“Yeah.”
She looked at the closed door of her apartment as if she expected to find a cobra on the other side. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
He took the key from her. “Stay here,” he said.
“Sam?”
“I don’t think there’s anyone inside now,” he said. “Whoever was here is long gone.”
He slipped the pistol out from under his jacket, just in case, and opened the door.
Shadows and a disturbing energy spilled out, but he did not pick up the subtle vibes that indicated the presence of someone hiding inside the apartment.
“Whoever was here is gone,” he said.
“Ralph, the doorman, maybe.”
“I don’t think so.”
He moved into the short hall and turned the corner. The city lights illuminated the chaotic scene in the living room. There was nothing professional about the search. The small condo had been ransacked by someone who must have been in a fit of rage at the time.
Books had been pulled off the shelves and dumped on the floor. The intruder had taken a knife to the cushions of the sofa and the reading chair. The contents of the desk drawers were scattered across the floor.
Sam did a quick tour of the bedroom and bath. Both rooms looked as if they had been hit by a tornado.
He headed back toward the living room, trying to think of a way to break the bad news to Abby. The hushed cry from the front hall told him that she had seen the disaster for herself.
He walked around the corner and saw her. She stood in the hallway, staring at her vandalized living room in shock and disbelief. Sam righted a lamp and switched it on.
“Why would anyone do such a thing?” She clenched her hands into small fists. “This was my home.”
He did not miss her use of the past tense, but he decided not to comment on it.
“The question is, what was he looking for?” he said gently.
“Obviously, he was searching for that damn lab book or something that would tell him who has it.” She walked slowly through the wreckage and looked into the bedroom. “Dear heaven, he even went through my lingerie drawer. How
“We can call the cops,” Sam said. “But I doubt if it will do any good. To them, it will be just another low- priority burglary. Not even that, because I doubt if anything is actually missing.”
“Because what he wanted wasn’t here for him to find. You’re right. The cops will put this down as vandalism. They’ll ask me if I know anyone who has a reason to be mad at me. How am I going to explain that some crazy guy with a paranormal ability to commit murder is after a forty-year-old lab notebook that’s encrypted in a psychic code? They’ll think I’m crazy. Then they’ll find out about my time at the Summerlight Academy, and they’ll know for sure that I’m a nut.”
Sam walked to the sliding glass door and examined it. “Still locked from the inside. That means he got in through the front door. That settles it, this building definitely needs a major security upgrade.”
“I can’t stand it,” Abby said. There was a strange tremor in her voice.
Sam turned quickly and went back to her. “Can’t stand what?”
“I can’t stand the fact that he was here, inside my home,” Abby said. “I’ll never be able to sleep here again. I’m going to list the condo with a real-estate agent tomorrow.” She looked around. “No, wait, I’ll have to get a professional cleaning firm in here first. I’ll tell them to gather up everything and haul it to a charity.”
“Hey, hey, hey, take it easy.” He drew her into his arms and tried to think of something soothing to say. “It’ll be okay. The bastard ripped up a few cushions and made a mess, but there’s not a lot of serious damage.”
“He touched my stuff.” Abby was stiff with tension. She seemed unaware of his arms around her. “He was in my bedroom. My bathroom. My kitchen.”
“I know. He’ll pay for it, I promise you.”
“This isn’t about money, damn it.”
He winced. “Bad choice of words. I didn’t mean that he would pay financially. I meant I’ll get him for you.”
Abby took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Okay, then. Thank you.” She stepped out of his arms and went toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Don’t you want to take some fresh clothes with you?”
“No.” She did not look back. “I won’t be able to wear anything that was here when he broke in. I won’t be able to use any of the dishes or the silverware or the sheets or my new towels ever again. He contaminated everything.”
She was already outside, punching the button for the elevator. Sam switched off the lamp. He stood for a moment, contemplating the violated space.
“Whoever you are, you just bought yourself a one-way ticket to nowhere,” he said to the shadows. “You should never have touched her stuff.”
35
ABBY WALKED OUT OF THE ELEVATOR INTO THE DIMLY LIT dungeon that was the underground parking garage. Her emotions were in turmoil. All she could think about was getting into the car and putting as much distance as possible between herself and her violated home.
By the time she realized there was something wrong with the atmosphere in the garage, Sam’s powerful hand was clamping tightly around her upper arm. She turned her head to look at him.
“What—?” she began.
“Quiet,” Sam said, directly into her ear.
He drew her swiftly behind a massive SUV that was parked in the corner. The gray walls of the garage formed a barricade on two sides. The big vehicle provided additional cover.
Ominous energy whispered in the shadows. Abby was suddenly chilled to the bone. Parking garages were always unnerving at night, and in spite of the condo’s security measures, this one was no exception. Footsteps echoed eerily. There were too many dark spaces between the parked cars. She always walked through the gray concrete underworld as quickly as possible, keys in hand, all senses on high alert. But tonight she had been distracted.
The garage was far too quiet. There were no footsteps or voices, but her intuition warned her that she and Sam were not alone. Someone else waited in the shadows. Sam released her. She watched him take his pistol and a small chunk of silvery quartz that looked like a crystal mirror out from under his jacket. She wondered what the quartz was for but decided this was not the time to ask questions. There was the stillness of the hunter about Sam now. He was very focused, very intent. Very dangerous.
She did not know what to expect, a threat or a command from an armed gunman, perhaps. But there was only a strange, unnatural silence that seemed to deepen by the second. It was wrong. The pale glow of the fluorescent fixtures overhead was growing fainter. The garage was taking on a weird, dreamlike quality.
“Go hot,” Sam ordered softly. “All the way.”
She was already on edge, all of her senses, normal and paranormal, flaring in alarm, but she had made no effort to focus them. The problem with concentrating psychic energy for a prolonged period of time was that the exercise had a downside. The unpleasant jitters and, ultimately, exhaustion that followed a heavy burn were the least of her concerns. She could deal with those. What scared the daylights out of her in that moment was that the garage was starting to resemble the dreamscape of the Grady Hastings nightmare. It was bad enough to wake up and find herself standing beside her bed. What if pushing her talent too hard plunged her permanently into the dream?
Sensing her hesitation, Sam gave her an impatient glance.
