Sarah finally nodded. “I told Caroline and Matt they needed to stay here. Just in case. And whatever relatives aren’t out putting up those flyers before dark will stay here and make sure they aren’t left alone. I’ll stop at the station and send one of our people to stand guard at the front door; it’s probably useless security-wise, but at least the family will know we’re nearby.”
“Okay. Thanks. Go home and get some rest.”
She nodded, then left Jonah and the agents standing in the side of the open-concept space that was the living area.
“She’s a good cop,” Jonah said, keeping his voice low. “Sarah was the one to notice there was a defined perimeter around all the outdoor sites where someone went missing.” He paused, then added, “Neither one of you has said—not that you had the chance, really—but I gather there’s no unusual energy here.”
Samantha shook her head. “The opposite of what it should be, just like at the theater. The inside spaces are clear—and the outside spaces are holding on to energy that should have dissipated long before now.” She was studying the area even as she spoke, frowning slightly.
“Energy from what?” Jonah asked. “Tell me how someone or something could have taken these people? It’s like something swooped down out of the sky and carried them away—except that two of them vanished even with roofs over their heads.”
“I don’t have a clue,” Samantha said frankly.
Jonah eyed her. “I was looking for something a little more helpful.”
“Sorry. Though there is still a chance I can pick up some kind of useful information yet.”
“How?”
Luke didn’t appear very happy about it, but said, “Sam is a very powerful touch clairvoyant and seer, remember? Even though she’s sensed energy in some of these places, her true ability is that she picks up knowledge from touching objects involved in crimes, or the belongings of victims.”
Jonah eyed her again, curiously now. “Always?”
Sam shook her head. “Had this thing most of my life, and still can’t really control it. But like most of us, I’ve found that the more traumatic or violent the event, the more likely I am to pick up something.”
A rather unreadable expression in her very dark eyes nevertheless gave Jonah the impression that whatever she “picked up” from those violent or traumatic events was usually not pleasant, but he didn’t question. He figured that time and observation would answer at least some of his questions. So he merely nodded.
“Okay. Well, anything we could even remotely classify as evidence is bagged up back at the station. I’ll have it sent next door to our makeshift command center. I assume we’d all rather you not . . . try to pick up information in a police station.”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice, no.”
Luke looked at her, frowning. “Are you sure you shouldn’t rest first, Sam?”
She smiled faintly. “We made a deal, remember? Even if I collapse at your feet—which admittedly I’ve already done once today—I still get to decide if I’m okay to try to use my abilities. As long as I’m conscious, my decision.”
“I have veto power.”
“Yeah, but only if I’m showing signs of too much strain. Nosebleed, sensitivity to light, pounding headache. I don’t have any of those. So I get to decide.”
Because he couldn’t help himself, Jonah looked at the very intense fed and said, “How on earth did she get you to agree to that?” Then he remembered these two were married and added hastily, “Never mind, nosy question.”
Luke took his wife’s hand, neither of them seeming anything but amused, and said to Jonah, “Some things really are better left as mysteries. Let’s go try to figure out the ones that need to be solved.”
—
DANTE STEPPED AWAY from the evidence board, where he had constructed a neat timeline for the disappearances, and rubbed the back of his neck as he studied it.
In a conversational tone, Robbie said, “I hope you realize that the longer you keep your shields at full strength, the more likely they are to desert you when you really don’t want them to. Like when you’re sleeping.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” he murmured.
She ignored that. “I’m just saying, there’s no negative energy here, so maybe it would be a good idea for you to rest your shields, that’s all. I checked; this building was constructed less than twenty years ago, and nobody ever died here. No deaths in previous buildings at this location, and it’s not some kind of Indian burial ground or anything.”
“So there are no spirits here?” He turned his head to look at her; while he had worked, she had set up, on a small table against one wall rather than the larger round table, one of the laptops they’d brought from Quantico. “Have you ever worked with a medium before?”
“Not as a partner, but in a group, sure. You know as well as I do that Bishop sort of mixes and matches until he gets a good fit.” She frowned. “I wonder why he thought we’d be a good fit?”
“Maybe he’s still mixing,” Dante suggested. “Members of the team generally have to work together before anyone—including Bishop—knows whether they’ll work well together.”
“Are you saying we don’t?” She was curious rather than offended.
“I don’t think either of us knows yet. We haven’t really had to do anything so far that required a collaborative effort. But, for future reference, most mediums will tell you that whether someone died in a place has absolutely nothing to do with whether spirits are present. As a matter of fact, according to Bishop, and based on both lab and field studies, one thing we’re reasonably sure of is that mediums tend to attract spiritual energy. Whether we’re trying to or not.” He rubbed his neck again. “This place could be filled with spirits, gathered from all over town and God knows where else, waiting for me to open a door for them.”
She couldn’t help looking around rather warily, even though she knew she’d see nothing out of the ordinary. “Do you intend to keep your shields up regardless?”
“Regardless of what?”
“Regardless of whether this case suggests or even demands that we investigate spiritual energy.”
“I don’t know,” he said finally, adding, “If there’s no negative energy here, why don’t you drop your shields?”
“I meant what I said about seldom if ever dropping them completely,” she replied. “But I do have a window open. That’s how I knew your shields were still up.”
“Maybe you just can’t read me.”
“Actually, I can.” When he frowned slightly, she shrugged. “You, Luke, Sam—and Chief Riggs. I can read all of you. Riggs is clearest, since he only has the bare shield nonpsychics develop—especially if they’re cops.”
“You can read Luke and Sam?”
“Yeah—probably because both have abilities they generally have to concentrate to use, so neither needs much in the way of shields. I mean, they’re sort of guarded people by nature, both of them, but they have an emotional and psychic link that’s just a bit like neon, to me anyway.”
“Like Bishop and Miranda?”
“No, not like that. Bishop and Miranda’s link is a link between two telepaths, and exceptionally deep. Luke and Sam haven’t been together as long, and neither one is a telepath, so the link is different. But they’re still connected. Not quite two halves of a whole, but stronger together than they are separately.”
Dante was still frowning. “What about my shields?”
With a slightly apologetic gesture, Robbie said, “That’s why I wanted to warn you to give them a rest now and then. They’re slipping, Dante. Not much and not often, but if you’re not completely focused on keeping them up, like you were at the stream, then . . . they slip.”
“And when they do, you read my thoughts?”
“It’s more like catching your thoughts. Or, rather, not catching them. I don’t focus on them or anything; they’re more like whispers kind of slipping past me. And only when I have a window open.”