"I'll talk with Peter about it in a day or two," she told Familiar as she opened a can of salmon for him. "I owe him an explanation."
"Meoww!" Familiar answered, then tucked into the food.
Eleanor took her time selecting warm clothes and getting ready for work. She dressed casually, in a long, flowing wool skirt and a turtleneck sweater that accentuated her willowy grace. With her hair pulled back in a ribbon and the dark frames of her glasses, she looked very young and studious.
As she walked across the lobby to the desk, she recognized Alva Rousel sitting in one of the lobby chairs. Once again a newspaper concealed most of his face.
"You must be up on current events," she said, stopping in front of him.
"I try to keep alert," he said. His smile was boyish, charming. "Did you enjoy your dinner last night?"
"Very much."
"I can't say as much for the company you keep," he added, still smiling.
"Which one, the woman or the man?"
"Both," he said, then smiled again. "The CIA isn't interested in your romantic life. Is that the role Peter Curry is playing?"
"In a manner of speaking," Eleanor said, fighting her inclination to become defensive. "I have a few personal questions for you. Was that Betty Gillette you had dinner with?"
Rousel grinned, breaking the tension. "She's a fascinating woman."
"I couldn't agree more," Eleanor said. "Even if you haven't found a good reason to lock me up, at least you discovered a nice woman to date."
"Fate has a way of rewarding the deserving," he said. A worried frown replaced his smile. "I don't want you to have something you don't deserve happen to you."
Eleanor felt the rush of blood through her veins. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
"Your background. Your husband had a lot of irons in the fire. He was a man with many interests, and I'd guess at least ninety percent of them were illegal."
"I can't defend Carter, and I don't intend to try," Eleanor said. "But he's dead, and I wasn't responsible for what he did."
"When federal authorities asked you to testify against him, you refused. Isn't that correct?"
Eleanor's anger moved up a notch. "Yes, that's true. I was married to him, and whether you understand it or not, I took my vows seriously. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. Those little words meant everything to me. I couldn't testify against my husband. Even if I wanted to, I didn't know anything about Code One Orange until you told me. I didn't even believe you until yesterday, when I talked with his old friend."
"I'm not always at liberty to reveal details." Rousel's blue eyes hardened. "Who did you talk with?"
"Rayburn Smith. Carter's best pal."
"He's still alive?"
"Very much. He wasn't involved in the Central American thing. Rayburn was a petty criminal. He had no ambitions like Carter."
"Few men had the ambitions of your husband," Rousel said. He folded the newspaper and held it in his lap. "Eleanor, is there any chance that Carter…might have survived his automobile wreck?"
The room seemed to dim slightly, and Eleanor saw her hand reach out and clutch the arm of Rousel's chair. He stood quickly and assisted her by grasping her elbow. Cool sweat covered her back and forehead, and she thought for a moment she might be physically ill. Rousel helped her into the chair.
"Was it something I said?" he asked, concern wrinkling his forehead.
"What makes you ask if Carter might be alive?" Her heart was pounding so violently against her ribs that she thought Rousel would surely see her distress. He was watching her eyes, after all.
"No real evidence, just a hunch."
"The officer who investigated Carter's accident had no reserve about declaring him dead. He said no one could have survived that crash. Why are you asking so many questions about Carter? What does he have to do with the break-in at a laboratory?" This was the link that completely eluded her. She was completely confused.
"If Carter was in that car," Rousel said, biting his lower lip. "If he was in that car…"
"He couldn't have escaped." She knew she was sounding desperate, but couldn't stop herself. "Nine years have passed. It doesn't make any sense that Carter would come around now. If there was the chance Carter was alive, don't you think he would have contacted his wife?"
"Maybe he did, Eleanor. Maybe he will again."
Chapter Nine
Eleanor's legs were steady, but her blood rushed from the surge of adrenaline Alva Rousel's words had created. Carter, alive! It wasn't possible. But a CIA agent had given the nightmare thought some daytime credence. There were so many questions. Why now, after all these years, would Carter suddenly reappear if he were alive? She stumbled out of the elevator and into the dank parking garage. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind her, she felt an attack of fear.
She swept the garage with a long, slow gaze. The rows of cars seemed somehow sinister. The dark shadows and trapped fumes created a gruesome atmosphere straight from her childhood fantasies of hell. Taking a deep breath, she thought about getting back into the elevator and calling a cab to take her to the university.
"No," she said aloud. Carter Wells had effectively ruined her past. He wasn't going to get control of her present and future. If he was lurking around parking lots trying to scare her, she'd confront him. She'd ask him right out what he wanted. All of her obligations to him had been erased. She owed him nothing. She owed herself the courage to confront her past and end it, once and for all. She had to do it. For herself and for Peter. If her feelings for Peter were to grow and develop, Carter had to be laid to rest.
Her booted footsteps echoed in the empty garage as she walked down the line of cars. She could see the bumper of her own and walked toward it, never looking left or right. Her spine tingled as she listened for an unnatural sound, for some half-expected warning.
"I'm too old for such foolishness," she told herself. "I'm spooked like a silly teenager."
The walk seemed to take forever. With each step forward, she seemed to fall two steps back. The sensation was like a nightmare. The longer she moved toward the car, the farther away it seemed.
She picked up her pace, still refusing to look to either side.
Out of the darkness her nightmare was reborn. Behind her came the sound of footsteps.
Panic struggled to release itself in a scream, but she held it back. It wasn't Carter. It couldn't be. The talk with the CIA agent had simply rubbed her nerves raw. There were hundreds of cars in the garage. That meant hundreds of owners would be coming in and out, getting and parking their cars.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Someone darted into the shadow of a column. Someone tall and masculine.
She started to run, fumbling in her purse for her keys. The footsteps came after her.
She knew better than to look back. The figure was gaining, drawing closer as she clumsily searched her purse and tried to run in the high-heeled boots. Her breath came in gasps, the fumes of the garage tearing at her throat and lungs.
She flung herself at the car, finally pulling the keys free of the purse. The doors were locked, and she cursed as she struggled to insert the key into the lock. She heard the footsteps behind her, coming at a steady but rapid pace.
At last the door lock clicked and she threw herself inside the car. Simultaneously pulling the door closed and cranking the motor, she jerked the car into Reverse and hit the gas. Cold, the motor stalled, then fell into gear with a roar. The car shot out of the parking spot.
"Hey!" the figure called to her. She heard a thud and punched the car into First. Whoever was behind her was flesh and blood! With a squeal of tires, she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw a man struggle up from the pavement.
She'd hit him! She'd actually struck a human being with her car! The panic began to clear and she slowed. The figure in the rearview mirror was standing upright and limping. He held up a hand to her, a hand of…pleading? Her hands gripping the steering wheel
were numb, but her foot slid from the gas to the brake. The figure was coming toward her, one leg dragging. Whoever it was, it wasn't Carter!
She turned off the ignition, struggling with the key. Clumsy fingers fumbled again and again. It was as if all the messages from her brain had somehow been garbled. Time hung suspended.
"Dr. Duncan?" Joey Knight rapped on the window.
Eleanor's head snapped up. Her student was standing at the side of the car, pain etched across his young features.
"Are you okay, Dr. Duncan?" he asked.
"Joey!" She rolled down the window. "Joey, are you hurt?" Her voice shook. "What were you doing in the parking garage?" She opened the door and got out. A wet stain of blood was soaking through the leg of his jeans.
"I was worried about you after the break-in at your office. I came over to ride to the university with you. Some guy in the lobby said you'd just left. He said he thought you might be in the garage." The young man shrugged his shoulders. "When I got down here, I felt like a fool, so I started sneaking around behind you."
"Oh, Joey!" Eleanor helped him to the passenger side of the car and put him inside. "We're going to the hospital and have some X rays. Were you hit hard?"
"I sort of rolled over the back of the car and fell," he said. "I'm not hurt, I just scraped my leg. I thought for a moment that you were trying to kill me." His voice was shaky.
"Not you, Joey. I thought you were someone else."
"I guess I scared you, following you," he said.
Eleanor slipped behind the wheel and started out of the garage. "More than scared me. You terrified me."
"It wasn't such a bright idea, now that I think about it," he reflected ruefully.
"No, it wasn't bright. But that isn't important now. We'll get you fixed up at the hospital and see how bad the damage is."
"No hospital," he said. "It's only a scrape and a few bruises. I promise. If you'll take me back to my dorm room, I'll put some bandages on it and get some clean jeans."
Eleanor looked doubtfully at the red spot on Joey's thigh that was growing larger and larger. "I think you should see a doctor."
"No, I can't," Joey told her. "If my mom finds out about this, and she will, if I have to put it on the insurance, she'll have a fit. She'll call Dad and fight with him long-distance, and he'll be in trouble, because I was supposed to be with him over the holidays. I can't," he said. The misery on his face convinced Eleanor.
"Okay," she agreed. "I have a secondary plan. Medical attention, but no doctor. On the condition that you promise to go to the hospital, if Dr. Curry says so."
"Dr. Curry?" Joey looked at her as the car burst from the garage into the rain.
"A veterinarian."
Joey grinned. "Cool! I don't mind going to a vet."
"I only hope Peter doesn't mind me bringing you," she said.
The waiting room at the clinic was filled with pet owners and their animals, but as soon as Eleanor gave her name, she was ushered back to Peter's office.
Startled by the receptionist's description of Eleanor and a bloody young man, Peter rushed into the office. He took one look at Joey, who was sitting in the chair, clearly doing his best to mask his pain, and his hands went to Eleanor's shoulders. "Are you okay?" The sight of the blood and the whiteness of her face struck him with a sudden terror. She was at risk. There was a spot of blood on her skirt and her hands were smeared.
The same anger he'd felt the first day he saw her with her face cut and bruised came back to him, only much stronger. "Who did this?"
"I'm fine." She fought to control her shaking, offering a tentative smile. In Peter's angry reaction she saw his concern. A tiny pop, like the opening of a bottle of exquisite champagne, sounded in her heart. No one had ever cared about her the way Peter did. It was written all over his face. Taking a deep breath, she explained about the accident. "Would you look at Joey's leg?" she asked.
By the time she finished, Peter was much calmer. She wasn't hurt, and his heartbeat had returned to a reasonable pace. "I'm not a doctor," he reminded her. "I don't mind treating a bruise or scrape, but I…"
"Joey's promised to go to the hospital, if you say so."
"Okay," Peter agreed. "If you promise me that you aren't injured." The tenderness was fading from his eyes, but it was still audible in his voice.
"I promise, and I'll wait outside." Eleanor excused herself while Peter tended to Joey's injuries.
She washed her hands and rinsed the blood from her skirt in the rest room. After she'd found a seat in the waiting room, she hid behind a magazine, avoiding the curious stares of Peter's patients. But there was nothing she could do to avoid the thoughts that tumbled through her mind. Peter's unguarded concern for her was like a warm, healing touch. Safe behind the covers of a pet care magazine, she marveled at the fusion she'd felt with him. The emotion was deep, strong, a sense of connection with purpose.
She pushed the thoughts away, more than a little frightened by their implications. Focusing on the magazine, she read an article about poachers and African elephants.
"Thank goodness I don't own any ivory," she mumbled. She flipped the pages, scanning the winning entries in a pet photo contest and an article on cosmetic experimentation. A small black and white photograph circled several times in black ink at the bottom of the page caught her eye. A handcuffed man was being led away by two uniformed policemen.
Something about the picture was familiar, and she stared at the grainy photo. The caption explained that the photo date was 1977, and there was only a short blurb. The man in the photo, Arnold Evans, had been arrested on charges of animal abuse. He'd skipped bail and was still at large thirteen years later. The story was an update, noting that Evans had last been seen in May 1988 on a safari in Kenya.
The story meant nothing to Eleanor, but she was strangely drawn to the photograph. She studied it carefully and finally smiled. The man bore a strange resemblance to someone she knew or had met.
It was nearly half an hour later when Peter called her back into the his office.
"Is he hurt?" she asked.
"He's young— and lucky. Nothing worse than a scrape. I gave him some Betadine to wash his leg and some bandages. And a long lecture about hanging out in parking garages." Peter smiled, relief evident in his face. "He'll be healed in a matter of days."
"Thanks, Peter," she said. "I was so scared in the parking lot. I was terrified. I heard him following me, and I saw him behind me, and I lost it. I knew I hit him, but I couldn't stop immediately." As she recounted the experience, her voice rose. She felt her legs begin to tremble again.
"Why were you so afraid, Eleanor?" Peter brushed a hand across her forehead. "Did something else happen in the garage?"
Peter's question caught her off guard, and she knew that now she was ready to confide in him. "I need to talk with you, Peter. Tonight. Could you meet me about seven, or as soon as you finish here?"
"Of course." He stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face. With a gentle finger he lifted her chin so that their gazes met. "I've been waiting for you to tell me." Her dark gaze promised so much that it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.
"I know," she said, and her voice was throaty. "I wanted to tell you, but it's so complicated. And it's going to sound crazy."
He shook his head. "Not to me."
"Doc, how long will it be before I'm completely well?" Joey asked. He hobbled over to them at the doorway.
Peter's hand dropped from Eleanor's face and he took a step back. "Oh, three to five days of stiffness, then a few more days for the scrape to completely heal. Just protect it and you'll be fine."
"Thanks." Joey took Eleanor's elbow. "Could you take me back to school now? I have a science project I need to work on."
"Of course." Eleanor answered. She exchanged a look with Peter and received a knowing smile. The young man took her arm for assistance as they went through the lobby and to the car.
Watching him as she dro
ve, she saw the determined jut of his chin.
"Is something bothering you?" she asked. "Do you need to stop for some medicine or anything?"
"No," he shook his head and turned to gaze out the window. "You're involved with that vet, aren't you?"
"Joey!" Eleanor was shocked by the question.
"You are. I can tell by the way he looks at you."
"My relationship with Dr. Curry shouldn't concern you." Eleanor slowed down to turn onto the campus. Before she could say anything else, Joey opened the car door and jumped onto the grassy curb. He slammed the door with force and limped away, his shoulders squared and stiff.
"Good grief," she murmured as she drove toward her parking space. "This is all I need." Joey was upset and too emotional. She didn't give any credence to what he'd said, but the fact that he was so distraught was terribly upsetting.
Instead of going to her own office, Eleanor went to Betty Gillette's cluttered habitat. The red-haired professor was hidden behind a stack of books, but Eleanor heard her singing.
"Knock, knock," she said at the open door.
"Eleanor!" Betty whirled and stood up. "I've been trying to call you. I had the most interesting chat with Mr. Rousel."
"And a nice dinner, I assume?" Eleanor grinned.
"How did you know?"
"I saw you. At Brenniton's. Or at least the woman looked a lot like you. Was it business or pleasure?" The question was unnecessary, because she could tell by her friend's face that the evening had been delightful.
"Well, it started out as business, but when he asked me out to eat, I began to suspect that he had ulterior motives. And I was right!"
"Congratulations," Eleanor said. "He's an attractive man. I just hope he appreciates how lucky he is that you'd spare your research time to consume food with him. I've already told him as much."
"Quit teasing me. I really like him," Betty said. "We had the best time, and believe it or not, he was interested in my research."
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