Free Out of the Shadows by Kay Hooper Page A

he had gotten the scar. The speculation didn't bother him any more than her wariness did; he had grown accustomed to both over the years.

She was right in saying that he couldn't miss the karate school; the line of trophies and ribbons in the front window would have made it obvious even without the sign proclaiming the Tim Skinner School of Karate. Bishop contemplated the name for a moment, then shrugged and went inside.

He found himself in a huge classroom where six students ranging in age from eight to sixteen worked out in pairs under the watchful eye of an instructor. No one noticed him as he walked to the half-open door and looked into the other, smaller classroom.

Only two people were there, each barefoot and wearing a white gi so associated with karate. One of them was a man of perhaps forty-five who moved with such expertise, it was hard to imagine that anyone could offer him a decent challenge.

Miranda clearly could.

Balance exceptional and concentration absolute, she compensated for less muscle with speed and agility that were mesmerizing to watch and kept her opponent on his toes.

Bishop wasn't surprised by her skill or the black belt she wore, though he knew she must have begun studying karate only in the past eight years. He watched her through the door, not calling attention to his presence— and saw the change in her the instant she sensed him there.

Her shoulders tensed and her head turned just a bit toward him. Then her workout partner moved in with a flying kick, and all her attention was taken up by the necessity of defending herself.

It bothered Bishop that Miranda could sense him even through her shields—and yet he could not sense her. Once, he had been able to. Once, he had known whenever she was anywhere near him. When she had been hurt or upset, he had felt it instantly.

Once.

Now she might as well be a stranger. He was aware of her only if he saw or heard her. If she walked silently into a room behind him, he would be completely oblivious of her arrival.

That was a cold realization.

It didn't help to remind himself that she was a far more experienced telepath and that her version of a spider-sense had always been more defensive than his own. On top of which, she had been hunted by a deadly predator. Living for years in fear for her life had, without doubt, sharpened her immediate awareness of any threat.

He was a threat.

Bishop turned around and walked back to the front door. He went outside and stood on the sidewalk, his back to the school, and his gaze fixed on nothing.

Miranda had been closed before his arrival, but her intuition and spider-sense had functioned; even her pre-cognitive abilities had allowed her to "see" Lynet Grainger being found in water near the lake. She had been closed just enough to protect herself and her sister.

But now Miranda was willfully making herself blind and deaf in a psychic sense, cutting off the extra abilities that made her who she was. It was a drastic, desperate act, and it told Bishop more clearly than words ever could that he had done much more than simply hurt her eight years before.

The question was ... how could he atone for a mistake that had cost them both so much?

In a rare unguarded gesture of vulnerability, he reached up and fingered the scar marking his left cheek. Then he swore beneath his breath and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. And stared at nothing.

It was quite a while before he became aware that drivers were slowing down to get a better look at him and that the very few pedestrians were eyeing him warily.

"When the churchgoers start heading for the cafe and bookstore, you'll be drawing quite a crowd," Miranda said dryly.

He had been right. She had silently joined him on the sidewalk and he hadn't realized she was near.

Bishop half turned to look at her, angered by that— and angry at her because of it. "I'm surprised you didn't go to church," he said, the words biting. "I thought all small-town sheriffs