it. He wants FBI help, officially, and he'll get it since we're talking about interstate shenanigans.
He's convinced everybody that the older couple-Harve and Marge Jensen-were killed around there and that all the other missing folks are linked together as well. There'll be agents up from the Portland office, and I'll be there from the Washington office. They'll crawl all over that damned town.'
She was kissing his neck, her fingers lightly tugging on his chest hair. He said slowly, 'I'm going, Sally.
And yes, Brammer knows I'm going. He thinks it's a good idea. He wants me to talk to Amabel. We all want to know how she fits into all this. And, believe me, she's got to fit in somewhere. I think you should consider coming with me, Sally.'
He had weighed the danger of her being in that small little town on the Oregon coast against the danger of her remaining here, without him, her father still at large. No, he wanted her with him. It was the only way he could protect her. There'd be enough agents hanging around The Cove, no one would have a chance of hurting her.
'How could she be involved, James? She loves me, doesn't she? She took me in. She-'
'Don't turn blind on me now. She's involved. When she told David and me how you would probably run because you were scared, well, then 1 was as sure as I could be that she was involved. How deeply, we'll find out.'
'I've got my mother back now. I'd sure like to have Aunt Amabel, too. I'm praying really hard that she isn't involved.'
'Not only do you have your mama back, you've got me, and you'll never lose me, I swear it. And you'll have all my family. They're obnoxious, loving, pains in the butt, all in all a great family. Now, if Amabel is somehow involved with all this, we'll deal with it, you and I together.'
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He felt her palm slide down his chest, felt her fingers slip inside his shirt to caress him. He nearly bowed off the bed. No, she was exhausted, he couldn't let her do this, not now, not tonight.
He'd made up his mind. No way was he going to rush her on this. He shook his head and said, 'Sally, are you certain?'
'Oh, yes,' she said and kissed his chest. 'Let me get this shirt off you, James.'
He laughed. He was still laughing when her mouth was on his belly, then lower, closing over him. He moaned and jerked with the power of it. He didn't think he'd ever stop moaning, stop wanting, until he was deep inside her. That was what he wanted more than anything, to be deep inside her and for her to accept him completely, to love him, to shout it to him, and to the world.
And when he was deep inside of her, he knew it was right, better than right. She was his lifeblood, his future. It was about the best thing he'd ever managed in his life.
She whispered against his chest, 'I love you, James.' He was shaking, heaving over her like a wild man, but she was just as wild, and that made him even wilder.
A man, he thought just before his body shattered into orgasm, a man needed to belong as much as a woman. A man needed to be desired, to be cherished, as much as a woman.
When she bit his neck, then cried out, he knew everything would be just fine. 'I love you, too,' he said, his breath warm in her open mouth.
Life, he thought, just before he fell into a deep sleep, was weird. He'd gone to The Cove to find a crazy woman who could have murdered her father.
Instead he'd found Sally.
Actually, life was dandy.
26
THE DAY WAS warm, the air salty with the ocean spray, the sun high overhead. The Cove had never looked more beautiful, Quinlan thought, as he helped Sally out of their rental car.
'It's a picture postcard,' she said, looking around. 'There are the four old men playing cards around the barrel. Look, there are at least six cars parked in front of the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. There's Martha coming out of the Safeway with two sacks of groceries. There's Reverend Vorhees walking with his head down like he's got to tell someone that he's sinned badly. How could anything bad happen here?
It looks perfect. All calm, nobody running around waving an ax, yelling, no kids ruining buildings with graffiti.'
'Yeah,' Quinlan said. He was frowning.
'What's wrong?'
He just shook his head. His intuition. She poked him in the ribs. He grabbed her hand and said only, 'It's too perfect. Why is that, I wonder? How did it get to be so perfect? Look at all that paint, Sally. It's Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
fresh. Nothing's run-down. Nothing's old. Everything is in tip-top shape.
'But enough of this postcard place. We're meeting David and two FBI agents from the Portland office over at Thelma's at two o'clock. It's just about two now.'
'I'll meet them and then go to Amabel's house, all right?' He looked worried, and she punched him again on his arm. 'Do you think she's going to lock me in a root cellar? Don't be silly, James. She's my aunt.'
'Okay. I'll be along as soon as I can. Make sure Amabel knows that.'
David Mountebank looked tired. He looked harassed. When he introduced Quinlan to the man and woman agents, he didn't sound like a happy camper. He sounded like he was being bossed around, which occasionally did happen when the feds came in and treated the local law as yokels. It had happened a lot in the past, but not as much now. He sure hoped that wasn't the case here. In the sixteen-week training program at Quantico, agents were told never to usurp local prerogatives.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe David was just depressed about these killings. He knew he'd be as depressed as
