vision, actually,” he said. “Look, I need to talk to the detectives. I can help!”
The cop nodded, but his face had shut down into an expressionless mask. “I see. I’ve got your name and contact information, sir. I’ll make sure it gets to the detectives.”
“Highway 347—”
“Yes, sir. We’ll follow that up.”
The cop was humoring him. No question about it. Stefan felt a hot burn of rage, but it wouldn’t do any good to let it out; he’d get to talk to the detectives, all right, in handcuffs. Not so much a talk as an interrogation, probably.
He needed to talk to Agent Rush.
“Fine,” Stefan said and held up his hands in surrender. “Just check Highway 347. You know how to find me if you need more information.”
Not that he had any more information, really. The glimpse of the road sign had been a pure gift of luck. It wasn’t exactly breaking news that the girl was terrified, or that she was in a van. Or that her friend had purple-streaked hair.
Or that they were in real trouble.
Stefan moved away, furious and frustrated, and tried to decide on his next move. He had no idea where Agent Rush had gone, and had no way to track her down. And he needed to talk to her, he just sensed it. She would listen to what he had to say, if he could just get past that thick defensive shell.
And to do that, she had to want to talk to him.
“Cops giving you a hard time?” asked a cool female voice at his elbow. He turned and saw a petite blonde dressed from the waist up in an expensive silk shirt and tailored jacket, and from the waist down in blue jeans and flats. She looked styled and coiffed and perfectly made-up.
Television reporter, beyond any doubt.
“A little,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but I overheard what you said to him. You said you had information about the missing girls…? Something about Highway 347?”
He smiled at her. She smiled back. It was purely a professional exchange; there was something about her that put him on his guard, maybe the slightly harsh glitter in her eyes, or the ambition he sensed coming off her in waves. Not a bad person, he sensed, but a driven one. Compulsively needing to win.
He had no idea what game she was playing, but she clearly saw him as some kind of pawn.
“How do you know I’m not one of the kidnappers?” he asked. Her eyebrows rose, and those brown eyes sparkled even more.
“Are you? Because that would be one hell of a story.” She hastily tamped down her excitement. “Provided the girls were returned unharmed, of course.”
“Of course.” He tried to keep the irony out of his voice. “I heard they’re both students at a local girls’ school.”
“Private school,” the reporter said. “What do you know about the Athena Academy?”
“Athena Academy?” he repeated blankly. He’d never heard of it. He knew about the goddess Athena, of course— “Nothing.”
“You weren’t called in? Maybe by one of the alumni to help with the investigation?” She seemed to be fishing for something, dangling bait, but he had no idea what she meant.
He shrugged. “I’m a private citizen. Not called in by anybody. How about you?”
She gave him a knowing smile. “I have my sources. I got a tip early in the investigation.” Some of the light went out of her eyes. Too bad. They’d been quite pretty for a while, and now they were narrowing and hardening again. “But you’re just a guy who listens to the police band and hangs around crime scenes? Wastes the time of the police with false leads?” She was in pursuit of a completely different story now, one potentially damaging to him both personally and professionally. He needed to establish credentials, quickly.
“No,” he said and stepped forward, forcing her to meet his eyes. “My name is Stefan Blackman, and I’m a psychic well known in Los Angeles, and if you want to put me on the air, I’ll tell you everything I know about the abduction of these girls. Including where the van was as of five minutes ago.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, then smiled. She held out her hand to him, and when he automatically took it, shook briskly. “Shannon Connor, ABS. I’ve certainly heard of you, Mr. Blackman. Don’t they call you the Network Psychic?”
He hated that idiotic name, but he nodded. “I work for the broadcast networks, but not as a psychic. What I do for them really doesn’t involve psychic ability,” he said. “I just read the concepts for the shows and pick the ones I think will be most successful.”
“But everybody says that your track record is extraordinary. Something like ninety-five percent, right?”
He shrugged. “That part’s not visions. It’s just good sense.”
“I like that. Save that for the camera, okay?” Shannon turned and waved at someone in the crowd, then made a pointing gesture toward a large panel van decorated with the ABS logo. A broadcast van. Stefan recognized the heavy extendable antenna mounted to the top of it. “Ten minutes to get set up, then we can tape. I can’t promise when it will air, though. Probably in rotation at the next news break. We’re in luck that Tory Patton’s off on maternity leave—I’m getting premium time, thanks to her getting knocked up. Next thing you know, I’ll be the anchor.” She winked, letting him know it was all in fun. Sort of. “Sound okay to you?”
He hadn’t expected to land a full interview, not so quickly, but time was ticking away, and if he didn’t attract the attention of that cool, dismissive FBI agent soon, it would—he knew—be too late.
“Ready when you are,” he said and gave her a full, charming smile to seal the deal.
Chapter 5
Coming back to the Athena Academy was like coming home for Katie—but a home that had new occupants. The buildings all looked gracious and eternal, but there were signs of subtle changes: different paint on the trim of the outbuildings, new trees here and there. Hardy, drought-resistant native plants where she remembered an English herb garden. And had the driveway always been this long?
Her headlights swept a new building, adorned with a brass plaque, and she remembered that a new science wing had been dedicated to Rainy Miller. She hadn’t been able to attend the ceremony, but Kayla had told her about it.
There were a few older students outside, dressed in casual clothes since the school day was over. Casual clothes far more fashionable than those Katie had worn during her school days. Or wore now, for that matter. Most were studying, nodding their heads in time with the music on their iPods, but a few were talking. One group was playing soccer in the fading light, squealing and laughing. If you didn’t know what the Athena Academy was, you wouldn’t have much of a clue to look at the scene. Maybe, if you were very observant, she thought, you’d notice the advanced nature of the texts the girls were studying. Or the fluid speed and grace of the ones playing soccer.
Even as she thought it, one girl slid feetfirst across the grass and executed a devastating sideways kick. The goalie deflected
