Danger Signals

Chapter 3

Wade stomped the brake, jerked the car to a stop and slapped the gearshift lever into Park. The violence seemed the only way his body would operate, with anger spraying like shrapnel through every nerve.

"Bastard left her hanging from a chain-link fence." he said, spitting out the words in bitter bites. "Left her hanging there like a broken doll." That's what she'd looked like- a little broken doll.

He opened the door and got out, then paused with one hand on the roof of the car to look back at his passenger, sitting silent and motionless with her seat belt still fastened. "You coming?"

She looked up at him like someone awakened from a doze, then nodded. He noticed that she was deathly pale; her freckles reminded him of dried blood speckles on white paper. Her hand shook as she unbuckled her seat belt.

He looked across the roof of the car at the gray industrial landscape-slabs of concrete and asphalt broken by blocks of corrugated tin buildings and zigzags of chain-link fencing, the only color provided by the yellow or green of a forklift or skid loader tractor, and the flashing lights of the law enforcement and crime scene vehicles gathered like buzzards around a fresh kill. Grim enough on a sunny day. let alone like it was now, socked in by the early morning fog.

Helluva place for a young woman to leave this earth. Helluva way for a cop to die.

But just the same, he felt like crap for letting his anger loose the way he'd been doing. Should've remembered the woman-okay, Tierney, Miss Tee, psychic or empath or whatever she was-picked up on emotions. Clearly she'd picked up on his. and the toll it had taken on her couldn't have been faked.

He took a deep breath, then ducked his head back inside the car to say gruffly. "It's okay, you know, if you want to take a minute."

She reached for the door handle. "No, that's okay. I'm fine."

She opened her door and he slammed his and went around the car to take her arm, which he figured was the least he could do. She didn't object, although she probably didn't need his help. Her step was steady enough and she kept pace with him easily as they hurried across the broken asphalt, weaving between the jumble of department vehicles that had circled the crime scene like covered wagons in order to screen from curious eyes what to them was a personal tragedy.

He wondered if she felt the same weird tingle he did where his fingers touched her.

Thank God, at least they'd got the body down off the fence and decently covered. Crime scene be damned, she was a police officer. No way in hell they'd leave her hanging there, naked and desecrated like that. Alicia. Her name was Alicia. Wade knew her slightly, had gone through the academy with her. Seemed like he recalled something about her getting engaged recently. Her fiance was in the service. In Iraq.

"Damn."

He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until Tierney paused and looked at him. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm just.

"You're not the only one." Her lips had a pinched look, her eyes squinted as if she had a fearsome headache. "There's so much anger here. So much rage. I can't pick up anything else. From the killer or…"

"Damn," he said again, and this time exhaled with frustration. Again, he hadn't thought about the effects of so much emotional fallout on the crime scene. Her crime scene. It must be the equivalent of a thunderstorm blowing through his. "Would it help if I had everyone clear out? Leave you alone with…" He couldn't bring himself to say "the body."

A smile flicked briefly at her lips. "Too late-it's already been contaminated." As if she'd read his thought.

Then, looking uncertain, she paused, turned to him and said, "Maybe, if I…"

"What?"

"If I looked at her." Her blue eyes clung to his, stark with fear.

He felt something in his chest contract. Ignoring that, and squelching whatever sympathy he felt for her. or admiration for her courage, he said gruffly, "Are you sure you want to do that?" He couldn't afford the sympathy, damn it. A cop was dead. He wanted to catch this dirtbag-whatever it took.

After a long moment she nodded. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

"All right, then." He reached out to her. touched her shoulder. Then, taking her once more by the arm, he guided her through the busy hive of crime scene techs and law enforcement officers, some in uniform, some not. When he drew near to the cadre of officers standing guard around the gurney and the small, shrouded form that lay on it. he spoke to them in a low voice that was mindful of their taut, angry faces and grief-filled eyes. "Gonna ask you to step back for a few minutes, if you would, please." The line shifted, and drew in more tightly around the gurney. "Come on, guys, give us a minute, okay? Give this lady some room."

Finally, with nods and murmurs and shufflings, the line broke, then moved reluctantly back, opening a passage to admit the stranger, the civilian. The outsider.

Wade drew Tierney gently forward and positioned her beside the body, then knelt and drew back the sheetjust far enough to uncover the victim's face.

Someone had closed her eyes, he saw. But no way in hell did she look like she was sleeping. Her skin, he remembered, had been a rich warm shade of brown. Now it was a muddy gray, blotched with traces of tears and speckled with her own blood.

Steeling himself, he sat back on his haunches, pivoted and looked up at Tierney, who was standing frozen, staring down at the ravaged face. As he watched, her own drained of all color and her eyes went wide with shock and horror.

Well, hell. Okay, he'd pretty much expected that. What he didn't expect was when she then uttered a small, muffled cry, turned and pushed her way through the line of cops, and once free of the crowd, broke into a desperate, stumbling run.

Swearing to himself and muttering apologies to his fellow officers, Wade went after her.

He found her behind the CSI van, leaning one shoulder against it and looking as if her knees were about to buckle. She had one hand over her mouth and the other arm folded across her stomach, but even though she had her back to him he knew instantly she wasn't sick, as he'd supposed, but crying. He could see her shoulders shaking, hear the sobbing sounds she made even though she tried to muffle them with her hand.

He knew she was having a moment of pure panic, though only God knew why. He was accustomed to handling crying women; in his line of work he encountered more than his share of them. They just seemed to naturally gravitate to him. He'd taken some ribbing around the squad room, and earned the nickname "Papa Bear" because of it, too. He didn't like to think about why this particular woman's tears affected him differently. Why they made him hurt deep down in his chest. Why they made his belly quiver.

He hesitated, part of him wanting to turn tail and walk away and leave her there with her privacy and her grief. Lord knows he didn't need this, not now.

But then she turned and looked at him with her flooded cheeks and anguished eyes, and no surprise whatsoever. And he kicked himself for once again forgetting who and what she was. Of course she'd know he was there.

"I saw her," she said, and her voice was choked and thick. "Yesterday…when I-the uniforms. What I said about him-the k-killer. About hating uniforms. I didn't understand. It was her. He'd already chosen-if I'd only-"

He didn't remember moving, but somehow his arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, and the rest of her litany of blame was muffled by his chest. He felt his heart thumping against her cheek, and he cradled her head in his hand and nestled it more comfortably there.

"You couldn't have stopped it," he said, the words low and gruff and blown through her hair in soft puffs. "Even if you'd known what you were seeing. Feeling. Hey-we're gonna get this guy. It was too late for her, and that's not on you. But we will get him-I promise you. Okay? We will get him."

After a moment Tierney nodded and whispered. "Okay."

She should have pulled away then. Should have stepped back, put a discreet distance between herself and the safe and peaceful harbor of the police detective's arms. But for some reason she couldn't make herself move. She wasn't normally a toucher-didn't really like to be touched, either, especially by strangers. Touching someone, she'd found, opened too broad a channel to the emotions, often exposed even those emotions people kept buried, but shallowly, just under the facades they presented to the world. But here, enfolded in this man's arms, she felt only peace. A wondrous, restful stillness. As if the barricades he'd built to block his own emotions kept all others from intruding, as well. After the bombardment she'd just endured, the respite was almost too lovely to bear.

"Uh, Lieutenant- Oh. sorry…"

Just that easily the peace was shattered.

Tierney stiffened, and so did the arms that sheltered her. She moved away from her protector, wiping hastily at her cheeks, while he turned, frowning, to meet the intruder. She'd met him before-a tough-looking, middle-aged black man with kind eyes. She could feel concern and compassion rolling off of him in gentle waves, flowing over her like healing oil.

"Yeah, Ed." Wade said.

The black man's eyes slipped past him to find Tierney instead. "You doin' okay, ma'am?"

"She's fine. What've you got?"

"Crime scenes can be tough, I know." He was still looking at Tierney. "I believe I'd worry if you didn't feel bad."

She nodded. Wade made a growling sound low in his throat and the other cop turned his attention back to him without undue haste.

"Yeah, partner…got something over here I think you're gonna want to see."

The two men started off at a hurrying pace, and since no one told her she shouldn't, Tierney followed. The truth was, she felt a little ashamed about losing control the way she had, and was hoping for a chance to redeem herself.

Wade followed his former partner past the crime scene and the knot of official vehicles and into the maze of industrial buildings and loading docks that ran along the riverfront. He turned into a long, wide avenue that ran between two rows of buildings, bisected by a drainage channel and lined with trash bins, where several CSIs were busily setting out numbered markers and taking photographs. The primary object of their interest appeared to be a small pile of ashes and charred fabric located in the drainage channel about halfway down the row.

'"Couple of unis found it during a routine canvas of the area." Ed said. "Ashes were still warm and wet, so that puts the time about right."

"What makes you think it isn't just some wino's campfire?"

"This." Ed looked at the CSI hovering near the pile.

She nodded, and with a pair of tweezers carefully picked up a tiny scrap of partly charred fabric that had been marked with a numbered flag. She held it so Wade could get a close look at it. He did. and felt his stomach go cold. Small as it was, it was instantly recognizable as a piece of the Portland P.D. uniform's shoulder patch.

The CSI put the scrap back where she'd found it and stepped back to give him room. He squatted down to get a closer look, and that was when the smell hit him.

"Whoa," he said, rearing back, "tell me that's not-"

Ed snorted. "Yeah, it is. The dirtbag peed on it."

"It was the final insult."

Three heads jerked toward the new voice. Tierney was standing a few yards away, arms folded across her waist, so quietly they'd all but forgotten she was there. Her face had that pale, pinched look again, but this time she seemed to have herself in better control.

"It's the uniform he despises," she went on in the same uneven, almost-gentle voice. "Particularly women in uniform. He tortures them while they're wearing the uniform, then strips it off before he kills them. To make them see they're weak without it-that they're nothing at all, not even human. They can't hurt him. But in his mind the uniform is the source of power. It can hurt him. So he has to 'kill' it, too. He burns it. And when it's nothing but ashes, he…um-"

"Urinates on it." Wade said grimly. "As you said, it's the final act of desecration." She nodded. He looked at her for a long moment, and in her shimmering eyes he saw what it must have cost her to feel what she'd felt, and speak of it so calmly.

He rose and nodded to the CSI, who went back to methodically measuring and photographing and cataloging while he took Tierney's arm and turned her away from the pitiful remains of Officer Alicia Williams's uniform.

"There's nothing more we can do here," he said in a hard voice as Ed fell into step with him. "Just let the techs and science people do their jobs. We need to move on this uniform angle. And fast. The bastard's killed twice in two days. What I want to know is, why didn't we find his burn site at the other crime scenes?"

Ed shrugged. "Didn't canvas wide enough? Maybe he had to go a ways to find a safe place. Here, he had this whole complex pretty much to himself. And maybe the other vies weren't wearing the uniform when they were killed, who knows?"

"They were," Tierney said, the rapid pace making her voice bumpy. "It's part of what makes him… I don't know what you call it-"

"It's the trigger," Wade said grimly. "Ed, get back to the squad. I want everybody available looking for some kind of uniform link for the other vics."

"The last one was a docent at the art museum," Ed reminded him. "Don't they wear uniforms?"

Wade nodded. "That's two. Work the others. If you find a connection, then start working on a profile for our killer. I'm thinking we're looking at a victim of abuse, here. Most likely at the hands of a woman. A woman in uniform. Could be his mother, could be-"

"It's not his mother," Tierney said, then threw him a look of apology. "At least, I don't think so. I don't get that kind of feeling from him. I think it may have been some kind of institution. A school…or an orphanage…"

"I don't think they even have orphanages anymore, do they?" Ed said doubtfully.

"I don't know." Wade said, "but we need to find out."

"If you're still thinking you could have done anything to prevent this latest killing, you need to quit." Wade growled after they'd driven half of the way back to Tierney's apartment in silence.

Tierney stirred and looked over at him. "I'm not."

"It was a good lead. Now we know what the victims have in common-at least the last two. and I'm going out on a limb, here, and saying odds are the others will, too. We know what the trigger is. We're beginning to know who we're dealing with and how we might be able to start looking for him. That's huge."

She gave a small sigh. "I was just thinking about… him. Who he is, what made him what he is."

She didn't tell the hard-edged cop she was beginning to feel some sympathy for the man she knew he must think of as a vicious animal. It was one of the hazards of being an empath, and she'd learned to keep those feelings to herself. But she understood now that the person they were trying so desperately to find was a victim himself, that like so many who are driven to kill, he'd been shaped- warped-by unspeakable cruelty at the hands of someone who should have been his protector.

'"So," said Wade, "let's hear it."

She looked away, smiling. "You're asking me to be a profiler?"

He hitched one shoulder. "Why not? I have an idea a lot of profilers-the best ones, anyway-probably have some of what you've got. Empathy-the ability to get inside a person's skin. Seems to me it's just a question of to what degree." When she didn't reply but went on smiling, he looked over at her and said. "What?"

"I guess…I'm surprised. I didn't think you were a believer."

She could see the side of his mouth tilted in a grin. "You mean, I can surprise you? I thought you could read me like a book."

She gave a soft huff of laughter. "I'm sure you find that idea distressing, to say the least. May I remind you, I don't read thoughts. Only emotions. And the truth is. you know, you can block me-and you do. Most people can-and do. Not just from me, from everyone. Sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously, but for sure if they know someone like me is tuning in. The reason I can pick up so much from crime scenes is because, for one thing, it's after the fact. The emotions were broadcast at a time when no one was around, so there wasn't any need to block them. And. of course, the emotions are so powerful, so…" Awful. Horrible. Ugly. Violent.

"Yeah," said Wade, as if he'd heard her. He frowned.

"What I don't get. I guess, is how you can pick up these emotions 'after the fact,' as you put it. That's where I part company with believing."

"I'm not sure myself, actually. I don't think there's ever been a scientific study done. I have my own theory, if you care to hear it. As you might imagine, it's a question I get asked a lot."

"Sure, I want to hear it."

She paused, took a preparing breath. "Okay, think about the way you pick up scents…odors. What you're picking up is actually molecules of a substance that are suspended in the air. You take them in along with the air you breathe, your scent receptors pass them along to your brain, which identifies them for you."

"Lovely thought." Wade said dryly, "considering the things I get to smell on a regular basis."

She gave him a sympathetic smile before continuing. "Okay, then there are sound waves. You can't see them, but they travel through the air. your ears pick them up. and all the little thingies inside there do their job and the sounds get transmitted to your brain, which once again identifies them, based on the database of all your stored-up experiences. Now, it's pretty much recognized that thoughts are a form of energy-like electricity. Or maybe it is a form of electricity-I'm not sure. But that energy can travel, and it can remain suspended in the air, and no one knows the limits of how far or for how long. And it can be picked up by someone who's sensitive enough to recognize it."

"People like you."

"Yes," Tierney said, turning to look at him, "but sometimes the sensitivity comes from having a very close relationship. You've heard stories about mothers who somehow know when their child is hurt, or in danger, no matter how far away they are."

'"Yeah, or you think the phone's going to ring, and then it does." Wade snorted. '"What about all the times you think the phone's going to ring and it doesn't? Just the law of averages says you're bound to hit it once in a while."

"True." She let it go at that. She knew from long experience the pointlessness of this discussion.

After a moment Wade said. "So, what about that profile? We are dealing with a male, right?"

"Absolutely."

'"Someone who was abused, probably by a woman-not his mother-wearing a uniform. Right so far?"

"Yes…" She frowned, reluctant to sort through those impressions again, but knowing she must. Bracing herself firmly, she closed her eyes and opened her memory. "He's young, I think-no more than thirty-five. A loner. Parents…dead, I think. Anyway, haven't been around for a long time."

"He's probably been in the system, then." Wade said, nodding. "We'll check that out. What else?"

"He's shy, timid, even. A mouse, afraid of people. Feels threatened by them, especially women. Feels powerless. Probably works at a menial job-whatever it is, he hates it. He fantasizes about-" She couldn't go on. Slammed the door shut with a shudder of revulsion.

"Yeah…it's okay." He sounded distracted. Thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?"

He jerked a look at her, then smiled. "Oh, I think you know."

"I don't need to have a gift to know you must be thinking about your own childhood. Losing your parents at an early age. Going into "the system:"

His smile vanished completely, then returned, though a little crooked now. "Yeah, but I wasn't abused. I was one of the lucky ones, I guess. My brother and I both."

"You have a brother?" she asked, looking at him with new interest. As a child she'd yearned for brothers and sisters. "How lucky you are."

"Yeah." But his voice held a soft irony, and she felt wisps of emotion leaking through his barriers. An aura of sadness.

She wouldn't normally have pressed, but for some reason she couldn't bear to leave him with the melancholy she'd unwittingly stirred in him. "You seem sad," she said gently. "Were the two of you…not close?"

"Oh, we're close," he said dryly. "At least we were growing up. Stayed that way until pretty recently, too, even though as adults we both went in different directions. We're completely different, when you get right down to it. Guess it's a miracle we got along as well as we did."

"He was younger than you."

He nodded, seemingly not surprised she hadn't made it a question. "Matt always was kind of a free spirit. I guess you could say-not one for the discipline of a nine-to-five job, anyway. He barely made it through college, and afterward went off to California to explore the great outdoors. Wound up staying there. He was doing okay, working as a wilderness guide-rock climbing, white-water river rafting, that sort of thing."

"What happened?"

He let out a breath and she winced involuntarily as the sadness became sharp, almost too painful to bear. He looked at her and muttered. "Oh-sorry," and instantly she felt the pain being dampened down, covered with wrappings, brought once again under control.

"He had an accident," he said in his flat, policeman's voice. "Rock climbing. Broke his back. He's paralyzed from the waist down."

"Oh, how awful," Tierney murmured, knowing how inadequate it was, pressing her fingers against the spot at the base of her throat that ached with the pressure of his sadness.

"Yeah." After a long pause he went on. "So anyway, he kind of…dropped out. Last I heard he was down in L.A.- works at a sports center, something like that. He does wheelchair sports, I know that, but he doesn't keep in very close touch nowadays."

"What about your parents? Do you keep in touch with them? Does he?"

"About Matt, I couldn't tell you. I try to keep in touch. We talk on the phone every couple of weeks. They live in Florida. My mom says she'd rather have hurricanes than earthquakes and volcanoes-says at least with hurricanes you get some warning." He made an exasperated sound, but one with affection in it.

Silence fell. They were coming into Tierney's neighborhood. In a few more minutes she'd be home. Home alone with only her painting and the sad remnants of Jeannette. the only family she had left, to keep the terrible emotion-memories at bay. Frustration and anger swept over her- her own emotions for a change. Memories of the peace she'd known when Wade had held her only made her anguish worse.

Why can't I have that always? Someone of my own, someone for me, someone to care for me and nurture me and protect me from the bad stuff?

They stopped at a traffic light. She looked at Wade's stalwart profile, resenting him a little bit then, for being stalwart, yes, but also for being oblivious to her emotions. Knowing she was being unfair. Irrational. But still…

"Wade," she said, "do you think about them-your birth parents? Do you remember them at all?"

He looked over at her, then back up at the light. Seconds passed, and she thought he wouldn't answer her. And then he did-with a lie.

"Nope. Not a thing."

But they tumbled into her mind like broken toys from an overstuffed closet, bits and pieces of emotions and memories, impressions that could only have come from the man sitting placidly beside her, waiting for the light to change. Shards of violence, strangling cobwebs of terror.

He hadn't blocked them. Were they too powerful to contain, or had he simply forgotten? Did that mean he was beginning, even unconsciously, to trust her a little? For a few moments the pleasure that thought stirred in her eclipsed the fact that he'd lied.

The light changed and the car moved forward. Tierney let that sweet, soft breeze of unexpected happiness warm her until the next signal stopped them once more. Then she said, without looking at him. "Don't you think that's odd?"

Wade glanced at her. "What, you mean that I don't remember my birth parents?"

"You said you were six or seven when you lost them. Most people have memories, bits and pieces, at least, from much earlier than that."

He hitched one shoulder. "Well, I don't. If that's odd, I guess I am."

But again the shrapnel of violence and fear screamed into her head, making her wince in spite of her effort not to.

He threw her another look, this one sharp and accompanied by a snort and a sardonic little smile. "I'm guessing you're picking up something. So? Come on, give. I can't wait to hear this."

She shook her head, looked up at the light and said flatly. "It's green."

A polite beep from someone's horn seconded the reminder, and the car jerked forward. They drove for two blocks in total silence before Tierney spoke again, in the same toneless voice. "You missed it."

"What?"

"That was my place back there. Where I live. You missed it."

Swearing, Wade flipped on the blinker and made a screeching right at the next corner. Once again silence reigned inside the car while he maneuvered around the block and into a parking space two doors from Jeannette's Gallery. He turned off the motor but continued to sit facing front, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. Tierney made no move to get out of the car. and neither did he.

Then he thought. What the hell am I doing?

Acting like a damn jerk, was what he was doing. And it wasn't him, the sarcasm, the mockery. He didn't like the idea of someone reading him-who would? But it wasn't as if she did it on purpose. And if she had picked up something from his thoughts-emotions, or whatever-so what? Far as he knew, he hadn't been thinking or feeling anything out of line. What was he afraid of?

He let out a breath, a wordless surrender. "Look, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"I know."

He threw her a look in time to catch the remains of a smile, then gave a snort of laughter and ran a hand over his hair. "This is going to take some getting used to. And what happened to my being able to block you?"

She looked back at him with somber eyes. "I don't know. Maybe you let your guard down. Or maybe-"

"What?" he prompted when her gaze slipped away. He caught her arm and she brought her eyes reluctantly back to his. "Come on, what the hell did you see?"

"Feel"

"Whatever."

"It was bits and pieces-like a jigsaw puzzle all mixed up, so a lot of it didn't make sense. But I felt fear. A small child's fear-terror, actually. It was powerful."

She paused, and he gave her a shake. Not even aware that he did. "Go on."

"I felt…violence. Trauma. Really awful…" Her voice broke and her eyes darkened, as if the violence she spoke of was reflected in them. Relentless, he was about to prompt her again when she caught a breath and went on. "But there's something else, too. Something else I-you- felt. Or remembered. Something changed. You felt comforted. The fear was still there, but it was less now, because someone, or something, came between you and the violence. You felt…sheltered. Protected." She gazed at him, now with uncertainty in her eyes. "Maybe…could that have been your parents? Does this mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. Became aware of the way he was gripping her arm and released her. Faced front again and groped blindly for the ignition key. He was all but vibrating with the strain of keeping himself and his thoughts and feelings blocked.

"Not a thing," he said as the engine roared to life.

Tierney nodded without comment, though he knew she didn't believe him. After several tension-filled moments, she opened her door. "Well. Anyway. Thanks for the ride home."

"No problem. I'll, uh…I'll call you if anything develops. And by the way-good job today." She paused to give him a long look, and he felt compelled to add, "Really, You helped a lot."

She nodded, murmured. "Thanks," and closed the door.

He pulled out of the parking space and drove off with as much decorum as he could muster, considering how jangled he was, rather like a normally law-abiding citizen who'd just been ticketed for a traffic violation. He was sweating, and his jaws felt cramped.

He wondered if he'd been successful at keeping Tee Doyle out of his head.

He sure as hell hoped so. Hoped she didn't know she'd just described the nightmare he'd been having off and on since he was seven years old.