She set the gun back on the night table and went to the dressing table, where she went through her nightly routine of skin cleansing and moisturizing. Finally, feeling sleepy, she switched off the lights and got into bed.
Dan had said she was a new woman, and that was how she felt. She could even prove it. She would establish an address in L.A., open a bank account and obtain a credit card, maybe open a few charge accounts along Rodeo Drive. Then, when she was ready, she would effect the changes that would make her new life.
She drifted off, thinking of that life and smiling to herself.
VITTORIO AWOKE with a jerk. The movie had ended, and there was an infomercial on, selling some sort of diet drug. The bedside clock read 2:34 a.m. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Time to visit Barbara Eagle. He would get the signatures from her, hurting her if he had to, and then… He wasn't sure about then. He was still very angry with her for dumping him into the Gulf of California, but his anger had cooled a little, and he wasn't sure he was going to kill her. He'd decide later.
He slipped into his black sneakers, pulled on a black knit shirt and a matching ski cap, grabbed his briefcase and, after switching out all the lights, except the night light in the bathroom, left the cottage, having first unlocked the door from the bedroom to the terrace.
He switched off the porch light and stepped outside; he stood stock still, looked and listened. There was a breeze, which rustled the palms around the gardens, and a new moon, the sliver of which didn't give much light. He stayed there for perhaps five minutes, listening for footsteps and waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. The only electric light visible was from low lights along the flagstone walkways around the resort, but that was enough to allow him to be seen, should anyone, perhaps a night watchman, happen along.
He knelt and put a hand on the grass outside his front door. Dry. The breeze had kept away the dew, so he would not leave footprints on the grass. He stepped off his front porch and walked quickly along the paved walkway for a few yards, then stepped off the walk and began moving from tree to tree, shrub to shrub. Then, from some distance away he heard the click of hard heels on pavement and a jingling sound. He stepped into the deep shadow of a cottage and waited, listening.
The sounds grew closer, then seemed to pass. Vittorio looked around the corner of the cottage and saw a uniformed security guard ambling away into the darkness. He noted that the man was armed with a Glock in a holster on his belt and that he carried a can of pepper spray and handcuffs there, too.
Vittorio then moved quickly. Assuming there would be no more than the one security guard, he ran lightly alongside the path, making no noise, until he came to an overlook of the sea, then made his way toward Pine Cottage.
The cottage was dark, with only a glow from a small window that must be the bathroom. It had a night-light, like his own. He went to the window and looked through the slatted blinds into the bathroom, seeing only the floor. Empty. He walked around the cottage to the front door and found the porch light on. He ducked back into the shadows, took a pair of latex gloves from a pocket and pulled them on. That done, he checked again for security guards or guests, then walked to the front porch and unscrewed the light bulb until it went out. He put an ear to the front door and listened for a moment. No TV or music. Nothing.
He slowly turned the front door knob, but it held firm. He could breach that, he knew, but it might make noise. Instead, he walked around the cottage to the seaward side, to the terrace off the bedroom that was a feature of every cottage at the resort. He was pleased to see that the French doors to the bedroom stood open. Apparently, Barbara liked the night air.
A cloud drifted over the sliver of a moon, and he saw his chance. He vaulted lightly over the balustrade that separated the terrace from the gardens, then stopped and listened for a moment as he pulled the ski cap over his face. He had cut holes for his eyes.
BARBARA HEARD A TINY scraping sound from outside her front door. She opened her eyes and listened hard. Then came a sound, perhaps a footstep, from her terrace. She lifted her head and thought she saw a black shape standing in the open door.
VITTORIO MOVED FORWARD and stepped into the bedroom. As he did so, he heard a sharp pfffttt! sound, and felt a searing pain in his right side. He did not hesitate; he turned and ran, leaping over the terrace balustrade and running across the grass toward the next cottage, his right forearm clamped to his side. Not until he had the next cottage between himself and Barbara did he slow down and think. Much to his astonishment, he had been shot, and with a silenced weapon! He had underestimated her.
He sprinted for his cottage, wanting desperately to reach it before she raised the alarm. He leaped onto his bedroom terrace and ducked inside, listening. Nothing, no alarm.
He went into the bathroom and set down his briefcase, then stripped off his black knit shirt. Standing next to the night-light, which was incorporated into a shaving mirror, he looked at his side. A small groove about two inches long was bleeding freely, and there were three or four of what appeared to be pellet holes in his skin. He grabbed a handful of tissues and pressed them to the wound, while he went through his shaving kit. He found some antibiotic cream and several bottles of pills.
He applied the cream to the wound, which was bleeding more slowly now, then he flushed the bloody tissues down the toilet, folded a clean washcloth, pressed it to the wound and clamped it there with his forearm, while he ripped off a piece of duct tape from the roll in his briefcase. He taped the washcloth in place and turned his attention to the pill bottles. Holding each up to the night-light, he found some naproxen, an anti-inflammatory and painkiller, and some amoxicillin, an antibiotic, left over from a trip to the dentist. He washed down two of the naproxen and two of the amoxicillin, then he rinsed the blood from his knit shirt and stuffed it into a laundry bag from his dressing room. He got out of his clothes into some pajamas and into bed, still breathing hard.
When they came to his cabin, he wanted to be calm and free of sweat.
Barbara sat in a chair for a long time, holding the pistol and thinking. Who was the intruder? Her first thought was of Vittorio, but that was impossible, since he had no idea where she was. She dismissed Cupie as a possibility; it just wasn't his style. Finally, she concluded that she had fired at a would-be burglar or rapist who, now that he knew she was armed, would not be back.
She thought of alerting the management, but that would only result in a visit from the police, and she did not wish to explain herself and her pistol to them. Finally, calmer, she went back to bed and got some sleep, the pistol in her hand.
Fifty
VITTORIO JERKED AWAKE; THERE WAS SOMEBODY AT HIS front door. He turned and looked at his bedside clock: nine o'clock. He got out of bed, wincing at the pain in his side, and went to the door. Birgit stood there, smiling, her folding table slung over one shoulder, her huge handbag over the other.
"Good morning," she said. "We have a nine o'clock appointment. Am I waking you?"
"Yes, I overslept. Please come in and get set up. I'll be right with you." He went into the bathroom and swallowed two naproxen and an amoxicillin, then brushed his teeth and went back into the bedroom.
Birgit patted the table. "Up," she said.
Vittorio stripped off his pajamas and started to get onto the table.
"Wait," she commanded. "What is this?" She took hold of a corner of the duct tape and ripped it off.
Vittorio gritted his teeth but managed not to scream. "Just a nick," he said through gritted teeth.
"Lie down," she ordered. "On your back." She was already digging into her big handbag. "What kind of wound is this?" she asked. "I've not seen anything like."