"I'll see what I can do."

By the time Cassie came into the living room carrying a tray, Ben had the fire going briskly. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and was standing by the fireplace, loosening his tie. Cassie put the tray on the coffee table and sat down at one end of the sofa.

"I think there's a knack to lighting fires," she said, pouring the coffee. "I don't have it. You obviously do. Thanks."

"My pleasure." Ben watched Max carry a rawhide bone in from the kitchen, eye the fire distrustfully for a moment, then collapse on a rug not too far from Cassie.

"We're getting into a routine," she said. "I give him a rawhide bone about this time, and it takes him the rest of the night to demolish it." She held out Ben's cup, and when he came to take it, added, "Have a seat."

He chose the other end of the sofa, and sat half turned so he could look at her. "I hope I'm not disrupting your routine."

"No. I've been sorting through some of Aunt Alex's things, but taking my time." She gestured toward a large box occupying a nearby chair. "That's mostly papers, correspondence and the like. I'll probably go through it tonight. But there's no hurry."

"So you haven't been bothered by anything else?"

Cassie shook her head and sipped her coffee. "No, nothing. I would have called the sheriff and offered to try again, but I imagine he's determined to try all the normal lines of investigation first. He won't look to me until he gets really desperate."

Ben didn't smile. "Do you think he will?"

"If you mean do I think the killing is over – no, I don't."

"Why not? Maybe three satisfied him."

"I don't think so. There's a… need in this one, a hunger. Killing appeases something inside him. The terror of his victims appeases something inside him. But he isn't sated yet. He'll kill again."

"It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop," Ben said. "Mart's investigation hasn't uncovered anything new, or at least not anything helpful. No witnesses have come forward. There are no viable suspects. And the whole town is holding its breath."

Cassie refused to say it for him. She merely waited.

Ben shook his head. "Maybe Mart's willing to wait and depend on traditional police methods, but I'm not. Not when there's another option. Cassie, would you try again? See if you can pick up any new information, something that might help us catch this bastard before he kills again?"

"What would the sheriff say about that?"

"He said plenty," Ben replied with a grimace. "Especially when I said I didn't want to bring you to his office and draw attention with everybody in town so edgy and watchful. He refused to come out here, and didn't want to let me bring something you could touch. But he finally gave in, probably to get me out of his office."

"So you weren't just in the neighborhood, huh?"

He hesitated. "I would have called first, but I wanted to see you before I asked you to try again, make sure you weren't as drained as you were before. To be honest, I drove around for half an hour before I could convince myself I had to ask you."

Cassie could believe that. It explained his disquiet since arriving; he was beginning to understand how much it took out of her, and he was torn between need and the reluctance to cause hurt.

"It's all right, you know," she said. "I did agree to try to help."

He gave her a quick look. "You wanted to stop, Cassie, we both know that."

"And we also both know I don't have a choice. Not if I stay here." She paused. "And I'm staying here. So let's see whatever it is you've brought for me to touch."

Ben set his cup on the coffee table and went to get his jacket from a chair near the fireplace. When he came back to the sofa, he was holding a small plastic bag labeled evidence. Inside the bag was a scrap of drab-colored cloth.

"Matt said this might tell you something."

Cassie put her cup on the coffee table and then took the bag from him and opened it. She braced herself mentally, closed her eyes, then held the scrap of cloth between her fingers.

Ben watched her. Since the night she had been unable to read him even after touching him, he thought she was a bit less wary in his presence; she was definitely making eye contact more often than she had at first.

But she was still very much shut inside herself, guarded and watchful. Her smiles were almost always brief, her eyes unreadable. And though the strain he had seen at their first meeting was still visible in the faint shadows under her eyes, she seemed somehow less torn by it, as though acceptance of the situation had bred a kind of peace.

Or a kind of fatalism.

That bothered Ben, this feeling that Cassie was resigned to a fate she was convinced lay in store for her. She had not had to tell him that the fate she saw for herself was not a happy one; it had been obvious. And that had been the reason he had driven around arguing with himself before finally coming to her. Not because an attempt would most likely drain her, but because he couldn't shake the feeling that with each attempt she was moving nearer a destiny that would take her far beyond his reach, maybe beyond anyone's reach.

And she knew it.

He made himself put that aside for the moment, and was about to ask her if she sensed anything, when her sudden smile threw him off balance.

"Cassie? Does it tell you anything?"

She opened her eyes, the smile lingering. "As a matter of fact, it does." She returned the scrap to the plastic bag and dropped it carelessly onto the sofa between them. "It tells me the good sheriff has a sense of humor as well as a suspicious nature. I wasn't entirely sure about that."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a test, Ben. A test for me." She was still smiling. "I invited him to do it, actually, so I can't complain."

Ben picked up the evidence bag. "Are you telling me this didn't come from any of the crime scenes?"

"Afraid not."

"Then where the hell did it come from?"

"As I said, the sheriff has a sense of humor. That scrap of material is from his own Boy Scout uniform."

"Son of a bitch."

"Don't be too hard on him. I knew he wouldn't refuse a challenge and I gave him one. To test me unexpectedly. That's why he refused to come along, of course. He's such an open book, I would easily have read his intentions. He's sure I can do that, even if he'd argue there's nothing paranormal about it. This way, he's not here, and even if I could read you, you had no idea the so-called evidence wasn't genuine."

Grimly Ben said, "I certainly didn't."

Cassie shrugged. "Well, I passed his little test. It won't convince him, but it should at least give him pause. Maybe in the end that'll be worth something."

Ben heard himself say, "What is the end, Cassie? Can you tell me that?"

She looked away, amusement fading. "I told you I can't see the future."

"But you saw yours. Your fate."

"That's different."

"Is it? Can you tell me your fate isn't tangled up with this investigation?"

Her profile was still, expressionless, as she gazed toward the fireplace, and her voice was calm when she said, "I can't tell you anything about my fate."

"Why not?"

"Because it's mine. Because telling you could somehow be the spur to make it all happen just as I saw it."

"And what if not telling me is the spur? Can you be sure it isn't?"

"No."

"Then – "

"I had to make a choice, Ben. Act in any way to try to change what I saw, or not act. I acted. I ran three thousand miles/And in running, in acting to try to change what had to be, I put myself right back into the kind of situation I was running from." She turned her head and looked at him at last, smiling faintly. "I don't think I'll act anymore."

"You acted by agreeing to help us."