by Sandra Brown
"Lucy Myrick called last night while I was in the bathtub. Jem and I answered—"
Their gazes connected like two magnets. "Hennings was there when the call came in?"
"He asked me later who had called."
"You told him?"
"I made up a story."
Chief's eye spoke volumes, but they didn't have a chance to pursue the conversation because her cell phone rang.
She checked the caller ID but didn't recognize the number. At least it wasn't Jem's. She truly didn't know what she would say to him now. On the fourth ring, she answered. "Hello?"
"Ms. Lloyd? Special Agent Tobias."
"I apologize for missing our appointment."
"I arrived at nine."
"Too late, as it turned out."
"Are you all right?"
"I've been better."
"What happened this morning? I was in your house. I saw the mess, the blood. Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Colonel Hart? Is he injured?"
Her eyes sliced to Chief, who was following her side of the conversation. He questioned her pause by raising his eyebrows inquiringly. She shook her head slightly.
When she failed to respond to the loaded question, Tobias said, "I'd like very much to talk to you. Tell me where you are."
"Not yet. Not until you tell me why you're interested in Gillian's murder case."
"Because she was a patient of the Waters Clinic."
"The clinic has a lot of patients. None except my sister was stabbed to death this week. Why did she win that distinction, Mr. Tobias?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"You must have a hunch."
"Not at this point."
"Something flagged your attention to Gillian's murder." He hesitated, then said, "A series of other crimes." "You believe Dale Gordon was a serial killer?"
"No. We checked that out," he answered evenly. "He relates only to your sister's murder."
"Then the common thread is that all the victims were patients of a Waters Clinic? There's your answer, isn't it?"
"It would be, except that they weren't all affiliated with Waters," he explained. "One was a patient of a private physician. One went to another franchise clinic with a reputation as solid as the Waters chain.
"One striking similarity between your twin's case and another in Oakland, California, is that both women had been artificially inseminated within days of their murder, and that the suspects took their own lives before they could even be questioned by the authorities."
"My God," she said, her voice quavering. "How many of these crimes are we talking about?"
He refrained from answering. Neither said anything for a time. Chief's laser blues were telegraphing questions.
Finally Tobias said, "That's all I can say for now, Ms. Lloyd. Meet me and Agent Patterson. Let us—"
"I tried that once. It didn't work out."
"Who came to your house this morning?"
"I don't know who they were. Don't you? Have you asked them?"
"Asked them?"
"When you arrived at my house."
"The house was empty, Ms. Lloyd."
"They were gone?" she exclaimed.
Chief sat up straighter. Gone? he mouthed.
Tobias was asking if the imposters were in her house when she left.
"Unconscious. On the kitchen floor," she told him.
He ruminated on that for several seconds, then asked her to describe the pair. She gave him a basic description of both, silently consulting Chief about height and weight. His nods confirmed her assessments.
"I was fooled. At first."
"And then?"
"And then I wasn't. At least I was wary enough to protect myself and get out of there."
"We found one hell of a mess in the kitchen and blood tracks on the carpet in the bedroom."
She explained about cutting her heel the night before. "Do you sleep with your feet instead of your head on the pillow?" he asked.
"Excuse me?"
"There was blood on the pillow in the guest bedroom. And one straight black hair. I presume both belong to Colonel Hart."
She neither denied nor confirmed his guess.
"I've read Lawson's case file, Ms. Lloyd. I know that Hart spent the evening before her murder with Gillian. Had they met before that night?"
"You have Lawson's case file? I thought he'd officially closed it."
"I officially reopened it."
"I see."
"What's the matter? Do you have a problem with that?" "I'll be in touch." She disconnected and flung down the cell phone as though it had burned her hand.
"What's the matter?" Chief looked as tense as a coiled spring.
"They won't let it rest," she said with perhaps more agitation than was warranted. "Thank God I had her body cremated. Otherwise they'd probably be exhuming her. Oh, and by the way, he knows you're with me."
"Who're you calling now?"
She had picked up her phone again and was rapidly punching in numbers. "Clunkers."
"Clunkers?"
CHAPTER 23
I've relocated her," Jem reported to Mr. Hancock. "My men are tracking her as we speak. Please tell Brother Gabriel that I've got it under control." Jem was a little miffed that he hadn't been put directly through to Brother Gabriel and was having to use Hancock as an intercessor.
"I'll inform him the moment his meeting concludes, although he won't be surprised to learn that things are back on track. He has every confidence in you, Mr. Hennings."
"That's the good news." Jem hoped that Brother Gabriel's confidant would pick up on his sad tone of voice. He did.
"There's bad?"
"I think it's something Brother Gabriel should be aware of and take into careful consideration before proceeding." "Go on."
"Christopher Hart is still with her." He let that sink in before adding, "They're presently sharing a room in a tacky truck stop motel. I'm sure Brother Gabriel will reach the same conclusion that I have regarding Melina's unsuitability for the Program."
Sounding befittingly downcast, Mr. Hancock assured him that the information would be passed along.
"Not that I'm questioning Brother Gabriel's judgment," Jem said, doing precisely that, "but I'm wondering if this conservative approach is the right one."
Earlier, he'd had to report on Joshua's second fiasco. He'd also had to impart the unhappy news that the astronaut had spent the night in Melina's house and had engaged in a fight with Joshua to protect her. At that time, he'd been instructed to keep close tabs on them, but Joshua was to take no further action until notified to do so. Because of the FBI's interest, Brother Gabriel was now of the opinion that they should err on the side of caution.
Jem understood Brother Gabriel's desire not to arouse suspicion. But on a personal level he was eager to see Hart punished for sleeping with his fiancée. He was also impatient for Melina to get her comeuppance for rebuffing him last night.
Mr. Hancock responded to his suggestion with a typically noncommittal statement. "As soon as Brother Gabriel makes a decision on how best to proceed to solve this problem, you'll be informed, Mr. Hennings."
"I'll be standing by."
Jem hung up feeling that the score was tied. It wasn't a total victory, but his recommendation hadn't been dismissed out of hand. Hart would be dealt with, just maybe not in as timely a fashion as Jem wished. And he'd planted seeds of doubt about Melina. Plans for her to participate in the Program might be scotched.
Physically, she was ideal. Her moral eligibility was another matter entirely. She had always been more sexually active than Gillian. She hinted at having had many lovers, even among her celebrity clients. If she hadn't already slept with Hart, it was more than likely that she would.
The thought of them together infuriated Jem, especially since Melina had spurned him last night and made it clear that she didn't share Gillian's attraction. She had probably shooed him on his way because she was expecting H
art. Fine. Jem Hennings would certainly survive—thrive, even—without her.
It was, however, his sworn duty to bring her unworthiness to Brother Gabriel's attention.
Brother Gabriel's punishment for moral turpitude was swift and sure. Naturally. The mind and arm of the Almighty was behind it. Both Hart and Melina would eventually get their due.
In the meantime, they couldn't escape.
Chief squinted behind his sunglasses. "How do you know she'll come out?"
"I don't. But the clinic is closed every day from one to two-thirty. I figure that's when the staff takes off for lunch."
He and Melina were seated on an iron bench beneath a large tree at the height of its autumn color. Its leaves were a brilliant red. Patches of green lawn and mum-filled flower beds were connected by concrete paths that formed geometric patterns within the perfectly square park. The park was situated in the center of a medical complex. It was surrounded on all four sides by identical three-story buildings. The Waters Clinic comprised the second floor of one of them.
His belongings had been delivered to the motel by a cab driver, who couldn't resist making a snide reference to his drastic comedown in accommodations. "Ran out of money, did ya?" Then, noting the cuts and bruises on his face, he asked, "Or did ya get rolled?"
"I've got enough left to pay you."
"Twenty-two bucks."
"Thirty-five and you never saw me."
"Forty and I'd forget my own mother."
After a hot shower and a change of clothes, he felt a trifle better, although every now and then his cheekbone would throb a reminder. Although Melina argued with him, in his opinion the cut had closed enough to make another bandage unnecessary. But the gash wasn't pretty. It looked painful and was. His swollen eye was sensitive to sunlight even behind tinted lenses.
His discomfort was sufficient to account for his mood. He couldn't account for Melina's. Ever since talking to Tobias, she'd looked ready to jump out of her skin. She was intent on covering their tracks. They'd paid for the motel room in cash when they checked in. They left without planning to return, because they were abandoning her car there.
"If you're expecting a high-speed chase, we might be in trouble," Chief had warned her as he stashed their belongings in the back seat of their newly acquired wheels.
The Clunkers she had mentioned earlier turned out to be a low-budget car rental outfit. It leased no car assembled within the last decade, although mechanical soundness and reliability were guaranteed. "Clunkers' owner went to high school with Gillian and me," Melina told him. "We've stayed in touch, and he owes me a favor."
"What'd you do for him?"
"Remember Playboy's Playmate of the Year last year?" "Vividly."
"I escorted her and her entourage when they came through Dallas. I got him an autographed copy of the issue."
"That couldn't have been that hard to come by. She must've signed thousands."
"Not where he asked her to sign, along with a 'You are here. '"
"Ah."
When her friend delivered the car, she tried to pay for several days in advance. He refused, saying, "No sweat, Melina. We'll settle up later." He assured her that no one would know they'd conducted business that day.
As they left the motel, Chief took the ignition keys from her. "Better let me drive this heap."
"I drive all the time, and I know where I'm going."
"I drive better and faster. You can tell me where we're going." He got behind the wheel, effectively ending the argument.
Even though any law enforcement officer on the lookout for her license plate would find the Lexus parked between two trailers behind the motel, she kept a careful watch out the cloudy rear window. Now she was suspiciously scrutinizing everyone who crisscrossed the park.
Her jitters were contagious. "In case I have to enter a plea anytime in the near future," he said, "are we doing something illegal?"
"I'm not sure. Is avoiding the FBI a crime?"
"Fleeing to avoid giving testimony?"
"That's a crime?"
"Obstruction of justice is."
"Is that what we're doing?"
"You wear the same kind of bikinis."
Her head came around quickly. "What?"
He wished he could read the eyes behind the shades. Just like with Gillian. He remembered wishing Gillian would remove her sunglasses so he could see the color of her eyes. He knew the color of Melina's, but he wanted to see the expression in them.
"I noticed when I went into the bathroom to shower. You'd washed out your undies and left them to dry on the shower curtain rod. They're the same kind Gillian wore."
"She used the same personal shopper."
"I figured."
The conversation died. Or he thought it had. After a moment, she said, "Why on earth would you bring that up when we're running for our lives?"
"It was just an observation. To kill time while we're waiting.
My underwear is the subject you came up with to kill time?"
"It was on my mind. I've never had to remove lingerie from the shower curtain rod before."
"You've never lived with a woman?" "No."
"I would have thought you had."
He shook his head. "Have you ever lived with a man?"
"No."
"Then for as long as we're roommates, I promise to try and remember to put the seat down."
She laughed. "Thanks. I'll appreciate that."
The sound of her laugh, the angle of her head, the arch of her throat, the smile... Looking at her made his heart feel pinched, and it was all he could do to keep from touching her. He was glad she looked like Gillian because he had liked everything about Gillian's looks. Face, form, hair, skin tone, smile, all had appealed to him. From the moment he saw her, he'd wanted to gobble her up.
But he liked Melina, too, and because he liked her so much, he wished she didn't look exactly like Gillian. It was disconcerting and strange, to say the least, liking both women a lot and their looking enough alike to be one and the same. It was messing with his mind.
He had to remind himself constantly that this was not Gillian. Beside him now was Melina, not Gillian, who'd cuddled against him in bed, warm and replete, whispering in a sweet, sleepy voice, "Chief?"
"I wouldn't have missed this for the world."
He'd drawn her closer and dropped a kiss on her shoulder, little knowing that those were the last words he would ever hear her say. They'd fallen asleep after that. The following morning he woke up alone but determined to hear that voice and to see that face on his pillow again. Many times. As often as he could.
He was looking at it now. Except it wasn't Gillian. It was Melina. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep them separate in his mind.
"There she is," Melina said.
A group of people wearing variations of medical scrubs were leaving the building through revolving doors. "The gray-haired lady, right? I remember seeing her talking to you at the memorial service."
As they watched, Linda Croft angled away from the cluster and walked toward the wing of the quadrangle that served as a multilayered parking garage. Melina came off the bench like a shot. "Let's go."
Parking garages were inherently scary, and Hollywood had heightened their malevolent reputation by making them the setting for every kind of wickedness imaginable. Except for Linda Croft, the orange level was deserted. She was unlocking her car door when he and Melina closed in. Chief didn't wonder that the woman was startled.
"Ms. Croft, I'm Melina Lloyd. Remember?"
One plump hand was pressed against her bosom as though to contain a pounding heart. "Of course. Ms. Lloyd."
Melina removed her sunglasses. "I'm sorry we frightened you.
"I'm just glad it's you and not a slasher." Her eyes moved to him.
"This is Christopher Hart," Melina said. "Colonel Hart, Linda Croft."
"I saw you at the memorial service and recognized you from the news," she said. "It's a pleasure, C
olonel Hart." "Likewise."
"What happened to your face? If you don't mind my asking."
"I got mugged last night."
"How awful! Did he get anything?"
"Some of my pride." She returned his smile. "Are we keeping you from something?"
"I go home for lunch so I can watch my program. I feed my cats then, too."
"We won't detain you for long," Melina assured her. "I just need to ask you about something. Something you said to me at Gillian's service." Linda Croft tilted her head inquisitively. Melina plunged ahead. "You remarked on how sad it was that two of the clinic's patients had been victims of crime. Gillian was murdered. A couple's child was kidnapped."
"The Andersons."
"Colonel Hart and I find that coincidence very interesting." Linda Croft's eyes bounced back and forth between them. "How do you mean, interesting?"
She was becoming wary. They were going to get nowhere fast with her unless Melina sensed her apprehension. Apparently she did because she instantly changed her tactic.
"The Andersons must have been devastated. I want to contact them and extend my condolences for what they experienced. Only now can I fully appreciate how heartbroken they must've been when their baby was snatched. I can relate to their loss."
"Oh, well..."
"So I was wondering if you could tell me how to reach them."
"You mean their address?"
"Or telephone number. I'd look it up for myself, but I can't remember Mr. Anderson's first name."
Chief placed his arm across Melina's shoulders and drew her close to his side. "I think we've unintentionally placed Ms. Croft in an awkward situation, Melina."
Picking up his cue, she said, "Oh, Lord, I didn't think of it that way. Are we asking you to do something you shouldn't?"
"I'm afraid so," the woman replied, clearly distressed by her inability to help. "We're not supposed to discuss our patients or give out any information. To violate their privacy would be a breach of ethics. The service we provide is of such a personal nature, I'm sure you can understand the need for confidentiality."
"Of course." Chief felt Melina's body sag against his as though she'd suffered a major letdown. "I assumed that since the Anderson baby kidnapping had been the focus of so much media attention, it was a matter of public knowledge."