uneasy with him.” Vince sensed that Dr. Weiss was deliberately choosing his words. “Doctor,” he said, “you know what we’re up against. You’ve got to level with me. What is your candid opinion of Dr. Michael Nash?”
“I consider it unethical for him to do research for a professional book under false pretenses,” Weiss said cautiously.
“You’re hedging,” Vince told him. “If you were on the witness stand, how would you describe him?”
Weiss looked away. “Loner,” he said flatly. “Repressed. Pleasant on the surface but basically antisocial. Probably has deep-rooted problems that began to manifest themselves in childhood. However, he’s a natural dissembler and could fool most professionals.”
Chris felt blood pounding in his temples. “Has Darcy been seeing this guy?”
“Yes,” Nona whispered.
“Doctor,” Vince continued rapidly, “I want to get in touch with that young woman immediately and find out what ad he placed.”
“My patient brought it in to show me,” Weiss said. “I have it in my office.”
“Would you remember if it began ‘Loves Music, Loves to Dance’?” Vince asked. As Weiss said, “Why yes, that’s right,” Vince’s beeper went off. He grabbed the phone, dialed, and barked his name. Nona, Chris, Dr. Weiss, and Ernie waited in absolute silence as they saw the lines on Vince D’Ambrosio’s forehead deepen. Still holding the receiver he told them, “That Len Parker looney just phoned in. He was following Darcy. She came out of that bar and got into the same station wagon Erin Kelley drove off in the night she disappeared.” He paused, then said tersely, “It’s a black Mercedes registered to Dr. Michael Nash of Bridgewater, New Jersey.”
You have a different car.”
“I mostly use this one in the country.”
“You got back early from the convention.”
“The speaker I was to replace felt well enough to come after all.”
“I see. Michael, you’re sweet, but I think I’d just as soon go home tonight.”
“What’d you have for dinner last night?” Darcy smiled. “A can of soup.” “You lean your head back and rest. Sleep if you can. Mrs. Hughes is going to have a fire blazing, a terrific dinner, and then you can sleep all the way home.” He reached over and gently stroked her hair. “Doctor’s orders, Darcy. You know I like taking care of you.”
“It’s nice to be taken care of. Oh!” She reached for the car phone. “Is it all right if I call my secretary? I promised to check in with her.” He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. “I’m afraid it will have to wait until we get to the house. The phone is broken. Now you just relax.” Darcy knew Bev would be there at least a few more hours. She closed her eyes and began to drift off. She was asleep by the time they went through the Lincoln Tunnel.
We’ll have Nash’s apartment checked,” Vince said. “But he’d never take her there or to his office. The doorman would see them.”
“Darcy told me his place in Bridgewater is a four-hundred-acre estate. She’s been there a couple of times.” Nona was gripping the sides of the desk to steady herself.
“Then if he suggested going there with him tonight, she wouldn’t be suspicious.”
Vince felt growing anger at himself.
Ernie returned from the next office. “I’ve checked surveillance. Doug Fox is home in Scarsdale. Jay Stratton is at the Park Lane with some old broad.” “That lets them out.” It makes sense, Vince thought furiously. Nash left word on Erin ’s answering machine to call him at his apartment the night he drove off with her. I never thought to check that out. He leaves a phony message with Darcy’s secretary and probably acts as though the secretary told him where to find Darcy. We know Darcy trusts him. Sure, she gets into his car. And if that weirdo Parker hadn’t been trailing her, she’d have vanished into thin air too. “How are we going to find Darcy?” Chris asked desperately. Agonizing fear that made it hard to breathe was crushing his chest. He knew that sometime in this past week, he had fallen hard for Darcy Scott.
Vince was on the line snapping orders to headquarters. “Alert the Bridgewater police,” he was saying. “Have them meet us there.” “Be careful, Vince,” Ernie warned. “We have absolutely no proof of anything, and the only witness is certifiably nuts.”
Chris spun on him. “You be careful.” He felt Weiss grip his arm. “Get directions to Nash’s place,” Vince was saying. “And have a chopper at the Thirtieth Street pad in ten minutes.”
Five minutes later, they were in a patrol car, lights flashing, sirens screaming, racing down Ninth Avenue. Vince was in the front seat with the driver, Nona, Chris, and Ernie Cizek in the back. Chris had flatly declared that he was going with Vince. Nona had looked at Vince, her eyes begging. Vince did not share the chilling information received from the Bridgewater police. Nash’s estate had a number of outer buildings scattered over the four hundred acres, including some in wooded areas. A search could take a long time. And every minute we lose, the clock is running out for Darcy, he thought.
We’re here, sweetheart.”
Darcy stirred. “I did fall asleep, didn’t I?” She yawned. “Forgive me for being such boring company.”
“I was glad you were sleeping. Rest heals the spirit as well as the body.”
Darcy looked out. “Where are we?”
“Only ten miles from the house. I have a little retreat where I get my writing done and I forgot my manuscript the other day. You don’t mind if we stop for it? As a matter of fact, we can have a glass of sherry here.”
“As long as we don’t stay too long. I do want to get home early, Michael.”
“You will. I promise. Come on in. Sorry it’s so dark.” His hand was under her arm. “How did you ever find this place?” Darcy asked as he opened the door.
“Pure luck. I know it doesn’t look like much outside, but the interior is quite nice.”
He pushed the door open and reached for the light switch. Beneath it, Darcy noticed a button marked “Panic.”
She looked around the large room. “Oh, this is handsome,” she said, taking in the seating area by the fireplace, the open kitchen, the polished floors. Then she noticed the big-screen television and elaborate stereo speakers. “That’s magnificent equipment. Isn’t it wasted in a writing retreat?” “No, it isn’t.” He was removing her coat. Darcy shivered even though the room was comfortably warm. There was a bottle of wine in a silver holder on the coffee table by the sofa.
“Does Mrs. Hughes take care of this place?”
“No. She doesn’t know it exists.” He walked the length of the room and switched on the stereo.
The opening bars of “Till There Was You” sounded from the wall speakers. “Come here, Darcy.” He poured sherry into a glass and handed it to her. “On a cold night this tastes wonderful, doesn’t it?”
He was smiling at her affectionately. Then what was wrong? Why did she suddenly sense something different? His voice seemed slightly blurred, almost as though he’d been drinking. His eyes. That was it. There was something about his eyes. Her instinct was to run for the door, but that was ridiculous. She searched frantically for something to say. Her eyes rested on the staircase. “How many rooms do you have upstairs?” To her own ears the question sounded abrupt. He didn’t seem to notice. “Just a smallish bedroom and bath. This is one of those really old-fashioned cottages.”
The smile was still there, but his eyes were changing, the pupils widening. Where were his computer and printer and books and all the usual trappings of a writer? Darcy felt perspiration form on her forehead. What was the matter with her? Was she going crazy suspecting… what? It was just nerves. This was Michael. Holding his sherry, he settled in the large chair opposite the sofa and stretched out his legs. His eyes never left her face.
“Let me look around.” She walked aimlessly through the room, pausing as though to examine one of the few pieces of bric-a-brac, running her hand over the countertop that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. “What beautiful cabinets.”
“I had them made, but I installed them myself.”
“You did!”
His voice was genial but a hard edge came into it. “I told you my father was a self-made man. He wanted me
