Then he saw her long, dark blue wool coat, thick and heavy, flapping around a corner just half a block up Wescott. He nearly ran down an old man, apologized but didn’t slow. He ran, holding his SIG Sauer against his side, hearing only his own breathing. He ran around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. The alley was empty except for that thick wool coat. It lay in a collapsed pile against a brick wall at the back of the alley.
Where was she? He saw the narrow, wooden door, nearly invisible along the alley wall. When he got to it, he realized it was locked. He raised his SIG Sauer and fired into the lock. Two bullets dead on and the door shattered. He was inside, crouched low, his gun steady, sweeping the space. It was very dim, one of the naked bulbs overhead, burned out. He blinked to adjust his vision and knew he was in grave danger. If Tammy was hidden in here, she could easily see his silhouette against the streetlight behind him and could nail him.
He realized he was in a storeroom. There were barrels lining the walls, shelves filled with boxes and cans, paper goods. The floor was wooden and it creaked. The place was really old. It was dead quiet, not even any rats around. He swept over the room, hurrying because he didn’t believe she’d stayed in here, no, she’d go through the door at the far end of the storeroom. It just wasn’t in Tammy’s nature to hide and wait.
He opened the door and stared into a bright, sunlit dining room filled with a late-lunch crowd. He saw a kitchen behind a tall counter on the far side of the dining room, smoke from the range rising into the vents, exits to the left leading to bathrooms, and a single front door that led out to the sidewalk. He stepped into the room. He smelled roast beef and garlic. And fresh bread.
Slowly the conversations thinned out, then stopped completely, everyone gaping at the man who was in a cop stance, swinging a gun slowly around the room, looking desperate, looking like he wanted to kill someone. A woman screamed. A man yelled, “Here, now!”
“What’s going on here?”
This last was from a huge man with crew-cut white hair, a white apron stained with spaghetti sauce, coming around the kitchen counter to Savich’s left, carrying a long, curved knife. The smell of onions wafted off the knife blade.
“Hey, fellow, is this a holdup?”
Savich slowly lowered his gun. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, just couldn’t believe that he’d come through a dank storeroom into a café and scared a good twenty people nearly to death. Slowly, he reholstered his gun. He pulled out his FBI shield, walked to the man with the knife, stopped three feet away, and showed it to him. He said in a loud voice, “I’m sorry to frighten everyone. I’m looking for a woman.” He raised his voice so every diner in the big room could hear. “She’s mid-twenties, tall, light hair, very pale. She has only one arm. Did she come in here? Through the storeroom door, just like I did?”
There were no takers. Savich checked the bathrooms, then realized Tammy was long gone. She might have remained hidden in the storeroom, knowing he’d feel such urgency he’d burst into the café. He apologized to the owner and walked out the front door.
In that moment, standing on the Bar Harbor sidewalk, Savich could swear that he heard a laugh-a low, vicious laugh that made the hair on his arms stand up. There was no one there, naturally. He felt so impotent, so completely lost that he was hearing her in his mind.
Savich walked slowly back to Hamlet’s Pics. When he got there, he stood a moment outside the shop, incredulous. There’d been mayhem when he’d burst out of there. But now there were no cop cars, no ambulance, no fire engines. Everything was quiet, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
He walked into the photo shop. There were three agents standing on the far side of the shop just staring down, talking quietly among themselves.
Agent Possner wasn’t burned. There was no sign that there had ever been a fire in Hamlet’s Pics. Agents Briggs, Lowell, and Possner stared back at him.
Savich walked out. He sat down on a wooden bench on the sidewalk just outside the photo shop and put his head in his hands.
For the first time, he thought the FBI needed to assign someone else to catch this monster. He’d failed. Twice now, he’d failed.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and slowly raised his head to see Teddi Tyler standing over him. “I’m sorry, man. She must really be something to get past you guys.”
“Yeah,” Savich said, and he felt just a shade better. “She’s something. We’ll get her, Teddi. I just don’t know how as of yet.”
She was still somewhere in Bar Harbor with Marilyn, she had to be. He got slowly to his feet. He had to get a huge manhunt organized.
In that instant, he realized that even if they didn’t find her, she had every intention of finding him. She would hunt him down, not the other way around. And the good Lord knew, he was much easier to find.
Gothenburg, Sweden
It was cold, so bloody cold Lily didn’t think she could stand it. Strange thing was that she knew she wasn’t really conscious, that she didn’t really know what was happening or where she was, but her body just kept shuddering, convulsing with the cold. The cold was penetrating her bones, and she felt every shake, every shudder.
Then, suddenly, she felt Simon near her, no doubt it was him because she knew his scent. She already knew his damned scent, a good scent, as sexy as his hair curling at his neck. His arms were suddenly around her, and he hugged her hard against him, pulling her so close she was breathing against his neck, feeling his heart beat steady and strong against hers.
He was breathing deeply, and cursing. Really bad words that Savich had never said even when he was pissed off, which had been quite often when they were growing up. What a long time ago. Sometimes, like now, she thought as she shivered, being an adult really sucked. She pressed closer, feeling his warmth all the way to her belly. The convulsive jerks lessened, her brain began to function again.
She said against his collarbone, “Where are we, Simon? Why is it so cold? Did they leave us beside a fjord?”
His hands were going up and down her back, big hands that covered a lot of territory, and he rolled her under him so he could cover more of her.
“I guess we’re in Sweden. It’s sure too cold in this room for us to be in the Mediterranean near Ian’s yacht. I just woke up a while ago. They drugged us. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Nikki forced something down my throat. I guess you were already under. How much time has passed?”
“A couple of hours. We’re in a bedroom, and there isn’t even a heater working. The door is locked, and the bed is stripped, so we have no blankets or sheets. I didn’t realize you were so cold until just a minute ago. Are you warming up now?”
“Oh yes,” she said, against his neck, “definitely better.”
He was silent for a long time, listening to her breathe, feeling her relax as she grew warmer. He cleared his throat and said, “Lily, I know this is an awfully unusual place and perhaps even a somewhat strange time to mention this, but I have to be honest here. You didn’t do well picking your first two husbands. I’m thinking that you need a sort of consultant who could help you develop a whole new set of criteria before you try a third husband.”
She raised her head, saw his bristly chin in the dim light, and said only, “Maybe, but I’m still married to the second one.”
“Not for much longer. Tennyson is soon to be only another very bad chapter in your history. Then he’ll be a memory, and you’ll be ready to begin work with your consultant.”