Sense of Evil by Kay Hooper Page B

the jut of his jaw, I’d say he wouldn’t have been willing to talk to any of us. So I got his attention. What’s wrong with that?”
    “Did he ask you how you obtained this information?”
    “Yeah, but I distracted him. More or less.”
    “Hollis, he’s a
lawyer
. They don’t get distracted, as a rule. Not for long, anyway. What happens when he starts asking questions?”
    “I don’t think he will. He wants to find out who killed Tricia Kane. Besides, you told Chief Sullivan.”
    “As closely as we’ll have to work with Rafe and his lead investigator on this case, he had to know. So will she. But a civilian?”
    Hollis sighed, clearly impatient with the discussion. “Somehow I don’t think a lawyer finding out we’re psychics is going to be our major problem. I’m new at this whole thing, and you might as well have a bull’s-eye target on your back. In neon.” She stood up. “Since we have that early meeting in the morning, I think I’ll go back to my own room and get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”
    Without protest, Isabel merely said, “I’ll be up and ready for breakfast at seven if you want to meet me here.” The small inn where they were staying didn’t provide room service, but there was a restaurant nearby.
    “Okay. See you then.”
    “Good night, Hollis.”
    When she was alone in her room again, Isabel got ready for bed, brooding. Just as the night before, she barely noticed the uninspired, any-hotel-in-any-town-U.S.A. decor, and out of habit she filled the silence by having the air-conditioning on high and the TV tuned to an all-news network.
    She hated silence when she was in an unfamiliar place.
    She had put off calling Bishop, undecided despite what she’d told Rafe as to what she intended to report. So when her cell phone rang, she knew who it was even without the caller I.D. and answered by saying, “This is supposed to be one of those lessons you’re always saying we have to learn, right? A reminder from the universe that we don’t control anything except our own actions? When we’re able to control them, that is.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bishop replied, calm and transparently unconvincing.
    “Yeah, yeah. Why team me with Hollis? Answer that.”
    “Because you’re the one most likely to help her through this first real test of her abilities.”
    “I’m not a medium.”
    “No, but you understand how it feels to be forced suddenly to cope with abilities you never even dreamed were possible.”
    “I’m not the only other team member who wasn’t born a psychic.”
    “You’re the best adjusted.”
    “That’s an arguable statement. Just because this stuff no longer scares the hell out of me doesn’t necessarily mean I’m all that well adjusted.”
    “I didn’t say well adjusted. I said best adjusted.”
    “Which only proves my point. I would think you’d want somebody well adjusted to help Hollis.”
    “You’re going to keep arguing about this, aren’t you?” Bishop said.
    “I thought I might.”
    “Are you asking me to recall Hollis?”
    Isabel hesitated, then said, “No. Dammit.”
    “You can help her. Just listen to your instincts.”
    “Bishop, we both know mediums are fragile.”
    “And we both know how difficult it’s been for us to find a medium for the unit. They’re rare, for one thing. And, yes, they’re emotionally fragile. Most can’t handle the job, and those who can tend to burn out quickly.”
    “So far,” she reminded him, “we haven’t found a single one who was able to gain information for us by contacting murder victims. I mean an agent. Bonnie did it, but she wasn’t an agent. When she grows up, though—”
    “She still has a lot of growing to do. Right now, she’s preoccupied with being a teenager. It’s not the easiest time of life, remember? Especially when you’re gifted.”
    “Or cursed. Yeah, I remember. Bonnie aside, the few mediums we’ve found and tried to bring into murder