"Less than six hours," he said slowly. "Wyatt has less than six hours left. There's a clock counting down. He can see it." He was a little pale.
So was Samantha. But as she joined them at the table, her voice was perfectly calm, even cool. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Jaylene half expected an explosion from Lucas, but he was staring at Sam, curiously intent.
"That's why you've been needling me all morning," he said.
She didn't deny it, saying merely, "You shut down on me once before. Think I'm going to let that happen again? I'd rather you were pissed and snapping at me than looking right through me. Besides, if there's a hope of finding the sheriff alive, you're it."
"You said I couldn't win without you."
"And maybe this is why. Because I can piss you off. A dubious talent, but mine own." With a shrug, she added briskly, "Anyway, now we have a slightly narrower area to search. And we know how much time is left on the clock."
Jaylene was once more bent over the map spread out on the conference table. She pinpointed the sheriff's house, then drew a straight line out from it to the northwest. "How far do I take this? To the Tennessee line?"
Looking away from Samantha at last, Lucas got to his feet and joined his partner. "Yeah. For now. We may have to extend it, but that covers a lot of area."
Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Jaylene said, "And if we start with, say, twenty miles on either side of the line…" She marked the arbitrary boundaries on the map.
They both stared down at what was a considerable search area, its only saving grace the fact that it contained at least half of the small red flags marking specific areas already on their search list.
"Could be worse," she murmured.
Before Lucas could respond, Samantha spoke up to say, "There was a stream. That should narrow it down a bit more."
"And roosters along the way," Jaylene said. "That takes it well out of town, at least from what I've seen. And the fact that he was on a rough dirt road most of the time means we '11 be away from all the main roads in the area."
Glen Champion appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. "All the search teams are ready," he said. "But I wanted to check with you before we finalize assignments."
"Good," Lucas said, gesturing him closer. "We want to concentrate on this area."
The deputy didn't question it, just bent over the map, studying it with a frown. "There are at least eight places on our list out in that general area. I've got five search teams ready to go-six if you guys want to join in again."
Immediately, Jaylene said, "Luke, why don't you and Sam go with Glen, and I'll join one of the other teams."
"I'm not a cop," Samantha said, not so much protest as simple statement of fact.
"We can deputize you," Glen said, rather uncertainly.
Her smile was faint. "I don't think that would go over very well with the other officers."
"I'll take official responsibility for Sam going along," Lucas said. Then, to Jaylene, he said, "Think you might pick up something?"
"I don't know, but we might as well spread our assets as far as possible. Sam can clearly keep you focused if you manage to make contact, and I may be more help elsewhere." She eyed Glen. "Though I'd prefer to be on a team most likely to accept a request for a change in direction if I do happen to pick up something."
He looked at his clipboard, saying, "Then I'd suggest you go with John Prescott's group. His grandmother had the sight, and he's been pretty vocal in support of Miss Burke."
"He has?" Samantha said in mild surprise.
"Not all of us think you're a witch," Glen said frankly.
She winced. "I'm glad."
Lucas smiled slightly. "Then, if you don't mind, Glen, Sam and I will go with you."
"S'fine by me. How do you want to divvy up the search area? I mean, which location do you want to search?"
From the doorway, Caitlin Graham said in a voice holding more doubt than certainty, "Maybe I can help with that."
Less than six hours.
Wyatt could feel himself begin to sweat. This place, wherever it was, held a damp chill, yet sweat beaded on his forehead and temples and ran down into his hair.
He tried not to look at the clock, but it was placed in such a way that he almost had to.
Five and a half hours now.
Five and a half fucking hours left.
Those red seconds counting inexorably down. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven… And then, when it reached zero, to see another minute gone, the next minute counting down with relentless detachment: fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…
"It's my fucking life!" he wanted to shout. He knew it was irrational, to see the clock as something alive and watching him, measuring his time left so cavalierly, but he could hardly help how he felt.
Desperation, that's what he felt. A deep, gnawing terror.
He wondered, suddenly, if he should stop trying to damp down that sick dread, holding it all inside. Should he just let it out, let it go? Scream out his fear, and to hell with his stupid pride? Because if Luke could really sense fear…
Wyatt gritted his teeth and muttered a curse under his breath. He couldn 't do it. Not deliberately. It went against his very nature to give in to fear. If he gave in to fear, then the bastard doing this to him would win.
He stared up at the gleaming guillotine, and once more went to work trying to loosen the straps binding his raw wrists.
"I can't be sure about it," Caitlin said. "I mean, even assuming that note really was from Lindsay, the fact that this is the only area on the map that seemed familiar to me probably doesn 't mean anything. Really." She had uneasily offered the same disclaimer twice since they had left the station.
"We were going to search this general area anyway," Lucas told her. "And your hunches are probably as good or better than any of ours."
"But I never lived around here. It's just that Lindsay was more apt to send a card with a note jotted inside, or write a letter, than she was to call. And she talked about the place, the countryside. She mentioned hiking somewhere around Six Point Creek, and it was an unusual enough name that I remembered it. That's all."
"Maybe that's what she was counting on you to remember," Samantha said.
"Then why didn't she just write Wyatt's at Six Point Creek?"
"They never do," Lucas murmured.
"Maybe the universe won't let them," Samantha suggested. "Too much help from beyond would make things too easy for us."
"And why the hell can't they be easy?" Caitlin demanded.
Samantha smiled. "You'd have to ask the universe. All I know is that my visions tend to complicate rather than simplify my life. After a while, you sort of get used to that."
Sticking determinedly with the normal rather than paranormal, Glen said, "We know there's an old mill on the creek that hasn't been used in donkey's years, but last time I was hiking up here it looked in pretty good condition. There's a big cellar cut into the granite back away from the creek, where the people who used to live in the area kept most of their food. Sort of communal storage. Not that there were many who tried to make a go of things way up here."
"In any case," Lucas said, "all those qualities could make it a prime spot for someone needing a remote location, privacy, and a virtually soundproofed, enclosed space in which to hold someone, even though it wasn't on our list. So we search it."
"A deputy, a fed, and two civilians," Samantha said rather dryly. "Wouldn't the press love this."
"With any luck at all, they won't know about it," Lucas said. "They were told in no uncertain terms to remain back at the sheriff's department, and two deputies made sure they did while the rest of us left. We don't need reporters tagging along on a search, especially in this kind of country."
"It is wild," Glen agreed, hanging on to the ATV's wheel as the vehicle bounded across a washed-out section of the dirt road they were following. "Don't forget that fugitives-federal fugitives- have successfully hidden out up here for years on end."