"I would have sworn he didn't blame me." Lucas shook off the thought, saying to Jaylene, "We need to check it out, find out what happened to Andrew Gilbert after the deaths of his wife and daughter. And there was an older son, I think-away at school at the time, so I never met him."
"I'll call Quantico and get them on it," she said, turning away.
That was when Lucas realized something else. "Where's Sam? I left her in here."
"Didn't see her go out the front," Wyatt said.
Lucas barely had time to feel the beginnings of a cold knot in the pit of his stomach when Caitlin appeared in the doorway, her face white.
"It's Sam. The basement-hurry."
Samantha barely felt the physical contact of the tank and the guillotine. All she felt…
The black curtain swept over her, the darkness as thick as tar, the silence absolute. For an instant, she felt she was being physically carried somewhere, all in a rush; she even briefly felt the sensation of wind, of pressure, against her body, as though she was actually moving.
Then the familiar abrupt stillness and the chilling awareness of a nothingness so vast it was almost, beyond comprehension. Limbo. She was suspended, weightless and even formless, in a cold void somewhere beyond this world and before the next.
As always, all she could do was wait, grimly, for the glimpse into whatever she was meant to see. Wait while her brain tuned in the right frequency and the sounds and images began playing before her mind's eye like some strange movie.
But from that point on, nothing happened as it always had.
Instead, scenes from her own past played before the unblinking gaze of her mind's eye. Stark, harsh, unrelenting, and in vivid color.
The beatings. His fists, his belt, once a broom handle. The times he had burned her with his cigarette. The really, really bad times when he had slammed her against walls, thrown her across furniture, tossed her about like a doll, and all the while she could hear the roaring fury of his drunken rage.
And the words, over and over, hateful words.
"Stupid little bitch!"
"… good for nothing…"
"…ugly…"
"…runt…"
"… pity you were ever born…"
Pain blazing along every nerve ending and the bone-deep aches of afterward when she could barely move. Dragging herself to her room, to huddle beneath the covers and choke back the whimpers she never let him hear.
When she could drag herself to bed. When he didn't toss her into the tiny closet and shove a chair under the doorknob, leaving her in there for hours and hours…
The remembered terror stirred in Samantha, so cold, so awful, and as it did the scene she saw changed abruptly. She found herself staring at a man she'd never seen before. He was standing at the open door of a hulking ATV and seemed to be looking past her. Then he moved suddenly, reaching for the gun on the vehicle's seat.
He got off at least one shot, the loud report of it hurting Samantha's ears. And then there were other shots, scarlet bloomed abruptly on his chest, bubbled from his lips, and he opened his mouth to gasp-
Blackness swallowed Samantha before she could hear whatever it was he said. It seemed to last forever, or maybe it was only seconds. She didn't know. Didn't really care. Blackness and silence and a chill that followed her up, slowly, so slowly, out of limbo.
"Sam?"
She hurt. She was cold and she hurt. And he, she thought dimly, would not make it better. Maybe could not. Maybe nobody could…
"Sam!"
Conscious then of the weight of her body, conscious of being back, she forced her eyes to open.
"Hey," she whispered. Funny how rusty and unused her voice sounded.
"Christ, you scared the hell out of me," Lucas said.
Vaguely surprised, she said, "I did? How?"
He showed her a bloody handkerchief, and said roughly, "You've been out for nearly an hour."
"Oh. Sorry." Samantha realized then that she was lying on a sofa in the lounge of the sheriff's department. Lucas was sitting on the edge of the sofa, and Caitlin and the sheriff were standing a few feet away.
When she met the other woman's gaze and saw her pallor, Samantha said with more contrition, "I really am sorry, Caitlin. I knew it'd be bad, but I had no idea-"
"Then why the hell did you do it?" Lucas demanded.
She looked back at him and winced. "Not so loud, please. My head is splitting." And she felt incredibly weak, dizzy, and nauseated.
Wyatt said, "Are you sure she shouldn't be in a hospital? I've never seen anybody so pale."
"There's nothing a doctor could do for her, otherwise she'd be under the care of one now," Lucas said, but in a quieter voice. He frowned down at her and held the handkerchief to her nose, adding, "But if this bleeding doesn't stop soon…"
Samantha took the cloth from him and held it herself. "It'll stop. Listen, about this killer-"
"We have a name," Wyatt told her. "Somebody Luke remembered from his past. Jaylene's checking county property records now to find out if the bastard was arrogant enough to use his real name, like Luke thinks he did." Clearly, the sheriff could hardly wait to get his hands on the man who had trapped him in a guillotine.
"So," Lucas said to Samantha, "there was no need for you to put yourself through this."
"Maybe not." She refolded the handkerchief and held it to her nose again, feeling very tired. "But when you find him, he'll be standing in the open door of his truck, an ATV. You'll need to be careful. There's a gun on the seat. Don't let him get to it, or he'll get off at least one shot."
Wyatt whistled half under his breath. "Now, that's what I call a useful prediction."
"Not a prediction. Fact."
He nodded. "Okay."
She eyed him, searching for sarcasm, but saw none.
"Hey," he said, understanding the look, "I'm a convert. Funny thing about facing death. It really does open up your mind to possibilities."
"Yes," Samantha said. "I know."
Jaylene came into the room then. "Hey, Sam, glad to see you back with us."
"Glad to be here."
Addressing Lucas, his partner said, "Got him. You were right, he used his real name. Probably figured we'd never go back so far in checking property records. Andrew Gilbert bought some property here two and a half years ago." She looked at the sheriff, brows lifting. "From you."
He blinked. "Say what?"
"You sold a hundred-acre tract of land that had belonged to your parents. Mostly mountainous land, not good for much, with a little piece of a valley on which sits a small old house and a much larger old barn. About twenty miles outside town. It wasn't included on any of our earlier searches because, even though it's fairly remote, there are other working farms in that valley, neighbors who would have, presumably, noticed someone carting tanks and guillotines and bodies about."
"His home base," Lucas said slowly. "Maybe where he stashes the ATV when he isn't using it-assuming there's a back way into that barn so his neighbors don't see."
Wyatt said wryly, "And I'll bet they think he's just a regular guy but quiet, keeps to himself."
"Bound to," Jaylene agreed.
"For God's sake. Yeah, I remember the guy. Said he was looking for quiet land he could retire to in a few years. Talked about building a log cabin, hunting cabin, like he'd always wanted. Offered a good but not outrageous price, and since I was trying to sell land I didn't need, I took it."
"Which is why he never stuck around to speak to you yesterday," Samantha said. "You might have recognized his voice."
Wyatt hitched at his belt and said, "Goddammit. Let's go."
Samantha began to sit up, but Lucas pressed her back. "You're staying here," he told her.
She hesitated, not because she believed she could help him capture a killer safely but because she still felt uneasy. And because she had a strong hunch that if she tried to get off the couch she'd fall on her ass. "I could stay in the car," she offered.