but he was wary – though not for the same reason Matt was. "Agent Bishop," he said as they shook hands.
"Judge Ryan."
When Matt nodded toward the other visitor's chair, Ben took it. There was a leather sofa along the wall beside Bishop, and Ben wondered if the agent remained on his feet because he felt it gave him a tactical advantage.
Matt said, "Agent Bishop found out about our situation here thanks to newspaper archives and a North Carolina database."
"And came to offer his expertise?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Bishop said, "This isn't an official visit, Judge. As a matter of fact, I'm currently on a sabbatical."
"I wasn't aware the Bureau offered its agents sabbaticals."
"It's an uncommon practice. It might be more accurate to say that I had accrued a substantial amount of vacation and leave time over the years."
Ben glanced at a silent and distant Matt, then looked at Cassie, who was gazing at Matt's desk. The tension in her slight body was visible, even though her face remained expressionless.
Ben had the feeling he was the only one in the room who didn't know what was going on.
"Okay," he said, returning his gaze to the agent. "So how does that explain your presence here? Just happened to be in the area, or is chasing after serial killers a hobby of yours?"
"You might say that chasing after alleged psychics is a hobby of mine."
"Alleged?"
"That's right. There are so many charlatans, you know. So many so-called telepaths whose claims can't be scientifically documented."
"He means me." Cassie looked up for the first time, her gaze fixing on Bishop. "I don't perform well in a laboratory setting." Her voice was cool.
"That's one way of putting it," Bishop murmured.
"The tests were poorly designed and you know it. But it was my fault for even agreeing to be tested." Her shoulders lifted and fell. "I've stopped trying to prove myself to you, Bishop."
"Have you?"
Two pairs of gray eyes locked together, and Ben could almost feel the struggle of wills. Then Cassie looked at Matt and said, "I don't know what he's told you, but I can guess he had nothing good to say about me. Want to hear my side of the story?"
Matt nodded.
"Okay. A couple of years ago Agent Bishop was called into a missing persons case in San Francisco. The missing woman's husband was quite wealthy and politically powerful, which was why the FBI was called in even though there was no evidence of a kidnapping. Days went by, then weeks, but neither the police nor Bishop and his people could find a trace of the lady.
"Her sister, in the meantime, contacted me. She had heard of me through mutual acquaintances, and believed I might be able to help find her sister. So I flew to San Francisco and went to the house where the missing woman had lived."
"And?" Matt prompted.
"And I knew she was dead." In a wry tone she added, "The police were, naturally, suspicious when I made that claim. But when they started looking for a body, they found one. Just where the husband had dumped it."
"He hasn't gone to trial yet," Bishop said.
"You know and I know he killed her."
"Maybe."
Cassie glanced at the agent, then returned her gaze to Matt. "At any rate, Agent Bishop asked me to allow myself to be tested. I refused, and went back to L.A."
"Why did you refuse?" Matt asked.
"Advice from my mother. It was her belief that until medical science learned a lot more about the brain, psychic ability would never be understood. What science cannot understand it tends to try its best to disprove. The whole process leads to a great deal of tension and pressure, both of which interfere with psychic ability."
Bishop made a skeptical sound.
Cassie didn't rise to the bait. "Anyway, as I said, I went home. A couple of months later I was asked to advise in a murder case. And Agent Bishop turned up – like a bad penny."
"I resent that," he murmured.
Cassie ignored him. "It was a difficult case complicated even more by the fact that I had the flu and should have refused to get involved. That's no excuse, but it is part of the reason I failed."