Out of Body

put her lips firmly together. Her mind rushed in useless circles. “This is the last place I want to be, but I understand responsibility. I can’t deal with all this on my own. It wouldn’t be right not to talk to you.”

Gray Fisher shifted beside her. This man’s features were angular, harsh even, his brows dark and winged. He had yet to give her a chance to really see his eyes.

He hunched his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he rounded his back. Then straightened it. A fidget. Being still, listening quietly and without comment were disciplines Marley had been taught very early. Keeping opinions to herself was a skill that still needed work.

She thought he must be tall, and he looked athletic.

His thoughts were all about her. And he was trying to figure out if she was…dangerous?

Shocked by feeling his thoughts touch her mind, she began to cut off the connection.

Better to know potential enemies, she heard him think. His efforts were undisciplined, perhaps even accidental.

Marley didn’t allow the probe to deepen.

Telepathy was something she shared with her siblings, to differing degrees depending on how firmly their guards were up. Outside the family, Marley could choose to read minds. She never did so lightly. This was the first time she had been aware of a stranger making casual contact with her.

Her own shield was firmly in place. There would be no reciprocal probing. Willing exploration by two telepathists who were strangers risked a dangerous depth of intimacy.

He was looking sideways at her, watching her watching him. Speculative eyes that reminded her of whiskey. How long had he been aware that she was sizing him up?

A sharp current traveled from her neck down her spine, startling her to sit very straight. The electric sensation curved forward to her belly and buried itself where she least expected to feel any reaction at all.

A sexy connection.

Now warmth shot across her body. Fisher shifted in his chair and the expression in his eyes made her look away.

“What did you come to tell me?” Detective Archer asked. “Do you know where Liza and Amber are?”

Marley cleared her throat. Every word had to be weighed. “Not exactly.”

She felt Gray Fisher continue to watch her quietly.

“What does that mean?” Archer asked.

“I saw Liza about ten days ago, and I was with Amber this afternoon.”

If she had produced an assault rifle, she doubted these two men could be more focused on her.

“Go on,” Archer said.

“Well.” Her fluttering hands annoyed Marley and she dropped them to her lap.

Archer inclined his head in question and jutted his chin.

“They were both…They couldn’t get away from where they were.”

She wanted to give in to the lure and look at Gray Fisher again. Instead, she studied the office. This wasn’t a place where she’d like to spend a lot of time. It smelled musty, like wet laundry left to dry in a heap. Mold. And old smoke.

“Why couldn’t they get away?” This time Archer tried to look relaxed in his chair. You could almost think he was relaxed, as long as you didn’t look at his tight mouth and jaw.

“Someone didn’t want them to leave,” she told him.

“Who?”

She really was overheating, even in her white cotton dress. Long and fairly thin, it began to feel too tight across her chest. “I heard his voice.” Marley didn’t want to recall that dark, smooth, persuasive voice or the power it had over those women.

“You didn’t see him?”

“No. He hid himself,” she said with sudden inspiration. Talking about disembodied voices wouldn’t help buy her either respect or action. “They both know him. When he talked, they expected to hear him speak and did what he wanted.”

Skepticism hardened Archer’s eyes. “And he wanted what?” he asked.

There was a full, blue plastic bowl of Tootsie Rolls on the desk. She was reminded that she still felt drained from the journey.

“He wanted them to go into a sort of locker place in one corner of the big room and stay there,” she said. “It’s got a big, heavy door with no handle on the inside. Each of them did what he said.”

“What room would that be?”

“Like I said, the locker is in a bigger room and I think—” Too many vague references would make them suspicious.

“No, the bigger room. Where is that?” Archer said.

Of course this was difficult, and it would only get more so. She couldn’t tell him about a luminous, watery funnel, a portal to another place by way of a peeling red lacquer dollhouse! “What have you found out so far?” she said, buying time.

“Not enough, but we will,” Archer said.

Beside her, Gray Fisher’s hands were curved into fists on his thighs. He’d given up on his notes. His presence, her response to him, alerted her to possible risk.

“Let’s come at this from another direction,” Archer said. “The locker? What kind of locker?”

“Like a meat locker,” she said, and swallowed hard. “Revolving hooks inside.”

Silence.

“It was cold in there. I saw an atmospheric phenomenon.”

Gray Fisher coughed. “Meaning?”

“Condensation, I suppose. Cold air meeting warmer air and billowing like fog.” She puffed at a curl beside her eye. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not scientific—not in the way you think of. Just imagine opening a freezer door and seeing clouds of white vapor rush out.”

“You sound irritated,” Archer said, too mildly for comfort.

“That’s because she’s uncomfortable,” Fisher said.

Marley didn’t want his interpretation of what she might or might not feel, but she kept quiet.

“Just a minute,” Fisher said.

Hearing a light scratching at the door, he got up and let Winnie sidle in. She held her bone by one end and dragged it beside her as if it would be less noticeable that way.

Marley had heard the scratching, too, but she was preoccupied.

Fisher looked down on Winnie, who attempted to flatten herself to the wall beneath the row of windows. Her wrinkled face pushed up between round eyes so moist, anyone could expect tears, and she gave him a stare filled with an appeal for mercy. She raised first one front foot, then the other, as if abjectly apologetic and expecting to be told off.

“You shouldn’t leave her outside,” Fisher said. “Anyone could take her.”

Drawing in a short, furious breath, Marley waited until the man—and he was tall, muscular, and moved with purpose—dropped back into his seat.

“Winnie wouldn’t let anyone take her,” she said, her voice soft and low. “Winnie is an operator and she just worked a number on you. She wanted in here, and here she is.”

He shrugged and found his tatty little notebook again.

“I’m going to tell you exactly what happened,” she said, breathless. “Please just let me say everything before you interrupt.”

What she was about to do was reckless. “The abduction happened—”

“Which abduction?” Fisher said.

“Liza Soaper. It happened early in the morning. Of course, I didn’t know who she was then. I happened to be about because I couldn’t sleep and I like to walk when I think.” Partly true. Mostly untrue. Marley’s mind scrambled. “Liza was, er, kidnapped. I think she was lured into a car. I jumped in a cab and had the driver follow.”

“What kind of car?” Archer said. “You got the license?”

She was sinking. “I’m not good at cars and I don’t see well when I’m upset. I think it was a black car, a big