Connor sat on the porch and watched the sunrise turn the clouds a rosy pink. He was so happy, it terrified him. Anything that made him feel so open and soft had to be suspect.
Morning advanced, people came out of their houses dressed for work, herding their kids into car seats. It was a normal working day for the rest of the world. None of them knew that the universe had just shifted on its axis. Erin, the most beautiful girl in the world, was his future bride. He could barely breathe, he was so switched on.
The door opened behind him. He leaped up and turned. His foolish smile slipped a notch when he found himself face-to-face with Barbara Riggs’s suspicious glare. He thought about the squeaky bed, and made sure she wasn’t holding any blunt objects that could be utilized to bash his head in.
She looked different today. Nicely dressed, hair styled, made up. She looked like the old Barbara he remembered from before the fall.
“Uh, good morning,” he ventured.
She gave him a curt nod. He wondered if he was supposed to make small talk. If so, too bad. He didn’t have any to offer.
Finally she took pity on him and opened the door wider. “There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen. You may have some, if you’d like.”
Her tone implied that he didn’t deserve a cup of fresh coffee, but he still forced himself to nod and smile. “Thanks, I would.”
This, of course, meant following her into the kitchen, sitting down with a cup of coffee and confronting another screaming silence. All those years of deadly quiet meals with Eamon McCloud had not prepared him for the frigid quality of Barbara Riggs’s silence.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Uh, how’s Cindy?” he asked.
“Still sleeping,” she said. “So is Erin.”
“That’s good,” he said. “You all needed your rest.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Are you hungry?”
Actually, he was ravenous, but her cool gaze made him feel self-conscious about it. As if being hungry were some sort of moral failing. “I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
She got up, with a martyred look. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”
Erin came downstairs some minutes later, dewy and fresh from a shower, and found him digging into his third stack of pancakes and link sausages. Her face colored a deep rose pink. “Good morning,” she said.
There was no bra under that skimpy tank top, he noticed. His glance switched her brights on. They went hard and tight against the stretchy fabric. He could feel those raspberry-textured nubs against his face, his lips fastened around them, tongue swirling, suckling.
He looked down at his pancakes. “Uh, great breakfast, Barbara.”
She shot him a narrow glance and turned to Erin. “Want some pancakes, hon?”
“Sure,” Erin said. She poured herself some coffee and dosed it with milk. “What’s on your agenda for the day, Connor?”
“I need to track down Billy Vega,” he told her. “I don’t like leaving you alone, but I’d rather do it on my own.” She didn’t need to know the rest of his plans. Which included planting microwave beacons in her stuff so he could keep tabs on her.
“You really think Novak might have hired him to control Cindy?” Barbara asked.
He gave her a noncommittal shrug. “Just ruling out possibilities. I want you all to stay right here with the doors locked. And I want you to keep that revolver while I’m not with you, Erin.”
Erin winced. He braced himself for Barbara’s disapproval, but Barbara nodded, a martial glint in her eye. “I have a gun, too,” she said. “A Beretta 8000 Cougar. And I know how to use it, too. Eddie taught me. Anyone tries to touch my girls, and I will blow their heads right off.”
Erin coughed and set her coffee down. “Good Lord, Mom.”
Connor grinned his approval and raised his coffee mug in a toast to his future mother-in-law. “Excellent. This place is guarded by kick-ass Amazon warrior goddesses. I’m outclassed. Practically redundant.”
Barbara passed Erin a plate of pancakes. “Hardly that,” she said primly. She forked some sausage links onto Erin’s plate, hesitated, and dumped the rest onto his own, a clear mark of favor. “You certainly made yourself useful last night. Your brothers, too.” She pursed her lips, uncomfortable. “I, ah, haven’t thanked you yet, for your help.”
Erin hid her face behind her hair. Her shoulders shook. “Don’t thank him, Mom,” she said. “It has a very strange effect on him.”
He choked on his coffee and kicked her under the table. She covered her face and tried unsuccessfully to muffle her giggles.
Barbara regarded them with chilly hauteur. “When you two are finished chortling over your private joke, I don’t suppose you’d care to explain what’s so funny?”
“No,” he said hastily. “She’s just yanking my chain. You’re more than welcome, Barbara. Anytime.”
Barbara’s lips twitched, as if she were suppressing a smile. “Eat your sausages before they get cold,” she snapped.
He cheerfully obliged her, sneaking hungry glances at Erin as she tucked in her pancakes. She was so amazingly pretty. Gorgeous shoulders, cute rounded arms, all soft and luscious. And those tits, high and quivering against that tantalizing tank top. Her regal posture just did it to him: her head so high, her back so straight, shooting him secret, heated glances from under her eyelashes. It drove him nuts.
Erin dipped her fingers into pancake syrup and peeked to make sure that Barbara’s back was turned. Her lips curved in a seductive smile as she licked her fingertip. She drew the next finger into her soft, rosy mouth and sucked it, circling her pink tongue around the tip.
Color flared in his face as if he were thirteen again. He stared down into his empty plate and scrambled for a diversion. “Uh, would you mind if I took the cell phone when I go?” he asked. “I want you to be able to reach me at all times.”
“Of course,” Erin said. “I charged it up last night.”
He nodded his thanks and gulped down the rest of his coffee. “I guess I’d, uh, better get going, then.”
“I’ll miss you.” Her smile made him want to fall to his knees.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He fled the kitchen before he could start babbling, too flustered even to thank Barbara for breakfast.
Erin padded after him. “The cell phone is plugged into the outlet by the couch,” she told him. “Let me get it for you.”
She handed him the phone after he shrugged his coat on, and disarmed the alarm for him. They gazed at each other. There was so much to say, they were both speechless.
Connor touched her cheek with his fingertip. “Erin. Last night was really intense. I need to know if we’re still, uh…I don’t mean to pressure you, but I don’t want to float around on cloud nine all day thinking it’s a done deal if you’ve got second thoughts. If you need time, I’ll back off. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. So tell me if—”
“I love you, Connor.” She went up on tiptoe and pulled his face down to hers. Her lips were so soft and sweet, his whole body was racked by a shudder of delight. “It’s a done deal.”
That was as much as he could take. He pulled her soft, pliant body against his. Her tits pressed against his chest, his hands were full of the satin richness of her hair, her mouth was a pool of honey and spices and juicy, sun-warmed fruit. She arched against him and—
“Ahem. Have a nice morning, Connor.”
They sprang apart at Barbara’s crisp tone. Connor twitched his coat shut. Erin hid her reddened mouth with her hand.
“Thanks, Barbara. I’ll, uh, be on my way,” he mumbled.
“I think that would be best,” Barbara said.
He was almost to Seth and Raine’s place before his jeans fit normally. He was so jazzed, he practically danced up the wooden steps that led to the side kitchen entrance. He disarmed Seth’s high-tech security system with practiced ease and let himself in. For the first time, Seth and Raine’s altar crammed with wedding and honeymoon photos didn’t make his lip curl. The whole world should get so lucky. If everybody felt like this all the time, earth would be a paradise. No war, no crime. Everybody bouncing off the walls, singing all day long.
Connor had spent enough time in Seth’s basement workshop arsenal to know his way around. He rifled through the disks until he found Seth’s latest version of X-Ray Specs, and dug through the numbered drawers, pulling out a handful of beacons housed in little plastic envelopes. He filled his pockets with them, tucked one of the receivers under his arm, and scrawled a note of thanks, leaving it on Seth’s computer keyboard.
Next stop, Erin’s apartment.
Erin’s cat presented him with the first of several moral dilemmas. The animal started yowling the moment he let himself in the door with the help of his ATM card. It twined around his feet, trotted to its food bowl, and sat down. Luminous golden eyes regarded him expectantly.
“But I can’t feed you,” he protested. “If I feed you, I’ll be busted. Erin will know that I was here. I’ll bring her over later and she can feed you then. A little patience. You’re too fat, anyway.”
The cat licked its chops, bared its fangs, and meowed. His conscience pricked him. “Maybe some dry food,” he conceded. “Just a little to tide you over.” He searched through the cupboards until he found a bag of cat food, and dumped a small amount into the bowl. The cat sniffed at it and gave him a you-have-got-to-be-kidding look.
“I told you,” he explained. “No wet food. It’s not my fault. I’ve got nothing against you personally.”
The cat curled sulkily down over the bowl and began to crunch.
The second dilemma was actually more a practical one than a moral one. Planting beacons on one’s girlfriend during warm weather was as difficult as it was morally iffy. It was easier to hide stuff in heavy outerwear, and her purse and wallet and tape recorder, which were his best bets, were all with her at her mother’s house. The Mueller report would’ve been good, if she’d kept it in a briefcase, but it was just a manila folder full of loose papers and photos, no way to hide the thing. He tagged her organizer, stitched beacons randomly into her jackets and blazers. That was as much as he could do until he got a whack at her purse. He wished Seth were around. Seth was born devious.
His eyes kept returning to the small jewelry box that sat on the dresser. He opened it and poked around until he found a ring he’d seen once on her ring finger, a silver and topaz thing. He slipped it onto his little finger, memorized how far it came past the joint, and voila, he had a point of reference for the jeweler. What slender, tiny fingers she had.
The third moral dilemma stared him in the face when the phone rang and the message machine clicked, whirred, and began to play back its contents. Erin must be calling her machine. She hadn’t invited him to listen to her private messages, yet here he was. He could hardly put his fingers in his ears. Besides, she was his future wife. Her phone messages were the least of what he had the right to know about her.
So he stood like a statue in the middle of the apartment while the cat crunched its snack, and let her messages flow by him.
Click, whirr. “Hello, Ms. Riggs, this is Tamara Julian from the Quicksilver Foundation. It’s four on Monday afternoon, and I want to schedule a meeting with Mr. Mueller, who is arriving midday tomorrow. Call me as soon as possible, please. We have a narrow window of time in which to arrange this. Please call my mobile phone number.” Tamara recited the number.
Click, whirr. “Hello, Erin, this is Lydia. My goodness, you have been playing with the big kids on the block, haven’t you? I just talked with the people from Quicksilver, and they told me about your work on Mr. Mueller’s Celtic collection and their plans for the Huppert. I’m so excited! Rachel and Fred and Wilhelm and I have called an emergency lunch meeting, and you must be there to help us strategize! And Erin, I do hope you won’t hold what happened a few months ago against us. I had no choice in the matter, as you know. It was the board who insisted on your dismissal, not the four of us. We have nothing but admiration for your skill and your determination. Call me, Erin, right away. At home tonight, if you like. Any hour is fine, even if it’s late. I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink tonight. Buh-bye!”
“Two-faced bitch,” Connor muttered. “Get stuffed.”
Click, whirr. “Ms. Riggs, this is Tamara Julian again. It’s seven on Monday evening. Call us, please.” Click, whirr. “Ms. Riggs, this is Nigel Dobbs, hoping against hope to get in touch with you. You have the number.” Click, whirr. “Erin, this is Nick Ward. I need to talk to you right away.”
Cold ran through his body as he listened to Nick recite his phone number. His euphoria vanished. He looked around the room, the bed still in disarray, yesterday’s breakfast dishes still on the table. His stomach clenched like a fist. He shouldn’t have left her alone. He didn’t want Nick to talk to her. Nothing Nick might say could possibly be to Connor’s advantage. All Nick would do was create confusion.
He pulled out the cell phone and dialed the Riggs house. It was busy. He tried again once he got back out to the car. Still busy. Prickles crawled up his back. He dialed Sean, who picked up on the first ring.
“Something weird is going on,” Connor said.
“I’ll say.” Sean’s voice was tense, devoid of its usual ironic tone. “Miles and I are about a mile from Billy’s house, and—”
“What the hell are you doing at Billy’s house?”
“Davy’s had X-Ray Specs running on his computer since the last time we were hunting Novak, Con. He just keyed in the beacon he planted in Billy’s cigarettes last night. The house is in Bellevue.”
“You knew damn well I wanted to be there when we—”
“You’re too late, Con.” Sean’s voice was strangely heavy. “Nobody’s going to be questioning Billy.”
Unease prickled over Connor’s skin. “What do you mean?”
“He’s dead,” Sean said bluntly. “I talked to a lady who lives down the block. She heard the screaming around six A.M. The place is seething with cops. Guess what else? Surprise, surprise. Nick’s there.”
“Oh, Christ,” Connor muttered.
“Yeah. I saw him talking to that scrawny blond chick. Tasha.”
“Did he see you?” Connor asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sean said wearily. “We got the hell out of there, lickety-split. I didn’t know Billy rated the attention of the Feds. I thought he was a strictly small-time rodent.”
They both pondered for a moment.
“This sucks,” Sean said forcefully. “I was having fun until now.”
“They’re going to be knocking on our door,” Connor said. “Tasha’s fingered us for sure. And Nick’s already called Erin.”
Sean made a frustrated sound. “Probably this has nothing to do with Novak. Billy’s lovely manners just earned him some enemies and last night one of them caught up with him. I can see it. It’s credible.”
“Sure, maybe,” Connor said. “And maybe someone didn’t want us or anybody else to talk to Billy. Maybe someone wants us distracted by finding out that we’re suspects in a homicide investigation.”
“Stop it, Con,” Sean said sourly. “You’re trying to make me into a conspiracy theorist, and I don’t want to go there. It’s not my scene.”
“You think I’m doing this for fun?” Connor snarled. “Get out of here, Sean. Take Miles, and go back to Endicott Falls.”
“Yeah, like I’d leave my big brother alone with all this weirdness.”
“Goddamnit, Sean—”
“Talk to you later. I’m calling Davy.” The connection broke.
He tried to call Erin again, but the line was still busy.
The cold weight of dread built inside him, swelling into panic.
Erin was dismayed by the messages on her machine. She paced back and forth next to the phone table, trying to sort out her thoughts. She didn’t want to talk to Nick, that was for sure. She didn’t want to talk to Lydia, either. And she really didn’t want to confront the whole Mueller issue with Connor as nervous and overprotective as he currently was. The timing was just awful.
But this was the day. She had to have it out with him and be strong, no matter how upset he got. Her professional future depended on it. Anyone could see it. Connor was just going to have to see it, too.
She picked up the phone to dial Connor’s cell number. It rang in her hand, and she was so startled, she almost dropped the thing.
She clicked the line open. “Hello?” she said cautiously.
“Hey, this is Erin, right? It’s Nick. I’m glad I caught you. Is Connor there?”
“No,” she said. “Call his cell phone if you want to talk to—”
“No, Erin. I don’t want to talk to Connor. I want to talk to you.”
Her knees wobbled in trepidation, and she sat down hard on the stairs, jolting her tailbone. “What about?”
“You were with him last night at the Alley Cat, right? When he and his brother pounded Billy Vega to a pulp?”
“No, Nick, I was there when he and his brother were surrounded by nine big guys who all proceeded to attack them at once, and who got exactly what they deserved. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not interested in the nine guys, Erin. I’m interested in Connor’s interest in Billy Vega.”
“That guy hurt my little sister, Nick. He hit her, and terrorized her, and God only knows what else. So don’t ask me to feel sorry for—”
“Billy Vega is dead, Erin.”
She froze, mouth agape. “Dead?”
“According to Tasha Needham, it happened a little before six A.M. Tasha took Billy to the emergency room, where they set his wrist. Then Tasha and Billy took a cab to his rental house, where they proceeded to get very stoned. Sometime in the early morning, the assailant entered the house and beat Billy to death with a blunt object. Tasha was vomiting in the bathroom at the time, which probably saved her life. But she told us all about the ninja monsters who kidnapped Cindy Riggs and beat up Billy earlier that evening. It wasn’t much of a leap.”
“My God,” she whispered. “That’s…that’s so awful.”
Nick waited a moment. “Was Connor with you last night?”
“Yes,” she said, still dazed.
Then, like a splash of ice water, the implications of Nick’s question hit her. “Nick, for God’s sake. You can’t be suggesting that—”
“For the whole night?”
She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, and burst out, “Yes! Yes, of course he was!”
But her hesitation had betrayed her. Nick cursed softly into the phone. “This is getting ugly, Erin. I don’t want you mixed up in it.”
“But Connor would never—”
“You saw what he did to Georg Luksch,” Nick said. “Connor is my friend, but he’s wound up too tight, and he’s finally snapped. This fantasy he’s got, about Novak and Luksch gunning for you—”
“What do you mean, fantasy?” she demanded. “Are you saying that it’s not true that they broke out of prison? He’s just trying to protect me! He feels responsible because Dad’s not around to do it.”
Nick hesitated for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Erin. There’s no one to protect you from. Novak’s dead.”
She struggled to comprehend. The information didn’t fit. It rattled senselessly around in her mind, making noise. “When?” she whispered.
“Yesterday, in France. A mafiya hit. Territory war, they think. Rival crime lords. A building got blown up. Novak was inside. Dental records confirm it. The charred skeleton was missing three fingers on its right hand. They’re working on the DNA, but they’re sure.”
Her mind whirled. “So Connor doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t told him yet, no, but he knew that Novak was back in France. Luksch, too. The police have been moving in on them for days. I told Connor, but he didn’t share those details with you, did he?”
She started shivering.
“No,” Nick said. “Of course not. It didn’t fit his fantasy. He wanted to rescue you, so he created a bad guy to save you from. He sucked you in. I know this hurts, and I know you care about him, but you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to drag yourself out of this dream world of his. You’ve got enough to cope with already. I’m really sorry, Erin.”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
Not the man who was so in love with her that he blushed and stammered when she teased him at the breakfast table. Who had rescued her sister, and woken her mother from the ugly dream she’d been trapped in. Not the man who had made such sweet, passionate love to her all night long. Not her Connor. It was not possible.
The vortex was sucking at her, and this time there was no one to grab onto. No hero to rescue her.
“Erin? Erin!” Nick sounded as if he had repeated her name several times. “Are you there? Erin, I need to find him. If you know—”
“No.” The word flew out of her mouth, flat and absolute. “I have no idea where he is, Nick. Not the faintest clue.”
“It’s for his own protection, Erin. We’ve got to stop this thing before it spins out of control. I swear, I’m on his side—”
“No. I won’t do it.”
“Goddamn it, Erin! If you really cared about him—”
“Fuck you. No,” she hissed. She slammed the phone down. It started ringing seconds later. She wrenched the phone jack out of the wall and doubled over, gasping. Everything was spinning, going black.
Connor had made her feel so whole, so strong. Like she could bless the whole world with her happiness, just touch it and turn it to gold. For the first time, she had lost her fear of the vortex. Of chaos.
And Nick was telling her that her joy was rotten at the core.
“Erin? Honey? Are you OK?”
She looked up at her mother, who was gazing at her with anxious eyes, and pasted on the best smile she could. “Sure, Mom.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
She hid the hand that was clutching the phone jack against her leg. “I was just talking to, ah, Lydia,” she said.
“Lydia?” Barbara frowned. “From the museum? That cast-iron bitch who fired you?”
She nodded. “Mueller offered the museum a huge donation, but one of the conditions is that they take me back,” she explained. She tried to sound excited about it, but her mother wasn’t stupid.
Barbara sniffed. “Well, I think you should spit in their faces,” she said. “The nerve! When it suits them, they snap their fingers and expect you to trot right back? I think not!”
“You have a point,” Erin said. “But I think I’ll go to that meeting today anyway, and see what it’s all about. I can always spit in their faces after I see the terms they offer me.”
“That’s my smart, careful, thoughtful girl,” her mother said. “Always hedging her bets, trying to do the right thing.”
“Not always,” she burst out. “Not always.”
“I take it you’re referring to Connor,” Barbara said. “I must say, he’s growing on me. He can be extremely rude, and his background leaves something to be desired, but I did like those brothers of his. Even if all three of those McClouds strike me as, well…kind of out there. But they got Cindy back. That won them lots of points. And it’s plain to see that Connor’s crazy about you, sweetheart.”
She flinched at her mother’s choice of words. “I know.”
“And any man with the nerve to sneak into my house and seduce my daughter under my nose after what he saw me do to Billy Vega’s car…well. All I can say is, he must be made of very stern stuff.”
Erin’s face flamed. “He didn’t seduce me last night,” she said. “I seduced him.”
Her mother’s lips flattened to a thin line. “That was more information than I needed, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, Mom,” she murmured.
Barbara’s expression softened. “There’s something you should know before you go to that lunch meeting, hon. I’m going to start looking for a job. And Cindy’s going to learn how to pull her weight, too. You don’t have to carry us. We’ll be strong for ourselves, and for you, too. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”
Erin’s lip began to tremble. “I think so,” she said.
“You’ll make it just fine without that trash at the museum. So if you want to spit in their faces, go right ahead. Don’t think twice.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Follow your heart, honey. Don’t compromise yourself.”
“I’m trying.” Her lips started trembling. “I swear, I’m trying, but I’d better get going now. I’ve got an incredibly busy day. I need to run home and feed Edna, and then dress for lunch with the museum heads. And I have to schedule a meeting with Mueller after that.”
Barbara frowned. “You promised Connor you’d stay right here with us, where you’re safe. And I agree one hundred percent that lying low is an excellent idea. At least until things calm down.”
Erin kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’ll call him and explain. He’s a sweetheart to be so protective, but I can’t cower in a hole forever. I promise I’ll take cabs everywhere, Mom. I’ll be just fine.”
Her mother still looked anxious, and Erin gave her another coaxing kiss. “We’re going to be fine now. We got Cindy back, and now this big opportunity just falls into my lap. Things are looking up.”
It took all the strength she had to keep the cheerful façade in place until the taxi arrived.
The traffic was a nightmare. Connor leaped out of his car when he finally arrived, bolted for the house, and beat on the door.
Barbara pulled the door open. “Connor, what on earth?”
“Is Erin here?”
She frowned. “Didn’t she call you?”
“The phone’s been busy for a half an hour,” he snarled.
“She told me she would call you and…” Barbara’s voice trailed off. “Oh, dear.”
“What?” His voice cracked with fury. “She left? Alone? You’re kidding me. Where the fuck did she go?”
Barbara bristled. “Don’t you dare use that language—”
“Just tell me, Barbara. Tell me now.”
The desperate urgency in his voice made the color drain from her face. “She got a call,” she said faintly. “From the museum where she used to work, for a lunch meeting, and then—”
“And then?” he prompted.
“Then she has to meet with that Mueller fellow. She told me she was going to call you. She took a cab to her apartment so she could change. She left almost a half hour ago. She’s probably home already.”
He bolted for his car. The screen door burst open and Barbara scurried after him. “Connor, I insist that you tell me what’s going on!”
He wrenched his car door open. “Billy Vega was murdered this morning, before I ever had a chance to find him or talk to him. Strange, huh?”
Barbara’s face went gray beneath her makeup. “Go,” she said. “Hurry.”
He ran lights, swerved in and out of lanes, screamed obscenities at slow motorists, but his most aggressive driving was nothing pitted against weekday Seattle traffic. He called her apartment while trapped at an interminable red light, and the machine picked up. “Erin, it’s Connor. Pick up if you’re there, please.”
He waited, crossing his fingers. Nothing.
“Look, I just found out that Billy Vega’s been killed,” he went on. “I’m really wishing you hadn’t broken your promise and left your mom’s house. What were you thinking? Please pick up, Erin.” The light went green. He dropped the phone and accelerated through it.
He double-parked, and took the stairs at the Kinsdale three at a time. No response to his knock. He used his ATM card again.
Erin was gone. The Mueller report was gone. Her perfume scented the air. She’d taken the time to make her bed, do her dishes, pick up her scattered clothes, feed her cat, and he’d still missed her. By so little that the animal was still crouched over its bowl, tail twitching for joy.
She had taken none of the items he had tagged with beacons, not even the goddamn organizer. He wanted to howl like a wolf, to break things, punch walls, smash furniture. He’d thought that she trusted him. He was bewildered, after the perfection of last night, that she would turn on him and disappear, with no warning, no explanation.
A sucker punch, right to the solar plexus.
He fished the phone number out of his freak memory, and dialed.
“Hello, you have reached the mobile number of the administrative offices of the Quicksilver Foundation,” said Tamara Julian’s melodious recorded voice. “Please leave us the date, time, and purpose of your call, and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a lovely day.”
He grabbed the phone book and looked up the Huppert, wading through the voice mail menu until he heard the name Lydia.
“Lydia’s out of the office right now,” the secretary told him.
“I urgently need to get in touch with her,” he said. “I know she has a lunch meeting. Do you know what restaurant? I could call her there.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” the woman said. “I didn’t make that reservation. She made it herself last night. I have no idea where they are.’”
He muttered an ungracious thanks, and slammed the phone down.
He ran down the stairs to let off steam, even though he had no place to run to. He tried throwing out the net for a pattern, a clue, any sort of jumping-off place, but his mind had to be soft and relaxed for that trick to work. This hurt was too sharp. It sank into his mind like claws, stabbing and rending, making him wild-eyed and stupid.
A door swung on the ground floor as he passed. An elderly lady with a shriveled apple-doll face and a lavender-tinted helmet of white curls peered out at him. “You’re the fellow who’s keeping company with that nice young lady on the sixth floor, eh?”
He stopped in his tracks. “Did you see her leave?”
“I see everything,” the old lady said triumphantly. “She took a cab. Came in a cab, went away in a cab. Must’ve come into some money, because ever since her car got repossessed, she’s been taking the bus.”
“Was it a yellow cab? Or a private car service?”
The old lady cackled at his desperation. “Oh, it was a yellow cab. No telling where she’s gone, no telling at all.” Her voice was a sing-song taunt. “You’re just going to have to sit that fine tight tush of yours down and wait for her. Young folks these days don’t know the meaning of patience. The more she makes you wait, the better off you’ll both be.”
“This is a special case,” he told her.
Her fearsome dentures gleamed. “Oh, they all think they’re special.”
The vindictive satisfaction in the lady’s voice made him grit his teeth. “Thank you for the information, ma’am.”
Her rheumy eyes blinked suspiciously. “Hmph. Pretty manners.”
“I try,” he said. “Sometimes. Have a nice day.”
The old lady retracted her head like a turtle and slammed her door.
One last door to bang on. He groped for the phone and dialed Nick’s number as he loped toward the car.
“Where are you?” Nick demanded.
“What the fuck did you say to Erin, Nick?”
“I told her the truth. It’s time somebody did. You know about Billy Vega, right?” Nick waited. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course you do.”
Connor knew where this was going. “Nick—”
“I couldn’t help but notice that the guy looked a whole lot like Georg Luksch looked after you were done working him over with your cane,” Nick said. “Only difference was, Billy was dead. You’re slipping.”
Black spots danced in front of Connor’s eyes. He leaned against his car. “You can’t believe that. Come on, Nick. You know me.”
“I thought I did,” Nick said. “Novak is dead, Con. Blown up. Burned to a crisp. It’s all over. All. Over. Am I getting through to you?”
Connor’s head spun. The phone call. Georg, on the freeway. Billy Vega. “But that’s not possible. I talked to him. And I saw Georg—”
“Don’t bother,” Nick said. “Georg’s in France. Like I told you before. Novak’s death is confirmed. Not that this changes anything for you, of course. You need a focus for your anger, and if you can’t find one, you’ll create one. Sure, Billy Vega was no big loss to the world, but I—”
“Don’t be stupid, Nick,” Connor said grimly.
“I deduced from my conversation with Erin that you don’t have a real alibi for the hours of five A.M. to six A.M. this morning. I also deduced that she will lie to protect you. Is that what you want?”
“Fuck you, Nick,” Connor said. “This is bullshit.”
“We’ll see. Get yourself a good lawyer. Because I’m all out of patience. I want this thing to end.”
“You and me both.” He hung up. His leg and head were both pounding now, a nauseous throbbing pain. He wrenched the door of the Cadillac open. He had to sit down. Quick, before he fell down.
Nick had been one of his best friends, once.
He dropped the phone into his pocket. If it weren’t for Erin, he would throw the thing into the Dumpster right now.
Erin. Panic dug in its claws at the thought of her. His fight with Georg at Crystal Mountain began to play in his mind. The cane, rising and falling. Blood streaming from Georg’s shattered nose, his broken teeth. The cane, smashing down onto the windshield of the Jag. Fault lines, running in every direction.
The cane. Something about the cane was tugging him. He checked the backseat, and then recalled prying the thing out of Barbara’s fingers and throwing it into the trunk. He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and walked around the car.
The back of his neck was prickling so much he already knew what he would find, even before the trunk light flooded into the dark interior.
The trunk was empty. The cane was gone.