Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

Last night, after the sex, he'd grown warmer to her. But later he'd stepped outside and pretended to make a phone call.

Just to keep her on edge.

When he'd returned, she hadn't asked about the call. Pell had returned to the material he'd gotten from Susan Pemberton's office, and went online once more.

This morning, he'd told her he had to go see someone. Let that sit, watched her insecurities roll up-taps on the lumpy nose, a half-dozen "sweetheart"s-and then finally he'd said, "I'd like it if you came along."

"Really?" A thirsty dog lapping up water.

"Yep. But, I don't know. It might be too hard for you."

"No, I want to. Please."

"We'll see."

She'd pulled him back to bed and they'd continued their balance-of-power game. He let himself be tugged temporarily back into her camp.

Now, though, as they drove, he had no interest in her body whatsoever; he was firmly back in control.

"You understand about yesterday, at the beach? I was in a funny mood. I get that way when something precious to me is endangered." This was a bit of an apology-who can resist that?-along with the reminder that it might happen again.

"That's one thing I love about you, sweetie."

Not "sweetheart" now. Good.

When Pell had had the Family, tucked away all cozy in the town of Seaside, he'd used a lot of techniques for controlling the girls and Jimmy. He'd give them common goals, he'd dispense rewards evenly, he'd give them tasks but withhold the reason for doing them, he'd keep them in suspense until they were nearly eaten alive by uncertainty.

And-the best way to cement loyalty and avoid dissension-he'd create a common enemy.

He now said to her, "We have another problem, lovely."

"Oh. That's where we're going now?" Rub-a-dub on the nose. It was a wonderful barometer.

"That's right."

"I told you, honey, I don't care about the money. You don't have to pay me back."

"This doesn't have anything to do with that. It's more important. Much more. I'm not asking you to do what I did last night. I'm not asking you to hurt anybody. But I need some help. And I hope you will."

Carefully playing with the emphasis.

She'd be thinking of the fake phone call last night. Who'd he been talking to? Somebody else he could call on to step in?

"Whatever I can do, sure."

They passed a pretty brunette, late teens, on the sidewalk. Pell noted immediately her posture and visage-the determined walk, the angry, downcast face, the unbrushed hair-which suggested she'd fled after an argument. Perhaps from her parents, perhaps her boyfriend. So wonderfully vulnerable. A day's work, and Daniel Pell could have her on the road with him.

The Pied Piper…

But, of course, now wasn't the time and he left her behind, feeling the frustration of a hunter unable to stop by the roadside and take a perfect buck in a field nearby. Still, he wasn't upset; there'd be plenty of other young people like her in his future.

Besides, feeling the gun and knife in his waistband, Pell knew that in just a short period of time his hunt lust would be satisfied.

Standing in the open doorway of the cabin at Point Lobos Inn, Rebecca Sheffield said to Dance, "Welcome back. We've been gossiping and spending your money on room service." She nodded toward a bottle of Jordan Cabernet, which only she was drinking.

Rebecca glanced at Samantha and, not recognizing her, said, "Hello." Probably thinking she was another officer involved in the case.

The women walked inside. Dance shut and double-locked the door.

Samantha looked from one woman to the other. It seemed as if she'd lost her voice, and for a moment Dance believed she'd turn and flee.

Rebecca did a double take and blinked. "Wait. Oh my God."

Linda didn't get it, her brows furrowed.

Rebecca said, "Don't you recognize her?"

"What do you-? Wait. It's you, Sam?"

"Hello." The slim woman was racked with uneasiness. She couldn't hold a gaze for more than a few seconds.

"Your face," Linda said. "You're so different. My."

Samantha shrugged, blushing.

"Uh-huh, prettier. And you've got some meat on your bones. Finally. You were a scrawny little thing." Rebecca walked forward and firmly hugged Samantha. Then, hands on her shoulders, she leaned back. "Great job…What'd they do?"

"Implants on my jaw and cheeks. Lips and eyes mostly. Nose, of course. And then…" She glanced at her round chest. A faint smile. "But I'd wanted to do that for years."

Linda, crying, said, "I can't believe it." Another hug.

"What's your new name?"

Not looking at either of them, she said, "I'd rather not say. And listen, both of you. Please. You can't tell anybody about me. If they catch Daniel and you want to talk to reporters, please don't mention me."

"No problem with that."

"Your husband doesn't know?" Linda asked, glancing at Samantha's engagement and wedding rings.

A shake of the head.

"How'd you pull that one off?" Rebecca asked.

Samantha swallowed. "I lie. That's how."

Dance knew that married couples lie to each other with some frequency, though less often than romantic partners who aren't married. But most lies are trivial; very few involve something as fundamental as Samantha's.

"That's gotta be a pain," Rebecca said. "Need a good memory."

"I don't have any choice," Samantha added. Dance recognized the kinesic attributes of defensiveness, body parts folding, stature shrinking, crossings, aversions. She was a volcano of stress.

Rebecca said, "But he has to know you did time?"

"Yes."

"Then how-?"

"I told him it was a white-collar thing. I helped my boss embezzle some stocks because his wife needed an operation."

"He believed that ?"

Samantha gave a timid look to Rebecca. "He's a good man. But he'd walk out the door if he knew the truth. That I was in a cult-"

"It wasn't a cult," Linda said quickly.

"Whatever it was, Daniel Pell was involved. That's reason enough to leave me. And I wouldn't blame him."

Rebecca asked, "What about your parents? Do they know anything?"

"My mother's dead, and my father's as involved in my life as he always was. Which is not at all. But I'm sorry, I'd rather not talk about all this."

"Sure, Sam," Rebecca said.

The agent now returned to the specifics of the case. First, she gave them the details of the Pemberton killing, the theft of the company's files.

"Are you sure he did it?" Linda asked.

"Yes. The prints are his."

She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer. Rebecca's face tightened angrily.

Neither of them had ever heard the name Pemberton, nor of the Brock Company. They couldn't recall any events Pell might've gone to that had been catered.

"Wasn't a black-tie kind of life back then," Rebecca said.

Dance now asked Samantha about Pell's accomplice, but, like the others, she had no idea who the woman might be. Nor did she recall any references to Charles Pickering in Redding. Dance told them about the email from Richard Pell and asked if they'd ever had any contact with him.

"Who?" Rebecca asked.

Dance explained.

"An older brother?" Linda interrupted. "No, Scotty was younger. And he died a year before I met Daniel."

"He had a brother ?" Rebecca asked. "He said he was an only child."

Dance told them the story about the crimes Pell had committed with his brother's sister-in-law.

Linda shook her head. "No, no. You're wrong. His brother's name was Scott and he was mentally disabled. That's one of the reasons we connected so well. My cousin's got cerebral palsy."

Rebecca said, "And he told me he was an only child, like me." A laugh. "He was lying to get our sympathy. What'd he tell you, Sam?"