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Claire looked up at him, her eyes dazed. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to get you to stop beating yourself up. Clearly, what Casey said didn’t get through. So it’s my turn.”
She didn’t respond. She just stared into her glass as Ryan went to the kitchen and got himself a beer.
“We both know why I didn’t pick up on Casey’s cousin’s energy.” Claire finally stated her feelings when Ryan returned to the living room. “If you and I hadn’t been so caught up in each other...”
“Then you would probably have lived through the pain and suffering of Trish’s murder,” Ryan finished for her. “Just the way you did with the others. And, just like with the others, you would have prevented nothing. The only good you could’ve accomplished is speeding up the search for the body. Which means squat. Trish would still be dead.”
“Maybe. But maybe I would’ve seen something, heard something, that would have helped the next time—Casey’s time. What if that’s true? What if I could have saved her from what’s to come, but I blew it?”
“Then you’ll do it now.”
“I plan to. Before all this happened, I was going to pay Suzanne Fisher a visit. I’ll wait till she’s home from work tomorrow night. Then I’ll drop by. If there’s any telling energy I can get off her, I’ll get it.”
“Good idea,” Ryan said. “I’m sure she’ll be receptive to you. You have a very soothing nature. It’ll lower her defenses.”
“Let’s hope so. I’ve got to make some inroads, and fast. We’re running out of time.”
“There’s another way, too.”
“Which is?”
Ryan took a deep swallow from his bottle. “Look, we both know that I don’t understand your visions, or your energy-tapping, or any of that stuff. But I do know that you seem to do it really well when you’re holding something of the victim’s in your hands. We’ll get something of Trish’s—something that makes you sense whatever you sense off it—and then you’ll sit down in a dark, quiet room and do your thing.”
A flicker of hope flashed in Claire’s eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re right. The cops can’t release anything from the crime scene, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find some object in Trish’s dorm room that she was deeply connected to. Maybe I can pick up some energy that’ll give me a glimpse into her mind. Maybe I can even sense a thought or an emotion from last night.”
“And if you do, it’s going to eat you alive,” Ryan warned.
“I’m sure it will. But if it brings us closer to the killer, it’ll be worth it.”
“Okay, then.” Ryan nodded, pulling out his iPhone. “I’ll call Casey. She’ll get us permission from Captain Sharp. We’ll drive down to Princeton in the morning.”
Claire picked up on Ryan’s use of the plural. “We? You don’t have to come with me, Ryan. This isn’t even your thing.”
“True. But you’ll need some moral support. I can do that.”
Claire found herself nodding in surprise. The softer side of Ryan McKay. She’d never thought she’d see the day.
“You’re right,” she told him. “You can.”
* * *
Casey didn’t shut an eye that night.
She’d gotten the necessary permission for Ryan and Claire to enter Trish’s dorm room so Claire could try to connect with Trish’s energy. Hopefully, that would yield some results.
It still didn’t help Casey sleep.
Finally, after staring at the ceiling for five hours, she rose and went into the kitchen to brew herself a cup of coffee.
Hero padded in after her, acutely aware of the tension that continued to permeate Casey’s apartment, as well as the office itself. He sat down on the kitchen floor, his huge eyes fixed on her.
“Whoever said men weren’t sensitive?” Casey murmured, walking over to scratch Hero’s ears. She poured some of his food into his bowl and placed it on the floor. “You’ve been up all night with me,” she acknowledged. “The least I can do is offer you a 5:00 a.m. meal.”
“Does that apply to me, too?” Hutch was leaning in the kitchen doorway, hair tousled, eyes almost as red as Casey’s.
She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I know I was thrashing around all night. You should have grabbed your pillow and gone to sleep in the den.”
