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is that what you've been doing all these years?"
    "It's what I've been trying to do. Without visible results. One of these days, my friend, you're going to admit that there are more things in heaven and earth than you can find in those balance sheets of yours."
    "I never denied that."
    "No, you just deny precognition."
    "How can you see something that hasn't happened yet?" John demanded.
    "I don't see anything, I just know what's going to happen before it happens."
    "Bullshit."
    "I knew you were going to call."
    "Lucky guess."
    Quentin laughed. "Yeah, I just guessed it'd be you calling on a Friday morning in November when we haven't talked for more than a month. Use that hard head of yours and admit the paranormal exists."
    It held the sound of an old argument, and Kendra tuned out Quentin's side of it until something he said a couple of minutes later caught her attention and made her realize the friendly debate was over.
    "... again? So it's four victims now?" He shook his head. "I had no idea, John. We've been caught up in something in Pittsburgh for the past few weeks, and I've barely looked at a newspaper. They're sure it's the same guy?"
    "They're sure. He's still blinding his victims, for one thing. And I've got a hunch there are a few more similarities they haven't put in their reports. At least, not the reports I've seen."
    "You said the detectives handling the investigation were good."
    "Not good enough. Quentin, they don't know a bit more than they did when Christina died, and that was three months ago. Two more women have been maimed for life, and the cops don't even have a decent description they can broadcast so the rest of the women in Seattle know who to be wary of. It isn't a real fun time to be a man in this city, I can tell you that."
    "You're staying out there?"
    "For the duration."
    Surprised, Quentin said, "I know all those companies of yours practically run themselves these days, but is it wise for you to spend so much time away from L.A.?"
    "I can fly down if I have to. I need to be here, Quentin."
    "Okay, but the cops there may not be happy to have you breathing down their necks, John. Why don't you back off and give them room to work?"
    "They can't work when they have nothing to work with." John drew a breath. "If you're really convinced that this new FBI unit you're with can get results using . . . unconventional methods, then now's the time to prove it. The usual five senses aren't accomplishing a goddamned thing."
    Quentin frowned. "Have you persuaded the lieutenant in charge to call us in?"
    "Not exactly."
    "By not exactly, do you mean he's wavering? Or do you mean this is all your idea?"
    "The latter."
    "Oh, hell, John."
    "Look, I know it should come through official channels, but the lieutenant in charge is stubborn as a mule and he's not going to yell for help until he's up to his ass in outraged citizens. So far, he's handling the flak and pushing his own people to work harder. But with nothing to go on, all they can do is sit around and wait for this bastard to make a mistake. That means more victims, Quentin."
    "I know what it means. But this is out of our jurisdiction, you know that. And without an official request for help made through official channels, the Bureau is not going to send us in. We're walking a tightrope as it is, bending over backward to be careful as hell every time we are called in so the locals don't get the peculiar idea that we use witchcraft to solve their crimes."
    "I won't let you be burned at the stake."
    "Very funny." Quentin sighed, and looked across the room to find Kendra watching him with raised brows and her patented don't-do-anything-you'll-regret expression. He sighed again. "You've still got political juice there, right? Can the mayor or governor put pressure on the chief of police to call us in?"
    "They're reluctant. The lieutenant has some juice of his own, and he wants his team to handle this."
    "Because he's a good cop and sure of his team?"
    "No.