"I promised her I wouldn't go anywhere alone even before curfew, that I'd either be with you or home with Mrs. Task. She likes you, and she trusts you."
"She does?"
"Why are you so surprised by that? You could be the poster child for good teenagers."
"Thanks a lot."
"It's true and you know it. Your grades are good enough that you tutor other students, and we all know you'll go to medical school. You work part-time in Cobb's garage and in your father's clinic every chance you get. You even help teach a Sunday-school class and have a paper route."
"I've had that route since I was ten," he said defensively, then glanced at her and found her smiling at him. It was a smile that never failed to raise his blood pressure and make him think so many absurd things he dared not say aloud. Even if he could say anything coherent, which he doubted.
Bonnie didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him. "Well, anyway, Randy trusts you. She knows I'm safe with you."
Glancing at her again, Seth saw a shadow cross her face, and it distracted him from surging hormones. "Every time you say something like that, I get the feeling ..."
"What?" Bonnie said, but more like she was just responding brightly than because she really wanted to know.
Seth listened to the tone rather than the words and backed off. "Nothing." He was honest enough to ask himself if he did it because he knew she didn't want to confide whatever it was — or because he was afraid to hear it. And he didn't know the answer.
Distracting them both, he said, "Hey, there's Steve. Want to stop and say hi?"
"He looks like he's in a hurry. Doesn't he have to go in to work?"
"At six, yeah." Seth downshifted and heard the gears grind. "Damn. Maybe I'd better concentrate on what I'm doing."
"Maybe you'd better." She sounded amused again, but her tone sobered when she added, "Steve is planning to dump Amy, isn't he?"
"I don't know what Steve is planning to do."
"Don't you?"
"No. Honest, Bonnie, I don't." He hesitated. "He's a great guy, it's just that he likes ..."
"Variety?" she supplied wryly.
"I'm not saying it's a good thing — just his thing. Come on, Amy must have known that going in. It's not like Steve's reputation is lily white. She did know, right?"
"Knowing is one thing. Believing and understanding are something else."
Seth grimaced. "She thinks she can change him?"
Bonnie sighed. "I guess so."
"She won't change him, Bonnie."
"I know." She checked her watch. "It's after four, Seth."
He accepted the change of subject with relief. Keeping his own romantic relationship on an even keel was difficult enough; trying to manage someone else's was beyond him. "Yeah, I know. Time to head for home. Do you want to stop by and see Miranda first?"
"No. She'll probably be home by seven or so. There isn't much they can do at night except keep going over and over all the reports and information, and after a while it's like ..."
"Like a dog chasing its tail?"
"Pretty much."
"Must be driving Miranda crazy. She's always been so good at solving crimes quickly. But I guess there's never been anything like this killer."
"No," Bonnie said. "There's never been anything like him."
Hearing an odd note in her voice, Seth shot her a glance. She was unconsciously rubbing the scar on her forearm, something he knew she only did when she was worried or anxious about something. "They'll get him, Bonnie."
"I know. I know they will."
"You're worried about Miranda?"
"Of course I am."
"She'll be all right. I don't know anybody better able to take care of herself than Miranda."
"You'd think so," Bonnie said, "wouldn't you."
They had taken to locking the conference room whenever it was empty, keeping their reports and speculations away from the eyes of the curious. Even Miranda's deputies, with the exception of Alex Mayse, knew only as much as necessary. So Bishop was not happy when Miranda came in at nearly six o'clock Tuesday evening accompanied by the mayor.
Bishop had met John MacBride the day before and hadn't been terribly impressed — but that might have been because MacBride had made a point of touching Miranda in a casual manner guaranteed to alert the instincts of any other man. Miranda had been polite, professional, and unresponsive to the attention — but she hadn't objected.
When His Honor stood staring at the gruesome display on the bulletin board with a sickened expression on his face as Tony explained their procedures, Bishop moved as close to Miranda as he dared.
"This isn't a good idea," he said quietly.
"I know," she said, equally quiet. "But he insisted. And if this visit reassures him that we're doing everything we can to find the killer, then maybe he'll be able to reassure the town council and all the other worried citizens. Right now, no one is bringing any undue pressure to bear on the investigation, much less trying to run things. I'd like to keep it that way."
Bishop was politically savvy enough to get the point, but it didn't make him like the situation any better. "If some of these details get out, you'll have a major panic on your hands — and our job won't get any easier."
"He won't talk about the details."
"How can you be so sure?"
Miranda sat on the edge of the conference table and lifted an eyebrow at him. "Because I told him not to."
Bishop didn't know whether to be amused or irritated. "And he always does what you tell him to?"
"He does when it's my job."
A glance showed Bishop that MacBride and Tony were still occupied. "Can you read him?"
Miranda shook her head.
"Even when he touches you?"
"Even then."
Bishop silently debated if it would be wise to ask about this touching, then forced himself to remain professional. "Because of your shields or his?"
"His." Miranda shrugged. "It's not an uncommon trait in small towns. You must have noticed."
"I have. Yesterday when Tony and I were walking around downtown meeting the merchants, I couldn't read two-thirds of them. Neither could Tony."
"Like I said, it's not so extraordinary. In small towns, privacy is especially hard to come by, so the tendency is to guard oneself. Over a lifetime, that could easily and logically equate to mental and emotional shields and walls."
"Is that why you settled here?"
"It was one of the reasons."
"And because small-town life would be good for Bonnie?"
"That too."
Bishop reflected somewhat bitterly that she was only willing to talk to him like this when there were other people around. He had tried to take advantage of such moments, but since he could hardly say some of the things he wanted to say when there was every chance of being overheard, he had forced himself to bide his time, to concentrate on the investigation and keep their conversations relatively professional.
It wasn't getting any easier.
Hoping to make a breakthrough of sorts, he reached into his jacket pocket for a folded piece of paper and held it out to her. "I meant to give you this earlier."
She didn't move. "What is it?"
"Access to those sealed files we talked about."
Still, she didn't move.
He pretended not to notice her hesitation. "The files have been copied from the Bureau's database into a separate, secured area, and you've been granted temporary access. Nothing can be downloaded or copied, you'll have to agree to that. The computers here are capable of establishing the link. These are the codes you'll need."
Finally, Miranda took the paper from him without, needless to say, touching him.
Bishop didn't wait to find out if she would thank him, since he suspected he'd be waiting a long time. He joined the two men at the bulletin board.
He didn't have to be a telepath to interpret Tony's quick roll of the eyes, and when he heard the nervousness in MacBride's voice he realized the other agent was probably holding on to his patience with both hands.