“Uh–huh.”
“What about the time you disappeared for a couple of days and nearly got arrested for trying to burn down a bookshop?”
“That was a little more complicated,” Abby said slowly. “I thought the owner of the bookshop was just a nice old man who recognized mytalent and wanted to help me learn how to handle it. I realized later that he wanted to use me to unlock an old volume that he had in his collection.”
“Did you?”
“No. And to this day, I’m not sure why. When I picked up the book, I got the overwhelming sensation that whatever was inside was dangerous, or at least it would be in his hands. I just knew that I did not want him to be able to read that book.”
“What was it about?”
“Hypnotic poisons. So I lied and told the bookshop owner that I couldn’t break the code. He went a little crazy. He locked me inside his rare-book vault and told me that he wouldn’t let me out until I agreed to break the encryption.”
“The son of a bitch imprisoned you?”
“I was terrified. I held out for as long as I could. I had some fantasy that someone, my dad or the police, would realize what had happened and rescue me. But eventually it dawned on me that no one knew where I was and that I was on my own.”
“You told the bastard that you would break the psi-code.”
“Yes. When he opened the door I told him I had done what he wanted. I handed the book to him. When he touched it, I channeled some of the energy into his aura. I was acting entirely on intuition. I had no idea what would happen. He screamed and collapsed. The next thing I knew, the book was on fire.”
“A shop full of old volumes and manuscripts. Talk about a firetrap.”
“I had no idea how to put out the flames. I pulled the fire alarm and managed to drag the owner out of the vault. That’s where the firefighters and the cops found me. When the dealer recovered, he claimed that I had attempted to burn down his shop.”
“And you ended up in the Summerlight Academy for troubled youth. What happened to the dealer who forced you to decode the book?”
“He died of a heart attack a few months later.” Abby held up one hand. “I had nothing to do with it. I was locked up at the Summerlight Academy.”
He flexed one hand on the wheel, aware of the cold tension simmering in him. “Wish I could have taken care of him for you.”
Abby looked disconcerted. “That’s very…sweet of you.”
He smiled. “Sweet?”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that no one has ever offered to do anything like that for me before. I’m touched, truly I am. So, uh, have you done anything like that before?”
“Most of the time I prefer to use less permanent methods.”
“In other words, you have done that sort of thing before.”
“Maybe.”
“When you work for that private contractor you mentioned? The one who does some business with the post office?”
“To be clear, the post office is not the client,” he said. “It’s a different agency.”
“When was the last time you worked for the contractor?”
“About three months ago.” He paused. “But I was on an assignment the night Cassidy was murdered.”
“Ah,” she said softly. “No wonder you had a hard time establishing an alibi.”
He did not respond to that. It was enough that she believed him, he thought.
“Take that gravel road to the right,” she said.
He slowed the SUV and turned into a rutted lane that wound through the trees and dead-ended in a small clearing. A high steel security fence protected a run-down house and a yard filled with large stone pots. As far as he could tell, the only things growing in the planters were weeds.
