Maybe they were aimed at you!
Okay! He let her go, let her back away from him. You want to try it on your own? Do it. Maybe the policell be a help. Maybe not. But I cant risk it. Not until I know all the players behind this.
You-youre letting me go?
You were never my prisoner.
No. She took a breath-it misted in the cold air. She glanced down the street, toward the police substation. Its the reasonable thing to do, she muttered, almost to reassure herself. Thats what theyre there for.
Right.
She frowned, anticipating what lay ahead. Theyll ask a lot of questions.
What are you going to tell them?
She looked at him, her gaze unflinchingly meeting his. The truth.
Whichll be at best, incomplete. And at worst, unbelievable.
I have broken glass all over my apartment to prove it.
A drive-by shooting. Purely random.
Its their job to protect me.
What if they dont think you need protection?
Ill tell them about you! About Sarah.
They may or may not take you seriously.
They have to take me seriously! Someones trying to kill me! Her voice, shrill with desperation, seemed to echo endlessly through the maze of streets.
Quietly he said, I know.
She glanced back toward the substation. Im going.
He said nothing.
Where will you be? she asked.
On my own. For now.
She took two steps away, then stopped. Victor?
Im still here.
You did save my life. Thank you.
He didnt respond. She heard his footsteps slowly walk away. She stood there thinking, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Of course she was. A man afraid of the police-with a story as paranoid as his was-had to be dangerous.
But he saved my life.
And once, on a rainy night in Garberville, she had saved his.
She replayed all the events of the last week. Sarahs murder, never explained. The other Catherine Weaver, shot to death on her front doorstep. The film canister that Sarah had retrieved from the car, the one Cathy had slipped into her bathrobe pocket
Victors footsteps had faded.
In that instant she realized shed lost the only man who could help her find the answers to all those ques tions, the one man whod stood by her in her darkest moment of terror. The one man she knew, by some strange intuition, she could trust. Facing that deserted street, she felt abandoned and utterly friendless. In sudden panic, she whirled around and called out: Victor!
At the far end of the block, a silhouette stopped and turned. He seemed an island of refuge in that crazy, dangerous world. She started toward him, her legs moving her faster and faster, until she was running, yearning for the safety of his arms, the arms of a man she scarcely knew. Yet it didnt feel like a strangers arms gathering her to his chest, welcoming her into his protective embrace. She felt the pounding of his heart, the grip of his fingers against her back, and something told her that this was a man she could depend upon, a man who wouldnt fold when she needed him most.
Im right here, he murmured. Right here. He stroked through her windblown hair, his fingers burying deep in the tangled strands. She felt the heat of his breath against her face, felt her own quick and shuddering response. And then, all at once, his mouth hungrily sought hers and he was kissing her. She responded with a kiss just as desperate, just as needy. Stranger though he was, he had been there for her and he was still here, his arms sheltering her from the terrors of the night.
She burrowed her face against his chest, longing to press ever deeper, ever closer. I dont know what to do! Im so afraid, Victor, and I dont know what to do
Well work this out together. Okay? He cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up to his. You and I, well beat this thing.
She nodded. Searching his eyes, connecting with that rock-solid gaze, she found all the assurance she needed.
A wind gusted down the street. She shivered in its wake. What do we do first? she whispered.
First, he said, pulling off his windbreaker and draping it over her shoulders, We get you warmed up. And inside. He took her hand. Come on. A hot bath, a good supper, and youll be operating on all cylinders again.
It was another five blocks to the Kon-Tiki Motel. Though not exactly a five-star establishment, the Kon-Tiki was comfortingly drab and anonymous, one of a dozen on motel row. They climbed the steps to Room 214, overlooking the half-empty parking lot. He unlocked the door and motioned her inside.
The rush of warmth against her cheeks was delicious. She stood in the center of that utterly charmless space and marveled at how good it felt to be safely surrounded by four walls. The furnishings were spare: a double bed, a dresser, two nightstands with lamps, and a single chair. On the wall was a framed print of some nameless South Pacific island. The only luggage she saw was a cheap nylon bag on the floor. The bedcovers were rumpled, recently napped in, the pillows punched up against the headboard.
Not much, he said. But its warm. And its paid for. He turned on the TV. Wed better keep an eye on the news. Maybe theyll have something on the Weaver woman.
The Weaver woman, she thought. It could have been me. She was shivering again, but now it wasnt from the cold. Settling onto the bed she stared numbly at the TV, not really seeing what was on the screen. She was more aware of him. He was circling the room, checking the windows, fiddling with the lock on the door. He moved quietly, efficiently, his silence a testimony to the dangers of their situation. Most men she knew began to babble nonsense when they were scared; Victor Holland simply turned quiet. His mere presence was overwhelming. He seemed to fill the room.
He moved to her side. She flinched as he took her hands and gently inspected them, palm side up. Looking down, she saw the bloodied scratches, the flakes of rust from the fire escape embedded in her skin.
I guess Im a mess, she murmured.
He smiled and stroked her face. You could use some washing up. Go ahead. Ill get us something to eat.
She retreated into the bathroom. Through the door she could hear the drone of the TV, the sound of Victors voice ordering a pizza over the phone. She ran hot water over her cold, numb hands. In the mirror over the sink she caught an unflattering glimpse of herself, her hair a tangled mess, her chin smudged with dirt. She washed her face, rubbing new life, new circulation into those frigid cheeks. Glancing down, she noticed Victors razor on the counter. The sight of that blade cast her situation into a new focus-a frightening one. She picked up the razor, thinking how lethal that blade looked, how vulnerable she would be tonight. Victor was a large man, at least six foot two, with powerful arms. She was scarcely five foot five, a comparative weakling. There was only one bed in the next room. She had come here voluntarily. What would he assume about her? That she was a willing victim? She thought of all the ways a man could hurt her, kill her. It wouldnt take a razor to finish the job. Victor could use his bare hands. What am I doing here? she wondered. Spending the night with a man I scarcely know?
This was not the time to have doubts. Shed made the decision. She had to go by her instincts, and her instincts told her Victor Holland would never hurt her.
Deliberately she set down the razor. She would have to trust him. She was afraid not to.
In the other room, a door slammed shut. Had he left?
Opening the door a crack, she peered out. The TV was still on. There was no sign of Victor. Slowly she emerged, to find she was alone. She began to circle the room, searching for clues, anything that would tell her more about the man. The bureau drawers were empty, and so was the closet. Obviously he had not moved into this room for a long stay. Hed planned only one night, maybe two. She went to the nylon bag and glanced inside. She saw a clean pair of socks, an unopened package of underwear, and a day-old edition of the San Francisco Chronicle. All it told her was that the man kept himself informed and he traveled light.
Like a man on the run.
She dug deeper and came up with a receipt from an automatic teller machine. Yesterday hed tried to withdraw cash. The machine had printed out the message: Transaction cannot be completed. Please contact your bank. Why had it refused him the cash? she wondered. Was he overdrawn? Had the machine been out of order?
The sound of a key grating in the lock caught her by surprise. She glanced up as the door swung open.
The look he gave her made her cheeks flush with guilt. Slowly she rose to her feet, unable to answer that look of accusation in his eyes.
The door swung shut behind him.
I suppose its a reasonable thing for you to do, he said. Search my things.
Im sorry. I was just She swallowed. I had to know more about you.
And what terrible things have you dug up?
Nothing!
No deep dark secrets? Dont be afraid. Tell me, Cathy.
Onlyonly that you had trouble getting cash out of your account.
He nodded. A frustrating state of affairs. Since by my estimate I have a balance of six thousand dollars. And now I cant seem to touch it. He sat down in the chair, his gaze still on her face. What else did you learn?
You-you read the newspaper.
So do a lot of people. What else?
She shrugged. You wear boxer shorts.
Amusement flickered in his eyes. Now were getting personal.
You She took a deep breath. Youre on the run.
He looked at her a long time without saying a word.
Thats why you wont go to the police, she said. Isnt it?
He turned away, gazing not at her but at the far wall. There are reasons.
Give me one, Victor. One good reason is all I need and then Ill shut up.
He sighed. I doubt it.
Try me. I have every reason to believe you.
You have every reason to think Im paranoid. Leaning forward, he ran his hands over his face. Lord, sometimes I think I must be.
Quietly she went to him and knelt down beside his chair. Victor, these people who are trying to kill me-who are they?
I dont know.
You said it might involve people in high places.
Its just a guess. Its a case of federal money going to illegal research. Deadly research.