Rachael opened her eyes, shook her head, started walking away from the battered Ford. “Let's get out of here.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “We have to call the cops now. And you'll have to tell them whatever it is you know about what's going on here. So you might as well tell me first.”
“No police,” she said, either unwilling or unable to look at him.
“I was ready to go along with you on that. Until now.”
“No police,” she insisted.
“But someone's been killed!”
“There's no body.”
“Christ, isn't the blood enough?”
She turned to him and finally met his eyes. “Benny, please, please, don't argue with me. There's no time to argue. If that poor woman's body were in the trunk, it might be different, and we might be able to call the cops, because with a body they'd have something to work on and they'd move a lot faster. But without a body to focus on, they'll ask a lot of questions, endless questions, and they won't believe the answers I could give them, so they'll waste a lot of time. But there's none to waste because soon there're going to be people looking for me… dangerous people.”
“Who?”
“If they aren't already looking for me. I don't think they could've learned that Eric's body is missing, not yet, but if they have heard about it, they'll be coming here. We've got to go.”
“Who?” he demanded exasperatedly. “Who are they? What are they after? What do they want? For God's sake, Rachael, let me in on it.”
She shook her head. “Our agreement was that you could come with me but that I wasn't going to answer questions.”
“I made no such promises.”
“Benny, damn it, my
She was serious; she really meant it; she was desperately afraid for her life, and that was sufficient to break Ben's resolve and make him cooperate. Plaintively he said, “But the police could provide protection.”
“Not from the people who may be coming after me.”
“You make it sound as if you're being pursued by demons.”
“At least.”
She quickly embraced him, kissed him lightly on the mouth.
She felt good in his arms. He was badly shaken by the thought of a future without her.
Rachael said, “You're terrific. For wanting to stand by me. But go home now. Get out of it. Let me handle things myself.”
“Not very damn likely.”
“Then don't interfere. Now let's
Pulling away from him, she headed back across the five-car garage toward the door that led into the house.
A moth dropped from the light and fluttered against his face, as if his feelings for Rachael were, at the moment, brighter than the fluorescent bulbs. He batted it away.
He slammed the lid on the Ford's trunk, leaving the wet blood to congeal and the gruesome smell to thicken.
He followed Rachael.
At the far end of the garage, near the door that led into the house through the laundry room, she stopped, staring down at something on the floor. When Ben caught up with her, he saw some clothes that had been discarded in the corner, which neither he nor she had noticed when they had entered the garage. There were a pair of soft white vinyl shoes with white rubber soles and heels, wide white laces. A pair of baggy pale green cotton pants with a drawstring waist. And a loose short-sleeve shirt that matched the pants.
Looking up from the clothes, he saw that Rachael's face was no longer merely pale and waxen. She appeared to have been dusted with ashes. Gray. Seared.
Ben looked down at the suit of clothes again. He realized it was an outfit of the sort surgeons wore when they went into an operating theater, what they called hospital whites. Hospital whites had once actually been white, but these days they were usually this soft shade of green. However, not only surgeons wore them. Many other hospital employees preferred the same basic uniform. Furthermore, he had seen the assistant pathologists and attendants dressed in exactly the same kind of clothes at the morgue, only a short while ago.
Rachael drew a deep hissing breath through clenched teeth, shook herself, and went into the house.
Ben hesitated, staring intently at the discarded pair of shoes and rumpled clothes. Riveted by the soft green hue. Half mesmerized by the random patterns of gentle folds and creases in the material. His mind spinning. His heart pounding. Breathlessly considering the implications.
When at last he broke the spell and hurried after Rachael, Ben discovered that sweat had popped out all over his face.
Rachael drove much too fast to the Geneplan building in Newport Beach. She handled the car with considerable skill, but Ben was glad to have a seat belt. Having ridden with her before, he knew she enjoyed driving even more than she enjoyed most other things in life; she was exhilarated by speed, delighted by the SL's maneuverability. But tonight she was in too much of a hurry to take any pleasure from her driving skill, and although she was not exactly reckless, she took some turns at such high speed and changed lanes so suddenly that she could not be accused of timidity.
He said, “Are you in some kind of trouble that rules out turning to the police? Is that it?”
“Do you mean — am I afraid the cops would get something on me?”
“Are you?”
“No,” she said without hesitation, in a tone that seemed devoid of deception.
“ 'Cause if somehow you've gotten in deep with the wrong kind of people, it's never too late to turn back.”
“Nothing like that.”
“Good. I'm glad to hear it.”
The backsplash of dim light from the dashboard meters and gauges was just bright enough to softly illuminate her face but not bright enough to reveal the tension in her or the unhealthy grayness that fear had brought to her complexion. She looked now as Ben always thought of her when they were separated: breathtaking.
In different circumstances, with a different destination, the moment would have been like something from a perfect dream or from one of those great old movies. After all, what could be more thrilling or exquisitely erotic than being with a gorgeous woman in a sleek sports car, barreling through the night toward some romantic destination, where they could forsake the snug contours of bucket seats for cool sheets, the excitement of high-speed travel having primed them for fiercely passionate lovemaking.
She said, “I've done nothing wrong, Benny.”
“I didn't really think you had.”
“You implied…”
“I had to ask.”
“Do I look like a villain to you?”
“You look like an angel.”
“There's no danger I'll land in jail. The worst that can happen to me is that I'll wind up a victim.”
“Damned if I'll let that happen.”
“You're really very sweet,” she said. She glanced away from the road and managed a thin smile. “Very sweet.”
The smile was confined to her lips and did not chase the fear from the rest of her face, did not even touch her troubled eyes. And no matter how sweet she thought he as, she was still not prepared to share any of her secrets with him.
