It bubbled deep, that rage, and now with it was a shattering sense of betrayal. She'd trusted him and he'd betrayed her. She felt stupid for having believed him so quickly, so completely.
Sally marveled that she felt such passion, such a hideous need to hurt as she'd been hurt. She'd thought he'd drained such savage feelings out of her long ago. It felt incredible to feel rage again, to feel sweat rise on her flesh, to want to do something, to want vengeance. Yes, she wanted vengeance.
She just lay against him, thinking, wondering, calming herself, and in the end of it all, she still didn't know what to do.
"You've got to help me now, Sally."
"If I don't, then you'll take me to the FBI dungeon and they'll give me more drugs to make me tell the truth?"
“No, but the FBI will get all the truth sooner or later. We usually do. Your father's murder is a very big deal, not just his murder but lots of other things that are connected to it. Lots of folk want to be in on catching his murderer. It's important for a lot of reasons. No more crap about you not being credible. If you'll just help me now, you'll be free of all this evil."
"Funny that you call it evil."
"I don't know why I did. That sounds a bit melodramatic, but somehow it just came out. Is it evil, Sally?''
She said nothing, just stared ahead, her thoughts far away from him, and he hated it. He wanted to know what was going through her mind. He imagined it wasn't pleasant.
"If you help me, I'll get your passport and take you to Mexico."
That brought her back for a moment. She said with a quirky smile that she probably hadn't worn on her face in a very long time, "I don't want to go to Mexico. I've been there three times and got vilely sick all three times."
"There's this drug you can take before going. It's supposed to keep your innards safe from the foreign bugs. I used it once when I went down to La Paz on a fishing trip with my buddies and I never got sick and we were on the water most of the time."
"I can't imagine you ever getting sick from anything. No bug would want to take up residence inside you.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Too little to show for it."
"You're talking to me."
"Oh, yes. Talking calms me. It makes all that bile settle down a bit. And just listen to you, talking to the little victim, trying to soothe and calm her, gain her trust. You're really very good, the way you use your voice, your tone, your choice of words.
"Forget it, James. I've got even more to say. In fact, I think I've got it all together now.
"If you'll notice, Mr. Quinlan, I've got your gun pointed at your belly. Try to squeeze me or hurt me or jerk it away from me with one of your fancy moves, and I'll pull the trigger."
He felt then the nose of his SIG-sauer pressing against his gut. He hadn't felt it even a second before.
How the hell had she gotten it out of his shoulder holster? The fact that she'd gotten it without his realizing it scared him more than knowing the pistol had a hair trigger and her finger was on it.
He said against her hair, "I guess this means you're still pissed at me, huh?"
"Yes."
"I guess this means you don't want to talk about Mexico anymore? You don't like deep-sea fishing?"
"I've never done it. But no, the time for talking is over."
He said very quietly and slowly, “That gun is perfectly balanced and will respond practically to your thoughts. Please be careful, Sally, don't think any violent thoughts, okay?"
"I'll try not to, but don't push me. Now, James, just fall over onto your back and don't even think about kicking out with your feet. No, don't stiffen up like that or I'll shoot you. I've got nothing to lose, don't ever forget that."
"It's not a good idea, Sally. Let's talk some more."
"FALL ON YOUR BACK!"
"Well, hell." He dropped his arms to his sides as he keeled over backward. He could have tried kicking up, but he Wouldn't be sure that he wouldn't hurt her badly. He lay on his back watching her rise to stand over him, the pistol in her hand. She looked very proficient with that damned gun. She never looked away from him, not even for an instant.
"Have you ever fired a gun before?"
"Oh, yes. You needn't worry that I'll shoot myself in the foot. Now, James, don't even twitch." She backed away from him, up the steps to the veranda. She got his jacket, felt inside the breast pocket and found his wallet. "I hope you've got enough money," she said.
“I went to the cash machine just before corning to rescue you, dammit."
"That was nice of you. Don't worry, James." She gave him a small salute with his gun, then threw his jacket over her arm. "Dillon will be back soon to make your dinner. I think I heard him talking about Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
some halibut. The lake doesn't look polluted, so maybe it won't poison you. Did I ever tell you that my father headed up this citizens' committee that was always haranguing against pollution?
"I even wrote a paper about it, and President Reagan even told me how excellent it was. But who cares, when it comes right down to it? No, don't say it. I'm talking. It feels rather good actually. So you see, no matter what else the bastard did, he did accomplish some good.
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Quinlan, you wanted to know all the juicy details about who did what to me in the sanitarium. You're dying to know who did it, who put me there. Well, it wasn't Dr. Beadermeyer or my husband. It was my father."
And how, she wondered, could she ever get vengeance on a dead man? She was off in a flash, running faster than he'd thought she could, dust kicking up behind her sneakers.
She was at the car when he jumped to his feet. He didn't think, just sprinted as fast as he could toward the Oldsmobile. He saw her stop by the driver's door and aim quickly, then he felt the dirt spray his jeans leg as a bullet kicked up not a foot from his right boot. Then she was inside. The car engine revved. God, she was fast.
He watched her throw the car in reverse, watched her back it out of the narrow driveway onto the small country road. She did it well, coming close to that elm tree but not touching the paint job on the car, which was nice of her because the government was never pleased when it had to repaint bureau cars.
He was running after her again, knowing he had to do something, but not knowing what, just accepting that he was a fool and an incompetent ass and running, running.
Her father had beat her and fondled her and humiliated her in the sanitarium? He'd been the one to put her there in the first place?
Why?
It was nuts, the whole thing. And that's why she hadn't told him. Her father was dead, couldn't be grilled, and the whole thing did sound crazy.
"Rein in, Quinlan," Dillon shouted from behind him. "Come on back. She's well and truly gone."
He turned to see Dillon run up behind him. "Last time I checked your speed on the track you couldn't beat an accelerating Olds."
"Yeah, yeah. Damn, it's all my fault. You don't have to say it."
"There's hardly any need to say it. How did she get your gun?''
Quinlan turned to his longtime friend, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and said in the most bewildered voice Dillon had ever heard from him, "I was holding her against me, trying to make her understand that I'd done what I had to do and I wasn't betraying her, really I wasn't, and I thought perhaps she was coming around.
"Looks like I really screwed up on this one. I never felt a thing. Nothing. Then she told me she was pointing
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
the gun in my gut. She was."
"I don't think I like having a partner who's so besotted that he can't even keep his own gun in his holster."