Andy grimaced and rubbed the nape of his neck. “No, me either. Is this supposed to be a fun new twist for the bastard? Christ. If it turns out that Samantha Mitchell was taken by the rapist, this city is going to come apart at the seams.”

Maggie drew a breath and fought to keep her voice steady. “You realize she’s not likely to survive.”

“You could have gone all day without saying that.”

“It’s true and you know it. Hollis says he beat her almost methodically and violently raped her at least three times. She was so damaged internally she’ll never be able to have children. Add to that the sheer physical and emotional shock of being blinded, and the odds are that neither a pregnant woman nor her child could survive the attack.”

Andy shook his head, his face grim, but said, “Did you get anything helpful from the interview with Hollis?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Details, but not the sort to help the police, at least not yet.”

“Such as?’

Maggie drew a breath and let it out slowly, trying not to sound as tired as she felt. “He used spearmint-flavored gum or breath mints. He hummed to himself sometimes, but not a tune Hollis recognized. He was fascinated by the texture of her skin and her scent.”

John moved slightly in his chair, and under his breath muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

Maggie sent him a quick glance of apology. It had to be hell for him, hearing this sort of thing and knowing that his sister had been held and tortured by the same animal. In situations like this one, an informed imagination could be a lot worse than an ignorant one.

For the first time, Maggie realized that he probably slept no better than she did and that his nightmares undoubtedly grew more vivid with each brutal fact he learned about what his sister had actually gone through.

Andy, more adept than either of them at not letting his emotions sidetrack him, said to Maggie, “Those don’t even sound like the sorts of details that might help you. Are they? Are you beginning to see this guy.’

“Every detail helps me see him. Eventually.” Every detail, every throb of agony and anguish she had felt right along with Hollis. And Ellen. And Christina.

“Do you have a sketch yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

John said, “Andy, I know your boss would hate it, but is there any way we can see the Mitchell house today?”

“We?”

“Maggie and me.”

Maggie wanted to protest but bit back the words. She had so far managed to hide from Andy her reaction to actual scenes of violence or suffering and intended to keep it that way if she had any choice. It was difficult enough to do what she did without having to also cope with the increased uneasiness or even fear she knew most of these cops would feel if they saw one of her little… performances.

She had no idea what John thought of what he had witnessed on Saturday, but she didn’t doubt he and his friend had discussed her. His supposedly psychic friend.

She felt cold. And worried. Was she moving too fast? Could she afford not to? It was so desperately important that they stop this monster before he destroyed more lives, but what would be the price demanded if she chose the wrong path? And who would have to pay it?

“Maggie, are you up to it?” Andy asked.

She nodded. “I’m fine.” A lie, but she thought it was probably a pretty convincing one.

“I know Maggie usually walks the scene eventually,” Andy said slowly, “but why you, John?”

Because he wants to watch me. But Maggie didn’t say that, of course. She just waited silently.

“I suppose,” John said, “because I’m trying to… immerse myself in the investigation. To see everything. And who knows, Andy-I may see something all you cops miss. I may not be trained in police work, but I usually don’t miss many of the details when I turn my mind to something.”

It was the truth, Maggie thought. But not all of it.

Andy drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, eyeing John intently, then shrugged. “I’ll okay it. I wanted Maggie to walk it anyway, and you might as well go along, although I doubt you’ll find anything we missed. The forensics team should be just about finished up by the time you can get to the house, and Mitchell has given us permission to do whatever it takes to find his wife, so I don’t imagine he’ll object. If he even notices, which is doubtful.”

Maggie got to her feet when John did, but paused to ask Andy, “Is there anything else? Anything new?”

Only someone who knew him well would have seen the hesitation before he replied, “No, nothing. At least until we have the forensics report later today.”

Maggie pretended she didn’t know him well and nodded as she turned away. She’d have to come back here later and corner Andy, try to find out what was going on. Unless it was her, and not John Garrett, he didn’t want to tell.

She didn’t much like this. If it came down to it, where would her loyalties have to lie? With the police or with John? That shouldn’t have been a question, but it was. And she knew why it was.

Pushing those troubling thoughts aside for the moment, Maggie followed John from the station. He didn’t speak until they were on the steps, and then it was to make a wry request.

“Would you mind if we went together in my car? I’ll bring you back here afterward to get your car.” He grimaced slightly when she looked at him quizzically. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but these days any unaccompanied man moving around the city tends to draw quite a few suspicious stares, especially in a neighborhood such as the one we’ll be visiting. Aside from disliking the way it makes me feel, I’d just as soon avoid the undue attention.”

Maggie half nodded and went with him to his car, and it wasn’t until they were on their way that she said, “It’s the not knowing, of course. As far as most of the women in this city are concerned, any man they don’t know could be the rapist-and sad to say there are probably far too many women who aren’t even sure of the men they do know.”

“That is sad. It must be hell to look at someone you believed you could trust and realize you aren’t completely sure anymore. And hell to be on the receiving end of that doubt.”

“I imagine so.”

He glanced at her. “Imagine? Can’t you feel it? When they do, I mean.”

“Why ask when you don’t believe it’s possible?” Maggie made her voice a little dry but still casual. “Is that why you wanted me to go with you to the Mitchell house, by the way? So you could watch another… performance and explain it away?”

John was silent for a moment, then said, “I hate it when Quentin’s right. He said you’d probably lived with doubt and disbelief most of your life.”

“He’d know, being a seer. Not that you believe that either.” She realized abruptly that they weren’t heading for the address of the Mitchell house Andy had provided but in another direction entirely. Where-

“That’s an old-fashioned term for it, isn’t it? Seer?”

Maggie shrugged, feeling a slow little chill crawl over her skin. “I suppose. Anyway, he said he didn’t see things, just knew them.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” She clung to casual disinterest and fought the rising panic.

John drew a breath and said softly, “When you walk through a place where something violent happened, do you see things? Know them? Or feel them?”

Repeating her earlier answer, Maggie said, “Why ask when you don’t believe it’s possible?”

“I never have believed it’s possible, but that doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind, Maggie. Not long before I called Andy and found out about the Mitchell woman, Quentin told me another woman had been taken. He knew.”

“I’m sure you explained that away. It could have been a lucky guess.” She knew where they were going now. Damn. Damn.

“It could have been. But if so, there’ve been a lot of lucky guesses over the years, too many times he knew things before he should have. And then there’s you.”