As the Maserati made the turn and swung around the front of Bill's car, he recognized Lisl in the passenger seat. He cursed in disappointment and shot one last glance at Rafe.
A wordless cry escaped Bill as the street seemed to tilt under his car. Close up, in the strange mercury glow that gelled the air, Rafe's mustache seemed to fade away, and his face… it looked… just like…
Sara!
And then he was past, gone, out of sight, his car a receding blob of red. But the vision remained, floating before Bill's eyes.
Sara!
Why hadn't he seen it before? The resemblance was unmistakable. He could be her brother!
What if he was her brother?
But how could that be? And why would he be here? What possible purpose—?
Lisl! Was he going to hurt Lisl like his sister had hurt Danny?
The blare of a horn from behind startled Bill and he looked up. The light was green. His slick palms slipped on the wheel as he pulled over to the curb and shut off the engine.
He sat behind the wheel, trembling, sweating, trying to get a grip as the wild thoughts raced through his head.
Wait. Stop. This was crazy.
Rafe had looked like Sara for an instant. So what? That was scary, but he wasn't Sara, and the odds of someone related to Sara showing up as a graduate student at the same university where Bill was working under an assumed identity were astronomical.
And yet…
Bill couldn't shake the feeling that a veil had parted for an instant and allowed him a peek at a deadly secret. He couldn't ignore it. He had to follow it up. Now. But he couldn't do it himself. He couldn't raise his profile. He needed help. But who? How? He searched for a way, a name. And he knew: Nick.
He scooped the pile of change out of his ashtray and started the car. He drove until he saw a phone booth, stopped, jumped out, and lifted the receiver.
The sweat was pouring out of him now.
Just once… just this once, let me get a dial tone.
There was dead air, then a click. The operator? His heart was pounding. A minute… that was all he needed. Just a minute of conversation, even if it was with Nick's answering machine.
"Hello? Hello?"
And then came the voice, the awful, too-familiar child's voice.
"Father, please come and get me! Pleee—!"
With a groan, Bill slammed the receiver down and ran for his car. Behind him the pay phone began to ring… continuously. He could still hear it echoing in his mind over the sound of his roaring engine as he gunned out of earshot.
He headed for home and along the way he searched his memory for everything Lisl had ever told him about Rafe Losmara. He had it all arranged in his mind by the time he reached his computer. He accessed the DataNet network and found the bulletin board. He typed out a message to Nick.
TO EL COMEDO
NEED BACKGROUND CHECK ON ONE RAFE LOSMARA…
He gave as much background as he could, Rafe's undergraduate school, year of graduation, anything he could remember from Lisl's glowing rambles about him, but he scrupulously avoided any mention of Rafe's present circumstances or whereabouts. He had to be careful here. Too much current data in the message would allow some nosy busybody in the network to contact Rafe and let him know that he was being investigated.
Bill closed with a circumspect note that he hoped would spur Nick to dig as deeply and quickly as he could:
… CHECK FOR POSSIBLE RELATION TO THE MISSING MYSTERY WOMAN WE WERE LOOKING FOR LAST TIME WE WERE TOGETHER. CHECK WITH OUR POLICE FRIEND. MAYBE HE CAN HELP OUT. PLEASE HURRY. URGENT, URGENT, URGENT!
IGNATIUS
Bill signed off and leaned back in his chair. He didn't have to leave it all to Nick. At lunch break tomorrow he could hit the university library and see if there was some way he could get hold of a copy of the Arizona State yearbook from last year.
Probably all a wild goose chase. No way Rafe and Sara could be related. Just a freak combination of light and shadow, nothing more.
Bill couldn't repress a shudder at the memory of how much Rafe had looked like Sara in that instant.
He picked up his Breviary and tried to concentrate oil his daily office.
This isn't working.
In the dark of her bedroom, Lisl coiled her arms around Rafe's neck and thrust her pelvis down against his. She'd wanted tonight to be different. Insisted, in fact. No belt, no symbolic beating, no taunts, no shouting, no catharsis—just lovemaking, pure and simple. So that was what they had done: strip, turn the lights off, and meet under the sheets.
But it wasn't working. Rafe had only half his usual tumescence, had even had difficulty penetrating her. Even now, sliding within her, she sensed his softness, his listlessness.
Suddenly she was angry. He wasn't going to cooperate. Was this how it was? If they didn't approach sex his way, he'd participate, but just barely? In a sudden burst of fury, she bit him on the shoulder.
Rafe started and groaned in her ear; she felt him harden within her as he began moving more ardently against her. She bit him again, deeper, tasting blood this time. Lisl couldn't help laughing as she felt him harden further, becoming stiff and straight as a broom handle. And like a witch, she rode him into the night.
FEBRUARY
TWENTY-TWO
Everett Sanders stood at the curb along the lower rim of the south parking lot and pretended to be a casual bystander watching three members of the grounds crew replace a section of hose in the underground sprinkler system. But his interest wasn't casual and he really wasn't watching the work.
He tried not to be obvious about it, but he wanted to get a close-up look at one of the workers. The one with the beard and the short ponytail. Lisl's friend.
Ever since that state policeman had shown him the photo, Ev had been plagued by a tantalizing sense of familiarity about that face. He'd always been good with faces—terrible with names, but he never forgot a face. He could run into a student he'd taught for a single semester and hadn't seen for years and immediately remember the course, the student's usual seat, and his or her final grade. But he'd be lost as to the name.
So when the policeman had shown him the photo, he'd been positive he'd seen that face before. It had taken him a whole week, but he was now ninety percent sure that the young priest in the photo and Lisl's groundskeeper friend were one and the same. Lisl and the fellow had lunched together outside last Friday and again yesterday. Ev had used his binoculars to watch him while they sat together under the bare elm but it hadn't been enough. The man's end of the conversation had been animated, with much head movement and many hand gestures, and Ev hadn't been able to get a good look.
He had decided yesterday that he would have to get closer to obtain that final ten percent of certainty. For he insisted on being completely sure before he pointed his finger at a man. A little disconcerting to break out of his usual daily routine—especially on a Wednesday afternoon when his time was always tightly budgeted—and wander the grounds looking for a mysterious stranger, but he reminded himself he was doing this to protect Lisl.
But he had found him and now little bursts of excitement twitched in his nerve endings as he edged closer. This was almost like private detective work, like being Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe for a day.
He noticed that although the man in question worked well with the others, he didn't seem completely a part of them. He talked with them, laughed at their jokes, but didn't seem to truly belong. Ev had the feeling that there was something within the man that kept him forever one step removed.
Like me.
"You get any closer, mister, you gon' fall in."
Ev was startled by the voice. As the other groundsmen laughed, he glanced up and smiled at the big shovel-wielding redhead who had spoken.
"I don't mean to disturb your work."
"Oh, you ain't disturbin' nothin'. But you sure ain't helpin', neither."