“That was different.”

“Was it? Kane’s your friend. John Garrett is Quentin’s friend. We should have expected it, you know. Once Garrett’s sister became a victim out there, it was only a matter of time before Quentin had to get involved-officially or unofficially.”

Tony, who had been listening intently, decided he was up to speed at last and ventured a comment. “That serial rapist? Lots in the papers about the case.”

Miranda looked at him, still smiling. “And what are you doing reading the Seattle newspapers?”

Caught, Tony grimaced and said “shit” under his breath, then tried to brazen it out. “Look, I didn’t know for sure what was going on, it’s just that Kendra had made a modem request for some data, and the return tag said Seattle, so I figured…”

“And you didn’t think we’d be interested?” Bishop demanded. He shook his head. “Jesus, Tony, you’re as bad as Quentin is. Keeping you two even marginally under control is like trying to herd cats.”

Tony grinned. “Maybe you should stop trying, boss.”

“They do tend to land on their feet,” Miranda observed. “Although what I can’t figure out is how either of them believes they can hide anything for long in a unit run by a telepath.”

“Eternal optimists, both of us.”

“Um. And you’re both convinced you can charm your way out of trouble.”

“Only because we usually do,” Tony said guilelessly.

Bishop groaned.

“Don’t waste your energy,” Miranda advised him, still amused. “You’ll never fit either of them into any kind of FBI mold.”

“I wasn’t going for that,” Bishop confessed, staring at Tony. “I seldom hope for miracles. Just something reasonable, like occasional obedience to my so-called authority. Not very much to ask, I’d think.”

“Would it make you feel better,” Tony inquired, “if I said I’d always considered you an authority figure? I mean, I do call you boss, after all.”

“Only to remind yourself that’s what I am. Otherwise, you’d never remember.”

“Hey, you’re the one who always says psychics are a prickly, independent lot, prone to go it alone more often than follow the rules or the regs. Can I help it if Quentin and I fit your definition to a T?”

“You could at least pretend to follow the rules every once in a while.”

“Oh, I do. Every once in a while.” Tony’s smile died, and he added quietly, “Okay, you’ve both done a dandy job of trying to lead me away from asking about your vision.”

“Not so dandy,” Miranda murmured.

“I’m also tenacious,” Tony reminded her. “So what is it you’re trying very hard not to tell me?”

Miranda exchanged a glance with Bishop, then said, “We need you here, Tony.”

“I know that. I won’t go haring off after Quentin and Kendra no matter what you tell me. Like you said-they can take care of themselves.” But he could feel tension seeping into his muscles, and when he looked at Miranda, he had the sudden, disquieting idea that she knew. And if she knew…

It was Bishop who said, “They’re into something a lot more complicated than they realize.”

“A fairly common trait of investigations we get involved in,” Tony said, trying not to think about how much both of them knew about things he would have preferred to keep to himself. “So what did you see?”

Miranda said, “Sometimes visions are as clear and distinct as if they’re scenes from a movie, a story with a beginning, a middle, and an ending. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they’re flashes of stop-motion images, out of sequence, all jumbled together. Even worse, instead of presenting a single prediction, they can be-variations on a theme. Possible outcomes to a complex, fluid situation.”

Tony scowled. “Meaning you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen out there, but at least one possible outcome is a bad one?”

“No,” she said softly. “Meaning only one possible outcome is a good one. The deck’s stacked against them this time, Tony. Against all of them.”

“We have to warn them.” Tony spoke before he considered and wasn’t surprised by Bishop’s response.

“You know better than that. In the kind of situation they’re in, any foreknowledge, especially from outside, could trigger the very events we want to avoid. We can’t help them by telling them what may or may not happen. They have to make their own choices, their own decisions, based on what’s happening at any given time and based on their own abilities-paranormal and otherwise. Anything else is virtually guaranteed to only make things worse.”

“Then what the hell good is it to even be precognitive?“Tony demanded.

Bishop smiled wryly. “Who told you it was a good thing? You’ve been listening to fairy tales again, Tony.”

“Shit.” Tony drew a breath. “So we say nothing? We leave them to… fate?”

Miranda said, “Fate’s a very big player in this one, and some things really do have to play out as they’re meant to. So, yes, we leave them to fate. We don’t have a choice.”

Tony looked from one to the other of them, then said with forced lightness, “I guess this is where I demonstrate my ability to obey orders and follow the rules, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bishop said.

“Okay. Well, then, if you two don’t mind, I think I’ll go see how Sharon is coming with that autopsy.” He didn’t wait for approval but left the conference room briskly.

Bishop said, “You know he’s rattled when he voluntarily observes an autopsy. He hates them.”

“Yeah. This isn’t going to be easy for him.” Miranda hesitated. “Are we right to keep him away?”

Bishop sighed explosively. “Hell, I don’t know. You saw the same thing I did. That whole situation’s so damned precarious, one player too many turns it into a bloodbath. Quentin and Kendra are involved now, there’s nothing we can do to change that. Pull them out, and we could make things immeasurably worse. Go in ourselves and the same thing could happen. And, like you said-this one’s about fate. We’ll have to leave them all to find their destiny.”

They’ll make it, Miranda said through the telepathic link they shared.

I hope so. But I’ve found fate to be a… brutal master. Even if they do make it, they’ll never be the same again.

Her hand reached across the table, and their fingers twined together in a gesture neither of them had to comment on. No matter how intimately minds touched, sometimes the only real comfort to be found was in the warmth of flesh touching flesh.

Maggie turned off her cell phone and returned it to her pocket. “Andy said he’d have the forensics team go over the game room again, just to be sure. Apparently they didn’t find much the first time, but he said they were figuring she was grabbed in the kitchen or front hall.”

“So he believed you when you told him Samantha Mitchell was attacked in that room?”

“Yes, he believed me. Experience has taught him to trust my… instincts.”

They were sitting in John’s car, still parked in the drive of the Mitchell house, and he made no move to start the engine. Instead, turned slightly in the driver’s seat, he watched her intently. “You haven’t shown him what you’ve shown me, have you? Why not?”

Maggie was trying very hard not to shiver visibly, but the cold weariness she felt was getting harder and harder to ignore. She just wanted to go home and soak in a hot tub, maybe listen to some peaceful music and simply try to forget for a while.

“Why not?” John repeated.

“Because it wasn’t necessary,” she answered, almost too tired to think. “All Andy ever needed from me was sketches, and he could believe what I gave him without questioning where it came from, because I’d proven he could believe it.”

“So I need more from you?”

For a moment, Maggie was tempted to tell him what a loaded question that really was. Instead, she abruptly opened her sketch pad and turned to a certain page and stood the pad up on her lap so he could see the sketch.

John caught his breath.