"This time they will. He will kill."

Ben rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at her. Maybe she was a kook. Or maybe not. "Okay. Who's going to be murdered?"

"I don't know. I saw her face when he watched her, but I don't know who she is."

Ben frowned. "When he watched her?"

She hesitated, her thin face tightening. Then she said, "I was… in his mind for only a few seconds. Seeing with his eyes, listening to his thoughts. He's been watching her, and he's decided to kill her. Soon."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know."

"Wait a minute. You claim you were inside the guy's head, but you don't know who he is?"

"No." She answered patiently, as though to an oft-repeated question. "Identity isn't a conscious thought most of the time. He knows who he is, so it wasn't something he was thinking about. And I didn't see any part of him, not his hands, or his clothing – or his reflection in a mirror. I don't know who he is. I don't know what he looks like."

"But you know he's going to kill someone. A woman."

"Yes."

Ben drew a breath. "Why didn't you go to the sheriff?"

"I did, last week. He didn't believe me."

"Which is why you came to me."

"Yes."

Ben picked up a pen and turned it in his fingers. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Believe me," she answered simply. For the first time, she looked squarely at him.

Ben felt as if she had reached across the desk and placed her hand on him. It was a warm hand.

He drew a breath, holding her gaze with his own.

"And assuming I can bring myself to do that? Is there anything you can tell me that might stop this murder from taking place?"

"No. Not… yet." She shook her head, unblinking. "I may see more. I may not. The fact that I connected to him without holding something he had touched, without knowing him, is unusual. It must have been the… intensity of his thoughts and plans, his eagerness, that reached out to me. Maybe I did touch something he had touched without knowing it. Or maybe he was physically nearby, and that's why I was able to steal the shadows – " She broke off abruptly and looked down once more.

He missed that warm hand. It was another surprise.

"Steal the shadows?"

Reluctantly Cassie said, "It's what I call it when I'm able to slip into a killer's mind and pick up bits and pieces of what he's thinking, planning. Their minds tend to be dark… filled with shadows." Her fingers were really working now, their nervous energy in stark contrast to her calm face and voice.

"You've done this before?"

She nodded.

"Have you worked with the police?"

"In Los Angeles. Some of the police out there are quite open-minded about seeking the help of psychics – especially when those psychics never seek publicity."

Ben leaned back in his chair and studied her. Weighed her. " Los Angeles. So what brought you all the way across the country to our little town?"

Her upward glance, he thought, was just a little wary once more. It put him on guard.

"An inheritance," she answered readily enough. "My aunt died last year and left me a house in Ryan's Bluff."

Ben frowned. "Who was your aunt?"

"Alexandra Melton."

He was startled, and knew it showed. "Miss Melton was a fairly well-known… character in Ryan's Bluff."

" She was quite a character in our family as well."

"Word around here was that she broke with her family."

"She was my mother's elder sister. They quarreled years ago, when I was just a child. No one ever told me what it was about. I never saw Aunt Alex again. Being notified last year that she'd left me a house and some acreage in North Carolina was quite a shock."

"So you decided to move three thousand miles."

She hesitated. "I don't know if it's permanent. I was tired of the city and wanted to spend some time in a place with an actual winter season."

"The Melton place is pretty isolated."

"Yes, but I don't mind that. It's been very peaceful."

"Until now."

"Until now."

After a moment Ben said, "Give me the name and number of somebody I can talk to in L.A. Somebody you've worked with."

She gave him the name of Detective Robert Logan, and his number, and Ben wrote down the information.

"Does that mean you're willing to believe me?" she asked.

"It means… I'm interested. It means I'll do my best to keep an open mind." He shook his head. "I'm not going to lie to you, Cassie. Your claim to be able to get inside the heads of killers is something I'm having a hard time with."

"I understand that. It's alien to most people."

Ben circled the name and number he'd written on the legal pad before him. "In the meantime, is there anything else you can tell me about this would-be murderer?"

She gave him another of those direct looks that was a warm touch. "I can tell you he's never killed before – at least, not a human being."

"He might have killed something else?"

"Maybe. Have there been any unexplained animal deaths or disappearances around here?"

"You mean recently? Not that I know of."

"It could have been recent. It's more likely, though, that he did that sort of thing as a child."

"If he did, he got away with it."

"Probably. It's the kind of thing that often gets dismissed when young boys do it. Unless it's extremely frequent or especially vicious. Not many people realize it's one of the earliest signs of homicidal tendencies."

"Particularly among serial killers. Along with, if I remember correctly, unnaturally prolonged bed-wetting and starting fires."

Cassie nodded. "Did you take one of the FBI courses for law enforcement officials?"

"Yes, shortly after I got this job. How about you?"

She smiled slightly. "No. I've just… picked up information along the way. I think it helped me, at least a little, to understand the clinical terms and explanations."

"For monsters?"

She nodded again.

"I'm sorry," Ben said.

Her eyes widened slightly, and then her gaze fell. "Never mind. I've taken up enough of your time today. Thanks again for seeing me. And for keeping an open mind."

They both rose, but a faint gesture from Cassie kept Ben on his side of the desk. Still, he wasn't quite ready to let her go. "Wait." He looked at her intently. "Your name. Is it short for Cassandra?"

"Yes."

Softly he said, "She tried to warn them – and nobody believed her."

"My mother was psychic. She'd knew I'd be. Sometimes I think she gave me that name just to make certain I'd go through life prepared for doubt and scorn. A reminder I'd always carry with me."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Don't be. We all have our crosses." She shrugged and began to turn away, then paused when he spoke again.

"That other Cassandra knew she couldn't change what would happen. She knew she wouldn't be believed. It destroyed her. Don't let it destroy you, Cassie."

Without looking at him she said, "Something else that other Cassandra knew. She knew her own fate. And she couldn't escape it."

"Do you?"

"Know my own fate? Yes."

"I thought you couldn't predict the future."

"Just mine. Just my fate."

He felt a little chill. "It's something you want to escape?"

Cassie went to the door and paused once again, this time with her hand on the doorknob. She glanced back at him. "Yes. But I can't. I ran almost three thousand miles, and it wasn't far enough."

"Cassie – "

But she was gone, slipping through the door and closing it quietly behind her.

Alone again, Ben sat down in his chair and for a moment gazed down absently at the name and number he'd written on his legal pad. Then he buzzed his secretary. "Janice, there's some research I need you to do ASAP. But first, there's a cop in L.A. I need to talk to."

She walks like a whore.