Blood Ties (22 page)

Maggie nodded. “Is your bag ready?”

“Yeah. I packed a while ago. I’ll go get it.” And when John took a step forward, she waved away help, adding, “It’s okay, the bag is on wheels. I can get it.”

When she had gone to get her bag, John shook his head and said, “That kid really is way too old for her years. Christ, I hope Bishop knows what he’s doing.”

“He usually does,” Bailey said, her tone more wry than reassuring.

“Okay, but since when does he use kids as soldiers?”

“She was a soldier against Samuel at that church of his,” Bailey reminded him quietly. “Without her very powerful help, they never could have defeated the bastard.”
^*

John shook his head. “That was different. She’d been left for dead and pretty much had to be there, had to help them fight—in pure self-defense if nothing else. But there was no deliberate, premeditated decision to put her in the line of fire.”

“Well,” Bailey murmured after a moment of silence, “a good lawyer could probably argue it the other way. Bishop being Bishop and all. But I get your point.”

Maggie said, “He seems determined to keep her out of the line of fire in this case. And as safeguarded as possible. But she wants to be in Serenade, and he agreed it was a good idea. Maybe he believes she’ll see something that’ll help.”

“She saw what happened to Diana while she was here,” John reminded his wife. “Far away from Serenade. For all the good it did. We couldn’t stop it, after all.”

“Because we couldn’t get in touch with them in time. If something else is going to happen and she’s closer to the scene, there may be time enough for a warning to make a difference.”

“Miranda’s a seer, and she’s on the scene.”

“And you know as well as anyone that seers have little if any control over what they’re able to see. Miranda didn’t have a premonition, not about what happened to Diana. But Ruby did.”

“There’s nothing to say she’ll have another one.”

“There’s nothing to say she won’t.”

John gave up that argument; none knew better than he that, gentle though she was, his wife possessed a core of steel. And she was stubborn as hell when convinced she was right about something. “Look, I have no idea exactly how many agents are there by now, or even what specific psychic abilities are being focused on the investigation, but I’m willing to bet that every SCU agent and Haven operative in Serenade has a lot more experience than a twelve-year-old girl. Experience with psychic abilities
and
with defending themselves from a determined enemy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Bailey said. “You didn’t see what Samuel did to his flock. And I mean the ones who survived.”

“I saw these kids,” he told her. “I’ve heard them cry out in the night and I’ve seen what it does to Maggie to take away at least some of their terror and pain. I know they went through hell, Bailey. Which is why I don’t believe Ruby should be going into a war zone.”

It was Maggie who said quietly, “John, you know I don’t like this any better than you do. If Bishop had been the one asking, I would have said no without hesitation. But it wasn’t him. It was Ruby who asked to go. Who insisted she had to. Ruby feels with every fiber of her being that she has to be there.”

Bailey said slowly, “And you don’t find that odd, Maggie? Odd that Ruby specifically saw what would happen to a woman she’d never met before? A woman to whom she had no connection?”

“It happens.”

“To older psychics, yeah, some, though not many. But virtually never with kids. They need a connection. It can be as simple as a touch or as complex as a psychic link or a blood relationship, but they need some kind of connection. You know that.”

“She met Quentin. I assumed the connection was there.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“Bailey—”

“What if it wasn’t, Maggie? What if Ruby’s connection is to someone—or something—else entirely?”

To that question, Maggie had no answer.

It
was John Garrett’s habit to check the big house every night before going to bed. They had an excellent security system for both the house and grounds, and the three large mixed-breed dogs who lived with them had the run of the house and were very protective, especially of Maggie. But he nevertheless needed to check doors and windows for his own peace of mind before he could relax and sleep.

Not that there, so far, had been any trouble here. Still.

The dogs accompanied him on his nightly rounds, their relaxed attention additional proof that nothing threatened the house or its occupants, at least for now. Which was all the reassurance John ever expected.

There were several Haven operatives living and working in the house currently, but that wing of offices, common spaces, and bedroom suites boasted its own self-contained security system—plus another four dogs, at the moment—and he never felt the need to either check the locks or invade the privacy of those who, by necessity, considered this a second home.

Finally satisfied that everything was as safe and secure as possible, he returned to the bedroom floor of the private wing.

“Go to bed,” he told the dogs quietly, and each obeyed at once, retreating to their individual comfortable beds tucked away in niches of the hallway near the master bedroom.

John wondered why he bothered. By morning he would, as usual, wake to find at least two of the dogs sharing his and Maggie’s bed, with the third sprawled across the bedroom sofa.

Shaking his head in wry amusement, he went into the master suite, leaving the door open a bit because, if he didn’t, Maggie would just slip out of bed sometime in the middle of the night to let the dogs in.

“Everything locked up tight?” She was at the window, her back to him.

He was instantly alert, bothered by a note he recognized in her voice. Pain.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension, the slight tremors. “Missing Ruby already?”

He felt a stronger tremor shake her.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I miss her.”

“Maggie, are you upset that she didn’t tell you why she felt so strongly that she had to be in Serenade?”

“Not because she didn’t tell me.” She turned to face him, and he saw that she had been crying. “Because she did.”

Serenade

S
pecial Agent Tony Harte looked at the post-midnight activity still going on around Main Street and shook his head. “Has anybody been keeping track of all the law enforcement and the technical people working here? The electrical crews, FBI agents, the county sheriff’s department, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, plus fire departments and EMS units from about three counties. It’s beginning to look like a First Response convention.”

Special Agent Jaylene Avery glanced up from the bagged shell casing she was examining and said, “The sheriff thought of that hours ago, Tony, long before he left for the hospital. He assigned that task to his chief deputy. What’s his name—Scanlon? The one over there near the courthouse, looking harassed.”

Tony followed her gaze until he located the tall, well-built, middle-aged man who wore his crisp uniform with an air of definite authority. “Oh, Neil. Met him earlier. Now that I think about it, he wanted a good look at my badge and wrote down the number.”

“He’s the one keeping track, at least of law enforcement,” Jaylene said. “Though I doubt he’s had time to authenticate anybody. Just gathering names and badge or other I.D. numbers is taking hours. Nobody’ll really stand still for him, poor guy.”

“At least the bomb squad from the TBI has done their thing and gone away.”

“They didn’t have much to do,” Jaylene pointed out. “Collect a few bomb fragments that aren’t likely to give us much more information than we already have. We all know we aren’t dealing with a bomber specifically, so there isn’t likely to be an identifying characteristic about that bomb. We know he’s not a terrorist. We’re reasonably sure his motive isn’t money. So all their expertise was fairly wasted.”

“I’d just like to know where the bastard is now. It doesn’t take any extra powers to feel that creepy sensation of being watched. And, speaking of, are you getting anything from that shell?”

“Wish I could say yes. Unfortunately, I can’t.” She frowned. “Nothing at all, no sense of the sniper’s personality or motives. I might as well be holding a rock for all the vibes I’m getting.”

Tony sighed. “It was worth a try.”

“Are you getting anything?” she asked him.

“Other than the general sense of panic and fear all around us, no. That’s pretty damn strong, though, to be coming through to even my low-degree telepathy. Almost crackly with static. It’s beginning to give me a headache, and that doesn’t happen often, believe me. People are very worried that the sniper-slash-bomber isn’t finished.”

“I don’t blame them. That’s worrying me too. And the media isn’t helping.” She nodded to an area about a block from their position near the blast site, where yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the road and, along with several deputies, held back the small but determined crowd of reporters and film crews jostling for the best angle from which to report on the bomb. And the murders.

The twenty-four-hour news cycle, the modern bane of law enforcement everywhere—at least as far as Jaylene was concerned.

Tony nodded but said hopefully, “If they stay the rest of the night and want any sleep at all, it’ll have to be in that roach motel on the edge of town, so maybe they’ll start clearing out anytime now.”

“I don’t think so. The ones who were going to leave left, before midnight. The rest are more stubborn. Or just believe they’re onto a bigger story than the one Sheriff Duncan offered.”

“Well, two murdered bodies and a bomb blast might spell ‘probable survivalist with a grudge,’ but I don’t think that’s as uninteresting as the sheriff obviously hoped it would be.”

“Still better than ‘probable serial killer with a trail of bodies in three states and a new taste for bombs,’” Jaylene pointed out.

“True enough.”

“Anyway, I think the media is here for the duration. Unless something a hell of a lot more interesting happens elsewhere.”

“Yeah. And I guess it’d be wrong to hope for a disaster somewhere else.”

Jaylene looked at him with raised brows.

“Kidding,” he explained.

“You sure?”

“I swear. Look, at least most of the locals decided they didn’t much fancy being on TV and retired to their homes. Probably barricaded their doors and cleaned their guns.”

“I think I would if I were them,” Jaylene murmured.

“Yeah, I’m not all that happy out here under the work lights myself. When people like Galen and the twins believe our sniper is still too close for comfort, I pay attention.”

“Me too.”

“I hate body armor, Jay.”

“Me too,” she repeated. “But there’s no sense making it easy for the bastard, right?”

Tony sighed. “Right. And has anyone warned all the media people that standing out here in the glare of their own bright lights without any protection at all
might
not be the best idea in the world?”

“I’ve warned them twice myself.”

“Idiots. Sheriff Duncan has given them the only statement he means to until at least tomorrow—I mean later today—so all they can even do now is film on-the-scene bits for cable news and the morning shows. Still, far as I can see, we’ve got a lot more talking heads than actual investigative journalists, so maybe even those that stay won’t be nosing around.”

She continued to eye him. “You’re a glass-half-full kind of guy, aren’t you?”

Appearing seemingly out of thin air to join them near the sidewalk, Galen said, “He definitely is. Except about the weather. For some reason, the weather tends to bug him.”

Tony started at the first word. “Damn, will you quit doing that? That’s three times so far. You’re worse than a cat, sneaking up on people.”

“I didn’t sneak. I walked. You just didn’t hear me.”

Jaylene smiled faintly but said to Galen, “Any word on Diana?”

“She made it through surgery, but the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical. I take it the doctors aren’t too hopeful—but let’s call them glass-half-empty sort of guys and hope for the best ourselves. Miranda’s on her way back with Duncan.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be touching down in another half hour or so.”

“How about the others?”

“Staying, I take it. I didn’t ask why.”

Soberly, Jaylene said, “I know why Quentin’s staying. I don’t know the other two well enough to guess.”

“DeMarco staying puzzles me,” Galen admitted. “Unless he has a personal stake or Miranda ordered him to stay, I’d expect him to be heading back here, where all the action is. We could definitely use him, especially if the sniper isn’t done.”

“If Diana was a planned hit, DeMarco may be staying as guardian,” Jaylene offered.

“That’s not a role he favors. Watching and guarding are too tame for his tastes.”

“Since when is guardian duty tame?” Tony wanted to know. “Didn’t it get you shot last time?”

“Yeah, but that’s an unusual outcome. Mostly it’s a lot of watching and waiting for something you hope isn’t going to happen.”

Mildly, Jaylene said, “After more than two years undercover, maybe DeMarco’s ready for a lower-key job.”

With a grunt, Galen said, “Trust me, if he’s low-key it’s because the role calls for it. Otherwise, it isn’t in his nature. Guy’s wired and ready to blow pretty much all the time.”

“That sounds dangerous,” she said, still mild.

“It is. But he also has incredible control and self-discipline. And if you tell him I said so, I’ll deny it.” Galen shrugged. “Anyway, I guess we’ll find out all about it when Miranda gets back. Or not.”

Tony said, “I gather you didn’t find anything on the last sweep?” Galen was one of several agents who had been prowling the perimeter of the town all evening, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many times they had missed each other by a hair in the darkness. Then again, maybe ex-military types had special signals they exchanged in such situations.

Tony imagined Galen sounding some kind of birdcall in the night and hastily pushed the ridiculous image from his mind. He managed to do so without laughing out loud, which he considered something of an accomplishment.