Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,108
front; I’ll get the back. You see him? Whistle.”
ROBYN
Robyn peeled one hand, gummy with sweat, from the gun, flexed it and readjusted her grip.
“You’re doing fine,” Hope whispered as they edged along the building.
Fine? Robyn didn’t even know what she was doing. She knew the plan, but she felt like a computer processing ones and zeros with no concept of what it meant, how it fit together in a larger context.
Shot by a psychotic paparazzo? No sweat. Kidnapped by a werewolf? Okay. Best friend turns out to be a demon? Sure. She’d even played bait to catch a killer, and still kept her cool. But when that boy leaped to his death her emotional core had shut down altogether.
She still saw his face, floating before her wherever she looked, his expression frozen at the moment when he’d realized he was falling.
And now she was going to see his body.
Robyn wanted to slap the gun back into Hope’s hand and say, “You deal, because I can’t.”
Hope tugged the back of Robyn’s shirt. “I’ll do this.”
“I’m fine,” rose to Robyn’s lips. Then she realized Hope must have read her thoughts. “I’ll be okay. If you were up to it, Karl wouldn’t have given me the gun.”
“It’s just that— When we get close, I’ll see . . . it. The boy’s jump. I black out. I only see that.”
A replay of his death?
“I’ll be okay,” Robyn said again, and meant it.
As they neared the corner, Hope took out her phone. Robyn kept her gaze forward, waiting while Hope called Karl to say they were in position.
When she didn’t, Robyn glanced back. Hope stood there, phone still in her pocket, her face a copper mask, immobile and gleaming, amber irises stuttering, like Damon’s when he’d fall asleep watching TV, eyelids not quite closing. Dreaming. Or seeing a vision.
Robyn reached for her friend’s arm, then stopped. You weren’t supposed to wake sleepwalkers—would the same logic apply?
“It’s her—Adele,” Hope said. “Grief. Guilt. God, she feels so guilty. She—” Hope’s chin jerked up, ricocheting from the vision. “Sorry, I was . . .” She reached toward the wall, as if to steady herself, then noticed the phone clutched in her hand and stared at it, confused.
“You need to call—” Robyn began.
“Right.” She hit the speed-dial button, didn’t raise it to her ear. Just let it ring twice, then hung up and said, “I’m going to take a look. If I freeze up, don’t worry unless you hear anything. Then just yank me back.”
Hope eased past Robyn. She was still a foot from the edge when she went rigid. Then she backed up.
“It’s not Adele,” Hope said.
“What? You didn’t see—”
Hope held up a finger as her phone buzzed, the vibration as loud as a ring. Robyn circled past her, to peek around the corner.
Beside the boy’s body crouched the man from the bookstore. The one who’d brought that display carousel crashing down.
THEY WERE IN THE RENTAL CAR, heading . . . Robyn wasn’t sure where exactly, and she supposed it wasn’t important.
“So you said you recognized his scent?” Hope was saying to Karl in the front seat. “He was the guy following us earlier, right?”
“At the diner and the bookstore, yes. And earlier than that. Remember Friday night, when you were getting takeout . . . ?”
“You thought a guy was watching us and followed him around the back. That’s where you knew the scent from. It was him. So he’s involved. He clearly knew the boy. The grief and guilt was so—”
Hope’s head jerked up.
“Do you sense something?” Robyn leaned farther over the seat.
“No, I hear something.”
The bzz-bzz of Hope’s cell phone vibrating. As Hope struggled to get it from her back pocket, Karl reached over and deftly plucked it out.
“Thanks. I’m sure it’s just that detective again. He keeps calling from other numbers, hoping I’ll answer if I don’t recognize—” She glanced at the display. “Whoops. This one I do recognize.”
She answered. “Hey, Lucas. Do you have more on clairvoyants for me?”
Hope’s smile dropped. “Who?”
She glanced at Karl. He’d stopped at a light, and was frowning at Hope as if he could hear, which Robyn supposed maybe he could.
“Are you sure?” Hope paused. “No, I understand.” Another pause. “Sure, how about . . .” She glanced at her watch. “Tell him half an hour.”
Hope hung up. “We need to make a pit stop.”
ADELE
Adele watched through the car windows as a stretcher carried Colm’s body away.