Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-two

“They are all dead?” Amelia asked. “I don’t understand. I’m sure those three men were alive when we left to take Mayfield to the clinic.”

She looked and sounded stunned, Gideon realized. She turned to him for confirmation.

“They were alive, weren’t they?” she said. “All three were alive.”

“Yes,” he said, “but there were a lot of bullets flying around. We didn’t check those men to see if they’d been badly injured. We were too busy trying to escape and take Mayfield with us.”

Silently he tried to send her the message, Stick to our story . But at the moment, she was clearly shocked. People in shock did not focus well.

He and Amelia and Richards, the head of the Lucent Springs Police Department, were gathered at the entrance of the hotel lobby. They were not alone. The medic at the clinic had been right. Every cop in the small Lucent Springs Police Department—all six of them, counting the captain—appeared to be there. The scene was illuminated by the glaring headlights of the various vehicles parked in the vicinity. Inside the lobby, officers milled around with military-grade flashlights.

He was trying to concentrate on getting answers from Richards, but he kept getting distracted by Amelia. Her shock at the news of the three deaths aside, she really did seem to be okay. Amazing.

She gave Richards a fierce look. “They were alive when we left, Captain.”

“I believe you,” Richards said. “No way was this a DEA takedown, either. Relax, I’m not looking to pin this on the two of you. But you said one got away. We think he waited until you and Mayfield left. Then he returned to execute the others. He must have concluded they weren’t worth saving and he needed to make sure none of them talked.”

Richards was in his early forties, solid and compact, his hair trimmed in a number one buzz cut. There was a wedding ring on his finger. Everything about him suggested that he was a smart, competent veteran of law enforcement. It was, Gideon reflected, a field in which experienced professionals preferred the Occam’s razor approach to crime solving. The right answer was usually the one with the least number of possible elements. Why look for complicated conspiracies involving illegal medical experiments with exotic paranormal drugs, kidnappings, and amnesia when everything at the scene indicated a routine drug deal gone bad?

The wisest course of action was to let Richards run with his own theory of the crime, Gideon thought. That was working out fairly well—so far.

But what was up with Amelia?

When he realized she had been caught by the edges of the energy he had used to take down Deacon he had been prepared for her to plunge into a nightmare and then retreat into unconsciousness. And she had apparently entered a dreamscape for a short time—but she had snapped out of it almost immediately.

She should be having an anxiety attack whenever she looked at him. Not only had she witnessed what he could do with his talent, she had experienced it firsthand. By now she had to understand how truly dangerous he was. Why wasn’t she treating him as if he was a monster? Why wasn’t she putting distance between them; flinching whenever he got close? As far as he could tell she wasn’t even nervous around him.

“We were lucky,” Amelia said to Richards. “I’m sure the one who took off would have tried to kill us, too, if we had been here when he returned.”

Good , Gideon thought, relieved. She was back on track with the story they had invented for Richards. There was a practiced ease in her voice now that impressed him. It was clear this wasn’t the first time she had dealt with law enforcement.

“The fourth man is in the wind,” Richards said. “I’ll get the word out. We haven’t had gang or cartel problems here in Lucent Springs. We’re too far away from the big-city drug markets. I hope this is a one-off and not the start of something more serious.”

“What do you know about Mayfield?” Gideon asked.

“Everyone around here figures he’s harmless.” Richards shrugged. “Claims he’s writing a book.”

“He had a gun,” Amelia pointed out.

“So does everyone else in town,” Richards said. “Look, I’m going to need a statement from the two of you, but it can wait until morning. Right now I need to lock down the scene.”

“We’re staying at the Cactus Garden Motel,” Gideon said.

Amelia gave Richards an ironic look. “I imagine everyone in town knows that.”

“If they don’t already, they will by morning,” Richards said.

He crossed the fractured entranceway to join his officers inside the lobby.

Gideon looked at Amelia. She had turned around and was now staring at the cracked pavement behind the patrol cars and out of the range of the headlights.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“There’s no point going inside. Too much light. But there are some prints over there. I need to take a closer look.”

“All right, but let’s try to make it seem as if we’re just getting out of the way.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not about to tell Richards that I’m looking for paranormal footprints. I’m well aware that law enforcement doesn’t welcome input from people claiming psychic talents.”

“There are a few exceptions, but generally speaking, you’re right.”

They moved into the deep shadows behind the lights. He heard Amelia take a sharp breath.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered.

“See something important?”

“Yes,” she said. She swung around. “Let’s get out of here. I need to make a call and there’s no service out here.”

He did not argue. They went back to the SUV and climbed inside. He started the engine and drove toward the main road.

“What’s the rush?” he asked.

“I know the identity of the man who escaped tonight, the one who was in charge,” Amelia said. She clutched her phone in both hands as if she could will the bars to appear. “He’s dating my neighbor.”