One thing was for sure. Whatever was going to happen was imminent.
And it was evil.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Patrick was the only one in the conference room when Claire walked in. He was poring over the financial data Ryan had extracted on the Auburn State prison guards. Since it was clear that someone on the inside was helping Fisher, Patrick was trying to figure out just who that someone was by searching bank records that showed hefty deposits. He hadn’t asked Ryan how he’d gotten these records. He was certain he didn’t want to know.
Patrick’s attention shifted the moment Claire entered the room. Her strained expression and the dazed look in her eyes told him she needed to talk.
He put down his paperwork and frowned. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.” Claire sank down at the conference room table in an adjacent chair.
“Ryan didn’t upset you, did he? I know he was angry, but that’s because he was worried about you.”
“What?” Claire seemed puzzled, almost as if Ryan’s name was unfamiliar to her.
“Okay, it isn’t Ryan,” Patrick said. “Then what? You look lousy now, and you looked pretty high-strung when you came in. What’s going on?”
Claire hesitated for a second. Then, she blurted it all out—her meeting with Suzanne Fisher, the wig she’d taken, the weird visions she’d been having.
Patrick listened quietly and objectively. He might be in his early sixties, but he was an open-minded man. He’d never heard of claircognizance before he’d met Claire, but that didn’t mean he was a flat-out nonbeliever. It just meant he had a hard time accepting the premise of energy-sensing to solve crimes, especially when there were no hard-core facts to support it.
But he’d seen the results of what Claire could do. And they were inarguable. So he listened carefully, and digested what Claire had to say.
When she was finished, she caught her breath and studied Patrick’s expression. “You’re thinking it’s a bunch of crap.”
“No, I’m trying to figure out what the symbolism is.”
“Claire saw herself in the role of a restrained victim because she feels responsible for me.” Casey’s voice reached them from the doorway, where she was leaning, arms folded across her chest. “She’s upset because she can’t pick up anything that could help prevent what Glen Fisher has in mind.”
Claire started, swerving in her chair to see Casey. “I didn’t know you were in the room.”
“I’m glad I was.” Casey crossed over and sat down with Claire and Patrick. “I don’t want you keeping things from me. I don’t need shielding. I need to know everything. And, by the way, there’s nothing you said that I haven’t already thought of.”
“I’m so frustrated.” Claire raked a hand through her hair. “And, yes, I’m freaked out, too. These images are starting to really mess with my mind and make me physically ill.”
“But they’re intensifying,” Casey pointed out. “That’s got to mean we’re getting closer to Fisher’s end game.” She raised her chin. “Except that we’re going to alter the results of that end game.”
“Without a doubt.” Patrick rose to his feet. “Marc’s here tonight. Obviously, so is Hutch. You’re in good hands.”
“I know that,” Casey said. “Just as I know that we’re going to get to Glen Fisher before he gets to us. So let’s all try to rest.”
“I agree. We should all call it a night. It’s late. We’ll pick this up in the morning.” Patrick glanced down at Claire. “How’d you like an old-fashioned guy to drive you home tonight? I took the car rather than the train today, since I had no idea what time I’d be heading home.”
Claire felt—and showed—a surge of relief. “That would be great. I’m still feeling off balance. Once I’ve taken a hot bath and curled up in bed, I’ll feel better.”
“Then let’s go.” Patrick rose and gestured toward the door. “My car’s right across the street.”
Claire said good-night to Casey and preceded Patrick down the stairs. They left the building and walked over to Patrick’s car.
As Claire opened the passenger door, an icy chill shot through her—just for a second, then it was gone. She caught her breath, her head immediately coming up as she searched the city street.
There were no creepy figures lurking about. And no suspicious-looking vehicles, either.
Still, she was very glad that Patrick was driving her home.
* * *