"It's the drugs he gives me. They make my throat feel like a desert."
She felt the tightening in him at her words.
"Here, I'll hold the glass for you."
She drank her fill, then lay back and sighed. "I'll be back to normal in about ten more minutes-at least that's my best guess. James, who is that man I spit on?''
"He's a good friend of mine, name of Dillon Savich. He and I got you out of the sanitarium last night.
Dillon, come and say hello to Sally."
"Ma'am."
"He said he was a hero, just like you, James."
"It's possible. You can trust him, Sally."
She nodded, such a slight movement really, and he watched her eyes close again. "You're not ready to eat something?''
"No, not yet. You won't leave, will you?"
"Not ever."
He would have sworn that the corners of her mouth turned up just a bit into a very slight smile. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her closed mouth. "I'm glad I've got you again. When I woke up in David Mountebank's house, my head pounding like a watermelon with a stake in it, he told me you were gone. I've never been so scared in my life. You're not going to be out of my sight again, Sally."
"That sounds good to me," she said. In the next moment, she was asleep. Not unconscious but asleep, real sleep.
Quinlan rose and looked down at her. He straightened the light blanket over her chest. He smoothed her hair back on the pillow. He thought of that little man they'd found in her room and knew that if he ever saw him again, he'd kill him.
And Beadermeyer. He couldn't wait to get his hands on Dr. Beadermeyer.
"How does it feel to be the most important person in the whole universe, Quinlan?"
Quinlan kept smoothing down the blanket, his movements slow and calm. Finally he said, "It scares the shit out of me. You want to know something else? It doesn't feel bad at all. How much credit am I going to have to give you?"
That evening, the three of them were sitting on the front veranda of Quinlan's cottage, looking out over Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Louise Lynn Lake. For an evening in March, it was balmy. The cottage faced west. The sun was low on the horizon, making the water ripple with golds and startling pinks.
Quinlan said to Sally, "It's narrow, not all that much fun for boaters unless you're a teenager and like to play chicken. And you can see at least four different curves from here. Well, the sucker has so many curves that-"
"So many curves that what?" Dillon asked, looking up from the smooth block of maple he was carving.
"We are not a comedy routine," Quinlan said, grinning to Sally. "Come on now, the lake has so many curves that it very nearly winds back onto itself."
Dillon said, as he watched a curling sliver of maple drift to the wooden floor, "You sometimes don't know if you're coming or going."
"You're very good friends," Sally said. "You know each other quite well, don't you?"
"Yeah, but we're not going to get married. Quinlan snores like a pig."
She smiled. It was a good smile, Dillon thought, not a forced smile. Now, that showed she knew she was safe here.
"You want some more iced tea, Sally?"
"No, I like sucking on the ice. There's plenty."
Quinlan lifted his legs and put his feet on the wooden railing that circled the front veranda. He was wearing short, scuffed black boots, old faded blue jeans that looked quite lovely on him-it was surely a shock that she could even think of something like that-and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
He was also wearing a shoulder holster, and there was a gun in it. She hadn't realized that all private investigators wore guns all the time. He was comfortable with it, like it was just another item of clothing.
It looked part of him. He was long and solid and looked hard as nails. She remembered how she'd hauled his face down to hers when she'd come out of the drugged sleep. How he'd let her. How he'd kissed her when he thought she was asleep again. She'd never met a man like him before in her life- a man to trust, a man to believe, a man who cared what happened to her.
"Has your head cleared?" Dillon asked. She turned to see him gently rubbing his thumbs over the maple, over and over and over.
"Why are you doing that?"
"What? Oh, it warms the wood and it makes it shine."
"What are you carving?"
"You, if you don't mind."
She blinked at him, swallowed a piece of ice she was sucking, and promptly fell to coughing. James leaned over and lightly slapped her between her shoulder blades.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
When she got her breath, she said, "Why ever would you want to immortalize me in any way? I'm nothing at all, nothing-"
"Dammit, shut up, Sally."
“Why, James? Someone wants me out of the way, but that doesn't make me important. It just makes what I appear to know of interest to someone."
"I guess maybe it's time we got to that," Dillon said. He set down the piece of maple and turned to face Sally.
"If we're to help you, you must tell us everything."
She looked from Dillon to James. She frowned down at her hands. She carefully set the glass down on the rattan table beside her.
She looked at James again, nodding at his shoulder holster. “I was just thinking that I never realized that private investigators wore guns all the time. But you do, don't you? Another thing-it looks natural on you, like you were born wearing it. You're not a private investigator, are you, James?"
"No."
"Who are you?"
He was very still, then he looked at her straight in the face and said, “My name is James Quinlan, just as I told you. What I didn't tell you was that I'm Special Agent James Quinlan, FBI. Dillon and I have worked together for five years. We're not really partners, since the FBI doesn't operate that way, but we're on a lot of cases together.
"I came to The Cove to find you."
"You're wkh the FBI?" Just saying the words made gooseflesh ripple over her arms, made her feel numb and cold.
"Yes. I didn't tell you immediately because I knew it would spook you. I wanted to get your confidence and then bring you back to Washington and clear up all the mess."
"You certainly succeeded in gaining my confidence, Mr. Quinlan."
He winced at her use of his surname. He saw that Dil-lon would say something, and held up his hand.
"No, let me finish it. Look, Sally, I was doing my job. Things got complicated when I got to know you.
And then there were the two murders in The Cove, your dear father calling you on the phone and then appearing at your bedroom window.
"I decided not to tell you because I didn't know what you'd do. I knew you were in possible danger and I didn't want you running away. I knew I could protect you-"
"You failed at that, didn't you?"
"Yes." Damn, but she was angry, it was sharp and clear in her voice. He wished he could change things, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
but he couldn't. He just had to try to make her understand. If he didn't get her to come around, then what would happen?
She rose slowly to her feet. She was wearing blue jeans that looked like a second skin. Dillon had misjudged and bought her a pair of girl's jeans at the Kmart in the closest town, Glenberg. Even the blouse was tight, the buttons pulling apart.
The look on her face was remote, distant, as if she really weren't standing on the old veranda any longer, between the two of them. She said nothing for a very long time, just stared at the lake. Finally she said,
"Thank you for getting me out of that place last night.
He wouldn't leave my head clear enough so I could figure out how to escape again. I don't think I would ever have gotten free. I owe you both a lot for that. But now I'm leaving. I have a good number of things to resolve. Good-bye, James."