Free Hiding in the Shadows by Kay Hooper

little scenes. Things anyone could guess would happen between two people. Fixing meals together. Driving in a car.” She blushed suddenly and looked down. “Taking a shower together.”
    “Any birthmarks or distinguishing features?” Bishop asked dryly.
    “He has a small scar low down on his left side. It—it’s shaped like a triangle,” Faith replied, almost inaudibly.
    Bishop looked at Kane with lifted brows. “Do you?”
    Kane nodded slowly. “I was thrown from a horse a few years ago and landed on a pile of rusty tin pieces torn off an old barn. Took a chunk out of me.”
    Reflectively, Bishop said, “I suppose someone else could have known about it?”
    “My doctor. A few women. Dinah.”
    Still flushed, Faith said to Kane, “I dreamed about the two of you at a beach house somewhere. It has a screened-in porch with a funny-shaped chair, like something from the sixties. It sticks out from all the wicker furniture out there. The house has a fireplace and a spa tub. Lots of books on built-in shelves. And at the end of the walkway to the beach, there’s a flag that says, ‘Just one more day, please!’ The house is sort of isolated, with dunes all around it.”
    Again Bishop looked at Kane questioningly.
    Kane met his friend’s gaze. “All correct. The house has never been photographed, and we never had guests there. It was redecorated a couple of months before Dinah disappeared, the porch screened in, the fireplace installed. She had the flag made our last trip out. It was a joke between us, because we always wanted just one more day there.”
    Faith looked back and forth between the two men and said, “Maybe I’m psychic. Does that make sense?”
    Still looking at Bishop, Kane said, “You can’t tell?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    Bishop shrugged. “Maybe because of the lack of identity. The lack of self. That sort of emptiness throws up its own barriers. And she’s panicked by the memory loss. Trying to protect herself from losing anythingelse—that’s probably blocking me as well. Completely reasonable on her part, but not very helpful.”
    “I don’t understand,” Faith said.
    “Noah has a knack,” Kane explained. “He calls it a bullshit detector. I call it something more.”
    Before Faith could ask for more clarification, Kane addressed his friend again, and she forgot all about Bishop’s knack.
    “It has to be Dinah,” Kane said, his voice tight.
    “We can’t know that,” Bishop insisted. “It could just as easily be Faith. People have come out of comas with new and inexplicable abilities.”
    “Maybe, but we know Dinah is psychic.”
    “We know.” Bishop’s voice was patient and careful, the tone of a man unwilling to assume anything or to raise false hopes. “But her abilities worked a different way, Kane. She wasn’t a telepath, wasn’t able to touch someone else’s mind. She was precognitive, able to … tune in to future events, to predict the turn of a card or the throw of dice. And it wasn’t something she could control with any reliability. Maybe she could tell you the phone was about to ring, even who was calling, but she couldn’t project memories into someone else’s mind. Even the strongest psychic would find that virtually impossible.”
    “If she were desperate enough, she might be able to. If it mattered, if it meant the difference between life and—and death. She’d find a way, Noah. Dinah would find a way.”
    “It isn’t that simple. Psychic ability has its own kind of rules, Kane. And a seer doesn’t become a telepath. Not one psychic in a thousand has dual abilities.”
    Listening in fascination, Faith began to understand just what Bishop’s “bullshit detector” was.
    Kane said, “So tell me where Faith’s memories are coming from. Either Dinah is sending them, or Faith is somehow tapping in to them. No matter which way you look at it, it means Dinah’s alive, Noah. Alive.” His voice was exultant.
    At that moment, Faith realized