“I don't want tea. I don't want any of your little civilized niceties. I'm feeling as barbaric as Attila the Hun at the moment.”
“Ah, that's when you need those niceties the most,” he said as he shut the door behind him.
“He didn't tell us how long it would take.” Kerry shook her head. “What am I thinking? How could he even know?”
“I'll check with him after he talks to Secret Service headquarters. He'll have an idea then. It shouldn't take that long.”
“It's just that there's no time. Trask's damn ticking clock.” She closed her eyes. “I can hear it. It's like a heartbeat. Her heartbeat.”
“No matter what happens, it's not your fault, Kerry.”
“That's not going to help if I have to watch her burn to death.” Her lids lifted. “Who is Helen?”
“The woman he said he'd been close to?” He shrugged. “I don't know. There's nothing about her in the dossier I received on Trask.”
“I know.” After Joyce Fairchild's death Kerry had forced herself to go over every detail of Trask's dossier. “But she meant something to him. Maybe she still does. I need to know about her.”
“I'll call Travis and see if he can tap some of his sources and dig deeper.”
“I'd think they would have already done that.”
“Me too.”
“It doesn't make sense.” She thought about it. “Unless they don't want anyone to know who she is. Maybe she's under the witness-protection program or something.”
“There's no use guessing. We'll find out. No last name?”
She shook her head. “I've told you everything.” She grimaced. “Not that you probably wouldn't have known anyway. But this is one time I don't want to keep anything to myself. I'm scared to death.”
“You have a right to be.”
“Oh, not because this is probably an elaborate trap. It's because he said we were alike.” She stopped. “It was a lie. I'm not like him.”
“Of course you're not.”
“When I dream of fire, it's a nightmare. Just because I keep having those dreams doesn't mean I have some sort of sick fascination.”
“You're preaching to the converted.” His gaze searched her face. “Why are you even dwelling on that bastard's fantasies?”
“I don't know. He was so . . . sure.” She tried to smile. “And he hit on the one insecurity that dominates my life.”
“If he's sure, it's because he's talked himself into it.” He grasped her shoulders. “Take it from someone who knows. You have all sorts of guilt feelings, but your horror of fire is real. It's not some kind of charade you're hiding behind.”
She drew a deep breath as relief rippled through her. Yes, Silver would know. Not that she'd really had any doubts. It had just been a thought triggered in that hideous conversation. “Thank you.” Another thought occurred to her. “He says he's never felt closer to anyone than he does to me. Do you suppose on some level he's aware that I'm reading what he thinks?”
“It's possible. It would be one explanation for his fascination with you. But you can be sure that it's not because you're soul mates.”
“That's good to know.” She was suddenly aware of the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. Acutely aware. And even more aware of the response of her body to that touch. Dear God, not now. “Evidently you're not the only one who was able to tamper with my mind.” She stepped back, and his hands slowly fell away from her. “I have to go get dressed. I'll see you in the library after you've talked to Travis?”
He nodded. “You're sure you don't want to try George's favorite antidote to the trials of life?”
“I don't want tea.”
“Then I could think of another antidote.”
“No.” She grasped the blanket around her as she headed for the door. “I don't want you monkeying around in my head and trying to make everything all right.”
“I had no intention of monkeying around in your . . . head.”
She faltered in midstride. Don't look back at him. She didn't want to see what she knew she'd see.
Hell, she didn't need to see his expression to know what he meant.
She opened the door. “I'll find my own antidotes.”
11
Jesus, she was hungry.
It would go away, Carmela thought as she made her way carefully up the rickety staircase to the third floor of the warehouse. Just think of something else right now. Tomorrow she'd go down to the Salvation Army on Third Street and let them feed her.
God, she hated the idea of being a charity case. She'd had such big hopes when she left her mom's place in Louisville. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was going to be on her own and not have to take all the lies her mom and her new boyfriend had thrown at her. She'd had enough money to last a couple weeks, and getting a job would be a cinch.
But the money hadn't lasted more than a few days, and no one wanted to hire a fifteen-year-old for anything but sex. Yeah, she'd run across plenty of pimps who were willing to help her sell her body.
Screw them. She wasn't stupid. She knew that whoring was a one-way street, and she wasn't going down it. She'd take the charity and then she'd keep on looking for work. She wasn't beaten yet.
Not beaten, but chilled and lonely and scared. This dark, drafty warehouse smelled of tobacco that had been stored here years ago and the sour stench of rot. Every step she took caused the wood floor to creak, and there were other sounds, she thought with a shiver. Rats scurrying in the walls, and last night she'd thought she heard footsteps when she was roused from sleep.
Imagination. No one but her would be desperate enough to stay in this condemned building. But it had made her frightened enough to go out to the park this morning to find a branch to use as a club. Her hand tightened around it now as she pushed open the door to the tiny accounting office where she'd set up her quarters.
She lifted the flashlight, and the beam danced around the room.
Nothing was there but a desk, chair, and the pallet she'd made of the clothes she'd pulled from her suitcase. No reason for her to be scared. She grabbed the chair and pushed it under the handle of the door before she moved across the room and huddled down on the pallet. She forced herself to turn off her flashlight to save the batteries, and darkness overwhelmed her. Don't panic. She was safe. There was nothing here that could hurt her, except maybe those rats she could hear scampering in the walls.
If she could sleep tonight, she'd get stronger, and tomorrow she'd have a meal and she'd be stronger still. She'd find a job and everything would start going her way. Life didn't always suck. It was just pretty lousy right now.
But, Jesus, she was hungry.
Fourteen hundred commercial warehouses in the D.C. area,” George said as he came into the library. “At least two hundred thirty-four are unoccupied at present. There may be more. Some owners don't like to report a lack of occupants to the insurance company.”
“Shit.” Silver grimaced. “No wonder he felt safe telling Kerry a warehouse was the target.”
“He's not safe,” Kerry said. “You told the Secret Service they had to search those warehouses right away, George?”
“I didn't have to tell them. They want Trask as much as we do. But that's a lot of territory to cover.” He looked at the pile of telephone books on the desk in front of Kerry. “And you're not going to find him in the yellow pages.”
“I don't know that. I think he wants me to find that warehouse. But he won't make it easy. I thought maybe I might see something that would strike a chord.” She rubbed her eyes. “But no luck so far.”
“Then what's next?” Silver asked.
“We go driving around and see if I can sense the son of a bitch.”
“Sense?” George asked.
She ignored the question. She had made a slip, but she was too tired to follow it with a lie. “Will you get us the list of unoccupied warehouses, George?”