Catherine Coulter - Split Second

“And what, sir?”

Ricky leaned forward on the counter. “Well, before they left, they came in here to buy some gum, and she looked me right in the face. I’ll tell you, that look of hers was real hinky, and then she licked her lips, like she wanted to stick a fork in me. It scared the bejesus out of me.”

Ricky Levine wasn’t stupid, Coop thought. “Did she say anything to you?”

“No, but when they left to go to their car, she looked back at me, and then she started laughing.”

Lucy said, “Have you been watching the news on TV, Mr. Levine?”

He nodded slowly. “Some, you know, when I get a chance, the way you do when people are always interrupting, with kind of half an ear. Why?”

“Did you hear about the shoot-up last night at the Texas Range Bar and Grill here in Baltimore?”

“Yeah, I heard there was some trouble.” Then Ricky shook his head. “Didn’t hear what happened, though.”

“Did you happen to see a woman’s photo shown on the news?”

This was clearly a stretch, then Ricky said, “Yes, wait, I do remember seeing a woman’s photo on the tube.”

Lucy said, “She’s the same woman who stayed here. She’s Mrs. Cane. She’s Ted Bundy’s daughter, Mr. Levine. If the opportunity arose, she would have stuck a fork in your face.”

Mr. Levine’s fingers went to his cheek. Then he cocked his head to one side, looked at her blankly. “Who’s Ted Bundy?”

Savich was putting out an APB on the blue Chevy Cobalt while they walked down the hall to room 151.

Coop said, “So they stole the car here in Maryland. I hope they didn’t kill anyone.”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Lucy said. “I hope it doesn’t occur to Kirsten to steal another car just yet.”

Coop said, “I wonder where Daddy is guiding her steps now?”

“To Dillon, that’s what he said.” Lucy added, “And that scares me to my toes.”

“Did you believe him, Savich?” Coop asked him.

Savich said, “No, not really.”

Lucy frowned at him, then said, “Do you think she guessed Bruce would rat out where they stayed?”

Savich said, “I believe him when he told me it didn’t matter if he told me, because Kirsten was long gone. Still, let’s not take any chances.”

Lucy said, “And who is this other person Kirsten is calling?”

Savich shrugged. “Comafield didn’t know.”

Savich slammed the door inward when he unlocked it, and they went in, fanning their SIGs around the room, though Kirsten hadn’t been there for hours now. Her fingerprints, sure, but that wouldn’t help them.

Kirsten hadn’t left anything, not even a comb, but who knew if there’d be a stray hair from one of her wigs? Savich called in a forensic team.

When Savich got back to Sherlock, they let him take her home with orders for her to rest—in bed—today. She stepped into the wheelchair without any trouble at all. “I’ll be ready to go once my stomach has some real food in it,” she said.

“Yeah, but you’ll do as you’re told. I’m your boss. Suck it up. I’m thinking some chicken noodle soup might be a start, then we’ll see.” He grinned at the leap of interest in her eyes.

Chicken noodle soup. Sherlock’s mouth watered. She looked at his profile, laid her hand lightly over his on the handle of the wheelchair. “We’ll find her, Dillon.”

Yes, he thought, they’d find her, but how many more women would die because of the mistakes he’d made? Where would Kirsten go next?

Savich was wheeling her down the hall when Dr. Pendergrass called out to him, “Agent Savich, I’m sorry to tell you, but Bruce Comafield has died. He developed sudden sepsis and then abdominal hemorrhage. We did everything we could, but he didn’t make it. He was a young man, and I believed he had a chance. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock saw Savich flinch, only a small movement. He said, his voice emotionless, “Thank you, Dr. Pendergrass.”

Dr. Pendergrass nodded, then turned to walk away. He turned back. “Agent Savich, don’t think your method of interrogating Mr. Comafield had anything to do with his death. It didn’t.”

Savich only nodded, then turned to look at his pale wife. “Nothing more to do. Let’s get you home.”

Maryland

Midday Thursday

Lucy drove her Range Rover out of the hospital parking lot and headed for 95, Coop behind her in his blue Corvette. She was still smiling at what he’d said when he’d walked her to her car. “I know this really good Chinese restaurant near Dupont Circle, best Szechuan in town. How about dinner Saturday night?”

Dinner with Coop. A date, he was asking her for an actual date? She started to kid him about working her into his busy dating schedule, but that joke fell right out of her head. That wasn’t what she wanted to say at all. She said with a smile, “Actually Chinese is my favorite, especially Szechuan.” She paused for a moment. “Isn’t there some bureau rule against agents in the same unit socializing?”

“Savich and Sherlock are in the same unit, and they do, I imagine, a great deal more than mere socializing.”

It was the strangest thing, but her heart speeded up, and out of her mouth came, “You want to get me alone so you can jump me, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What a thing to say. It’d only be our first date.”

Her heart thudded to her feet, and her voice flattened. “Oh, I see. You want to talk to me some more about what I’m—feeling.”

He lifted his hand, touched his fingers to her cheek, then dropped his arm. His eyes roved over her face. “Do you know, I happen to find myself worrying about you at the oddest times—like when I’m shaving or drinking nonfat milk out of the carton or singing in the shower, and wondering how we’d sound in a duet? The thing is, Lucy, I want to get to know you better, and talking isn’t such a bad idea, now, is it?”

She laughed, thrumming with energy. “Okay, then, but all I’ve got to look forward to is talking?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then you might as well think about what you’d like to sing with me in the shower, too.”

He tapped his fingertips to her chin. “I’ll think about that, too, although that’s an awful lot of thinking.”

Lucy tossed him a little wave and got in her car.

Coop was whistling when he followed her onto 95 south and back to Washington. Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” would make a fine duet for the shower.

Lucy wanted very much to have dinner with Coop, Szechuan or not. She had gone to sleep thinking about what he’d said the previous night at the hospital. She knew he cared about her, and that was the rub. Whatever she told him or didn’t tell him about the ring, she wasn’t going to let the blasted thing take over her life, or keep her from being as close as she wished to people she could love. She refused to choose between telling someone about the ring and loving them, or not loving them at all. Besides, how could a girl turn down a Chinese dinner with a hunky guy like Coop?

As she wove through thickening traffic, she felt the pull of fatigue—far too little sleep, and too much excitement. She turned on the radio to a soft-rock station and sang along, hoping to wake up. The traffic on 95 got messy around Peterborough, so she turned off onto 35, a nice two-lane country road that led west, made a couple of turns, and headed back again south, roughly parallel to 95. This lovely country road was her own private find, a road few people knew about, and a straight shot to Chevy Chase. From there she’d follow her usual commute to the Hoover Building. She hadn’t seen Coop turn off. Had he gotten ahead of her?

She rolled down the window and let the chill air blow over her, hoping the blast of cold would get her to full alert. There was not much out there to help her focus, mostly green pastures, some horses and cows, and lots of trees with scattered houses interspersed. An occasional car heading north passed her by.