“Yes, on your next trip Sandra and I must have you over for dinner. Keep in touch.”
“Sure, I’ll call when I get back to Albuquerque.”
Carl gave her a warm smile and turned. She watched him cross the deck and go inside the bar.
Dean took her hand. His palm was warm and comfortable. “Well, alone at last.”
Where had he gotten that line?
Caitlin started to pull her hand back, but part of her found the contact stimulating. A little male attention was nice.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“As long as it isn’t my weight or age.” Caitlin grinned.
He returned her smile. “Nothing as personal as that. I was wondering about you and your partner. I thought you were married, but I couldn’t help noticing that you don’t wear a ring.”
“We’re separated. Divorcing really, it’s final next week.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.”
Caitlin noticed his eyes seemed to brighten even as he gave her his regrets.
“I’m sorry to hear it. Will your divorce have any impact on your company?”
“No, not really. It’s an amicable divorce. We’re still friends. We formed Cutting Edge Technologies seven years ago, and neither of us wants to break up the business. In truth, business is so good that we’d be fools to break up the partnership.”
“That’s good.”
An irritating buzz came from her jacket.
She took out her phone, flipped it open, and held it to her ear. “Caitlin Maxwell.”
“Hi Caitlin, how’d the meeting go?”
“Scott? We’re just wrapping up. Everything looks fine. We’ll have the statement of work signed tomorrow, and I’ll bring the contract back with me. Where are you?”
“I’m just outside Los Alamos, on my way home. Any problems at that end?”
Caitlin smiled at Dean. “It’s my partner, Scott.”
Dean nodded. “Tell him everything’s in the bag. We’re very happy with the proposal.”
Caitlin raised the telephone to her mouth. “Dean says everything’s fine. They’re happy with the deal.”
“Good. Look, Caitlin, there’s something I should tell you. Can you get away from him and go secure?”
“I guess so.” To Dean she said, “Please excuse me for a moment.”
“Oh sure, no problem. I’ll get us another drink.”
She considered stopping him. She’d had enough to drink, but it did give her a moment of privacy.
“All right, Scott, I’m going secure.” Caitlin depressed the secure transmission switch. With the telephone back to her ear, Scott’s voice came through sharp and clear.
***
“Caitlin, you there?”
“Yes, Scott. What’s so important that I had to send a client off?”
“Don’t worry about him. His contract is small potatoes.”
They were finally coming out of the last curve. Scott noticed the truck had slowly picked up speed. The driver must have been emboldened by the sight of the straightaway. No matter, he’d probably slow again when they reached the next set of curves.
“What are you talking about? This contract is good for a quarter mil’ over the next three years.”
“Caitlin, I’ve been working a deal that’ll make us rich.”
“What kind of deal, Scott? You haven’t gone back to investing in startup companies?”
“That’s just like you to bring that up again.” How was he to know they hadn’t owned the patent to their main product?
Scott eased the accelerator down and pulled out. The road ahead was clear. He juiced the engine slowly. A nagging fear of ice on the roadway still bothered him. Abreast of the truck’s cab, he could see its dirty orange panels were unadorned, and the windows were tinted too dark to make out the driver.
The next curve was coming up fast. Scott took a quick look at his dash and was surprised to see he was doing nearly sixty.
“Tell me,” Caitlin said.
“All right, if you’ll give me a chance. There’s a risk involved, but I’ve taken care of–”
If he were going to get back in, he’d have to move fast. Scott pressed down on the throttle. The entire car shuddered as if struck.
“What the hell?” For an instant, he thought he’d had a blowout. Then the car rocked violently, and he gripped the wheel to keep it on the road. The truck had veered over the centerline and slammed into the side of his car.
“You son-of-a-bitch!”
“Scott? What’s the matter, Scott?”
Scott lifted his foot from the accelerator and braked, but the truck still pushed, pushed him toward the edge of the road, toward the precipice beyond. He cursed again and cut his own wheel back toward the right, but the truck’s greater mass moved him inexorably toward the edge.
This straight away was one of the few spots on the entire road without a guardrail. Scott could see the next curve and the start of the next guardrail. If he could just make it a little farther, he’d be safe.
“Scott? Scott!”
Who drove the truck? Why was he doing this? Scott looked to his left across the wide valley far below. If he didn’t get around the truck soon...
“Just a moment Caitlin. Some sonofabitch in a truck is trying to–”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stomped the throttle to the floor. The Taurus started to pull ahead of the truck. Sparks flew, and metal screamed piercingly. His bumper edged even with the truck’s.
Then his front door.
His back door.
Too late.
His bumper struck the buried end of the guardrail and rode up on the steel. Like a VSTOL jet launching from a carrier, the car launched into the sky. His racing engine slowed and then only the howl of the wind accompanied Scott on his long fall... Through his windshield, Scott could see the thick dark clouds. The front of the car dipped lower, and the horizon swam into view. A calm came over him as the piñon-covered ground quickly filled his view. For a moment, he wondered if the car’s air bag could handle this sort of impact.
“I’m so sorry. There’s so much I wanted to say. Good-bye, Caitlin. I love you.”
“Scott?”
Pity. They had so much to look forward to.
Then...nothing.
CHAPTER 3
“Scott?”
Caitlin could hear rushing wind, an engine racing, then there came the briefest sound of rending metal, and the line died. “Scott? Oh, God. Scott?”
Caitlin lowered the telephone and stared at it. The display indicated she had lost the signal.
What happened? It sounded like he had an accident, but why had it become so quiet before the crash? The calm lasted for several seconds. Long enough for Scott to say good-bye. My God. He said good-bye. But he wasn’t hanging up the telephone. Oh, my God. He was assuming he’d never see her again. Why else would he say he loved her when their divorce would be final in another week? Why else would he say good-bye?
“Oh God. Oh God.”
Caitlin felt her pulse racing. Her throat tightened until she couldn’t talk. She had to calm down, relax, and get a grip on her emotions.
What to do? She should call someone. The highway patrol. Yes, that’s it. Scott might still be alive. If they found him in time. Where was he? Leaving Los Alamos?
Caitlin called information. A computer-generated voice answered. “Your request, please.”
“Los Alamos, New Mexico, emergency number.”
“One moment, please.”
The number came almost immediately and Caitlin auto-dialed it.
The telephone rang twice before a woman’s voice answered. “Los Alamos dispatch.”
Caitlin tried to control her voice, but it still broke as she said, “This is Caitlin Maxwell in San Francisco. I believe my husband has just had an accident between Los Alamos and Santa Fe.”
The woman asked for particulars. What distance was he from Los Alamos? What kind of car he was drivin
g? Did she know the license number?
Caitlin answered each question in turn, and finally, the woman told her that a patrol car would search the route and look for any sign of an accident. Caitlin gave the woman her telephone number and broke the connection.
Closing the phone, she dropped it into her purse.
“Caitlin? Are you all right?”
She looked up to see Dean standing next to her. He held two glasses of champagne. Some kind of film covered her eyes, blurring her vision, but she could see his concern. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands and nodded once.
He set the glasses down on the railing and put an arm around her shoulders.
Caitlin pushed gently away from him. Her gut tightened. She felt sick. Control, she had to get control.
Facing the ocean, Caitlin deeply inhaled the thick air. She took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait a minute. What did Scott say to you?”
She shook her head and returned the handkerchief to her purse. “It wasn’t what he said. He ... I think Scott is dead.”
Dean leaned back and stared at her face. His features reflected his incredulity.
“Scott is dead,” Caitlin repeated.
“I ... I don’t understand. You were just talking to him.”
“I know. He was driving, in the mountains; he had some kind of accident.”
“Dear Lord, I’m sorry Caitlin. But how can you be sure he’s dead?”
She fought back the rush that hit her as she thought of Scott and the long span of time with just the sound of wind and the racing engine in the telephone. “A car accident. Icy road. He must have skidded off the road. Something like that.”
But, that wasn’t all of it. He’d said something about a truck, and she heard screeching metal before he’d left the road. What had happened?
“But still you can’t be sure. Do you know where he called from?”
Caitlin nodded.
“Then call the highway patrol. They ought to be able to locate him.”
“I did already, but it won’t do any good. I know he’s dead. I can feel it. He even said goodbye before the crash.”
Dean shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Caitlin.”
His eyes darkened as he looked away from her toward the setting sun and she realized he wanted to say something else. “What is it?”
“You’re going to think me cold, but I have to ask.”
“What?”
“Is this going to affect your company’s ability to fulfill our contract?”
For a moment, Caitlin just stared at him. How could he? What kind of an asshole would even think– “Our contract? No. We live up to our agreements, no matter what.”
He nodded. A moment later, he frowned. “Look, I’m sorry, but business is business. I had to know.”
“I understand.”
“Can I walk you to your room?” He asked as though trying to recover his good manners.
“No. Thank you. Really, I need to be alone. I’ll contact you later.”
Caitlin slid her purse strap back on her shoulder. Her posture stiff, she stood and walked toward the door. The wind had lost its bite. Her heart held a cold stronger than the ocean air. She opened the door and marched across the crowded bar, hardly conscious of the crush of people watching the sunset. Then, in a rush, the anger left her to be replaced by a deep sadness.
She reached the elevator and summoned it.
Scott was dead. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. My God, to be talking with someone and the next second they’re dead.
She felt like her life had just taken a left turn into the twilight zone.
The elevator doors parted with a chime.
“Floor thirty-one,” Caitlin said as she stepped in. The elevator doors slid shut, and she dropped swiftly.
She had come to terms with not being married to Scott, but a world without Scott was another matter entirely. Alone in the elevator and without the eyes of strangers on her she no longer held back her grief. She sobbed into her handkerchief until the door opened at her floor. Then she wiped at her cheeks, removing some of the external marks of Scott’s death, but she couldn’t begin to touch the ache in her heart.
Half blinded in agony, Caitlin eased along the wide, cheerfully lit, corridor. From the outer pocket of her computer case, she removed a rod-shaped, electronic key. At 3142, she put the tip of the key into the receptacle. The door swung open, and Caitlin stepped across the threshold while dropping the key back into her case.
“Lights.”
The LED lights lit the suite with a warm glow.
She crossed the small sitting room and entered the bedroom.
Two steps into the room Caitlin stopped in surprise. Empty dresser drawers hung open, and her clothes were neatly stacked on top of the dresser. The suitcase she’d left in the corner of the closet lay splayed wide on the bed.
For a moment, she couldn’t understand what had happened, and then a fresh chill flooded through her. Somebody had gone through her personal belongings.
She took another step into the room and froze. What if they were still here? Her left hand dipped back into her case, searching for the room key.
The lights dimmed to almost pitch black.
Someone grabbed her shoulder and tried to turn her around.
Caitlin spun away from the grip and stumbled against the bed. She swayed, trying to catch her balance, but fell backward onto the bedspread.
The silhouette of a large man filled the doorway.
“Who the hell are you?” Caitlin asked.
He didn’t answer.
Her voice rose. “What do you want?”
He came toward her.
Caitlin rolled to put the bed between them, but a hand closed around her ankle. She clutched uselessly at the covers while he pulled her toward him. Realizing she had little time to react, she twisted onto her back and cocked her free foot back. Before he could react, she kicked out, catching him in the forehead.
He grunted and staggered, but held tight to her ankle and tried to grab her other leg.
Caitlin kicked at his face again and heard a loud crunch. His grip weakened, and she jerked hastily away. She rolled off the far side of the bed and scrambled to her feet.
“Stay away from me, damn you!”
Still silent, he came around the corner of the bed.
Her case had slipped off her shoulder, but she had held onto its strap. When he came at her again, she stepped back and swung the case upward. It passed between his outstretched hands and slammed into his chin.
He staggered back, tripped, and fell into the closet.
Without waiting to see if he would recover, Caitlin dashed past him into the other room. She saw the telephone on the wet bar, but she could already hear movement in the bedroom. No, her cell phone would be safer, but first, she had to get out of there. Rushing toward the door, Caitlin pulled her room key from her case and fumbled for the distress button. She put her thumb on the end and pressed. It refused to budge.
She yanked open the door, lurched into an empty hallway, and turned toward the elevators. She considered screaming for help and pounding on doors, but until she put distance between her and her attacker, she didn’t dare stop.
Reaching the elevators, she bent over, gasping for air and stabbing at the down button. She turned her head to look back up the hall and saw her attacker coming out of her room. He held something long and slender.
A gun. He had a gun.
A fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She spun away from the elevator and slammed into the stairwell door across the hall.
Leaping down the stairs two at a time, she made two landings before stumbling, swearing frantically as the heel of her right shoe broke. She grabbed the handrail to keep from falling. Her hands slid against the metal. She stumbled, and thought she would fall, but then got her feet under her again.
The shoe was useless; both shoes were useless for running. Kicking off first one shoe and then the other, Caitlin continued her hurried descent in stocking feet.
Footsteps pounded above her.
She descended another floor. The pounding of his steps was closer. Her feet already hurt from running on the hard concrete stairs. If she couldn’t outrun him, she had to outthink him.
She glanced upwards as she used the railing to pull her around the next turn.
Good God! He was aiming at her.
She heard a soft coughing sound and a bullet whined off the metal handrail.
Caitlin reflexively ducked. She stumbled to her knees, smashing them painfully into the stairwell before she caught herself and lurched back to her feet.
At the next landing, she pulled open the door and slammed it back against the wall. Before it closed, she moved down the stairs again. This time she hugged the wall, moved silently, and didn’t breathe as she prayed her trick would work.
One floor below, she heard the door she’d opened, open again. Had she fooled him?
Caitlin kept moving, afraid to stop. She descended another floor before hearing a door open. Heavy male footsteps pounded the stairs.
It hadn’t worked.
Caitlin opened the next door. Squeezing through it, she carefully, silently, pulled it shut behind her. She came out in a long hallway as empty her own had been. She ran to the elevator doors and pressed the down button. Panting, she listened, for an indication that the elevator was coming. Nothing. She gave up waiting and ran down the hall toward the exit sign at the far end.
With every step, she could feel the door behind her opening. With every second, she imagined him peering at her over his gun sights.
She slammed into the stairwell door, grabbed its handle, and pushed it open. She cast an expectant look over her shoulder, no sign of him, and ducked inside. Inside the stairwell, she stopped and tried to catch her breath. She felt winded, and although the distance she’d run wasn’t great, her pulse pounded in her ears as though she had run a marathon.
What now? Had he given up or did he still stalk her?
Just when she had regained her breath, she realized she still held the key in her hand. Why hadn’t it worked when she needed it? She looked at it and immediately saw she held the slim key upside down. In her panic, she had been pressing on the bottom, not on the top, of the emergency signal.
The Phoenix Egg Page 2