Catherine Coulter - The Cove

Dillon said, as he watched a curling sliver of maple drift to the wooden floor, "You sometimes don't know if you're coming or going."

"You're very good friends," Sally said. "You know each other quite well, don't you?"

"Yeah, but we're not going to get married. Quinlan snores like a pig."

She smiled. It was a good smile, Dillon thought, not a forced smile. Now, that showed she knew she was safe here.

"You want some more iced tea, Sally?"

"No, I like sucking on the ice. There's plenty."

Quinlan lifted his legs and put his feet on the wooden railing that circled the front veranda. He was wearing short, scuffed black boots, old faded blue jeans that looked quite lovely on him-it was surely a shock that she could even think of something like that-and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

He was also wearing a shoulder holster, and there was a gun in it. She hadn't realized that all private investigators wore guns all the time. He was comfortable with it, like it was just another item of clothing.

It looked part of him. He was long and solid and looked hard as nails. She remembered how she'd hauled his face down to hers when she'd come out of the drugged sleep. How he'd let her. How he'd kissed her when he thought she was asleep again. She'd never met a man like him before in her life- a man to trust, a man to believe, a man who cared what happened to her.

"Has your head cleared?" Dillon asked. She turned to see him gently rubbing his thumbs over the maple, over and over and over.

"Why are you doing that?"

"What? Oh, it warms the wood and it makes it shine."

"What are you carving?"

"You, if you don't mind."

She blinked at him, swallowed a piece of ice she was sucking, and promptly fell to coughing. James leaned over and lightly slapped her between her shoulder blades.

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When she got her breath, she said, "Why ever would you want to immortalize me in any way? I'm nothing at all, nothing-"

"Dammit, shut up, Sally."

“Why, James? Someone wants me out of the way, but that doesn't make me important. It just makes what I appear to know of interest to someone."

"I guess maybe it's time we got to that," Dillon said. He set down the piece of maple and turned to face Sally.

"If we're to help you, you must tell us everything."

She looked from Dillon to James. She frowned down at her hands. She carefully set the glass down on the rattan table beside her.

She looked at James again, nodding at his shoulder holster. “I was just thinking that I never realized that private investigators wore guns all the time. But you do, don't you? Another thing-it looks natural on you, like you were born wearing it. You're not a private investigator, are you, James?"

"No."

"Who are you?"

He was very still, then he looked at her straight in the face and said, “My name is James Quinlan, just as I told you. What I didn't tell you was that I'm Special Agent James Quinlan, FBI. Dillon and I have worked together for five years. We're not really partners, since the FBI doesn't operate that way, but we're on a lot of cases together.

"I came to The Cove to find you."

"You're wkh the FBI?" Just saying the words made gooseflesh ripple over her arms, made her feel numb and cold.

"Yes. I didn't tell you immediately because I knew it would spook you. I wanted to get your confidence and then bring you back to Washington and clear up all the mess."

"You certainly succeeded in gaining my confidence, Mr. Quinlan."

He winced at her use of his surname. He saw that Dil-lon would say something, and held up his hand.

"No, let me finish it. Look, Sally, I was doing my job. Things got complicated when I got to know you.

And then there were the two murders in The Cove, your dear father calling you on the phone and then appearing at your bedroom window.

"I decided not to tell you because I didn't know what you'd do. I knew you were in possible danger and I didn't want you running away. I knew I could protect you-"

"You failed at that, didn't you?"

"Yes." Damn, but she was angry, it was sharp and clear in her voice. He wished he could change things, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

but he couldn't. He just had to try to make her understand. If he didn't get her to come around, then what would happen?

She rose slowly to her feet. She was wearing blue jeans that looked like a second skin. Dillon had misjudged and bought her a pair of girl's jeans at the Kmart in the closest town, Glenberg. Even the blouse was tight, the buttons pulling apart.

The look on her face was remote, distant, as if she really weren't standing on the old veranda any longer, between the two of them. She said nothing for a very long time, just stared at the lake. Finally she said,

"Thank you for getting me out of that place last night.

He wouldn't leave my head clear enough so I could figure out how to escape again. I don't think I would ever have gotten free. I owe you both a lot for that. But now I'm leaving. I have a good number of things to resolve. Good-bye, James."

15

"YOU'RE NOT LEAVING, Sally. I can't let you leave."

She gave him a look that was so immensely damning of what he was and what he'd done, he couldn't stand it.

"Listen, Sally, please. I'm sorry. I did what I believed was right. I couldn't tell you, please understand that. You were coming to trust me. I couldn't take a chance that you'd react the way you're reacting now."

She laughed. Just laughed. She said nothing at all.

Dillon rose, saying, "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back to make dinner in an hour."

Sally watched him stride down the narrow trail toward the water. She supposed he was a fine-looking man, not as fine-looking as James, of course. She didn't like all his bulging muscles, but she supposed some people did.

"Sally."

She didn't want to turn back to him. She didn't want to speak to him anymore, give him any of her attention, listen to his damning words that made so much sense to him and had utterly destroyed her.

No, she'd rather watch Dillon, or the two boats that were rocking lazily in the smooth evening waters. It would be sunset soon. The water was beginning to be the color of cherries.

"Sally, I can't let you leave. Besides, where would you go? I don't know where you'd be safe. You thought you'd have a refuge in The Cove. You didn't. Your dear auntie Amabel was in on it."

"No, that's impossible."

"Believe it. I have no reason to lie to you. David and I both visited her after I got on my feet again. She claimed you'd seen me unconscious and decided to run away. She said that you had probably run to Alaska, that you couldn't go to Mexico because you didn't have a passport. She said that you'd been ill-in an institution-as a matter of fact and that you were still unstable, still very weak in the head. My gut Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

tells me that your auntie is in this mess up to her eyeballs."

"She welcomed me. She was sincere. You're wrong, James, or you're just plain lying."

"Maybe she was sincere at first. But then someone got to her. What about the two murders in The Cove, Sally? The woman's screams you heard that Amabel claimed were a result of the wind, that or the result of you being so bloody nuts."

"So you used those old people-Marge and Harve, who drove to The Cove in their Winnebago and then disappeared-as your, what do you call it? Oh, yes, your cover. The sheriff believed you completely, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. And what's more, the investigation will open again, since a whole bunch of other folk have disappeared in that area as well. Being a PI hired by their son from L.A. was my cover. It worked. After the murders happened, I didn't know what to think. I knew it couldn't have anything to do with you directly."