“Whoever comes, if he comes, has my big gun to contend with. Don’t worry.”
She nodded, wished he could touch her hand, squeeze it, pat her cheek, anything, to make her feel less threatened, less hunted. But he couldn’t, she knew that, just as she knew she didn’t know him at all.
So he was her protector now, Quinlan realized, shaking his head at himself. He would protect her from any guy who came here wanting to drag her back or hurt her.
That was a good joke on him, he thought, as he walked back to Thelma’s Bed and Breakfast.
He was her main hunter.
7
WHEN THE PHONE rang, Sally was in the kitchen slicing a turkey breast Amabel had brought home from Safeway. Her aunt called out, “It’s for you, Sally.”
James, she thought, smiling, as she wiped her hands. She walked into the living room to see Martha with her aunt, the two of them smiling at her, saying nothing now, which was only polite since they’d probably been talking about her before she’d come into the room.
“Hello?”
“How’s my little girl?”
She froze. Her heart pounded fast and painfully hard. It was him. She remembered his voice too well to believe now that it was someone pretending to be Amory St. John.
“You don’t want to talk to me? You don’t want to know when I’m going to come get you, Sally?”
She said clearly, “You’re dead. Long dead. I don’t know who killed you, but I wish I had. Go back to hell where you belong.”
“Soon, Sally. I can’t wait, can you? Very soon now I’ll have you with me again.”
“No, you won’t,” she screamed and slammed down the receiver.
“Sally, what is going on? Who was that?”
“It was my father,” she said and laughed. She was still laughing as she walked up the stairs.
Amabel called after her, “But Sally, that couldn’t have been someone trying to make you believe it was your father. That was a woman on the line. Martha said she sounded all fuzzy, but it was a woman. She even thought it sounded a bit like Thelma Nettro, but that couldn’t be. I didn’t know of any woman who knew you were here.”
Sally stopped on the second step from the top. The steps were narrow, the distance between the steps too steep. She turned slowly and looked back downstairs. She couldn’t see her aunt or Martha. She didn’t want to see them. A woman? Maybe Thelma Nettro? No way.
She ran back down the stairs into the living room. Placid Martha was looking distressed, her hands clasping and unclasping her pearls, her glasses sliding down her nose.
“My dear,” she began, only to stop at the ferocious look of anger on the girl’s face. “Whatever is wrong? Amabel’s right. It was a woman on the phone.”
“When I answered it wasn’t a woman on the phone. It was a man pretending to be my father.” It had been her father. She knew it, knew it deep down. She was so scared she wondered if a person could die of just being scared, nothing else, just being scared.
“Baby,” Amabel said, rising, “this is all very confusing. I think you and I should talk about this later.”
Sally turned without another word and walked slowly upstairs. She was leaving now. She didn’t care if she had to walk and hitchhike. She knew all the stories about the dangers of a woman alone, but they didn’t come close to the danger she felt bearing down on her now. How many people knew she was here? The man pretending to be her father, and now a woman? She thought of that nilrse. She’d hated that nurse so much. Sally couldn’t even remember her name now. She didn’t want to. Could it have been that nurse?
She stuffed her clothes in her duffel bag and then realized she had to wait. She didn’t want to fight with Amabel. She heard Amabel lock up the cottage. She heard her walk up the stairs, her step brisk and solid. Sally got quickly into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.