Lane, then turned onto Foxglove Avenue, down two blocks to her
street, Belladonna Drive. She turned yet again on Gum Shoe Lane,
drove past Tyler’s house, then turned back onto Belladonna Drive
to Jacob Marley’s house. It was getting a bit cooler, thank God,
even though the sun was still high in the summer sky. Maine gave
you the earliest sunrise and latest sunset.
She was still wearing the light-blue cotton sundress that Sherlock
had brought back to New York with her, and she wished she
had a sweater. Fear seemed to leach the heat right out of her.
The house was cooler. She made iced tea, put together a tuna
salad sandwich, and sat out on the wide veranda, watching night
slowly fall. She wondered if anyone would slip into Jacob Marley’s
house. The wristband was one-way.
Odd, but she didn’t think about Krimakov. She thought about
Adam, his face now clear in her mind.
He’d snuck up on her, just as, she supposed, she’d snuck up on
him. She smiled. He was a good man, sexy as hell, which she
wouldn’t tell him just yet, and he had a streak of honor a mile wide.
Even when she’d bitten his hand and cursed him, wanted to kick
him into the dirt, she’d known that honor of his was real and
wouldn’t ever change to suit the circumstance.
And Adam knew her father a lot better than she did. And he’d
never said a word. What did that say about this mile-wide honor of
his? She’d have to think about that.
She took the last bite of her sandwich and wadded up the napkin.
It was nearly dark now. Surely Krimakov would do something
soon. Her Coonan was in the pocket of her sundress. She hadn’t
told anyone about the gun, but she suspected that Adam knew she
had it. He’d kept his mouth shut, a smart move, or else she might
have bitten him again.
She hadn’t seen a soul, at least not a soul who was here especially
for her. It would be soon, she felt it. Krimakov was close. Everyone
else was close, too. She wasn’t alone in this. And she thought
of Sam and of Krimakov’s note.
She waited and looked up at the sliver of moon in the dark sky.
She prayed that Sheriff Gaffney had decided not to come see her
tonight. Finally, she walked into the house, shut and locked the
front door. She closed and locked all the windows. She didn’t want
to go upstairs to the bedroom where he’d hidden in her closet and
stuck a needle in her arm.
She was on the stairs when the phone rang. Her fingers clutched
at the oak railing so tightly they turned white. The phone rang
again. It had to be Krimakov.
It was. She pushed the small button on the wristband and
pressed her wrist close to the phone receiver.
“Hello, Rebecca. It’s your boyfriend.” His voice was playful,
filled with crazy fun. It scared her to death. “Hey, I hope I didn’t
hurt you too badly when I threw you out of the car in New York?”
His voice was still mischievous, but now he’d pitched it lower,
maybe even put a handkerchief over the mouthpiece. She wondered
if her father would recognize his voice after twenty years.
“No, you didn’t hurt me too badly, but you already know that,
don’t you? You killed four people in NYU Hospital to get to me
and my father, but we weren’t there. You failed, you murdering
butcher. Where the hell is Sam? Don’t you dare hurt that little boy.”
“Why not? He’s worth nothing except that he did get you here
for me. I’ll just bet the CIA director got ahold of you really fast.
Now you’re here and you’re alone, I see. You followed my instructions.
Hard to believe they let you come here all by yourself, all
unprotected.”
“I ran away. I’m waiting for you, you bastard. Come here and
bring Sam.”
“Now, now, there’s no rush, is there?”
He was playing with her, nothing new in that. She drew a deep
breath, tried to be calm. “I don’t understand why you didn’t want