Marc looked at Dani. "You're a private investigator?"

She looked at him directly for the first time since they'd entered the house, if only fleetingly. "No. I'm not an active investigator."

"Dani's abilities," Garrett said, "are specialized, as you know."

"Passive," she said, with another glance at Marc. "Even psychics can have totally passive abilities."

Marc saw both Paris and Miranda frown slightly, but neither of them challenged Dani's statement. Instead, the federal agent got them back on topic.

"Between the SCU, others in law enforcement, and Haven, our network of available psychics has grown even more quickly than we anticipated. Recently, we've been… experimenting somewhat."

"By tracking killers?" Marc asked.

"More or less."

"Successfully?"

"Results have been spotty," she admitted readily. "Probably not surprising, given the varying strengths and abilities of our people."

"But you feel confident that you know who butchered at least one young woman here in Venture sometime in the last twenty-four hours?"

"Who-yes. But not in the helpful sense of knowing his name or even what he looks like."

"So what you know is that he's a serial you've tracked from a prior hunting ground." He didn't make it a question, because he had no doubt that was the answer.

Miranda nodded. "Afraid so."

"And you're absolutely sure?"

"Marc, I'm not absolutely sure the sun will rise tomorrow. Pretty sure, mind you, but not absolutely sure." She shrugged. "Could I testify under oath in a courtroom? Not with facts. But feelings? Psychic certainty? Am I sure in my own mind who this bastard is? Yes."

"Because you had a vision?"

"No. Because another of our psychics got a hit. And she's very accurate. It's the same killer. The Boston serial."

"You haven't even studied the scene," Marc said, knowing the objection was purely a matter of form.

"Yes," Miranda said. "I have. I just wasn't there at the time."

Chapter Six

THE FACT THAT JORDAN chose, in the end, to accompany Teresa and her team out to the Norvell home had less to do with any urge to learn how to collect forensic evidence and more to do with his feeling that while he might not be strong in science, he understood people. And he had learned early as a cop that there were few things more helpful in any investigation than gathering information from people rather than from paperwork.

But this was his first experience with a missing and probably dead victim-and a distraught husband.

A distraught husband he'd gone to school with.

"You're sure there's no word about Karen?" Bob Norvell waved the forensics team toward the bedrooms at the rear of the small, well-kept house but kept his gaze fixed on Jordan.

"We're doing everything we can to find her, Bob, you know that." Jordan was a lot more uncomfortable than he'd expected, and had to concentrate to keep his expression professional-and impassive.

"She wouldn't have left me, Jordan. You know that, right? That she wouldn't have left me?"

"Yeah, Bob, I know that. Everybody says you guys were-are-happy together."

If Norvell noticed the slip, he ignored it. "She wouldn't have left me, and there was no reason anybody would want to hurt her. Not Karen. Karen's a sweetheart, she really is. Everybody likes her."

"Bob, why don't we sit down? It may take a few minutes for the team to do its work, so…"

"Yeah, sure, I'm sorry." Novell led the way into the living room, adding, "Can I get you anything? Coffee or something?"

"No, thanks." Jordan regretted that almost immediately, realizing that giving Norvell something to do probably would have been a good idea, at least to the extent of giving the deputy a break from that anxious gaze.

Coward! Do your job, for Christ's sake!

As they sat down, Jordan made a determined effort to be professional. "I've read the report, of course, Bob, but I wanted to ask if there was anything else you could tell me, anything you might have thought of in the last few days."

"Like what?"

"Before she disappeared, was Karen different in any way? Did she seem nervous or worried?"

Norvell shook his head. "No, she was just the same as always. I kissed her good-bye and went to work-she had a day off from the bank, but I didn't-and when I got home she wasn't here." His face crumpled suddenly. "I should have got her that dog. She wanted a little dog to keep her company when I wasn't here, especially when I was gone overnight for business. I really should have got her that dog."

Wary of the emotional storm he could see looming, Jordan said quickly, "Had you noticed anything different yourself? I mean, had you seen anybody hanging around in the neighborhood, a stranger or just somebody who made the hair on the hack of your neck stand up for no reason you could be sure of?"

"Around here? No."

"And Karen didn't mention anything? She hadn't seen anything or anyone that made her uneasy?"

Norvell frowned suddenly. "Wait a minute. She did say the girls at the bank teased her about somebody taking pictures of her, that she had a secret admirer. She laughed it off, said she thought they were pulling her leg, because she never saw anybody."

"When was this?"

"Oh, hell, Jordan it was back in the summer. I remember because she hadn't mentioned it to me until we were at the beach on vacation. To be honest, it sort of did make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, if just for a second or two. You remember how it was back in the summer; you couldn't turn on the news without hearing about this killer or that stalker, like the whole country was full of psychos, so I was worried. But she laughed it off. And by the time we got home…"

By the time they returned home, both suspicion and uneasiness had been forgotten. Understandably.

"I'll talk to the girls at the bank," Jordan said briskly, "and see if they remember anything that might help us. It's probably nothing, Bob, but it won't hurt to check."

"You'll let me know if you find out anything?"

"Of course. Of course I will." Jordan felt like a bastard, a part of him wanting to warn Bob Norvell to start his grieving now. But the cop, of course, kept the man silent.

"I should have got her that dog," Norvell mumbled.

"You can go the formal route, of course," Miranda Bishop told Marc. "Contact the FBI, report the crime and your suspicion that you could have a serial operating here in Venture."

"And?"

"And the Bureau, following procedure, would have Behavioral Science study all the crime scene information, possibly contact and interview some of your people, and formulate a profile of the unknown subject. Your killer."

Nobody had ever accused Marc of being slow on the uptake. "Bureaucratic red tape. Which would take how long?"

"You might get a preliminary profile in a week, more likely two or three weeks given the Bureau's current workload. And it would of course be based only on what's happened here, treating this killer and this hunting ground as unique."

Marc leaned forward, elbows on knees, and kept his gaze on Miranda, despite his growing awareness of Dani and her utter stillness only a few feet away. Why was she so damn silent? He wasn't vain enough to believe it was all about him, so what was it?

Staring at the agent, he asked, "Is that why you're here? To warn me that the FBI is not going to be much help to me in this investigation?"

"No, I'm here to warn you that for political and bureaucratic reasons too numerous to go into, the FBI is having internal issues of its own, and those unfortunately affect the SCU. Ideally, an SCU team would be sent here immediately, especially given the viciousness of the crime, to aid you and your people in every way possible."