"You might be surprised," Tony Harte murmured.
Alex wanted to question that, but instead said, "I gather he's in charge?"
"He's the senior agent," Edwards confirmed. "But your sheriff is the one in charge. We're just here to help, to offer our expertise and advice."
"Uh-huh."
She smiled. "Really. We have a mandate never to interfere with local law enforcement. It's the only way we can be truly useful and be certain we're called in when the situation warrants. We're a lot more likely to be contacted when police are confronted with our sort of cases if word gets around that we never ride roughshod over local authorities."
Alex looked at her curiously. "Your sort of cases?"
"I'm sure you saw the bulletin the Bureau sent out."
"I saw it. Like most Bureau bulletins, it didn't tell me a hell of a lot."
Edwards smiled again. "They can be cryptic when they want to be. Basically, we get called in on cases where the evidence just doesn't add up or is nonexistent, or there are details that seem to smack of the paranormal or inexplicable. Often those elements show up only after local law enforcement has exhausted all the usual avenues of investigation."
"So you guys pursue unusual avenues?"
"We . . . look for the less likely explanations. And some of the methods we use are more intuitive than scientific. We try to keep things informal."
"Is that why no trench coats?"
She chuckled, honestly amused. "We are considered something of a maverick group within the Bureau, so when it was suggested that we dress more casually, the powers that be gave their permission."
Alex wanted to know more, but Miranda hailed him from the lake and he went down to help the search teams get their gear ashore.
Gazing after him, Tony Harte said, "Think you told him enough?"
"To satisfy him?" Edwards shook her head. "Only for the moment. According to his profile, he's curious and possesses a high tolerance for unconventional methods — probably why he hasn't questioned his sheriff too closely about all the hunches and intuitions since she took office. But he's protective of her, and he's wary of us. He'll be cooperative as long as he's sure we're contributing to the investigation without making Sheriff Knight look bad."
Harte grunted, then glanced at Bishop, still standing several yards away and looking down at the lake. "What about this sheriff? Did you know who she was?"
"I had my suspicions when I went to do a deep background check on her — and found she didn't have one."
"So it is her?"
"I think so."
"No wonder he was in such a hurry to get here. But I've seen warmer greetings between mortal enemies."
"What makes you so sure that isn't what they are — at least from her point of view?"
"Never thought I'd feel sorry for Bishop."
"I imagine he can handle his own problems." Edwards smiled faintly. "In the meantime, there's this little problem we're supposed to be helping with. Are you getting anything?"
"Nope. I was blocked just about the time we topped the hill. You?"
"The same. Remarkable, isn't it?"
Harte watched as Sheriff Knight made her way up the slope. Her lovely face was singularly without expression. "Poor Bishop," he murmured.
If he knew his subordinates were discussing him, Bishop gave no sign, but he joined them only moments before the sheriff and her deputy reached them.
Deputy Mayse said, "Nothing more we can do here tonight, so—"
"We can search for an abandoned well," Bishop said. "There's one nearby."
Mayse stared at him. "How can you possibly know that?"
"He knows," Sheriff Knight said. She looked at her deputy matter-of-factly. "Most of the men are probably exhausted, Alex, but ask for volunteers to search around the lake. The moon will be rising, so we'll have some light."
The deputy clearly wanted to question or argue, but in the end just shook his head and went back down to talk to the searchers.
Harte exchanged looks with Edwards, then said, "The more people we have searching, the quicker we're likely to find something. Our gear's in the car. We'll go change into boots and get our flashlights, some rope — whatever else looks like it might be helpful."
"Better have a compass or two," Sheriff Knight said. "This is tricky terrain. It's easy to get turned around, especially in the dark."
"Understood." Harte glanced at Bishop, who was already wearing boots, then traded another look with Edwards and shrugged. They both turned and trudged back up the slope toward the top and their rental car on the other side.
With one last glance back at the two people standing several feet and a light-year or so apart, Harte muttered, "I guess it could be worse. She could have shot him on sight."
Bishop knew it would be up to him to break the silence between them, but when it came down to it, all he could think of was an absurdly lame comment. "I never thought you'd be in law enforcement."
"It was a logical choice. With a law degree I couldn't use . . . and the right kind of experience."
"And it kept you . . . plugged in, didn't it? Connected to all the right sources of information."
"It did that."
He let the silence drag on as long as he could bear, then made one more inadequate comment. "Knight. Another interesting choice."
"I thought it was apt."
He waited for elaboration, but she coolly changed the subject.
"I see your spider-sense is working as well as ever."
She kept her gaze fixed on the lake as if the barely visible movements of the men were fascinating. He wondered what she was thinking but dared not touch her to find out. She had been the first to call it his spider-sense, this ability he had to sharpen and amplify his sight and hearing to the point that he was often able to see and hear far beyond what was considered normal. He wondered if she had any idea that now he seldom thought of this ancillary skill by any other name.
"We'll know that if we find a well," he said finally.
"Oh, there's a well."
He really wished she would look at him. "And a body?"
Miranda nodded. "And a body."
"There was no anonymous tip, was there, Miranda?"
"No."
"You had a vision."
Her shoulders moved in a faint, restless shrug that belied her calm expression. "I had a ... very vivid daydream. I saw this lake. I knew she was here somewhere. I know it now. A well. . . feels right."
"Still reluctant to call them visions, I see."
"Visions? I'm the elected sheriff of a small, conservative town where the churches actually outnumber the car dealerships. Just how long do you suppose I'd keep my job if word got out that I was seeing visions?"
"Have you been able to hide it that well?"
"It's amazing how many nice, logical reasons one can find for possessing surprising knowledge." She drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm intuitive. I have hunches. I'm lucky. I'm very good at my job. I make sure there's evidence to support me. If all else fails, I rely on the traditional anonymous tip. And I'm very, very careful."
After a moment he said, "You have very loyal deputies."
"To take me at my word? I suppose. But I've been right before, and they've learned to trust me."
"Any idea who's behind these killings?"
Miranda's smile was twisted. "If I knew that, you wouldn't be here."
The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable, telling him with certainty for the first time that she was hardly as indifferent as she seemed on the surface. She didn't want him there. She hated him. And the strength of his own reaction to that surprised him.
"I never meant to hurt you," he said abruptly.
The light was going fast, but they could both see Alex Mayse on his way back up toward them.
"Hurting me," Miranda said, "was the least of it." Then she moved to meet her deputy.