“How could you—”
“Feel,” Samantha snapped, her voice intense again. “Damn you, open up and feel.”
Clearly unhappy, Glen Champion said, “Hey, you guys—is this really the time? I mean—”
“You just drive,” Samantha ordered, never taking her eyes off Lucas. “Feel, Luke. Reach out. Open up. Wyatt Metcalf is going to die if you can’t connect with him. Do you really think the kidnapper is going to leave his victim in a place you’re likely to search? No, not this time, not again. He meant you to find Lindsay, meant her to die before you could get there, but he won’t take a chance you might find Metcalf in time, so he’s hidden him from you, very deliberately.”
“I don’t—”
“Where is he, Luke? He won’t be anywhere on the map, on that list you’ve drawn up. He won’t be anywhere you expect. And when time’s run out and Metcalf is dead, you’ll get another taunting message telling you exactly where you can find the body. Do you want that? Do you?”
“Stop.”
Glen jammed his foot on the brake, instinctively obeying the harsh order.
Softly now, Samantha repeated, “Where is he, Luke?”
“North,” Lucas replied slowly.
“At the old mill?”
“No. North.”
“This road is pretty much a straight shot northwest,” Glen said, bewildered. “There isn’t another, at least not for miles.”
“North,” Lucas said again.
Caitlin thought he looked almost hypnotized, not quite there with them but somewhere else. At the same time, his gaze was fixed on Samantha, and there was certainly awareness of her in his eyes.
“How far?” she asked him.
“A mile, maybe.”
“Glen? How long will it take us to cover a mile in this terrain?” She never took her eyes off Lucas.
“Christ, I don’t—experienced hikers in good shape and with the right equipment could do it in an hour or thereabouts. But I don’t know about you guys. North from here is straight up the fucking mountain.”
“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” Samantha said briefly. “Let’s go.”
Caitlin was more than a little surprised to find herself out of the vehicle and going along, climbing up a steep slope with the help of the deputy while Lucas and Samantha led the way. Nobody had told her specifically to go or stay, Caitlin just went, her fascinated gaze fixed whenever possible on the couple ahead.
No longer staring at each other, they were nonetheless connected, holding hands whenever possible but connected in a less tangible and possibly stronger way as Samantha determinedly kept him focused. From time to time Caitlin could hear her calm yet curiously relentless voice, asking the same question again and again.
“What does he feel, Luke?”
Caitlin heard the question asked over and over, but only once did she hear the response. His voice low, haunted, Lucas said, “Terror. He’s afraid. He knows he’s going to die.”
Caitlin shivered and grasped a sapling with one hand, grimly pulling herself up the steep, rocky slope.
14
It was getting cold. Wyatt didn’t know if that was because his surroundings were actually growing colder, or if it was sheer, icy terror.
There was certainly that. He was far, far beyond the point of being able to dampen or ignore it.
His wrists were raw, his body sore from his attempts to free himself from the guillotine, and he was just as securely fastened as he had been hours ago.
Too many hours ago.
There was only half an hour left. Twenty-nine minutes and thirty-odd seconds to go.
Jesus.
It wasn’t enough time. Not enough time to reconcile himself to death. Not enough time to make peace with himself, to think about all the guilts and regrets of his life. Not enough time for what-might-have-beens or what-ifs. It was over.
Just . . . over.
And there wasn’t a single goddamned thing he could do about it.
With that realization, that certainty, Wyatt accepted what was going to happen to him. For the first time, he relaxed, his body going boneless, and his mind was curiously quiet, almost at peace. He heard his own voice speaking aloud and was a little amused by the conversational tone of it.
“Always wondered how I’d face death. Now I know. Not with a bang or a whimper, but just . . . resignation.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lindsay. You’d probably be disappointed in me, wouldn’t you? I bet you were never resigned. I bet you fought with your last breath, didn’t you, baby? I know you didn’t want to die. I know you didn’t want to leave me.”
“They’re coming.”
Wyatt blinked and stared up at the blade suspended over him. He could have sworn he’d heard her voice, though whether in his head or out loud he couldn’t have said. “I guess a dying man hears what he wants to hear.”
“Idiot. They’re coming. Just a few more minutes.”
He frowned slightly, and said, “I don’t think my own imagination would call me an idiot. Although—”
“Just hold on.”
“Lindsay? Is that you?”
Silence.
“Didn’t think so. I don’t believe in ghosts. Don’t think I even believe in heaven, though it would be nice to believe you were waiting for me somewhere beyond this life.”
“Don’t be maudlin.”
Wyatt found himself grinning. “Now, that sounds like my Lindsay. Come to keep me company in my final moments, baby?”
“You aren’t going to die. Not now.”
Deciding he was probably just quietly hysterical rather than being as calm as he’d thought, Wyatt said, “Twenty minutes left on the clock, babe. And I don’t hear the cavalry.”
He didn’t hear her voice again either, though he did try to listen for it. And hoped for it. Because there were, he thought, worse things to take into death than the voice of the woman he loved.
When Lucas stopped suddenly, it caught Caitlin off guard. She leaned against an oak tree, trying to get her ragged breathing under control, and stared at the two just a couple of yards ahead of her. Her legs felt like rubber, there was a stitch in her side, and she couldn’t remember ever being this weary.
They had finally reached the top of the ridge they had spent more than two hours climbing and from this position could see across a fairly level clearing to where the mountain again began rising steeply upward.
Caitlin stared up at that vast, looming shape and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t go on. Not up that . . . thing. She was just about to gather the breath to tell the others, when she heard Samantha speak.
“Luke? What is it?” She sounded remarkably calm and not the least bit breathless.
“He’s not afraid anymore.”
Samantha frowned up at him. “But you can still feel him?”
“Yeah. But he’s calm. Not afraid anymore.”
Glen looked at his watch and said desperately, “We’ve got less than fifteen minutes. Where is he?”
Lucas turned his head and looked briefly at the deputy, frowning, then began moving forward again, faster. “Over there. The mine.”
“There’s a mine up here?” Glen sounded surprised, but then followed that question with a disgusted, “Oh, Christ, I forgot all about the old mine on Six Point Creek. It closed down when my grandfather was a kid.”
Caitlin, somehow finding the strength to hurry along with the others, was about to ask where the creek was when she nearly fell into it. Swearing under her breath, she followed the others as they jumped from rock to rock to cross the twenty-foot-wide, fairly shallow stream.
The entrance to the mine lay nearly hidden behind what looked like a thicket of honeysuckle, and all Caitlin could think was that it had to be really, really dark in there.
Glen paused long enough to shrug out of the backpack he’d grabbed from the ATV, and quickly handed out big police flashlights. He started to draw his weapon, but Lucas spoke, his voice certain.
; “Nobody’s here except Wyatt. At least . . .”
Hesitating with a hand on his gun, Glen said, “At least what? Has he booby-trapped the place?”
Lucas seemed to be listening, and after a brief moment, he turned on his flashlight and shoved the tangle of vines aside to enter the mine. “No. No trap. Let’s go.”
The mine shaft was fairly clear of debris and angled slightly upward into the mountain, with plenty of room for them all to move freely. They traveled probably sixty or eighty feet in a straight line, and then the shaft turned sharply to the right—and widened considerably into a sort of cavern.
They saw the light then, bright and harsh and focused on the deadly, eerie guillotine and its captive.
Both Glen and Lucas, cops acting on instinct, rushed forward. Caitlin leaned a hand against the damp wall, feeling decidedly weak with relief—because that gleaming blade was still suspended above Wyatt. Still, she didn’t think she breathed normally until she was certain that Glen held the cable so that the blade remained securely up while Lucas was unfastening the straps holding the sheriff prisoner.
She looked to the side then and saw that Samantha also had paused for a moment. There was just enough light for her to see the other woman lift a shaking hand briefly to her face, and then Samantha was moving forward and speaking calmly.
“Can I help?”
Lucas was easing up the wooden block pinning Wyatt’s neck to the table, and said, “Got it, I think. Wyatt—”
The sheriff lost no time in sitting up, removing himself from harm’s way. He slid to the edge of the table so that he was sitting on it. He was pale and haggard, but there was also a peculiar peace in his face. “The cavalry did come,” he said, only a slight quiver in his voice. “How about that.”
Then he turned his head, and they all followed his gaze to watch the nearby clock’s digital readout counting relentlessly down. Nobody said a word as the last two minutes on the timer ran out—and Glen found himself suddenly supporting the weight of the heavy steel blade as a soft click announced the release of the cable. He carefully eased the blade down until it rested in the stained groove of the table.
“Shit,” Wyatt said in a wondering voice. “I thought I was a dead man.”
“You almost were,” Lucas said. He went to study the clock, which was actually attached to a metal rod hanging downward from the lighting. “And the bastard really wanted you to know it, didn’t he?”
“I’ll never look at a clock the same way again.” Wyatt frowned slightly as first Samantha and then Caitlin entered the circle of bright light. “Hey. Where the hell are we, anyway?”
“The old Six Point Creek mine,” Glen told him, sounding considerably relieved. “And if you’ll all excuse me, I need to get out of here so I can radio the other search teams. Assuming I can get a signal out here, that is.” He hurried away.
Still eyeing the women, Wyatt said, “What are you two doing here?”
Lucas immediately said, “If it hadn’t been for them, we would never have found you in time.”
“Yeah? Did Lindsay talk to one of you?”
They all looked at him in surprise, and it was Caitlin who said somewhat hesitantly, “She talked to me. Sort of. Left me a note.”
“Which pointed us in this direction,” Samantha said. “After that, it was Luke connecting to you that got us here.”
Wyatt flinched slightly, and said to Lucas in a wry tone, “I won’t talk about it if you won’t.”
“Done,” Lucas said immediately.
Samantha said, “Did Lindsay talk to you, Sheriff?”
Surprising them all again, Wyatt replied firmly, “You know, I think she did. Could have been my imagination, of course, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. She told me you were coming.”
Samantha wanted to ask him if that was why he’d stopped being afraid, but didn’t. Whatever Wyatt Metcalf had experienced here in this dark and lonely mine with a clock counting down and a steel blade set to end his life was his own business.
Instead, she said, “It’ll be dark by the time we get back down to the truck. Luke, I know you want to examine this place—”
“That can wait,” he responded. “We’ll send a couple of deputies to keep an eye on things tonight, then come back first thing in the morning with the CSU team. Not that I expect them to find anything useful. Wyatt, I don’t suppose you saw the bastard?”
“Didn’t even hear him. As far as I could tell, when I woke up this place was deserted. Except for me.”
“He’s being very careful,” Samantha noted. “He talked to Lindsay. Talked to most of the other victims, didn’t he?”
“We can’t know for sure,” Lucas told her. “Only the first victim survived to tell us.”
“Can’t legally know for sure, but you know, don’t you?”
He looked at her for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he talked to all of them, at least up to a point.”
“Then left them to die alone.”
Lucas nodded.
Samantha eyed the sheriff and said slowly, “I wonder why you were different? Maybe . . . because you would have recognized him? Even his voice?”
“It’s certainly a possibility,” Lucas said. “A change in M.O. at this late stage has to mean something.”
“Can we talk about it after we get off this mountain?” Wyatt requested. “I feel the need for fresh air—and maybe a nice, hot shower. And a cup of coffee. And a big steak.”
No one was about to argue with him. They left the cavern exactly as it was, bright lights blazing, and used their flashlights to illuminate the way back to the mouth of the mine. When they reached it, they found Glen about to enter. He had made contact with one of the other search teams, so the word was being passed that Sheriff Metcalf had been found alive and was safe.
“They’ll meet us back at the station,” he said.
“Good enough,” Wyatt replied. “I say we get the hell out of Dodge. I’ve had more than enough of this place.”
From his vantage point near the sheriff’s department, he saw the search teams begin to return and instantly knew something was wrong. Some of the cops were smiling, and all looked far less upset than they would have been had their search been fruitless or their sheriff’s body been found.
He checked his watch and swore under his breath, then settled down to wait.
It was nearly an hour later when the last search team returned. In the harsh lights of the sheriff’s department parking lot, he saw them get out of the hulking ATV, with media shouting questions and flashbulbs popping. And he saw the sheriff, who had obviously taken the time to shower and change after his ordeal.
Wyatt Metcalf was alive.
Alive.
The search team that had found the sheriff disappeared rather quickly into the building without stopping to answer questions, as did Metcalf—after making a stale joke about the reports of his death being greatly exaggerated.
Watching, teeth gritted unconsciously, he knew all he needed to know. On this move, at least, they had won.
Luke.
Caitlin Graham.
And Samantha Burke.
He discounted the deputy automatically, knowing there was no threat from him. But the others . . .
What was the Graham woman’s part in all this? It bothered him that he didn’t know, that he hadn’t expected her to turn up here in Golden. That he hadn’t even known Lindsay Graham had a sister.
It was what came of changing his plans, he knew that much, though at the time he hadn’t seen another choice.
He hadn’t intended to take Lindsay Graham, and from almost the moment he had, things had felt . . . wrong. He had the uneasy idea that from the instant he had decided not to take Carrie Vaughn—principally because it had both irritated and surprised him that the carnival “seer” had figured out who his target was and had warned the woman, following that surprise by managing to somehow convince the sheriff to watch her—that his mastery over events had slipped, if only
a bit.
He really hadn’t expected the sheriff to listen to Samantha, whatever she told him. Metcalf was a hard-nosed cop who had no patience with carnival seers; everything in his past and professional record said as much. Just as Samantha Burke’s past involvement with the police indicated both her lack of credibility in the eyes of law-enforcement officials and her reluctance to involve herself in anything outside her carnival world.
She had been an active participant in an investigation only once, three years before, and the disastrous ending of that—both the investigation and her turbulent, short-lived relationship with Luke Jordan—had sent her fleeing back to the safety of the Carnival After Dark.
She had seemed a handy tool, not because he believed that she could see the future but because of the personal turmoil she would undoubtedly cause Luke, and the media storm she was likely to attract to the investigation. So he had lured her here, intent on using her in that way. To keep Luke off balance and draw his attention away from his job.
It was, he had decided, a necessary step to take once the game settled here in Golden. He no longer had the advantage of moving constantly, forcing Luke to follow after him. So he needed Samantha’s presence to keep his opponent just that little bit distracted and unfocused.
To tip the odds more in his own favor.
But her behavior had been unexpected from the beginning. And rather than distract Luke, or rattle him with the unexpected presence of a discarded lover, she seemed rather to have insinuated herself both into the investigation—and back into Luke’s bed.
And instead of being the distraction he had planned her to be, it appeared that she was actually helping Luke.
He didn’t understand that. He understood how pain and fear could—for want of a better phrase—call out to anyone with the right makeup to be able to hear: the simple electromagnetic energy of emotions and thoughts alive in the very air around him made perfect sense to him. It was an ability he understood, not so much paranormal as it was a sharply enhanced extension of otherwise normal senses.
He even understood, because he had made it his business to, how and why Luke’s ability was a difficult one for the man to control at all, far less master. And why it drained him physically, exhausted him.