He was also wearing a shoulder holster, and there was a gun in it. She hadn’t realized that all private investigators wore guns all the time. He was comfortable with it, like it was just another item of clothing. It looked part of him. He was long and solid and looked hard as nails. She remembered how she’d hauled his face down to hers when she’d come out of the drugged sleep. How he’d let her. How he’d kissed her when he thought she was asleep again. She’d never met a man like him before in her life—a man to trust, a man to believe, a man who cared what happened to her.
“Has your head cleared?” Dillon asked. She turned to see him gently rubbing his thumbs over the maple, over and over and over.
“Why are you doing that?”
“What? Oh, it warms the wood and it makes it shine.”
“What are you carving?”
“You, if you don’t mind.”
She blinked at him, swallowed a piece of ice she was sucking, and promptly fell to coughing. James leaned over and lightly slapped her between her shoulder blades.
When she got her breath, she said, “Why ever would you want to immortalize me in any way? I’m nothing at all, nothing—”
“Dammit, shut up, Sally.”
“Why, James? Someone wants me out of the way, but that doesn’t make me important. It just makes what I appear to know of interest to someone.”
“I guess maybe it’s time we got to that,” Dillon said. He set down the piece of maple and turned to face Sally.
“If we’re to help you, you must tell us everything.”
She looked from Dillon to James. She frowned down at her hands. She carefully set the glass down on the rattan table beside her.
She looked at James again, nodding at his shoulder holster. “I was just thinking that I never realized that private investigators wore guns all the time. But you do, don’t you? Another thing—it looks natural on you, like you were born wearing it. You’re not a private investigator, are you, James?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
He was very still, then he looked at her straight in the face and said, “My name is James Quinlan, just as I told you. What I didn’t tell you was that I’m Special Agent James Quinlan, FBI. Dillon and I have worked together for five years. We’re not really partners, since the FBI doesn’t operate that way, but we’re on a lot of cases together.
“I came to The Cove to find you.”
“You’re with the FBI?” Just saying the words made gooseflesh ripple over her arms, made her feel numb and cold.
“Yes. I didn’t tell you immediately because I knew it would spook you. I wanted to get your confidence and then bring you back to Washington and clear up all the mess.”
“You certainly succeeded in gaining my confidence, Mr. Quinlan.”
He winced at her use of his surname. He saw that Dillon would say something, and held up his hand. “No, let me finish it. Look, Sally, I was doing my job. Things got complicated when I got to know you. And then there were the two murders in The Cove, your dear father calling you on the phone and then appearing at your bedroom window.
“I decided not to tell you because I didn’t know what you’d do. I knew you were in possible danger and I didn’t want you running away. I knew I could protect you—”
“You failed at that, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Damn, but she was angry, it was sharp and clear in her voice. He wished he could change things, but he couldn’t. He just had to try to make her understand. If he didn’t get her to come around, then what would happen?
She rose slowly to her feet. She was wearing blue jeans that looked like a second skin. Dillon had misjudged and bought her a pair of girl’s jeans at the Kmart in the closest town, Glenberg. Even the blouse was tight, the buttons pulling apart.
The look on her face was remote, distant, as if she really weren’t standing on the old veranda any longer, between the two of them. She said nothing for a very long time, just stared at the lake. Finally she said, “Thank you for getting me out of that place last night. He wouldn’t leave my head clear enough so I could figure out how to escape again. I don’t think I would ever have gotten free. I owe you both a lot for that. But now I’m leaving. I have a good number of things to resolve. Good-bye, James.”
15
“YOU’RE NOT LEAVING, Sally. I can’t let you leave.”
She gave him a look that was so immensely damning of what he was and what he’d done, he couldn’t stand it.