"Assuming he doesn't read her name in the paper first," Matt commented dryly.

"That's the other risk, and probably a more likely one. Sooner or later word will get around that Cassie is psychic and that we've been talking to her."

"Won't that look just dandy at the next election."

"If we put this killer behind bars," Ben reminded him, "I doubt very much the voters will care how we did it."

"Maybe. But in the meantime, we'll take a lot of flak. And your psychic will take center stage."

"Stop calling her my psychic. You know her name."

Matt eyed him. "Touchy, aren't you?"

"This is not about me. Are you going to ask Cassie for help or aren't you?"

Rather mildly Matt said, "Yes, I am."

Ben blinked. "And just when did you make up your mind about that?"

Matt fingered the evidence bag still lying on the blotter in front of him. "When you told me she knew this came from my old Boy Scout uniform. Like you said – like she said – I'm not convinced. But I can't think of a single trick or deception to explain how she could identify this correctly. Except that she knew. Taken with the rest, it's enough to make me want to find out what else she knows."

"It's about time."

"Well, don't just sit there staring at me. Call her."

At first Cassie was aware of nothing except the cold. Far beyond the chill of snow and wind, this cold was absolute. It felt, she imagined, the way the biting touch of deep space would feel against cringing human flesh. She had the hazy idea that even the blood in her veins was slowing, turning to slush as the cold reached it.

The fluttering sensation returned, intensified for a moment, then faded, and she felt something else.

Someone else.

Cassie opened her eyes slowly. Around her the air remained gray and foggy. She was distantly aware of the dog barking frantically but didn't see him. She turned her head slowly, toward the woods, where more pines than hardwood trees made the area dark and gloomy with the canopy of their heavy branches.

The people were standing just inside the woods.

There must have been a dozen of them, mostly women but a few men as well, and at least one young boy. They watched her with eyes as profoundly reproachful as those Ivy Jameson had aimed across her kitchen at Cassie days before.

When they started moving slowly toward her, Cassie saw the wounds. One woman's throat gaped open. Another's head was misshapen, a horrible depression of the skull crying mutely of a heavy object and terrible force. One man carried his own bloody arm, while another held his hands protectively over the inches-wide gash that opened him from chest to crotch.

They walked toward her steadily, emerging from the shadows of the woods and into the field with its gray snow and foggy air, and that appalling coldness came off them in waves that were almost visible.

They left no footprints in the snow.

Cassie heard a faint whimpering sound and realized it was coming from her own throat. It was a pathetic substitute for the scream crawling around deeper inside her. She was frozen, immobile. She couldn't run away or back away or even throw up an arm to try to protect herself.

All she could do was stand there and wait for them to reach her.

To touch her.

When Cassie opened her eyes, she wasn't immediately sure either where she was or how she had gotten there. The tiled ceiling above her looked vaguely familiar, and she eventually identified it as that of the living room of Aunt Alex's house.

Her house.

Odd. The last thing she remembered was… getting up that morning. Putting the coffee on – she could smell it – and taking Max out for his run. And then…

Nothing.

"So you're back."

She turned her head toward the voice and realized several things simultaneously. She was wrapped from head to foot in a thick blanket, she was lying on the sofa with her head and shoulders propped up with pillows, and she was so incredibly cold that shivers racked her body in waves.

The sheriff stood at the fireplace, in which a fire blazed. He had one shoulder propped against the mantel, his hands in the pockets of his black jacket, and one eye on the big dog that sat only a couple of feet away, staring at him with a distinctly hostile attitude.

"Ben didn't have time to introduce us," Matt told her somewhat dryly as her gaze shifted to the dog. "Good thing this mutt already knew him, though. Otherwise neither of us would have been able to get near you."

"Near me? Where was I?" Her voice sounded a bit shaky, she thought, but considering the chills, that was hardly surprising.

He took her bafflement in stride. "Out in the field north of here, about a hundred yards from the house. Lying unconscious in the snow, with the dog standing guard over you and barking his head off."

"Unconscious?" She thought about that, then shook her head. "Where's Ben?"

"In the kitchen. Either hot chocolate or hot soup, whichever he could fix the quickest." Conversationally Matt went on. "When you didn't answer your phone, Ben was convinced something had happened. So we carne out here. Heard the dog as soon as we got out of the car, and spotted you a couple of minutes later. When we got to you and managed to get past the dog, it was obvious you weren't in good shape. You were about two shades paler than the snow, your pulse was faint and about twenty beats a minute, and you were barely breathing. If I hadn't been able to convince Ben you just needed to get warm, you'd be on your way to the hospital right now."

"How did you know that's all I needed?"

Matt frowned slightly. "That's hard to explain. I just looked at you, and I could swear I heard a voice in my head saying the word 'cold' over and over. Your voice."

That didn't surprise Cassie very much. Even though she still didn't remember what had happened, if she had reached out unconsciously for help, it would have been the sheriff, with his unshuttered mind, who would have been able to hear her.

"Thank you, Sheriff," she said.

"Don't mention it. And the name's Matt."

She decided not to question his apparent change of sentiments. Instead, she said to the softly growling dog, "Max, he's a friend. Be a good boy and lie down."

The dog turned his alert attention to her but obediently lay down where he was, his tail thumping the floor.

"Thank you," Matt said. "He was making me nervous."

Before Cassie could respond, Ben came into the room carrying a mug. He wasn't dressed for court; the casual jeans and sweatshirt he wore took years off his age and made him seem unnervingly approachable.

He had obviously heard their voices and wasn't surprised to find her awake, but his face was grim. The gaze he fixed on her was so intense, she had to look away.

He sat down on the sofa alongside her legs and held the mug to her lips. "Drink this, Cassie. It'll help warm you."

It was hot chocolate, and it was either very good or she was very cold and thirsty. She took a couple of swallows, then managed to get her hands out from under the blanket and took the mug from him. It was no accident that she didn't touch him at all in the process.

"Thanks, I can manage."

Ben didn't protest or even comment. He just sat there, one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his knee, and stared at her without speaking. She knew he was staring, because she could feel it.

Matt said, "So far, she doesn't remember what happened out there."

"What do you remember?" Ben asked her.

Cassie frowned at the mug. The hot liquid was warming both her chilled hands and her shivering body, but she knew it would be a long time before she felt warm again. "I remember going out to take Max for his morning run. I remember walking away from the house, looking up at the mountains…"