anger was gone, replaced by overwhelming weariness. He sank onto the bed. 'I thought the accident investigation would blow everything into the open. It was a farce. The local cops did their best, but then some federal transportation 'expert' showed up on the scene and took over. He said Jerry must've fallen asleep at the wheel. Case closed. That's when I realized just how deep this went. I didn't know who to go to, so I called the FBI in San Francisco. Told them I had evidence.'
'You mean the film?' asked Cathy.
Victor nodded. 'Just before he was killed, Jerry told me about some duplicate papers he'd stashed away in his garden shed. After the...accident, I went over to his house. Found the place ransacked. But they never bothered to search the shed. That's how I got hold of the evidence, a single file and a roll of film. I arranged a meeting with one of the San Francisco agents, a guy named Sam Polowski. I'd already talked to him a few times on the phone. He offered to meet me in Garberville. We wanted to keep it private, so we agreed to a spot just outside of town. I drove down, fully expecting him to show. Well, someone showed up, all right. Someone who ran me off the road.' He paused and looked straight at her. 'That's the night you found me.'
'You have to believe me,' he said.
She studied him, her instincts battling against logic. The story was just barely plausible, halfway between truth and fantasy. But the man looked solid as stone.
Wearily she nodded. 'I do believe you, Victor. Maybe I'm crazy. Or just gullible. But I do.'
The bed shifted as he sat down beside her. They didn't touch, yet she could almost feel the warmth radiating between diem.
'That's all that matters to me right now,' he said. 'That you know, in your heart, I'm telling the truth.'
'In my heart?' She shook her head and laughed. 'My heart's always been a lousy judge of character. No, I'm guessing. I'm going by the fact you kept me alive. By the fact there's another Cathy Weaver who's now dead...'
Remembering the face of that other woman, the face in the newspaper, she suddenly began to shake. It all added up to the terrible truth. The gun blasts into her apartment, the other dead Cathy. And Sarah, poor Sarah.
She was gulping in shaky breaths, hovering on the verge of tears.
She let him take her in his arms, let him pull her down on the bed beside him. He murmured into her hair, gentle words of comfort and reassurance. He turned off the lamp. In darkness they held each other, two frightened souls joined against a terrifying world. She felt safe there, tucked away against his chest. This was a place where no one could hurt her. It was a stranger's arms, but from the smell of his shirt to the beat of his heart, it all seemed somehow familiar. She never wanted to leave that spot, ever.
She trembled as his lips brushed her forehead. He was stroking her face now, her neck, warming her with his touch. When his hand slipped beneath her blouse, she didn't protest. Somehow it seemed so natural, that that hand would come to lie at her breast. It wasn't the touch of a marauder, it was simply a gentle reminder that she was in safekeeping.
And yet, she found herself responding....
Her nipple tingled and grew taut beneath his cupping hand. The tingling spread, a warmth that crept to her face and flushed her cheeks. She reached for his shirt and began to unbutton it. In the darkness she was slow and clumsy. By the time she finally slid her hand under the fabric, they were both breathing hard and fast with anticipation.
She brushed through the coarse mat of hair, stroking her way across that broad chest. He took in a sharp breath as her fingers skimmed a delicate circle around his nipple.
If playing with fire had been her intention, then she had just struck the match.
His mouth was suddenly on hers, seeking, devouring. The force of his kiss pressed her onto her back, trapping her head against the pillows. For a dizzy eternity she was swimming in sensations, the scent of male heat, the unyielding grip of his hands imprisoning her face. Only when he at last drew away did they both come up for air.
He stared down at her, as though hovering on the edge of temptation.
'This is crazy,' he whispered.
'Yes. Yes, it is—'
'I never meant to do this—'
'Neither did I.'
'It's just that you're scared. We're both scared. And we don't know what the hell we're doing.'
'No.' She closed her eyes, felt the unexpected bite of tears. 'We don't. But I
He pulled her close, murmuring her name. This time the embrace was gentle, without the fever of desire. His shirt was still unbuttoned, his chest bared. And that's where she lay her head, against that curling nest of hair. Yes, he was right, so wise. They were crazy to be making love when they both knew it was fear, nothing else, that had driven their desire. And now the fever had broken.
A sense of peace fell over her. She curled up against him. Exhaustion robbed them both of speech. Her muscles gradually fell limp as sleep tugged her into its shadow. Even if she tried to, she could not move her arms or legs. Instead she was drifting free, like a wraith in the darkness, floating somewhere in a warm and inky sea.
Vaguely she was aware of light sliding past her eyelids.
The warmth encircling her body seemed to melt away. No, she wanted it back, wanted
'Cathy. Come on, wake up!'
Through drowsy eyes she peered at him. 'Victor?'
'Something's going on outside.'
She tumbled out of bed and followed him to the window. Through a slit in the curtains she spotted what had alarmed him: a patrol car, its radio crackling faintly, parked by the motel registration door. At once she snapped wide awake, her mind going over the exits from their room. There was only one.
'Out, now!' he ordered. 'Before we're trapped.'
He eased open the door. They scrambled out onto the walkway. The frigid night air was like a slap in the face. She was already shivering, more from fear than from the cold. Running at a crouch, they moved along the walkway, away from the stairs, and ducked past the ice machine.
Below, they heard the lobby door open and the voice of the motel manager: 'Yeah, that'll be right upstairs. Gee, he sure seemed like a nice-enough guy....'
Tires screeched as another patrol car pulled up, lights flashing.
Victor gave her a push.
They slipped into a breezeway and scurried through, to the other side of the building. No stairways there! They climbed over the walkway railing and dropped into the parking lot.
Faintly they heard a banging, then the command: 'Open up! This is the police.'
At once they were sprinting instinctively for the shadows. No one spotted them, no one gave chase. Still they kept running, until they'd left the Kon-Tiki Motel blocks and blocks behind them, until they were so tired they were stumbling.
At last Cathy slowed to a halt and leaned back against a doorway, her breath coming out in clouds of cold mist. 'How did they find you?' she said between gasps.
'It couldn't have been the call....' Suddenly he groaned. 'My credit card! I had to use it to pay the bill.'
'Where now? Should we try another motel?'
He shook his head. 'I'm down to my last forty bucks. I can't risk a credit card again.'
'And I left my purse at the apartment. I—I'm not sure I want to—'
'We're not going back for it. They'll be watching the place.'
'So we're broke,' she said weakly.
He didn't answer. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his whole body a study in frustration. 'You have friends you can go to?'
