"I'm fine. Tired, but otherwise okay, all things considered." She smiled faintly. "Thanks for asking."
"You know I care about you, Randy."
Miranda was aware that Bishop was unabashedly eavesdropping, but it didn't disturb her because her response would have been the same even if the conversation had been a complete mystery to him. Quietly, she said, "I've always appreciated your friendship, John."
"Friendship."
"There was never anything more, you know that."
"There might have been, if not for—"
She shook her head. "It has nothing to do with anyone else, not really. We've known each other for years, John. Don't you think something would have happened long ago if it had been meant to?"
Unhappily, he said, "You're very sure, aren't you, Randy?"
"Very sure. I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Yeah, so am I." He settled his shoulders and tried a laugh that didn't quite come off. "I'd better get on to the office and let you get back to work."
"See you later, John."
Miranda stood there for a moment after he'd gone, then went into the conference room. Tony was on the phone, Bishop at his accustomed place on one end of the table as he studied the bulletin board.
It could have been an entirely silent conversation, but instead Miranda went to Bishop and murmured, "That was not exactly fair to John."
"Fair, hell." He smiled. "I told you I wouldn't let you out of my sight, and I meant it."
She eyed him. "Oh, that was why you eavesdropped?"
"Certainly."
"You'd better try it again in a more convincing tone."
Bishop chuckled. "Okay, so I had other reasons."
"Jealousy. I never would have expected it of you."
"Oh, I don't imagine it'll be a problem," he said calmly. "Once you fully commit yourself to me, that is, and tell me I don't have to worry about it anymore."
Miranda was trying to decide how to reply when Tony hung up the phone and said briskly, "Found it. There's a green '89 Mustang registered to Sam Ramsay — Adam Ramsay's uncle. Lives here in the state but not close by, and probably means to come in for the funeral when there is one."
"And pick up his car then," Bishop said. "Yeah, or arrange to sell it, something like that."
"The question is," Miranda said, "where the hell is that car now?"
It took an hour to track down Sam Ramsay, who was indeed Adam's uncle and had indeed agreed about six months before to register a car in his name that was intended for his nephew's use.
"His dad paid the insurance," he told Tony somewhat truculently over the phone. "And made sure the car was inspected and everything. I am — was — holding the pink slip until Adam got old enough to put the car in his own name." He paused, cleared his throat, and added, "I'd planned to see about the car when I came to Gladstone for the funeral. Knew Julie wouldn't want it, and it's too much trouble to drive or ship down to Florida even if his dad was interested."
"Adam apparently didn't keep the car at his home," Tony said.
"No, Julie pitched a bitch at just the idea of him having his own car, really raised hell about it. Said he was too young. So Adam fixed it with a friend to park the car at his house."
"Do you know the friend's name?"
"Lemme think. Steve somebody. Can't remember the last name."
"Penman?" Tony suggested.
"Yeah, that sounds right — Steve Penman."
"Adam kept the car at Steve's house?"
"That's what he told me. I think they lived close by, so it wasn't any trouble for Adam to walk over and get his car when he wanted it."
"I see. Thanks, Mr. Ramsay, thanks very much. If we have any more questions—"
"I'll be here."
Tony cradled the receiver and reported the conversation to Bishop. "So that's the first real connection we have between the two male victims," he noted.
"Call the Penman boy's father," Bishop suggested. "See if he knows anything about that car."
"Right."
While Tony was doing that, Miranda returned to the conference room; she had been handling reports of a couple of fender-benders and checking on the progress of the power crews.
Bishop reported the latest findings aloud. The mental link between him and Miranda remained, but in order for them to concentrate on separate things without distracting each other, they had consciously eased their "doors" almost closed. Emotions and sometimes the flicker of a thought got through, but except for their questioning Justin, and Miranda's conversation with the mayor, they had settled on communicating verbally.
It was also less confusing for Tony that way.
He watched them as he waited for Steve Penman's father to come to the phone, fascinated as always by their relationship. Bishop had been characteristically brief in explaining why his transmitter had been rather abruptly muted, saying only that he was able to "borrow" Miranda's ability to shield selectively. Tony promised himself that when there was time and leisure to explore the matter, he'd ask a few nosy questions, but what he was really interested in was the apparently effortless telepathic link between Bishop and Miranda.
Now, that was really something.
They had emerged from Miranda's office late yesterday having obviously put at least one major hurdle behind them; she was oddly serene, no longer shut off or withdrawn, and Bishop no longer paced the floor — though something in his eyes when he looked at Miranda told Tony that not everything had been settled and that worries remained. In any case, they seemed entirely comfortable with each other, the only visible tension between them being of the electric, sensual variety.
Not, Tony reflected, that they were acting like a couple of horny teenagers, all secret glances and sweaty hands grabbing at each other. No, it was something a lot more subtle than that. Tony had the feeling that if he could see psychic auras, he'd see theirs merging, melding together whenever they were near each other — and eagerly reconnecting after they had been apart for a few minutes. Because that was the sense he got, that they were touching even when they weren't.
It was really fascinating.
The telepathic communication had become obvious rather quickly, and after the second or third time one or the other of them turned to him with a comment that had clearly been the end of a conversation rather than the beginning, Tony had strongly objected.
"Will you guys quit that? It's getting spooky. Not to mention confusing."
"He's probably right," Bishop had said, clearly amused. "Or he's just jealous that he can't do it."
Tony had made a rude response to that, even though all three of them knew it was at least half true.
"Hello?"
Recalled to duty, Tony said, "Mr. Penman? This is Agent Harte. I'm really sorry to bother you again, but. . ."
"So," Miranda said to Bishop, thoughtfully, "Adam did have a car. Since when?"
"Last July, according to his uncle," Bishop replied.
"A couple of months before he disappeared." She leaned her hands on the table and gazed absently toward the bulletin board. "Has anybody checked traffic violations?"
"Tony did. None on record. The kid was either a safe driver or lucky. Either way, there was certainly nothing to make any of your deputies notice that car and mention it later when he disappeared. I'm sure his friends knew about it but, like you said before, none of us asked the right question."
She nodded, then frowned at a stack of files threatening to topple over. "Is that—"
"More missing teenagers, yeah. Alex brought the files in a little while ago. We've gone back to '87 so far, and the count is up to twenty-nine."
Miranda sank down in a chair, visibly shaken. "Twenty-nine missing kids? In thirteen years?"
"Twenty-nine reported disappearances of teens last seen within a fifty-mile radius of Gladstone," Bishop confirmed, more than a little grim himself. "We don't know for certain they even vanished, Miranda, much less vanished here. They could have resurfaced somewhere else under assumed names, or died of drugs or just life on the streets. We don't know."