Dead Silence

“Evan,” he said patiently as she led her to where Kisha was waiting. “But you can call me Father.”

CHAPTER 18

THREE—POSSIBLY EVEN FOUR—SONGS LATER, when Violet finally managed to free herself from the confines of the crush in front of the stage, she took a deep breath, and focused. Her vision was still distorted, but not nearly as intensely as it had been just minutes earlier. As if whoever she’d been tracking had left the building.

She searched around frantically, not wanting him to get away as she tried to find that sensation again—desperately wanting to be blinded by the colors of death.

Yeah, because she wasn’t strange. Who even thought things like that?

“Jay!” She jumped up and down when she saw him, waving and trying to draw his attention. “Jay!” She hoped he could hear her above the music and the shouting, but somehow she doubted it. She could barely hear herself.

But he did see her, and that was enough as he, much more successfully than she had, shoved his way through the crowd. When he reached her, he was out of breath. “Jesus, Vi, I looked all over for you!” He had to yell to be heard. “One second you said something about splitting up, the next you were gone.” He scowled at her.

But Violet just grabbed his hand and started dragging him away from the mob of people. “We have to go,” she hollered back, hoping he wouldn’t ask why. Telling him that she was following a killer wasn’t something she wanted to scream in the middle of an audience.

There was a hallway to their right and Violet headed toward it, realizing that with each step the colors grew bolder, more distracting.

Once they’d ducked through the doorway, it wasn’t hard to guess where the hallway led. There were three doors, two clearly marked with the universal stick figure signs that specified men’s and women’s restrooms, although the signs didn’t seem to make a difference to the people waiting in line, as they took whichever room came available first. Apparently, when you had to go, you had to go.

Violet slowed as she passed the first door, but she could still see, making it more than clear that the person she was after wasn’t in there. He also wasn’t in line, she realized as she passed those who were still waiting. She and Jay got several strange looks as they squeezed by, and raised a few pierced brows.

Violet ignored them all.

“Damn,” she cursed as she kept dragging him toward the third door.

This one was clearly marked: an exit. But she knew it was the right way to go if she intended to follow the imprint.

As she reached for the handle, Jay drew her up short. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She pressed her palms against the long bar that would release the latch, the one that would let them outside. “He’s out there, Jay. The killer. He was in here, and now he’s gone. I know he’s out there, just past this door. We have to go find him.”

Jay stopped her, pulling her back. “Are you kidding? We’re not going out there.” He gripped her arms. “Violet, think about it for a minute. This is what I was talking about, you can’t just chase after murderers.” His voice became gentler, more persuasive. “Look,” he said. “Let’s go back inside and get Rafe and Chelsea. Then we’ll call your uncle, or Rafe’s sister, and tell them what you found. Let them go after this psycho.”

Violet wavered, shifting anxiously on her feet. “But what if it’s too late by then? What if he’s already long gone?”

“Then he’s gone, Vi. You can’t put yourself in danger just because you’re afraid the guy’ll get away. Some things are out of your control.” He started pulling her back inside. “Accept it.”

She was only half convinced, and not at all happy, but she followed him because she knew he was right. It was the same thing Sara had been trying to tell her since she’d joined the team, teaching her the importance of putting her own safety—and the safety of her team—above all else. It was the same thing Dr. Lee had tried to teach her with all his stupid methods and techniques.

Yet here she was again, about to impulsively follow another imprint. About to put herself in harm’s way . . . again.

Rafe was waiting for them at their spot at the table. Violet glanced up ruefully at two guys in her way as she squeezed past them.

“He was here,” she told Rafe, looking around nervously to make sure no one else was listening to them. And then she added, “He must’ve slipped out the back though. I think we should call Sara.”

Rafe straightened up from where he’d been slumped forward, leaning on his elbows. “Why didn’t you go after him?”

“Because,” Jay answered from over her shoulder, “I told her we should come back and get you and Chelsea first.”

Rafe considered that and then nodded. “Good idea.”

“Where is Chelsea, anyway?” Violet asked, her eyes raking the throng of people swarming the immediate area. She didn’t see Chelsea anywhere.

“Dunno.” Rafe shrugged. “I figured she was with you. Probably in the bathroom.”

Violet knew that wasn’t true. She’d just been by the bathrooms, and Chelsea wasn’t there either.

“Hey!” she called to the boy Chelsea had been making eyes with when they’d left her. He was still sitting by himself. “Where’s the girl who was here?” She tapped Chelsea’s root beer, which was mostly empty.