"Where to now?" she asked, making no attempt to remove her fingers from his as they quickly made their way toward the main exit.
"Breakfast for me, and hot coffee, at the very least, for you." Though her fingers were warm against his, he could feel the trembling running through them. Whether it was a reaction to what she'd learned, the old man's death, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure.
"No," she said, a smile touching her lips as her bright gaze flashed to his. "I meant what's our next plan of attack? Do we try to find the next name on that list of yours?"
He hesitated at the gate, checking to make sure there was no one around, then motioned her through. "We can try, though we haven't exactly been too successful in getting to these people before the murderer."
"We have to stop her before she gets to the third point," she said. He lightly touched her back and guided her across the road. "She's killed three women, not two."
"Helen was a mistake." She hesitated. Her pain shimmered through him, tear bright. "She thought Helen was me, because of her gray eyes."
"Maybe." It certainly backed up Camille's theory that Helen Smith should not have died. 'The caretaker spoke of the five of you forming a circle and surrounding him with magic. Any idea what he was talking about?" She shook her head, thoughts troubled. "It's like there's this big brick wall in my mind. I can't remember anything..." She hesitated, taking a shaky breath. "Helen told me that I was the one that binds. She said the killer seeks to control the power of the elements—the circle of five." A chill ran through him. Helen was dead. She couldn't possibly have told Kirby anything. Was the killer playing games? "Helen said this? When?" His voice was sharper than he'd intended, and she bit her lip, her face pale. "In the park, when you were in Rachel's house. It wasn't Helen, just her spirit. She's really one with the wind now."
Her voice faded, but images skated from her mind to his, fractured reflections of what had happened, and what Helen had said. He relaxed a little. No wraith in league with evil could be thai convincing. "She didn't explain what this circle was? Or why the killer is killing the five of you?"
"Four of us," she corrected, rubbing her arms. 'The killer is one of the five."
"What?" He stopped, pulling her around to face him.
"Are you sure about that?" God, that meant that if Camille's list was correct, they'd had the name of the killer all along. Only Felicity Barnes's name wasn't on it, so where did she fit in?
Her face was troubled, green eyes silvered with tears. "Helen was sure." And because it was Helen, she believed it. While he'd never been one to trust the word of ghosts, he did trust Kirby's judgement. "Did Helen say anything else?"
She hesitated. "She said that I had to find the fourth point and save her. Then I had to stop the fifth."
"You won't be stopping anyone. You'll be tucked away somewhere nice and safe."
Her gaze searched his for a second. "I'm the only one who can stop her. Helen told me that."
"Well, Helen's wrong. Camille's a damn powerful witch, and Russ and I aren't a bad backup team. We've handled a lot worse than this, believe me." She didn't. He could sense the doubt in her mind, the fear. Despite everything, despite what she was feeling—albeit unwillingly—she still didn't trust him. Or rather, didn't trust his ability to keep her safe. Perhaps, given her past, that was understandable, but it was also damned annoying. "What more do I have to do to prove myself to you?" he added, voice holding an edge.
She turned away, but not before he saw the sheen of tears on her cheeks. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry-"
She held up a hand. "Forget it. Let's just go get that coffee." Her voice was flat. Emotionless. The total opposite to her thoughts, which careened chaotically from wanting to trust to desperately needing to run from him and everything she was feeling.
He wasn't the only one who'd been hit by the emotional club, but it appeared he was the only one who really understood it. He had to give her time to get used to him, to get used to what she was feeling, or she'd run for sure. And now that he'd found her, he didn't want to lose her.
They headed down the street and eventually found a small coffee shop just opening. He guided her inside, chose a table in the back shadows close to the rear exit, and ordered them both breakfast and coffee.
She did little more than pick at her toast, but at least she was trying. He was hungrier than he'd thought and wolfed down his eggs and bacon. Settling back in the chair, he picked up his coffee and watched her over the rim. Heat crept across her cheeks. She brushed the hair out of her eyes then met his gaze. "Stop it."
He raised his eyebrows. "Stop what?"
"Looking at me that way...like I was some sort of luscious bun you can't wait to devour."
He grinned. "Well, you're certainly the tastiest morsel I've tried in a long, long time."
"Yeah, I'm likely to believe that."
He shrugged. Nothing he said right now would make her believe otherwise. She was looking for excuses to keep him at a distance. He put his coffee back on the table, then crossed his arms and leaned forward. "Do the names Marline Thomas, Trina Jones or Vicki Campbell mean anything to you?" She frowned. "No. Why?"
"Because they're all on Camille's list of possible victims. If your ghost is right, then one of them is the killer."
Her frown deepened. "But there are three names. If two are already dead and I'm the third, there should be only two."
"Camille did the reading right after the first killing. Maybe the killer wasn't sure of the names of her other victims until later. Maybe what Camille picked up was a list of the killer's possibles."
"But why would the killer put her own name on the list?"