“Are you saying you think some of the psychics who were supposedly killed really weren’t?”

“When some of the newer information came in this morning, I noticed that in at least a third of those cases, either no body was found or else what was found was…pretty messed up. A lot of burn victims from house fires, car and plane crashes, things like that. Drownings where the body had…been in the water a long time. Identification was sketchy and often depended on the location of the bodies or the fact that nobody asked questions. If a man or woman lives alone and a body is found in their house or car; if that person is missing; if the body is the right sex, roughly the right size and age, wearing the missing person’s clothing or jewelry—in a lot of cases, the assumption is made. And even when identification was made through so-called positive means, as in dental records or even DNA…well, records can be switched. I’d say that would probably be child’s play for people with police officers in their pockets.”

“You mean…innocent people might have been killed just to provide bodies?” That belated realization hit her hard.

“If the stakes are high enough, why not?”

“My God.”

Tucker looked at her quickly. “I’m sorry.”

She wondered vaguely what he’d heard in her voice, but all she said was, “Do you think that if we checked the Richmond newspapers for the days after the fire, we might read that the body of a woman was found dumped somewhere? A woman about thirty, five four, a hundred and five pounds, maybe with dark, reddish hair? A woman who might have been mistaken for me in the right circumstances?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can we check?”

He sent her another quick glance. “Sarah, it isn’t your fault. If some other woman died…blame them, not yourself.”

“I’d like to know,” she said steadily. “I need to know.”

“Why? What good would it do?”

Sarah couldn’t tell him that. She only knew that it was a question she had to have answered. But all she said was, “It would be another piece of information, wouldn’t it? Another bit of evidence that—that we’re guessing right. You said yourself we need to know all we can.”

“I don’t think that’s your reason.”

“It’s reason enough.” She waited through several moments of silence, then prompted, “Tucker?”

“All right. When we get to Syracuse, I’ll see what I can find out. Just remember that Richmond is a big city. People die there. None of those deaths has to be connected to you.”

She didn’t respond to that, but said instead, “If the other side really is taking some of the psychics reported dead as well as those reported missing, what are they doing with them? What do they want with me?”

“If the object was to kill you, then you might pose a threat to them. If getting their hands on you and other psychics is the object, then obviously you have some kind of value to them. They want or need to use you somehow.”

“How? To buy lottery tickets? To predict how the stock market’s going to go in the months and years ahead?”

“Maybe. But among the supposedly dead and definitely missing psychics I’ve listed so far are those who can’t predict the future any more than I can. Psychics whose gifts are along other lines. People with telepathy, telekinesis, the ability to supposedly channel the dead or sense spirits or start fires, or take pictures with the mind. It really runs the gamut.”

“Then I can’t see how there could be a single answer to this.” Sarah rubbed her forehead fretfully. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He was watching her more closely than she had realized. “Is the pressure building again?”

She thought about it, then shook her head. “No, not really. I’m just…having a little trouble thinking clearly.” And, of course, I’m scared half out of my mind.

Tucker frowned, but said, “They must think they can gain something. I can think of a dozen scams where a medium or fire starter would come in handy.”

She was surprised. “Scams?”

“Sure. A good medium can do a pretty brisk business, and arson can be immensely profitable.”

“Yes, but…A fake medium could probably do okay, especially given the apparent resources of the other side. And as for fire starters, all it takes to start a fire is a match.”

“A match can also leave evidence of arson. Even so, to be honest, this doesn’t feel like a for-profit thing to me. It’s just too damned big, too complicated. And too costly. The payoff has to be big, maybe bigger than we can imagine. I just don’t see that coming from sideshow mediums or burning buildings.”

“So we still don’t know what’s going on.”

He glanced at her. “We know what. Or part of what. We just don’t know why.”

“And all we can do is talk in circles.” Sarah resisted the urge to rub her forehead again. You must think you’re going to get a pretty good book out of all this, Tucker, to stick with me this long.

“We’re putting the pieces together, Sarah. You have to admit, we know—or think we know—a lot more than we did a week ago.”

“For all the good it does us.”

“You’re tired.” His voice gentled. “It’s hard for you to see that we are making progress. But we are. And we’ll do even better once we make contact with another psychic.”

I can’t afford to be tired. You said it yourself. But all she said aloud was, “Assuming we pick the right psychic, and not one who belongs to the other side.”

“You’ll know if we’re right.”

“Will I?”

“I believe you will.”

“Suppose I don’t. Suppose I can’t tell an enemy from a friend. What then?” As hard as she tried, she couldn’t steady her shaking voice.

“Then we’ll think of something else.” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying note of tension.

“And keep running.”

“We can run as long as it takes.”

Sarah rubbed her cold hands together. They always seemed to be cold now. Nerves, she supposed. “How long are you prepared to put your life on hold, Tucker?”

“I told you. As long as it takes.”

Only until October. One way or another, we’ll stop running then.

But all she said was, “Whether they want me dead or not, we know they can kill; if you get in their way…”

“I intend to get in their way. And I’m betting you’re stronger than they suspect you are. I’m betting on you.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on me?”

Without looking at her, Tucker replied flatly, “I already have, Sarah.”

There was really nothing she could say to that.

Beyond the window where he stood, Duran could see most of downtown Syracuse. He didn’t think much of it. Not that he considered the matter with any undue interest. His attention was directed toward a specific building barely a block away, another hotel. It was almost nine o’clock on Tuesday night, and the hotel was flooded with light.

The footsteps behind him were inaudible, but he heard them. “Well? Have they checked in?”

“Yes, sir. Same as before, a junior suite. The door opens into the parlor, where Mackenzie will be.”

“Where we assume Mackenzie will be,” Duran corrected gently.

“Yes, sir.”

Duran turned away from the window. “What does Astrid say?”

“That Gallagher is blocking—probably unconsciously.”

“I wonder if she’s telling the truth,” Duran mused, not a question so much as thoughtful speculation.

Varden did not venture a response, though a faint frown pulled at his brows.

Duran saw it. “You think she wouldn’t lie to us?”

“She was brought over ten years ago. If we can’t trust her…”

“Yes. If we can’t trust her.” Duran smiled, something ironic in the expression.

Varden waited a moment, then said, “It is Astrid’s opinion that Gallagher is on the edge of understanding at least some of what she’s capable of.”

“I can see that for myself without benefit of a psychic’s abilities,” Duran said, dry now.