His own wife Lily hadnt been beautiful; neither had she been unattractive. Even at the end, when the ravages of illness had left her shrunken and bruised, there had been a light in her eyes, a gentle spirits glow.
The same glow hed seen in Catherine Weavers eyes the night shed saved his life. The same glow he saw now.
She sat with her back propped up on pillows. Her gaze was silently expectant, maybe a little fearful. She was clutching a handful of tissues. Why were you crying? he wondered.
He didnt approach; he stood just inside the doorway. Their gazes locked together in the gloom. Ive just talked with Jack, he said.
She nodded but said nothing.
We both agree. Its better that I leave as soon as possible. So Ill be taking off in the morning.
What about the film?
Ill get it. All I need is Hickeys address.
Yes. Of course. She looked down at the tissues in her fist.
He could tell she wanted to say something. He went to the bed and sat down. Those sweet woman smells grew intoxicating. The neckline of her oversized shirt sagged low enough to reveal a tempting glimpse of shadow. He forced himself to focus on her face.
Cathy, youll be fine. Jack said hed watch out for you. Get you out of the city.
Jack? What sounded like a laugh escaped her throat.
Youll be safer with him. I dont even know where Ill be going. I dont want to drag you into this-
But you already have. Youve dragged me in over my head, Victor. What am I supposed to do now? I cant just-just sit around and wait for you to fix things. I owe it to Sarah-
And I owe it to you not to let you get hurt.
You think you can hand me over to Jack and make everything be fine again? Well, it wont be fine. Sarahs dead. Her babys dead. And somehow its not just your fault. Its mine as well.
No, its not. Cathy-
It is my fault! Did you know she was lying there in the driveway all night? In the rain. In the cold. There she was, dying, and I slept through the whole damn thing She dropped her face in her hands. The guilt that had been tormenting her since Sarahs death at last burst through. She began to cry, silently, ashamedly, unable to hold back the tears any longer.
Victors response was automatic and instinctively male. He pulled her against him and gave her a warm, safe place to cry. As soon as he felt her settle into his arms, he knew it was a mistake. It was too perfect a fit. She felt as if she belonged there, against his heart, felt that if she ever pulled away there would be left a hole so gaping it could never be filled. He pressed his lips to her damp hair and inhaled her heady scent of soap and warm skin. That gentle fragrance was enough to drown a man with need. So was the softness of her face, the silken luster of that shoulder peeking out from beneath the shirt. And all the time he was stroking her hair, murmuring inane words of comfort, he was thinking: I have to leave her. For her sake I have to abandon this woman. Or Ill get us both killed.
Cathy, he said. It took all the willpower he could muster to pull away. He placed his hands on her shoulders, made her look at him. Her gaze was confused and brimming with tears. We have to talk about tomorrow.
She nodded and swiped at the tears on her cheeks.
I want you out of the city, first thing in the morning. Go to Mexico with Jack. Anywhere. Just keep out of sight.
What will you do?
Im going to take a look at that roll of film, see what kind of evidence it has.
And then?
I dont know yet. Maybe Ill take it to the newspapers. The FBI is definitely out.
How will I know youre all right? How do I reach you?
He thought hard, fighting the distraction of her scent, her hair. He found himself stroking the bare skin of her shoulder, marveling at how smooth it felt beneath his fingers.
He focused on her face, on the look of worry in her eyes. Every other Sunday Ill put an ad in the Personals. Los Angeles Times. Itll be addressed to, lets say, Cora. Anything I need to tell you will be there.
Cora. She nodded. Ill remember.
They looked at each other, a silent acknowledgment that this parting had to be. He cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her mouth. She barely responded; already, it seemed, she had said her goodbyes.
They looked at each other, a silent acknowledgment that this parting had to be. He cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her mouth. She barely responded; already, it seemed, she had said her goodbyes.
He rose from the bed and started for the door. There he couldnt resist asking, one more time: Youll be all right?
She nodded, but it was too automatic. The sort of nod one gave to dismiss an unimportant question. Ill be fine. After all, Ill have Jack to watch over me.
He didnt miss the faint note of irony in her reply. Jack, it seemed, didnt inspire confidence in either of them. Whats my alternative? Drag her along with me as a moving target?
He gripped the doorknob. No, it was better this way. Hed already ripped her life apart; he wasnt going to scatter the pieces as well.
As he was leaving, he took one last backward glance. She was still huddled on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. The oversized shirt had slid off one bare shoulder. For a moment he thought she was crying. Then she raised her head and met his gaze. What he saw in her eyes wasnt tears. It was something far more moving, something pure and bright and beautiful.
Courage.
In the pale light of dawn, Savitch stood outside Jack Zuckermans house. Through the fingers of morning mist, Savitch studied the curtained windows, trying to picture the inhabitants within. He wondered who they were, in which room they slept, and whether Catherine Weaver was among them.
Hed find out soon.
He pocketed the black address book hed taken from the womans apartment. The name C. Zuckerman and this Pacific Heights address had been written on the inside front cover. Then the Zuckerman had been crossed out and replaced with Weaver. She was a divorcee, he concluded. Under Z, hed found a prominent listing for a man named Jack, with various phone numbers and addresses, both foreign and domestic. Her ex-husband, hed confirmed, after a brief chat with another name listed in the book. Pumping strangers for information was a simple matter. All it took was an air of authority and a cops ID. The same ID he was planning to use now.
He gave the house one final perusal, taking in the manicured lawns and shrubbery, the trellis with its vines of winter-dormant wisteria. A successful man, this Jack Zuckerman. Savitch had always admired men of wealth. He gave his jacket a final tug to assure himself that the shoulder holster was concealed. Then he crossed the street to the front porch and rang the doorbell.
CHAPTER SIX
At first light, Cathy awakened. It wasnt a gentle return but a startling jerk back to consciousness. She was instantly aware that she was not in her own bed and that something was terribly wrong. It took her a few seconds to remember exactly what it was. And when she did remember, the sense of urgency was so compelling she rose at once from bed and began to dress in the semidarkness. Have to be ready to run
The creak of floorboards in the next room told her that Victor was awake as well, probably planning his moves for the day. She rummaged through the closet, searching for things he might need in his flight. All she came up with was a zippered nylon bag and a raincoat. She searched the dresser next and found a few mens socks. She also found a collection of womens underwear. Damn Jack and all his women, she thought with sudden irritation and slammed the drawer shut. The thud was still resonating in the room when another sound echoed through the house.
The doorbell was ringing.
It was only seven oclock, too early for visitors or deliverymen. Suddenly her door swung open. She turned to see Victor, his face etched with tension.
What should we do? she asked.
Get ready to leave. Fast.
Theres a back door-
Lets go.
They hurried along the hall and had almost reached the top of the stairs when they heard Jacks sleepy voice below, grumbling: Im coming, dammit! Stop that racket, Im coming!
The doorbell rang again.
Dont answer it! hissed Cathy. Not yet-
Jack had already opened the door. Instantly Victor snatched Cathy back up the hall, out of sight. They froze with their backs against the wall, listening to the voices below.
Yeah, they heard Jack say. Im Jack Zuckerman. And who are you?
The visitors voice was soft. They could tell only that it was a man.
Is that so? said Jack, his voice suddenly edged with panic. Youre with the FBI, you say? And what on earth would the FBI want with my ex-wife?
Cathys gaze flew to Victor. She read the frantic message in his eyes: Which way out?
She pointed toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. He nodded. Together they tiptoed along the carpet, all the time aware that one misstep, one loud creak, might be enough to alert the agent downstairs.
Wheres your warrant? they heard Jack demand of the visitor. Hey, wait a minute! You cant just barge in here without a court order or something!
No time left! thought Cathy in panic as she slipped into the last room. They closed the door behind them.
The window! she whispered.
You mean jump?
No. She hurried across the room and gingerly eased the window open. Theres a trellis!
He glanced down dubiously at the tangled vines of wisteria. Are you sure itll hold us?
I know it will, she said, swinging her leg over the sill. I caught one of Jacks blondes hanging off it one night. And believe me, she was a big girl. She glanced down at the ground far below and felt a sudden wave of nausea as the old fear of heights washed through her. God, she muttered. Why do we always seem to be hanging out of windows?
From somewhere in the house came Jacks outraged shout: You cant go up there! You havent shown me your warrant!
Move! snapped Victor.
Cathy lowered herself onto the trellis. Branches clawed her face as she scrambled down the vine. An instant after she landed on the dew-soaked grass, Victor dropped beside her.
At once they were on their feet and sprinting for the cover of shrubbery. Just as they rolled behind the azalea bushes, they heard a second-floor window slide open, and then Jacks voice complaining loudly: I know my rights! This is an illegal search! Im going to call my lawyer!
Dont let him see us! prayed Cathy, burrowing frantically into the bush. She felt Victors body curl around her back, his arms pulling her tightly to him, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. For an eternity they lay shivering in the grass as mist swirled around them.