The First Prophet by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online

my
     house. I don’t know if he came here to kill me. But I know that he’s very, very dangerous.”
    “I can take care of myself. And I can help you, Sarah.”
    She shook her head, her eyes going momentarily un-focused in that inward-turned gaze.
     “No. You don’t understand. Sometimes, when I know he’s out there,I can sense things about him. There’s something…wrong with him. Something that isn’t
normal
.”
    “In what way?”
    “I don’t know.” Her eyes cleared. “It’s like when I try to see who wants to kill me.
     All I see are shadows. Shadows all around me.”
    He couldn’t deny the reality of that man who was probably still outside somewhere,
     probably still watching, but Tucker wasn’t about to lose the ground he felt he had
     gained in the last couple of hours. “He’s just another piece of the puzzle, Sarah,
     that’s all. We can solve it.”
    “How?”
    At the moment, it was an unanswerable question, so Tucker merely shrugged and said,
     “By putting the pieces together. But not tonight. You’ve had a long and tough day,
     and I’m a little tired myself. I know it’s early, but why don’t we turn in?”
    Her expression was unreadable. “There’s only one bedroom.”
    “That couch looks comfortable. I’ll be fine out here, Sarah.”
    Without further comment, she left the breakfast bar and went to get a blanket and
     pillow from the storage closet across from the bedroom. She piled them on one end
     of the couch. “There are clean towels in the bathroom, and some men’s toiletries in
     the linen cabinet; Margo has an occasional male guest stay up here, and she believes
     in being prepared. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
    “Thanks.”
    She didn’t seem eager to leave. “Pendragon should be put out before you settle down
     to sleep; otherwise he’ll wake you up at dawn.”
    “I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t move away from his position near the bar. “Good
     night, Sarah.”
    “Good night.” She turned abruptly toward the bedroom, pausing only when she reached
     the hallway. She stood there for a moment, as if in indecision, then looked back over
     her shoulder at him. Quietly, her expression quizzical, she said, “I’m sorry. She
     never wanted to be found, you know. That’s why you couldn’t.” Then she went on into
     her bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.
    Tucker wasn’t sure he was breathing. He forced himself to draw air into his lungs,
     and it made him briefly dizzy. Or something did. He stood there staring after her,
     conscious of his heart thudding heavily inside his chest and cold sweat popping out
     of every pore.
    “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

    The witching hour,
Brodie thought, studying the deserted street in front of his parked car. At three A.M. on this Thursday morning, the day after Sarah Gallagher’s house had burned to the
     ground, the only lights were streetlights; in this part of Richmond, at least, all
     was quiet.
    He caught the flicker of light in the rearview mirror and tensed just a bit, his hand
     sliding inside his jacket and closing over the reassuringly solid grip of the .45ready in its holster. Even when the light flickered half a dozen more times in a definite
     signal, he didn’t entirely relax, though his foot tapped the brake lightly in the
     expected response.
    It wasn’t until the passenger door of his car opened and a man slid in that Brodie
     relaxed and left his gun holstered. The dome light had not come on (since he had earlier
     removed the bulbs), but a faint whiff of a very expensive and even more exclusive
     men’s cologne confirmed the identity of his companion for Brodie.
    “You didn’t have to come yourself,” he said, surprised.
    “I was in the neighborhood.”
    Brodie made a rude but soft sound of disbelief. “Yesterday, you were in Canada, at
     a board meeting still going on today. You’re elusive as hell, Josh, but I’m very good
     at what I do.”
    “You don’t have to