Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

"But I just have to say, the kid thing. It's hard for me to be natural with them. I've cut that out of my life. You're the first woman I've gotten anywhere near close to who has children. All I'm saying is, if I act a little stiff, it's not you or Wes or Maggie. They're wonderful. It's something I'm working on in therapy. So there." He lifted his hands, which is usually an emblem gesture, meaning, I've said what I wanted to. Hate me or love me, but there it is…

"I'm so sorry, Win."

Without hesitation, she took his hand and pressed it. "I'm glad you told me. I know it was hard. And I did see something. I wasn't sure what, though."

"Eagle eye."

She laughed. "I overheard Wes one time. He told his friend it sucks to have a mom who's a cop."

"Especially one who's a walking lie detector." He smiled too.

"I've got my own issues, because of Bill."

And because of Wes, she thought, but said nothing.

"We'll take things slow."

"Slow is good," she said.

He gripped her forearm, a simple, intimate and appropriate gesture.

"Now I should get back to the Family reunion."

She walked him to his temporary office, then drove back to the Point Lobos Inn.

As soon as she walked inside, she knew the atmosphere had changed. The kinesics were wholly different from yesterday. The women were restless and edgy. She noted postures and facial expressions that suggestion tension, defensiveness and outright hostility. Interviews and interrogations were long-term processes, and it wasn't unusual for a successful day to be followed by one that was a complete waste of time. Dance was discouraged and assessed that it might take long hours, if not days, to get them in a place mentally where they could once again provide helpful information.

Still, she gave it a shot. She ran through what they'd learned about Jennie Marston and asked if the women knew anything about her. They didn't. Dance then tried to resume the conversation of yesterday but today the comments and recollections were superficial. Linda seemed to be speaking for all of them when she said, "I just don't know how much more I can add. I'd like to go home."

Dance believed they'd already proved invaluable; they'd saved the life of Reynolds and his family and had given insights into Pell's MO and, more important, his goal to retreat to a "mountaintop" somewhere; with more investigation they might find out where. Still, Dance wanted them to stay until she'd interviewed Theresa Croyton, in the hope that something the girl said might be a springboard to help the women's memories, though, as she'd promised the aunt, she said nothing of the impending visit. They agreed reluctantly to wait for a few more hours.

As Dance left, Rebecca accompanied her outside. They stood under an awning; a light drizzle was falling. The agent lifted an eyebrow. She was wondering if the woman was going to deliver another lecture on their incompetence.

But the message was different.

"Maybe it's obvious but I thought I should mention something. Sam doesn't appreciate how dangerous Pell is, and Linda thinks he's a poor, misunderstood product of his childhood."

"Go on."

"What we were telling you yesterday about him-all that psychological stuff-well, it's true. But I've been through plenty of therapy and I know it's easy to focus on the jargon and the theory and forget about the person behind them. You've managed to stop Pell from doing what he wants to, a couple of times, and nearly caught him. Does he know your name?"

A nod. "But do you think he'd waste time coming after me?"

"Are you immune to him?" Rebecca asked, cocking an eyebrow.

And that answered the question right there. Yes, she was immune to his control. And therefore she was a risk.

Threats have to be eliminated…

"I have a feeling he's worried. You're a real danger to him and he wants to stop you. And he gets to people through their family."

"Patterns," Dance said.

Rebecca nodded. "You have family in the area, I assume?"

"My parents and children."

"Are the children with your husband?"

"I'm a widow."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"But they're not at home right now. And I've got a deputy guarding them."

"Good, but watch your back."

"Thank you." Dance nodded back into the cabin. "Did something happen last night? Between all of you?"

She laughed. "I think we've had a little more past than we can handle. We aired some laundry. It should've been aired years ago. But I'm not sure everybody felt that way."

Rebecca walked back inside and closed and locked the door. Dance glanced in through a gap in the curtain. She saw Linda reading the Bible, Samantha looking at her cell phone, undoubtedly thinking up some lie to tell her husband about her out-of-town conference. Rebecca sat down and began covering her sketchpad with broad, angry strokes.

The legacy of Daniel Pell and his Family.

Kathryn Dance had been gone a half hour when one of the deputies called the cabin to check up on the women.

"Everything's fine," Sam replied-apart from the broiling tensions inside the suite.

He had her make sure the windows and doors were locked. She checked and confirmed that everything was secure.

Sealed in, nice and tight. She felt a burst of anger that Daniel Pell had them trapped once again, stuck in this little box of a cabin.

"I'm going stir crazy," Rebecca announced. "I've got to get outside."

"Oh, I don't think you should." Linda looked up. Sam noticed that the tattered Bible had many fingerprints on the page it was open to. She wondered what particular passages had given her so much comfort. She wished she could turn to something so simple for peace of mind.

Rebecca shrugged. "I'm just going out there a little ways." She gestured toward Point Lobos State Park.

"Really, I don't think you should." Linda's voice was brittle.

"I'll be careful. I'll wear my galoshes and look both ways." She was trying to make a joke but it fell flat.

"It's stupid but do what you want."

Rebecca said, "Look, I'm sorry about last night. I drank too much."

"Fine," Linda said distractedly and continued to read her Bible.

Sam said, "You'll get wet."

"I'll go to one of the shelters. I want to do some drawing." Rebecca pulled on her leather jacket, unlatched the back door and, picking up her sketchpad and box of pencils, stepped outside. Sam saw her looking back and could easily read the regret in the woman's face for her vicious words last night. "Lock it after me."

Sam went to the door and put the chain on, double locked it. She watched the woman walking down the path, wishing she hadn't gone.

But for an entirely different reason than her safety.

She was now alone with Linda.

No more excuses.

Yes or no? Sam continued the internal debate that had begun several days ago, prompted by Kathryn Dance's invitation to come to Monterey and help them.

Come back, Rebecca, she thought.

No, stay away.

"I don't think she should've done that," Linda muttered.

"Should we tell the guards?"

"What good would it do? She's a big girl." A grimace. "She'll tell you so herself."

Sam said, "Those things that happened to her, with her father. That's so terrible. I had no idea."

Linda continued to read. Then she looked up. "They want to kill him, you know."

"What?"

"They're not going to give Daniel a chance."

Sam didn't respond. She was still hoping Rebecca would return, hoping she wouldn't.

With an edge to her voice Linda said, "He can be saved. He's not hopeless. But they want to gun him down on sight. Be rid of him."

Of course they do, Sam thought. As to the question of his redemption, that was unanswerable in her mind.