Catherine Coulter - The Cove

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Call me Thelma, Sally. Now, how much does either of you know about that big-time murdered lawyer back in Washington?"

James thought Sally would faint and fall into her chicken parmigiana. She looked whiter than death. He said easily, "No more than anybody else, I suspect. What do you know, Thelma?"

"Since I'm the only one with a real working TV, I know a world more than anybody else in this town. Did you know the missing daughter's husband was on TV, pleading for her to come home? He said he was worried she wasn't well and didn't know what she was doing. He said she wasn't responsible, that she was sick. He said he was real concerned about her, that he wanted her back so he could take care of her. Did you know that? Isn't that something?''

She wouldn't faint into the parmigiana now. Quinlan felt her turn into stone. "Where did you hear that, Thelma?" he asked mildly, even as he doubted he ever wanted another bite of chicken parmigiana in his life.

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"It was on CNN. You can find out everything on CNN."

"Do you remember anything else he said?"

"That was about it. He pleads real well. Looked very sincere. A handsome man, but there's something too slick about him. From what I could tell he's got a weak chin. What do you two think about that?"

"Not a thing," Sally said, and James was pleased that her voice didn't sound scared, though he knew she had to be.

Thelma didn't seem to realize that her audience had stopped eating. She cackled, saying, "I like James.

He's not all soft and smooth like that poor girl's husband. No, James doesn't put all that mousse in his hair. I bet that poor girl's husband wouldn't use that nice big gun James has under his coat. No, he'd have one of those prissy little derringers. No, he's too slick for my tastes.

"Now that James is here, Sally, I recommend that you use him. That's what my husband always said to me. 'Thelma,' he'd say, 'men loved to be used. Use me.' I still miss Billy. He caught pneumonia, you know, back in 1956. Killed him in four days. A pity." She sighed and took another bite of chicken parmigiana.

"I feel like I just swallowed five cloves of garlic," Quinlan said after they managed to escape, Sally pleading a stomachache.

"Yes, but it was delicious until Thelma mentioned Scott."

"He wants to take care of you."

"Oh, I'm sure he does."

He wished she'd tell him about her husband and what he'd done to her. The fear in her voice wasn't as strong as the bitterness. When she'd gotten that phone call from someone pretending to be her father-now, that was fear. She turned to face him. She looked paler, if that were possible, and pinched, as if the life were being drained out of her. "You've been kind to me and I appreciate it, but I've got to be leaving now. I can't stay here any longer. Now that he's gotten on TV about me, someone will have seen it. Someone will call. I've got to leave. And you know what else? Thelma knows. She was just playing with me."

"No one will call because no one saw him. If he'd offered a reward, then I'd bet on Thelma calling up in a flash, cackling all the while. Yes, Thelma knows, but she'll stop at enjoying the hell out of taunting you.

Look, Sally, no one else knows who you are. All you are is Amabel's niece. I'd even wager that if anyone did find out they wouldn't say a word. Loyalty-you know what I mean?"

"Actually," she said, "I don't."

Dear God, he thought as he stepped along with her, what the hell had her life been like? He didn't remember a TV in his tower bedroom. He hoped there was one. He wanted to see Scott Brainerd pleading to his wife to return to him.

"Don't go," he said to her when they reached Amabel's cottage. "You know, it isn't all that hard to be loyal if it doesn't cost you anything. There's no need to. Let things spin out, just stay out of it. Besides, you don't have any money, do you?"

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"I have credit cards, but I'm afraid to use them."

"They're very easy to trace. I'm glad you didn't use them. Look, Sally, I've got some friends back in Washington. Let me put in a couple of calls and see what's really happening, okay?"

"What friends?"

He smiled down at her. "I can't put a thing over on you, can I?"

"Not when it hits me in the nose," she said, and smiled back at him. "It doesn't matter, James. If you want to talk to some people, go ahead. Just remember, though, I don't have any money to pay you."

"Pro bono," he said. "I hear even government agencies do some work for free."

"Yeah, just like they use our taxes to pay for midnight volleyball."

"Basketball. That was a while back."

"Your friends work for the feds?"

"Yep, and they're good people. I'll let you know what's cooking-if they know anything, of course."

"Thank you, James. But you know, there's still the person who called me pretending to be my father.

That person knows where I am."

"Whoever comes, if he comes, has my big gun to contend with. Don't worry."

She nodded, wished he could touch her hand, squeeze it, pat her cheek, anything, to make her feel less threatened, less hunted. But he couldn't, she knew that, just as she knew she didn't know him at all.

So he was her protector now, Quinlan realized, shaking his head at himself. He would protect her from any guy who came here wanting to drag her back or hurt her.

That was a good joke on him, he thought, as he walked back to Thelma's Bed and Breakfast.

He was her main hunter.

7

WHEN THE PHONE rang, Sally was in the kitchen slicing a turkey breast Amabel had brought home from Safeway. Her aunt called out, "It's for you, Sally."

James, she thought, smiling, as she wiped her hands. She walked into the living room to see Martha with her aunt, the two of them smiling at her, saying nothing now, which was only polite since they'd probably been talking about her before she'd come into the room.

"Hello?"

"How's my little girl?"

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She froze. Her heart pounded fast and painfully hard. It was him. She remembered his voice too well to believe now that it was someone pretending to be Amory St. John.

"You don't want to talk to me? You don't want to know when I'm going to come get you, Sally?"

She said clearly, "You're dead. Long dead. I don't know who killed you, but I wish I had. Go back to hell where you belong."

"Soon, Sally. I can't wait, can you? Very soon now I'll have you with me again."

"No, you won't," she screamed and slammed down the receiver.

"Sally, what is going on? Who was that?"

"It was my father," she said and laughed. She was still laughing as she walked up the stairs.

Amabel called after her, "But Sally, that couldn't have been someone trying to make you believe it was your father. That was a woman on the line. Martha said she sounded all fuzzy, but it was a woman. She even thought it sounded a bit like Thelma Nettro, but that couldn't be. I didn't know of any woman who knew you were here."

Sally stopped on the second step from the top. The steps were narrow, the distance between the steps too steep. She turned slowly and looked back downstairs. She couldn't see her aunt or Martha. She didn't want to see them. A woman? Maybe Thelma Nettro? No way.

She ran back down the stairs into the living room. Placid Martha was looking distressed, her hands clasping and unclasping her pearls, her glasses sliding down her nose.

"My dear," she began, only to stop at the ferocious look of anger on the girl's face. "Whatever is wrong?

Amabel's right. It was a woman on the phone."