THE COVE. Catherine Coulter

It bubbled deep, that rage, and now with it was a shattering sense of betrayal. She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her. She felt stupid for having believed him so quickly, so completely.

Sally marveled that she felt such passion, such a hideous need to hurt as she’d been hurt. She’d thought he’d drained such savage feelings out of her long ago. It felt incredible to feel rage again, to feel sweat rise on her flesh, to want to do something, to want vengeance. Yes, she wanted vengeance.

She just lay against him, thinking, wondering, calming herself, and in the end of it all, she still didn’t know what to do.

“You’ve got to help me now, Sally.”

“If I don’t, then you’ll take me to the FBI dungeon and they’ll give me more drugs to make me tell the truth?”

“No, but the FBI will get all the truth sooner or later. We usually do. Your father’s murder is a very big deal, not just his murder but lots of other things that are connected to it. Lots of folk want to be in on catching his murderer. It’s important for a lot of reasons. No more crap about you not being credible. If you’ll just help me now, you’ll be free of all this evil.”

“Funny that you call it evil.”

“I don’t know why I did. That sounds a bit melodramatic, but somehow it just came out. Is it evil, Sally?”

She said nothing, just stared ahead, her thoughts far away from him, and he hated it. He wanted to know what was going through her mind. He imagined it wasn’t pleasant.

“If you help me, I’ll get your passport and take you to Mexico.”

That brought her back for a moment. She said with a quirky smile that she probably hadn’t worn on her face in a very long time, “I don’t want to go to Mexico. I’ve been there three times and got vilely sick all three times.”

“There’s this drug you can take before going. It’s supposed to keep your innards safe from the foreign bugs. I used it once when I went down to La Paz on a fishing trip with my buddies and I never got sick and we were on the water most of the time.”

“I can’t imagine you ever getting sick from anything. No bug would want to take up residence inside you. Too little to show for it.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“Oh, yes. Talking calms me. It makes all that bile settle down a bit. And just listen to you, talking to the little victim, trying to soothe and calm her, gain her trust. You’re really very good, the way you use your voice, your tone, your choice of words.

“Forget it, James. I’ve got even more to say. In fact, I think I’ve got it all together now.

“If you’ll notice, Mr. Quinlan, I’ve got your gun pointed at your belly. Try to squeeze me or hurt me or jerk it away from me with one of your fancy moves, and I’ll pull the trigger.”

He felt then the nose of his SIG-sauer pressing against his gut. He hadn’t felt it even a second before. How the hell had she gotten it out of his shoulder holster? The fact that she’d gotten it without his realizing it scared him more than knowing the pistol had a hair trigger and her finger was on it.

He said against her hair, “I guess this means you’re still pissed at me, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to talk about Mexico anymore? You don’t like deep-sea fishing?”

“I’ve never done it. But no, the time for talking is over.”

He said very quietly and slowly, “That gun is perfectly balanced and will respond practically to your thoughts. Please be careful, Sally, don’t think any violent thoughts, okay?”

“I’ll try not to, but don’t push me. Now, James, just fall over onto your back and don’t even think about kicking out with your feet. No, don’t stiffen up like that or I’ll shoot you. I’ve got nothing to lose, don’t ever forget that.”

“It’s not a good idea, Sally. Let’s talk some more.”

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