Split Second

together, do they?'

He lowered his glass and looked at her with an amused expression. 'What, does a love of wine seem prissy to you? Do you know how much blood has been spilled over wine?'

'Do you mean while drinking it or talking about it?'

'Does it matter? Dead is dead, isn't it?'

'You would know that better than I do.'

'If you think it's a simple matter of notching your gun after you do the deed, it's not.'

'I never thought that. More like notching your soul?'

He put down his glass. 'How about an information exchange?'

'I'm game, within reason.'

'Quid pro quo. Relatively equal value.'

'Judged by whom?'

'I'll make it easy. I'll go first.'

Michelle sat back. 'I'm curious. Why?'

'I guess we can put it down to the fact that you're as unwilling a participant in your nightmare as I was eight years ago in mine.'

'Yes. You called us blood brothers.'

'Joan Dillinger was at the hotel that night.'

'In your room?'

King shook his head. 'Your turn.'

Michelle thought about this for a few moments. 'Okay, I talked to one of the maids who was working at the hotel when Ritter was killed. Her name is Loretta Baldwin.' King looked puzzled when she said this. 'Loretta says she cleaned your room that morning. And she found a pair of black lace panties on the ceiling light fixture.' She paused and then added with a perfectly straight face, 'I'm assuming they weren't yours. You don't seem like the lace type.'

'No. And black's not really my color in underwear.'

'Weren't you married during that time?'

'Separated. My wife had an annoying habit of sleeping with other men when I was out of town, which was basically all the time. I think they even started bringing their own pajamas and toothbrushes. I was feeling really out of the loop.'

'It's good you can joke about it now.'

'If you had asked me eight years ago, I wouldn't have been so glib. Time doesn't really heal, it just makes you not give a crap.'

'So you had, what, a fling with Joan Dillinger?'

'It actually seemed a little more than that back then. Stupid when you think about it. Joan's not that sort of woman.'

Michelle leaned forward. 'About the elevator-'

King interrupted. 'Your turn again. I'm getting tired of reminding you.'

Michelle sighed and sat back. 'Okay, Dillinger's not at the Service anymore.'

'Doesn't count. I already know that. What else?'

'Loretta Baldwin told me she hid in the supply closet down the hall from the room where Ritter died.'

King looked interested. 'Why?'

'She was scared to death and took off running. Everyone else was doing the same thing.'

'Not everyone,' King said dryly. 'I stayed pretty much in the same place.'

'Now, about the elevator.'

'Why do you care about that?' he asked sharply.

'Because it seemed to captivate you! So much so that you didn't even know there was an assassin standing in front of you until he fired.'

'I just zoned out.'

'I don't think so. I heard the noise on the tape. And it sounded like an elevator car arriving. And I'm thinking that when those doors opened, whatever or whoever you saw grabbed your attention and didn't let it go until Ramsey fired.' She paused and then added, 'And since that elevator bank was locked off by the Secret Service, I'm guessing that it was a Secret Service agent who was on there, because who else could have done it without being stopped? And I'm betting that agent was Joan Dillinger. And I'm also betting that for some reason you're covering for her. Would you care to tell me that I'm wrong about all that?'

'Even if what you say is true, it doesn't matter. It was my screwup and Ritter died because of it. No excuses are good enough. You ought to know that by now.'

'But if you were purposefully distracted, that's a different story.'

'I wasn't.'

'How do you know that? Why else would someone have been on that elevator at the precise moment Ramsey chose to fire?' She answered her own question. 'Because he knew that elevator car was going to come down, and he knew the person on it would be ableto distract you, giving him the chance to kill Ritter, that's why. He was waiting for the elevator to come before he fired.'

She sat back, her look not one so much of triumph, but of defiance, like she'd shown on TV during the press conference King had seen.

'That isn't possible. Just trust me. Call it the worst timing in the world, that's all.'

'I'm sure you won't be too surprised if I don't take your word for it.'

He sat there in silence, for so long, in fact, that Michelle finally rose. 'Look, thanks for lunch and the wine lesson. But you can't tell me a smart guy like you doesn't look in the mirror every morning and wonder, what if?'

As she started to walk off, her cell phone rang. She answered it. 'What? Yes, it is. Who? Uh, that's right, I did talk to her. How did you get this number? My card? Oh, that's right. I don't understand why you're calling.' She listened for a bit more and then turned pale. 'I didn't know. My God, I'm so sorry. When did it happen? I see. Right, thank you. Do you have a number where I can call you?' She clicked off, pulled a pen and paper from her purse, wrote the number down and slowly sat in the leather chair next to King.

He eyed her quizzically. 'Are you okay? You don't look okay.'

'No, I'm not okay.'

He leaned forward and put a steadying hand on her quivering shoulder. 'What happened, Michelle? Who was that?'

'That woman I talked to who worked at the hotel.'

'The maid, Loretta Baldwin?'

'That was her son. He found my name on a card I left there.'

'Why, did something happen to Loretta?'

'She's dead.'

'What happened?'

'She was murdered. I asked her all these questions about theRitter killing, and now she's dead. I can't believe it's connected, but then I can't believe it's not either.'

King jumped up so quickly it startled her badly.

'Is your truck filled with gas?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said, looking confused. 'Why?'

King seemed to be talking to himself. 'I'll call my appointments for the rest of the day and let them know.'

'Let them know? Let them know what?'

'That I won't be able to meet them. That I'm going somewhere.'

'Where are you going?'

'No, not just me-you and me. We're going to Bowlington, North Carolina, to find out why Loretta Baldwin isn't living anymore.'

He turned and headed to the door. Michelle didn't follow; she just sat there, bewildered.

King turned back. 'What's the problem?'

'I'm not sure I want to go back there.'