“One case.”

“I was skeptical, too.” She paused, then said reluctantly, “He gave me a personal demonstration.”

“Personal?”

“Don’t ask. I was ready to murder him.” She added, “But he can do it, Jock. If anyone can find Weismann, it will be Caleb. He’s spent most of his life hunting down people.”

“And what does he do when he catches them?”

Her grasp tightened on the paper cup. “I imagine his death count may be as high or higher than yours, Jock.”

“Really?” He leaned back in his chair. “You do seem to draw us lost souls to you, don’t you, Jane?”

“But he’s not like you,” she said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault. You were sick. You had no choice. He decided on the path he was going to travel.”

“There’s always something that triggers that decision. What was his trigger, Jane?”

“He had… other talents. His background is very dark. For hundreds of years those psychic gifts were passed down through his family. Back in the fourteenth century his family used their talents to inspire fear and dominate the small village in Italy where they lived.” She moistened her lips. “According to Caleb, they balanced on the edge of becoming monsters.”

“What other talents?”

“Blood. I didn’t see it, but Eve did. She watched him kill a man without touching him. Most of it has to do with the flow of blood through the body.”

“Blood.” He chuckled. “Good God, he sounds like a vampire.”

“No,” she said curtly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous?” His smile faded. “Then what or who is he, Jane?”

“I don’t know. I think he believes that he’s inherited that bad gene that’s been passed down through his family. He said he became a hunter to keep himself under control. Maybe he thought if he was going to kill anyway that he might channel it. The hunting provided a sort of release.” Jock was asking questions she had asked herself and still had few answers, she realized in frustration. “He said it helps him maintain his code.”

“And what is his code?”

“I don’t know him well enough to know that,” she said impatiently. “For all I know his so-called code could change with every shift of the wind.”

“You appear to be saying that you don’t know quite a bit in this conversation. But it’s not like you to trust anyone without a substantial reason.”

“Then this has to be an exception. Do you think I wanted to have to contact Caleb? I told you, I’m not comfortable with him. But I have to find Weismann.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “You’re right, MacDuff would not have made it easy for you to pull Seth Caleb into the search. He’s a practical man, and he’d not appreciate the whimsy of your action. On the other hand, I have no difficulty with dealing with your psychic friend. I embrace whimsy. Reality can often be too cruel.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Yet he’s coming to help you. There must be some connection.” Connection.

Searing sexuality. Heat. Her naked body moving feverishly beneath Caleb’s.

No, it hadn’t happened. That had been Caleb’s damn demonstration of how he could influence her perception. It had been just a second’s sensation that had shocked and angered her. She had wanted to murder him then, and the resentment was still white-hot. But so was the memory, and it wouldn’t leave her.

“I don’t know why he’s doing it. He does what he wants to do. He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted in return.”

“That’s always dangerous,” Jock added with hushed melodramatic theatricalism. “What if he wants to drink your blood, my beauty?”

“I told you he wasn’t-” She stopped. Jock was joking, but she was having trouble responding with any kind of humor. “Caleb isn’t dangerous to me.”

“No, he won’t be a danger,” Jock said. “Your blood is safe. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

“I didn’t ask you to watch over me. You’ve given up enough to help me.” She grimaced. “And now I’m asking you to swallow something that there’s no way you can believe.”

“It’s true that I have trouble with thinking anyone could possess those kinds of psychic abilities. My instinct is that it’s pure trickery.”

“Me, too,” Jane said. “I understand perfectly.”

“But when I was under medication and being brainwashed, I believed what I was being told without question. Could that be part of it?”

“No medication.”

“Then I’ll be interested in meeting Seth Caleb.” He smiled slightly. “Since we appear to be members in the same club.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll let you get to bed now. I’m right next door. Lock your door. Call me if you need me or if you just want to talk.”

“Are you going to call MacDuff?”

“Tomorrow. He won’t expect a call tonight.”

“And are you going to tell him about Caleb?”

He nodded. “The bare bones. No need to tell him that Caleb is a vampire. It would only upset him.”

“I told you, Caleb is not-” She saw his indented lips and realized he was joking again. This time she smiled in return. “Tell him what you like. MacDuff will probably tell you to kidnap me so that he can find a pleasant little funny farm to stash me in.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jock said. “He never even thought about putting me in an asylum when I was going through my patch of hell. He cared for me himself.”

“I know,” Jane said gently. “So let’s not make him think he’s going to have to straighten my thinking out, too. Once is enough.”

“Aye.” He nodded as he turned toward the door. “More than enough. I swore I’d never cause him trouble like that again. That’s why I think I’ll forget to mention any details about Seth Caleb.”

I KNEW THAT JOCK WOULD BE SKEPTICAL, Jane thought as she got to her feet after the door had closed behind him. She didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t have thought she was either crazy or enormously gullible. At least he had been kind and not openly scornful. But the skepticism had definitely been there.

Oh, well, it didn’t matter as long as she had done what she thought was best.

And what was best right now was for her to get in the shower and crawl beneath that too-pretty quilt and go to sleep. The adrenaline that had been driving her was rapidly seeping away, and exhaustion was taking its place.

No wonder. She hadn’t really slept more than a few hours for two days.

She locked the door and headed for the bathroom.

“I’M AFRAID, Mother.”

“Shh, you mustn’t be frightened, Kalim.” His mother was hurrying him down the long dark corridor. “You’re on your way to paradise.”

“Will you be with me?”

“Not for a while. You’re the only one who they think worthy.”

“I don’t want to go alone.” The tears were pouring down his cheeks as he stumbled after her, blurring the sight of the glyphs on the walls. “Don’t make me, Mother.”

“I do not make you. The angels summon you. Now stop weeping. You’ve reached your eleventh year. You will shame me. We are almost there.”

He couldn’t stop the tears.

They had rounded the corner.

The stone altar was just ahead of him. He knew that altar. His cousin, Ali, had been chosen last year. Ali had not been afraid. He had been proud.

Kalim wanted to be proud. He wanted the fear to go away.

His mother had stopped and stepped aside. “Go,” she whispered. “Go to paradise, Kalim.”

He stumbled forward. He was vaguely aware of the two priests who were coming toward him.

Let me not scream. Let me not bring shame to my family.

But the tears would not stop.

As he was lifted on the altar, he saw the mosaic visage on the wall facing him.

Burning dark eyes, a dark beard, and an expression of agonized torment.

Help me, forgive me. His gaze clung to the mosaic face on the wall. Let me die well.

But then he could no longer see the face on the wall as the priest stepped toward him with the knife raised.