Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [62]
“I will if you will,” Isabel said.
He eyed her, but before he could say anything, Hollis was speaking calmly.
“I, for one, would just as soon start fresh tomorrow. I want to shower about six times, watch something funny on television, and maybe call my mother. If I ever feel like eating again, I'll order a pizza. You two want to be gluttons for punishment, have at it. I'm going back to the inn.”
Isabel grimaced slightly. “A shower definitely sounds like a good idea; nobody wants to smell like death. But I'm way too restless to call it a day.” She looked at Rafe, brows lifting inquiringly. “Buy you dinner?”
He checked his watch but didn't hesitate. “I'll pick you up at eight.”
“See you then.” Isabel walked with Hollis back to their rental and got in the driver's seat. Hollis got in beside her and didn't say anything for about half a mile.
Then she spoke slowly. “He's blocking you, isn't he? No—he's shielding you.”
Isabel gave her partner a surprised glance, then fixed her gaze on the road again. “Bishop said you picked up on things quickly. Once again, he wasn't wrong.”
Absently, Hollis said, “You relax a bit whenever Rafe is nearby, as if some of the strain is lifted. Maybe I see it because I used to be an artist. It started in Jamie's playroom, didn't it? When he put his hands on your wrists.”
“Yeah.”
“You felt something?”
“The shock first. And then a muffling quality. Didn't shut out the voices, just . . . quieted them a bit, as though I were suddenly insulated. Just enough for me to notice. Out in the Jeep, when he was putting disinfectant on my neck and sitting so close, the voices were barely whispers. When he left to go back inside, they got louder again.”
“And just now, back there?”
“If he was within five feet of me, all I heard were whispers. Creepy whispers, but whispers. And felt that goddamned icy breeze; he doesn't seem to have had any effect at all on that.”
“So what does it mean?”
“I don't know. I seem to have been saying that a lot today. I don't like saying it, for the record.”
Hollis looked at her. “What do you hear now?”
“Usual background hum. Like listening to a party in the next room. That's normal.”
“Headache?”
“Dull throb. Also normal.”
“Rafe shielding you—is it getting stronger as time goes on?”
Isabel shrugged. “Hard to say, since it just started hours ago. I'll have to wait and see. It could get stronger. Or it could go away entirely. God knows.” She smiled suddenly, wryly. “But if it turns out he can silence the voices, if only for a while, I may just have to move in with the man. Or at least take vacations with him.”
“It would be nifty to have that quiet place to go to from time to time,” Hollis said seriously. “A refuge.”
Shaking her head, Isabel said, “Something else you'd better catch on to: the universe never offers something for nothing. There'll be a price tag. There always is.”
“Maybe it's a price you can pay.”
“And maybe it's a price he'll have to pay instead of me. Or would, if we went in that direction. It's the sort of thing the universe demands. Cosmic irony.”
“Doesn't seem fair. And you don't have to remind me that the universe isn't about fairness.”
“No, it's about balance.”
“Then maybe that's what Rafe is, for you. Balance. Maybe the universe is offering you a refuge because you push yourself so hard.”
“Yeah, and what's it offering him? A clairvoyant, career-driven federal agent who reads up on serial killers for fun, travels all over the country on a regular basis to get shot at and talk about serial killers, not to mention meeting a few of them in deadly situations, and, oh, by the way, hasn't had a successful romantic relationship in her entire adult life?”
“Great breath control,” Hollis murmured. “The meditation exercises must