Bradley ignored him to focus on Raine.
“How did he get your name? As far as the media was concerned, you were just an unnamed client of a local real estate agent. Doug Spicer and Chief Langdon got the credit for the rescue.”
“I didn’t land on the six o’clock news, thank heavens,” she said. “But everyone back in Shelbyville knows that I was the person with Spicer when we found the girl. They also know that my aunt’s house now belongs to me.”
Bradley looked seriously thoughtful. “Are you telling me that you think the killer is a Shelbyville resident?”
“A resident or maybe someone who spends weekends and vacations in the area. I think he almost has to be a person who knows the community well, not just because he picked up my name so fast after the girl was found, but because he felt comfortable coming and going from my aunt’s house.”
“I get why he may have focused on you,” Bradley said. “There’s a twisted logic to it.”
“He hunts witches. I’m the niece of the Shelbyville witch. That makes me a witch, too. I think he fears me.”
She realized she was no longer regarding Bradley from the standpoint of a hurt and humiliated would-be lover, and, for his part, he wasn’t fixated on manipulating her with guilt in an attempt to obtain her assistance with the Cassidy Cutler book. They were working together again.
Bradley rubbed his jaw. “If he’s afraid of you, why not just pick up a gun and shoot you?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Raine saw Zack go dangerously still. Energy pulsed in the small space. Bradley must have picked up on it unconsciously because he stirred as though suddenly uncomfortable.
“You know better than to attribute normal reasoning processes to freaks like this,” she said quickly. She gave Zack a warning frown.
Zack did not take his eyes off Bradley but she felt the powerful energy dim a little.
“Can’t argue with that,” Bradley said. He turned the bit of china with his fingers. “He took a risk leaving a chunk of evidence behind, though.”
“How many people would interpret that broken cup as a threat or a clue?” Zack asked. “Chief Langdon sure as hell wasn’t interested.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Bradley agreed. “He told me he was busy chasing down the hard leads they got from the latest victim and at the scene. When he called me he apologized for asking me to waste my time. Said he was only doing it because he didn’t want Raine going to the media and making a lot of wild claims about being a psychic.”
“He thinks I’m either borderline delusional or full-on crazy,” Raine said neutrally.
Bradley chuckled. “Oh, yeah.”
She gave him her special smile. “Not a unique opinion among members of the law enforcement community.”
Bradley had the grace to redden.
“You sure that smile doesn’t piss you off?” Zack asked with polite interest.
Bradley looked confused and annoyed. He closed his fingers around the shard and kept his attention firmly fixed on Raine. “I’ve worked with you often enough to know better than to blow off your, uh, observations and insights.”
She allowed herself to relax a little. “Thanks, Bradley.”
“What happens now?” Zack asked.
“I can arrange to have more patrols in this neighborhood at night to keep an eye on things,” Bradley said, “but I can’t give Raine a twenty-four-hour guard. No money for bodyguards in the city budget.”
“Not a problem,” Zack said. “She’s got one.”
Bradley gave Raine a quick, searching look and then turned back to Zack. There was wary respect and silent acknowledgment in his expression.
“Yeah, sort of figured that,” he said.
“What are you going to do?” Zack asked.
“The usual routine. I’ll talk to the neighbors. See if anyone saw a stranger in the vicinity last night. Maybe someone noticed an unfamiliar car in the lot.” He took a notebook and a pen out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ve got tomorrow off. I’ll drive up to Shelbyville, see what breaks in that direction. Maybe someone saw the guy entering or leaving Raine’s room.”
“Langdon isn’t going to be real happy to have you asking questions on his turf,” Zack said.
“We’ll work it out,” Bradley said. He flipped open the notebook and looked at Raine. “Take me through it from the start. I want to hear everything you saw and felt in your aunt’s basement the other day. You know the drill.”
“Sure,” Raine said.
She knew the drill but Zack was right. It was different when you were the one at the top of a killer’s To Do list.
By the time Bradley finally left, notebook crammed with every detail Raine could recall, she felt mentally and emotionally drained. She flopped against the back of the sofa. Batman and Robin jumped up beside her and settled down, purring loudly.
“Whew.” She stroked the cats. “I think I need another cup of tea.”
Zack was at the window. “I’ll make some for you.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re right.” He turned around, his expression thoughtful. “Mitchell did take you seriously.”
“Told you so. He may think I’m creepy but he knows better than to ignore me.”
“He’s also got a damn good reason to work this case hard. Bagging the Bonfire Killer would do a hell of a lot more for his reputation than solving a hundred cold cases.”
She smiled wryly. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Judging by the gleam in Mitchell’s eye when he left, I’ve got a hunch it’s pretty much all he’s thinking about at the moment.”
Twenty-nine
PORTLAND, OREGON…
John Stilwell Nash stood at the bank of windows that lined one wall of the corner office and watched a steady rain fall on Portland. As far as he was concerned it could pour until the whole damn city washed into the Willamette River. He did not like anything about the place. Every aspect of it, from the too relaxed, too nice, too polite, too environmentally conscious locals to the annual rose festival made him want to hurl the heavy Victorian inkwell on his desk through the plate glass.
But nothing outside the window was as infuriating as the conversation he was having on the phone.
“What went wrong?” he asked.
He was enraged by this latest failure. But he managed, with some effort, to maintain the cold, utterly flat tone that he always used with members of his staff. It was vital to conceal all emotion from one’s underlings. The barest hint of the fury that threatened to consume him could be taken as evidence of loss of control. Within the organization, loss of control was viewed as a weakness.