Kay Hooper
Stealing Shadows
The first book in the Stealing Shadows series
There aren't enough good teachers in the world.
This book is dedicated to
Mary Anne Head
Jane Biggerstaff
and Betty Hough,
with appreciation and thanks
for helping to make school an interesting place
for my niece, Beth
PROLOGUE
LOS ANGELES AUGUST 16, 1998
"Talk to me, Cassie."
She was all but motionless in the straight-backed chair, head bowed so that her hair hid her face. Only her hands stirred, thin fingers lightly tracing and shaping the red tissue petals of the exquisitely handmade paper rose in her lap.
"I think… he's moving," she whispered.
"Where is he moving? What can you see, Cassie?" Detective Logan 's voice was even and infinitely patient, betraying none of the anxiety and urgency that beaded his face with sweat and haunted his eyes.
"I… I'm not sure."
From his position a few feet away, Logan 's partner spoke in a low voice. "Why's she so tentative with this one?"
"Because he scares the shit out of her," Logan responded, equally quietly. "Hell, he scares the shit out of me." He raised his voice. "Cassie? Concentrate, honey. What does he see?"
"Dark. It's just… it's dark."
"All right. What is he thinking?"
She drew a shaky little breath, and those thin fingers trembled as they held and traced the paper rose. "I – I don't want to… It's so cold in his mind. And there are so many… shadows. So many twisted shadows. Please don't make me go any deeper. Don't make me touch them."
Logan 's already grim face grew bleaker at the fear and revulsion in her voice, and it was his turn to draw a steadying breath. When he spoke, his voice was cool and certain. "Cassie, listen to me. You have to go deeper. For the sake of that little girl, you have to. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she replied forlornly, "I understand." There was a moment of silence so absolute, they could hear the soft crackle of the tissue paper she touched.
"Where is he, Cassie? What is he thinking?"
"He's safe. He knows he's safe." Her head tilted to one side, as though she were listening to a distant voice. "The cops will never find him now. Bastards. Stupid bastards. He left them all those clues and they never saw them."
Logan didn't allow himself to be distracted by the disturbing information. "Stop listening to him, Cassie. Look at what he's doing, where he's going."
"He's going… to get the girl. To take her to his secret place. He's ready for her now. He's ready to – "
"Where is it? What's around him, Cassie?"
"It's… dark. She's… he's got her tied up. He's got her tied up… in the backseat of a car. It's in a garage. He's getting into the car, starting the engine. Backing out of the garage. Oh! I can hear her crying…"
"Don't listen," Logan insisted. "Stay with him, Cassie. Tell me where he's going."
"I don't know." Her voice was desolate. "It's so dark. I can't see beyond the headlights."
"Watch, Cassie. Look for landmarks. What kind of road is he on?"
"It's… a blacktop. Two lanes. There are mailboxes, we're driving past mailboxes."
"Good, Cassie, that's good." He glanced aside at his partner, who grimaced helplessly, then returned his attention to that dark, bent head. "Keep looking. Keep watching. You have to tell us where he's going."
For a few moments there was nothing but the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow. And then, abruptly she said, "He's turning. The street sign says… Andover."
Logan 's partner moved a few steps away and began talking softly into a cell phone.
"Keep watching, Cassie. What do you see? Talk tome."
"It's so dark."
"I know. But keep watching."
"He's thinking… horrible things."
"Don't listen. Don't go too deep, Cassie."
She lifted her head for the first time since they had begun, and Logan flinched. Her eyes were closed. He'd never seen such pallor in a human face before. Not a living face. And that pale, pale skin was stretched tautly over her bones.
"Cassie? Cassie, where are you?"
"Deep." Her voice sounded different, distant and almost hollow, as though it came from a bottomless well.
"Cassie, listen to me. You have to back off. Just see what he sees."
"It's like worms," she whispered, "feeding on rotting flesh. On a rotting soul…"
"Cassie, back off. Back off now. Do you hear me?"
After several moments she said, "Yes. All right." She was trembling visibly now, and he knew if he touched her, he would find her skin cold.
"What do you see? What does he see?"
"The road. No mailboxes now. Just winding road. He's getting tense. He's almost at his secret place."
"Watch, Cassie. Keep watching."
Several minutes passed, and then a frown tugged at her brows.
"Cassie?"
She shook her head.
Logan stepped aside quickly and spoke in a low voice to his partner. "Any luck with Andover, Paul?"
"There are five variations on the street name Andover within two hundred miles. Bob, we can't even get to them all, much less cover them effectively. She has to give us something else."
"I don't know if she can."
"She has to try."
Logan returned to Cassie. "What do you see, Cassie? Talk to me."
In a tone that was almost dreamy now, she said, "There's a lake. I've seen the lights shining on the water. He's… his secret place is near the lake. He thinks he'll dump her body there when he's done. Maybe."
Logan looked swiftly at his partner, but Paul was already on the cell phone.
"What else, Cassie? What else can you tell me?"
"It's getting harder." Her voice became uncertain, shaky once more. "Harder to stay inside him. I'm so tired."
"I know, Cassie. But you have to keep trying. You have to keep us with him."
As always, she responded to his voice and his insistence, drawing on her pitifully meager reserves of strength to maintain a contact that revolted and terrified her. "I hear her. The little girl. She's crying. She's so afraid."
"Don't listen to her, Cassie. Just him."
"All right." She paused. "He's turning. It's a winding road now. A dirt road. I can see the lake sometimes through the trees."
"Do you see a house?"
"We're passing… driveways, I think. There are houses all around. Houses on the lake."
Logan stepped aside as Paul gestured. "What?"
"There's only one Andover Street close to a lake. It's Lake Temple. Bob, it's only fifteen miles away."
"No wonder she's picking him up so well," Logan muttered. "She's never been this deep before, not inside this bastard. The teams moving?"
"I've got everybody en route. And we're chasing down a list of all the property owners on the lake. I'm told this is one of those places where the people name their houses, give them signs and everything. If we get really lucky…"
"Keep me advised," Logan said, and returned to Cassie.
" Lake Temple," she said, dreamy again. "He likes that name. He thinks it's appropriate."
"Don't listen to what he thinks, Cassie. Just watch. Tell me what he's doing, where he's going."
Five minutes of silence lasted seemingly forever, and then she spoke suddenly.
"We're turning. Into a driveway, I think."
"Do you see any mailboxes?"
"No. No. I'm sorry."
"Keep watching."
"It's a steep driveway. Long. Winding down toward the lake. I see… I think there's a house ahead. Sometimes the headlights touch it…"
"Keep watching, Cassie. When you see the house, look for a sign. The house has a name."
"There – there's the house." Her voice quickened. "It has a sign near the door. The sign says… 'retirement fund.' "