Dear God, Scott.
In the excitement of the attack, she’d almost forgotten about Scott. She took out her cell phone and recalled the number for the Los Alamos police department.
The 911 operator answered, and Caitlin identified herself.
“Yes, Ms. Maxwell, please hold on the line.” The line went silent for a few moments, and then another voice came on. “Ms. Maxwell?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Sergeant Ortiz of the Los Alamos police department.”
“Did you find my husband?”
A brief pause ensued, then, “We think so. There was an accident on the road about five miles south of town. It was called in shortly after your call. We dispatched a helicopter ambulance to the scene.”
“And my husband is he alive?”
“I’m sorry ma’am, we haven’t identified the body, but the vehicle was registered to you and Mr. Scott Corning.”
Caitlin choked back a sob. “All right. Thank you, I ... I’ll call back tomorrow. I can’t talk right now.”
“I understand ma’am. Can you give me a number where you can be reached?”
Caitlin quickly gave her cell phone number, thanked him again, and disconnected.
She should call someone, but whom? Connie Dryer, her personal secretary, would probably be home by now. She ought to let her know; maybe they should close the office for a couple of days, hang a big black wreath on the door, and stay home.
What about Scott’s family?
Caitlin hadn’t seen any of them except his father in more than three years. She’d never gotten along with Big Scott, as he liked to be called. The man was nearly a Neanderthal. Still, it wasn’t right to let him wait until the police notified him of his son’s death.
Caitlin sat down on the couch and picked up the telephone.
She stared at it for a few seconds. She didn’t remember his telephone number, and it wasn’t stored on her computer.
Caitlin punched in information. While waiting for the operator to come on, Caitlin picked up a pen and pad from beside the hotel’s telephone. She gave the electronic operator the town and Big Scott’s name, a moment later the electronic voice recited the number. Caitlin auto-dialed it and waited.
The telephone rang five times before someone picked up. “Yeah, who is it?”
“It’s Caitlin.”
“Yeah? Whatta you want?”
“Scott ... I–”
“I already know about my son. If that’s what you’re trying to say?” His voice was slurred.
“I’m sorry. How did you hear?”
“Some state cop from New Mexico called me a half hour ago.”
“Already? Why would Ortiz call you first?”
“Ortiz? Who the hell is Ortiz? Nah, this guy was Anglo.”
Then who had called him?
“I ... Scott, I’m so sorry,” Caitlin said.
“Yeah? Well, shit happens, don’t it? Now if you ain’t got nothin’ else to say, I got some grieving to do.”
“I–”
The line went dead. Caitlin stared at it, wanting to throw it against the wall and scream. She wanted to stomp on the telephone until it was nothing but fragments of plastic and wiring.
Why had he heard already? The police weren’t even positive the body was Scott and how had they located his father so soon? She closed the telephone and put it back in her case. It was too much to worry about just now.
Caitlin went to the window, wrapped her arms around herself, and stared out at the distant lights. Her sobs were faint but uncontrolled.
It was nearly twenty minutes later when Caitlin turned away from the night and went into the bath. Her eyes burned after so much crying. Her waterproof mascara hadn’t lived up to the name and what hadn’t come off on the back of her hand, had found its way into her eyes. She splashed cold water onto her face until the stinging died, then stared at her reflection. God, she looked ghastly. Her eyes were puffy and red, and streaks of makeup marred her face. Normally she used so little that nothing disturbed it, but today she had dressed for the clients.
The hotel staff had dutifully set out her toiletries in the same order she’d left them in her other room. Caitlin picked up the brush and made a few passes through her nape length black hair. Then she shook her head from side to side. Her hair floated out and then fell back into place.
Caitlin dampened a washcloth and carefully removed the remains of her makeup. She eyed herself in the mirror. Better, but her eyes were still puffy.
A soft sound came from the den and her heart lurched. Her pulse pounding in her temples, she eased the door open and stepped out into the room.
Nothing, it must have come from somewhere else. Then her eyes fell on the dark opening to the bedroom. Had it come from there?
Suddenly unable to bear another moment in the room, she jerked her purse off the sofa, unlatched the door, and left. The concierge stood near the elevators, watching her. She walked toward him, grew self-conscious about her puffy red eyes, and took her sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. She nodded to him and punched the elevator call button. He smiled and returned her nod.
The doors opened, and she stepped in. He was still smiling at her when the doors closed.
Caitlin stepped out on the ground floor and made her way through the crowded lobby to the revolving doors.
Entering the night air, Caitlin felt the cool dampness of a sea breeze.
One of the uniformed doormen eyed her expectantly. She shook her head and turned away from the taxi stand. She
