Every time she turned her head back and forth, that flash of movement was there, just out of her range of vision, teasing her by vanishing when she tried to focus on it.

Then a scream ripped through her head so loudly and violently it was like a blow, and for a single eternal instant she saw Ivy Jameson sitting on the bloody floor of her kitchen, her back up against the leg of the work island, her once-white dress horribly stained – and her open eyes staring across the room at Cassie with reproach.

Cassie wanted to run from that awful condemnation, to escape the dreadful knowledge in Ivy's gaze. But suddenly the pressure on her chest became crushing, there was no air, no air at all, and the scarlet and white kitchen was engulfed by a wave of total darkness.

The silence was absolute, and it was so peaceful, Cassie was tempted to remain there. There were horrors waiting for her outside the tranquil darkness, waking nightmares she was not ready to face. But then someone began calling her name, the sound intruding on peace, and she knew she had to respond.

"Cassie?"

She opened her eyes and was instantly alert, not at all drained or exhausted by what had happened. She found herself lying on a sofa in a very formal living room. Ben was sitting on the edge near her hips and held one of her hands in his.

Cassie tensed automatically to draw her hand away, but then she realized she was still unable to read him. His hand felt very warm.

"Told you she'd be all right," the sheriff said laconically from a nearby chair.

"Are you?" Ben asked her, gaze intent on her face.

Cassie nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

He helped her to sit up but didn't release her hand or move away until it became obvious she was indeed all right. He stayed beside her on the couch, half turned so he could watch her more closely. "You want to tell us what happened?"

"I don't know what happened. Just that it's never happened before."

"What never happened before?" the sheriff demanded. "All you said was that you saw the blood turn wet and red, and then you fainted gracefully into Ben's arms."

Cassie ignored his mockery and looked at him rather than at Ben when she said, "I saw the bloodstains turn wet and red – some even dripped from the island onto the floor. And then, for just a moment, I saw Ivy Jameson. Sitting on the floor, her back against the leg of the island, her dress red with blood. She was looking across the room at me almost… accusingly."

"So whose head were you in?"

"I don't know. It was as if I were standing in that room just moments after the killer left."

"How do you explain it?" Ben asked.

"I can't explain it. Unless…"

"Unless?" the sheriff prompted.

Cassie gazed into the distance, thinking, then said, "Unless someone else did that. Stood in the doorway only minutes after the murder. Someone I've connected to without realizing. Maybe I was… reliving someone's memory."

The sheriff shook his head. "You seem to have connected to an awful lot of people, if you ask me."

Ignoring him, Ben asked, "Was it Matt? You were able to read him earlier. Could you have picked up these images from his experience when he first arrived here in the house and saw her?"

"I don't know." She looked at the sheriff. "Except for her body being gone, is the room just the way you found it?"

"Almost." He didn't elaborate.

Cassie got up. "I need to see it again."

"Are you sure?" Ben asked. "The first time hit you pretty hard."

"I'm sure." She led the way back to the kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway as she had before. This time both men remained behind her.

Cassie concentrated on remembering what she had seen, comparing the details with the room as she saw it now. "Her body was there, at the corner of the island nearest the stove. A foot or so away… there was a knife. A butcher knife, covered in blood." Her gaze roamed slowly around the room. "There were footprints in the blood near the back door, but… the footprints on this side of the room weren't there. That's the only other difference I see."

"Then you weren't seeing Matt's first look into the room," Ben said.

She turned to the two men. "No?"

Ben was staring at the sheriff. "No. The footprints on this side of the room were made by Ivy's relatives when they found her. Before they called Matt."

"So I saw the room before they entered it."

"I'd say so, yes."

"Then someone else must have been here."

The sheriff scowled at her. "Why couldn't it have been the killer standing there? Assuming any of this bullshit is true, that is."

"I don't think it was him. I didn't get a sense of him, the way I have before. As a matter of fact… I didn't get a sense of anyone. No personality, I mean."

"Then what makes you so sure somebody else was here?"

Cassie thought about it but finally had to shake her head in defeat. "I don't know. Just… by process of elimination. I've never been able to tap into a place, not like that. To see, so vividly, something that had already happened, I had to be seeing through somebody's eyes, through their memories. Somebody standing right here, just inside the doorway. After Mrs. Jameson was killed, but before her relatives got here."

Slowly Ben said, "In plenty of near-death experiences, people report being out of their bodies, hovering nearby and looking at themselves. Is it at all possible that you saw this room through Ivy's eyes after her murder?"

"That," the sheriff said, "is the creepiest thing I've heard yet."

Ben was gazing at Cassie. "But is it possible?"

"I don't know." She agreed with the sheriff. It was a creepy possibility. "If so, it would be a first for me."

Sheriff Dunbar shook his head. "Either way, I don't see that this is getting us anywhere. There's no evidence there was anybody other than the killer and Ivy in this house until her relatives arrived. In the meantime, I have three bodies and a town full of people beginning to panic. Unless you can tell me something helpful, I think I'll go back to my good old-fashioned police methods and try to find this bastard before he kills anybody else."

Cassie nodded. "Two things. Before he… before he killed Jill Kirkwood, he said something to her. He said, 'You'll never laugh at me again.' "

"Laughing at people wasn't Jill's style," Ben said immediately.

"In his mind she had laughed at him, belittled him. Maybe they all had, at least as far as he was concerned," Cassie said. "For what it's worth."

"And the other thing?" the sheriff asked.

"That may be more helpful. He held the knife in his right hand, and on the inside of that wrist was a scar. I think he's tried to kill himself, at least once."

"Just when did you remember seeing that?"

"Last night." Cassie shrugged. "I would have called you, but I knew I'd see you today." And she knew he was disinclined to believe her anyway. It was obvious.

Still, the sheriff was grudgingly pleased by something concrete. "Okay, I'll add those details to what little we've got so far."

"Are you going to call the FBI?" Ben asked.

"Not yet."

"Matt – "

"Don't tell me my job, Ben."

"Look, at least get in touch with that violent-crimes task force operating out of Charlotte. They have more resources, Matt. They can help."

"Their resources don't mean jackshit." The sheriff's jaw was set stubbornly. "You know and I know that this killer is not going to be found in anybody's computer database, Ben. He's home grown."

Cassie divided her attention between them. "Then you're sure he's not a stranger, a newcomer in town?"

"Positive."

"Matt, there's no way we can be positive."

"I'm positive. Ivy's relatives swear she would never have opened a door to a stranger, much less invite one into her kitchen."