Hostage by Kay Hooper Page A

standing up all over her body. And felt the chill of that cold wave sweeping through her.
    “Oh, shit, not now,” she muttered under her breath. But she had learned that spirits who wanted to communicate with her were remarkably stubborn, so she forced herself to look up, at the foot of her bed.
    And felt a jolt. Surprise. Bafflement.
    “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
    * * *
    CALLIE DAVIS LOOKED at her guest for a moment, then ladled stew into two bowls, picked up a couple of spoons, and brought the food into the living room. She set his bowl on the coffee table in front of him, returned to the kitchen for her own coffee, then settled herself in a comfortable-looking chair across from the couch.
    “Eat it while it’s hot,” she said, following her own advice.
    Luther set his coffee cup on the table and picked up the bowl of stew. It was good, hot and filling, and his military training told him to eat it while he had the chance, because in a soldier’s life one never knew when or even if the next meal would be forthcoming.
    Besides, he was starving. It took all the manners he could muster not to shovel the stew in as fast as he could chew.
    “Good,” he noted about halfway through his generous portion.
    “Thanks. But you may get sick of it before we’ve finished the pot. My energy source for appliances is propane, and taking the tanks down into town to get them filled is a pain, so I use the stuff sparingly. Quick hot showers using a tankless heater. One-pot meals that last a few days when I hang them in the fireplace over to the side.”
    He looked briefly at the fireplace, noting two iron swing arms that would make that arrangement possible; as long as the fire burned or embers just gave off heat, the food—and probably the coffee in that pot as well—would remain at a low simmer.
    Which probably explained the strong coffee.
    “Am I going to be here a few days?”
    “Unless you heal a lot faster than the average bear, yes. Besides, if you’re going after Jacoby, this is about the only thing close to a base shelter from which to launch your offensive.”
    He didn’t have to listen very hard to hear the faint note of mockery. “I’m not going after him. My orders were to find him, make sure he’s not going anywhere, and report in.”
    “And what if he comes after you?”
    “You mean to finish the job?” Luther asked, gesturing with a spoon toward his covered bullet wound.
    “That would be one reason.”
    “You know of another one?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Because he knows you can track him no matter where he goes?”
    “Track him? You found me lost in the woods, remember?”
    “I found you wounded in the woods. Whether you were lost is an arguable point.”
    “I pretty much was,” he admitted.
    “You’d lost a lot of blood. Probably that more than anything else had your sense of direction off.”
    Luther finished his stew and set the bowl on the table, then picked up his coffee cup and sipped, watching her. “But you believe I can track Jacoby wherever he goes.”
    “I know you can. That’s why they sent you.”
    “They?”
    Callie set her empty bowl on the table, shifted so she could reach into the front pocket of her jeans, and then tossed a small metallic object to land on the coffee table precisely in front of Luther.
    “Haven,” she said.

FIVE
    He reached over and picked up the small, smoothly cast lightning bolt, stared at it for a moment, then looked at her.
    “I followed a hunch,” she said. “Checked your hiking boots.”
    “That was more than a hunch.”
    Callie shrugged.
    The nagging question finally came within his grasp. “You know about Haven. You knew about Jacoby not because of any news reports, but because you were expecting him to be here. You’re here
because
of him. You’re FBI, aren’t you? More than that, you’re SCU.”
    Callie replied readily. “I am. And, yes, that’s why I’m here. Because of Jacoby.”
    Evenly, he said, “I asked you