She only had a short while to wait before someone found the body of the dead woman and called it in. Enough time to dose up on painkillers, and not much more, she would bet. Neither of them would be getting much rest.
And with the face of the dying woman replaying behind her eyelids at every step she took, Laura knew she wasn’t going to be able to rest properly at all until she caught this killer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Laura shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she walked, trying to keep the pace brisk. The longer she lingered in any one spot, the higher the possibility that she would wind up leading herself right into a vision, and she couldn’t afford to see anything that didn’t affect the case right now.
Of course, there was also the possibility that walking this fast would put her into the path of someone else and trigger a vision anyway, but Laura could hope.
She didn’t know where she was going and barely remembered how far she had walked already, but she was stuck in a cycle in her mind that she couldn’t seem to break. First, she would try not to think of anything at all. To clear her mind. Instead, she would end up seeing the face of the poor dying woman from her vision, the woman she knew would be killed tonight.
And she would think about that woman, helpless and alone right now, maybe even dying right now. Or lying already dead, waiting for someone to find her. And Laura would feel sick to her stomach, and powerless, and she would clench her fists to stop herself from crying.
And then the rest of it would pile in afterward: the knowledge that she couldn’t save anyone right now. The shadow of death hanging over Nate, which hadn’t given her a vision. Which might not give her a vision for months.
And from there, onward to Amy, little Amy trapped with her father and in need of help. Maybe in need of help even now. Laura would remember what she had seen and the sickness would roil in her stomach again, and she would wonder what the hell she was doing here in Albany instead of back in DC trying to make sure none of it ever happened.
Because no matter which way she turned, Laura was needed. She had to do something to stop all of these awful things from happening, because she was the only one who knew that they would. But she couldn’t keep all of these plates spinning in the air. She couldn’t report crimes that hadn’t yet happened, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once.
She had to choose who to help, and when.
Laura felt something at the bottom of her pocket and pulled it out. She hadn’t worn the jacket during the warm days of summer, and it was only in flying out here that she’d pulled it out of the closet; she couldn’t even remember when the last time she wore it would have been. Looking at the disc between her fingers, Laura realized what it was: a sixty-day chip.
She’d only ever made it to the full sixty days once, so it wasn’t hard to recall when she’d put it there. And then, like every other time, she’d fallen off the wagon.
She could do with falling off the wagon right now.
How else was she supposed to cope with this awful knowledge, these terribly images that kept flashing behind her eyelids, than having a drink? If she went to a bar right now, she could order something cheap and strong and feel the burn as it slid down her throat. Before long, she would forget about the visions, forget about the people who needed her. She didn’t get visions at all when she was drunk either. It drowned everything out. She needed to drown everything out.
But Laura only spurred herself to walk faster as she dug her cell phone out of the other pocket. She hit the speed dial—the one number she would need the most in emergency situations—and waited for it to connect.
“Laura,” he said, answering the call. “This is late, even for you. It’s past midnight already.”
Laura took a deep breath. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, Garth. I just needed you to talk me down.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”
It was true. Garth Rupertson was Laura’s AA sponsor; they’d met when she first starting going to meetings and hit it off, although it wasn’t as though Laura had been to a lot of them lately. She vacillated between being too ashamed to show her face and admit she’d been drinking again, too busy with a case, and too overconfident that this time she was going to stay sober without help. Garth was always there for her in the moments between, when she was able to accept she still needed a hand—and to reach out for one.
“I’ve been out walking for half an hour,” she said, partly to explain why she was breathing a little faster than normal. “I can’t stop thinking about how much easier everything would be if I just went out and had a drink.”
“Would it?” Garth asked. He had a hint of amusement in his voice. “Will it be easier to deal with everything you’re doing right now, as well as a hangover? Will it be easier to work if you can’t walk in a straight line or remember anything you did for the past twenty-four hours?”
“No,” Laura admitted, but Garth wasn’t even done.
“Will you find things easier to deal with when you’ve lost your job because you were drunk on duty? You are on duty, right?”
“I’m working a case in Albany,” Laura admitted. She wrapped her free arm around herself against the night’s chill. “No, it wouldn’t make things easier. Not in the long run. I know.”
“What are you dealing with right now?” Garth asked, then continued before she could interrupt to fob him off. “Now, I know you can’t tell me the details of an active case. Just in general, Laura. Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
“Yes,” she said. “There’s so much pressure. Right now, I’m the only one who can do anything about this—this danger. If I don’t stop the person we’re chasing down, then people will die.”
“Now, that’s not quite right,” Garth said. “I know it isn’t. You’ve told me before you have that wonderful partner of yours. The one who doesn’t judge you for your past mistakes, isn’t that him? And he’s a good agent, too, the way you tell it. You’re saying he doesn’t share any responsibility at all for doing this work?”
“Of course he does,” Laura said, closing her eyes for a moment before refocusing on the sidewalk. There were so many times in her life when it would be so much easier if people understood where she was coming from. Saw that she really was the only person who could do what she could do. “It’s just—the pressure is still on. We have different leads to follow, and if I don’t get mine right, this guy ends up walking free for longer.”
That, at least, was close enough to the truth.