“Sherlock and Savich are first-class agents and very good friends. It’s possible that they’ll see things as outsiders that you and I have missed. They’ll have some great ideas, you can count on that.”
“I don’t know anyone like that in the DBA.” She put her fingers on my lips. “No, don’t you dare start up with cracks about my agency.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Laura. Now, I’ll hook a chair under the doorknob and I’ll put my SIG right beside the bed. We’ve got the curtains pulled over the windows and everything’s locked up tight. It’ll be okay.”
“I guess there’s nothing more that we can do. Goodness, it’s only eight-thirty. It feels like it should be at least midnight, I’m so tired.”
“Why don’t you take the bathroom first? I want to check around outside.”
“Be careful, Mac.” She lightly touched her fingers to my face. “I mean it, be very careful. You’ve gotten kind of important to me, real fast.”
I wanted to kiss her and not stop, so I got out of there fast. The rain had stopped for the moment. Low-lying black clouds were shifting in thick, grotesque shapes across a huge fat full moon.
It looked like a werewolf kind of night.
In that instant I heard something, something not far away, just off to my left, away from the cliffs, something rustling, then moving, perhaps a heavy foot thudding on the ground, then silence, then more rustling.
I waited, so still I could hear my own breath. Nothing more, as if whatever it was that was coming toward me had stopped. I waited longer, then longer still. Still nothing. I wondered if my brain had obligingly conjured up the bogeyman.
I remembered Cal saying that she never wanted to go anywhere near the cemetery, that the trees were growing inward, pushing so close that the roots probably had split through the coffins. I’d thought she was nuts then. Now I was hearing things, and terrifying myself. Jesus, I was losing it.
I walked to the cliff and stood looking out over the flat, black water. It went forever, well beyond those distant low dark clouds that tricked the eye, making it appear that the water simply disappeared into them. Looking north and south, I could make out the coastline- primeval mists, driftwood strewn over and sprawled out in piles on the beach. Black rocks rose out of the water like misshapen sentinels, groups of them hovering, just below me, the water scaling them, then crashing back, gushing white foam. Again and again, never stopping, never changing. I thought about what it would be like to be here every day of my life and wondered if my soul would be calmed, or if I’d go mad.
I turned to go back, pausing a moment to get my bearings. Seagull Cottage sat at the very end of a narrow, rutted dirt road, winding south and west toward the cliff, just to this small cottage. I couldn’t see the half-mile back to the road this one split off from. There were no car headlights that 1 could see even in the distance. I walked to the back of the cottage, checked the windows, and looked south to the wild barren hills that rose and fell as far as I could see. Anyone could hike to the cottage over those soulless hills. I didn’t like it. I wondered if we weren’t the biggest fools in Oregon, staying here right in Tarcher’s face. I was putting my life on the line, but more important, putting Laura in danger as well. I shook my head. I wasn’t going to back down and I couldn’t imagine Laura backing away now either.
I looked at the cottage. All the windows were secure, covered with patterned cotton curtains, faded from many years in the sun. There was nothing else I could do.
My head had started aching again. No wonder. My body felt like it had been hit by a wrecking ball. I was so tired I could barely stand. But I also felt jumpy.
When I walked into the small bedroom, Laura was standing in a long nightgown by the side of the bed, looking at me.