“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Would anyone who knew her notice the resemblance?” “It would depend upon their powers of observation.”
Raine shook her head, appalled at her own idiocy. She had tried a brown wig, at first, but the effect of dark hair with her pale face had been so obviously fake that she'd concluded that it would draw more attention than it would deflect. Besides, the shaggy, layered bronze mane of hair her mother had worn back in '86 was nothing like her own plain twist or simple braid. And her mother had said so often that Raine was so dowdy, no one would ever guess she was Alix’s daughter. With her big horn-rimmed glasses, she'd felt safe enough.
What a cretin. Victor's powers of observation were colossal.
“I examined you once, you know,” Dr. Fischer commented
Raine gaped at her. “You did?”
“The school nurse at Severin Elementary School was a friend of mine. You were always in the infirmary in the afternoons with bad headaches, telling her wild tales about ghosts and goblins and dreams. She was worried about you. She thought you needed to see a psychiatrist, or a neurologist. Or both.”
“Oh,” Raine murmured, struggling to remember the incident.
“She'd already contacted your mother, and had evidently hit a blank wall.” The older woman's eyebrows furrowed at the memory. “So she asked me to drop by and take a look at you.”
Raine waited. “And?”
“My diagnosis was that you were an intelligent, sensitive ten-year-old with a lively imagination and a very high-stress family situation.” Dr. Fischer patted Raine's shoulder and let her hand rest upon it “I was so sorry about your father. And all my sorry was for you. Not for the rest of that rabble out on the island. If you'll excuse my saying so.”
“It's all right.” Raine blinked back a rush of tears. “I would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone about me.”
“Good heavens, no,” Dr. Fischer said emphatically. “I'm pleased to have the opportunity to help you, since I couldn't back then. Good luck, Ms. Cameron. Let me know how things go. And, ah ... do be careful.”
Raine hurried for the taxi. “I will” she called.
She got into the cab, embarrassed. Some pirate queen she was, blubbering at the slightest act of kindness. It didn't mean she was weak, she reminded herself. Just stressed. She swallowed, calming her shaking, vibrating throat.
“Where to?” the cabbie demanded.
“I'll know in a minute,” she told him.
She used the cell phone Seth had given her to call directory assistance, and began the search for Bill Haley. They drove around the residential neighborhood in big circles, waiting on hold, transferred from here to there. At great length, she was informed that he was heading up a task force at a different location. She dialed the number the receptionist gave her, asked the switchboard operator for Bill Haley, and sat back to wait, clenching her stomach against the butterflies.
Her luck was changing. She could feel it. This morning, she had looked Harriet in the face and told a barefaced lie without blinking; she was leaving for a doctor's appointment, so sorry for the inconvenience, bye bye. The scary part was, she'd actually enjoyed the look on Harriet's face. Maybe it was the delicious breakfast Seth had insisted on cooking for her. He had dosed her eggs with pixie dust.
Thinking of Seth brought on an uneasy pang of guilt. She'd promised to tell him every move she made, but the request was bossy and paranoid. He was tied up inspecting the inventory system today anyway, so why distress him? She couldn't afford to waste her energy in a dispute over being accompanied or not. Besides, her errands were innocuous enough. It wasn't like she was meeting a stranger at midnight under a bridge.
Seth's protective instincts made her feel cuddled and cherished, but he had a life, and far better things to do with his time than tag around after her. She had to be bold, to catch this new wave of courage and momentum and ride it for as far as it would take her.
The Muzak version of “Silver Bells” abruptly clicked off. “This is Bill Haley's office “ a woman said. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Raine Cameron. I'm calling with some questions about a case that Mr. Haley was working on some years ago, involving Peter Marat Lazar, in August of 1985.”
“And what is the nature of your interest in the case?”
Raine floundered for a second, and then followed her instincts, as she had last night with Seth. “I'm Peter Lazar's daughter.”
“Hold on,” the woman instructed.
Raine clutched the phone, her head spinning. She had spoken the truth, for the first time in seventeen years, to a faceless woman on the telephone. Now three people on earth, including her mother and Dr. Fischer, knew her true identity. When Bill Haley knew,
The Muzak version of “White Christmas” clicked off. “Mr. Haley would be glad to talk to you. When can you come?”
“Right now?”
“That's doable. Hurry, though. He has a meeting at twelve-thirty.”
Her hands shook as she scribbled down the directions. She was electrified by the thought that there might come a day when she would no longer have to lie to anyone about anything.
Oh, God, it was going to feel wonderful.
He would never have thought that angel face capable of lying. The painful, exposed honesty trembling in her voice last night; he'd bought it completely. This was the kind of stuff that happened to a guy when he started thinking with his dick. Other men were used to it, maybe. For him, it was an unpleasant novelty.
He dialed McCloud, staring at the cluster of signals on the beacon display screen. Raine was not safely ensconced in the Lazar Import & Export corporate office. She was on southbound 1-5, moving through Shoreline. He'd stopped at Oak Terrace to grab some fresh clothes and equipment, and punched up the beacon display to check on her. So he could relax. Hah.
McCloud picked up on the third ring. “Why didn't you call me when she skipped out?” Seth snarled.
“Because you were busy, and I had the situation under control,” Connor said calmly. “At least until just now.”
“Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Rained been holding out on you, buddy. I just talked to Davy. Nobody by the name of Peter Marat has ever worked for Victor Lazar.” Connor clucked his tongue. “I'd hold off on the wedding invitations until you figure out what she's up to.”
“You are annoying the shit out of me, McCloud.”
“That's my specialty. Back to your blonde. I've been chasing her around all morning. Her first visit was to a retired doctor named Serena Fischer. Davy checked her out, tells me that Fischer is a GP who used to practice in Severin Bay. She was there for about twenty minutes.”
“Now what is she doing?”
'This is the interesting part I tuned in to her cell phone. She's going to see my boss. She's on her way to Bill Haley’s office right now.”
Seth's mouth fell open.
“She's that good, huh?” Connor's voice was coolly speculative. “Been spilling tales while you've been boning Blondie, Seth?”
“Fuck, no.” He was too stupefied to be angered by the accusation.
“Hmm. You're never going to guess what else she said to Donna, when she called the Cave. You sitting down?”
“Don't be coy,” Seth snarled.
“She said she was Peter Lazar's daughter. Peter.. .Marat... Lazar. Congratulations, Mackey. You've been giving the high hard one to Victor Lazar's niece.”
An icy claw gripped Seth's gut, and squeezed. He sat down. Hard.
Connor's voice was relentlessly matter of fact. “Davy ran another check. It all happened pretty much like Raine said, except for the trifling detail of the last name. Victor's younger brother Peter drowned in ‘85. He had a daughter, name of Katerina. The kid and her mom skipped the country and haven't been heard from since.”
