“Actually,” she said, “I don’t.”
Dear God, he thought as he stepped along with her, what the hell had her life been like? He didn’t remember a TV in his tower bedroom. He hoped there was one. He wanted to see Scott Brainerd pleading to his wife to return to him.
“Don’t go,” he said to her when they reached Amabel’s cottage. “You know, it isn’t all that hard to be loyal if it doesn’t cost you anything. There’s no need to. Let things spin out, just stay out of it. Besides, you don’t have any money, do you?”
“I have credit cards, but I’m afraid to use them.”
“They’re very easy to trace. I’m glad you didn’t use them. Look, Sally, I’ve got some friends back in Washington. Let me put in a couple of calls and see what’s really happening, okay?”
“What friends?”
He smiled down at her. “I can’t put a thing over on you, can I?”
“Not when it hits me in the nose,” she said, and smiled back at him. “It doesn’t matter, James. If you want to talk to some people, go ahead. Just remember, though, I don’t have any money to pay you.”
“Pro bono,” he said. “I hear even government agencies do some work for free.”
“Yeah, just like they use our taxes to pay for midnight volleyball.”
“Basketball. That was a while back.”
“Your friends work for the feds?”
“Yep, and they’re good people. I’ll let you know what’s cooking-if they know anything, of course.”
“Thank you, James. But you know, there’s still the person who called me pretending to be my father. That person knows where I am.”
“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.