‘And you told me a minute ago you couldn’t worry about what people thought,’ she said. ‘I’m people. Quit worrying.’
‘I never saw your show.’
‘You didn’t miss much.’
‘Tell me how you won the five million.’
‘No. When this is all over we’ll rent the Season One DVD. I don’t want to give away the ending.’
‘I know the ending. You win. Tell me.’
So she did, chewing up the thirty minutes with talk of secret blocs and voting and backstabbing, and he checked the clock and said, ‘Time to rinse your hair.’
She stood. He jetted on the faucet and she ducked her head underneath while he cupped the water and rinsed the dye from her hair. She toweled her hair and made the wet cut spiky with her fingers. She looked different enough from the woman in the newspaper photos to pass a casual inspection.
‘You can tell me about the shooting, Miles. I won’t hate you. I couldn’t hate you.’ She turned and her face was inches from his. ‘I couldn’t hate you. Ever.’
‘You should know,’ Andy hissed in his ear, ‘that I’m never going to let you get close to another person again.’
Miles flinched. ‘We can talk about it later. Let’s find Edward Wallace.’
He pulled the thin phone book from the side-table drawer. It covered the scattering of communities near Yosemite. He ran a finger along the residential listings. ‘Edward Wallace. He’s listed. Not trying to hide.’
‘We could just call him and ask him about Allison.’
‘No. I don’t want him shoving us off. You and Nathan stay here.’
‘I want to come with you.’
‘No. It could be dangerous,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m experienced at getting information out of people, you’re not. Please.’
The hurt shone in her face. ‘Well, sure, since you’re so experienced. I’ll just sit in my disguise and talk to myself.’ She crossed her arms and sat down.
‘I’ll come back with Frost,’ he said.
‘Yeah, great,’ she said as he shut the door.
Celeste stood at the window and watched him go. Then she went back inside and stood over Nathan, curled in quiet sleep. Gently she touched his cheek, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. Then she found Edward Wallace’s address in the phone book and wrote a note for Nathan. She put it by his bedside and he opened his eyes and reached out and grabbed her arm.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m going to help Miles.’
‘No, Celeste. Stay.’ His voice was quiet; not jagged.
‘Let go of my arm, Nathan.’
He didn’t. ‘You need to stay. This is over now, Celeste, and you’ll be safe.’
‘What do you mean?’ She tried to free her arm; Nathan tightened his grip.
‘I did it for all of us. He’ll be here soon.’
‘What have you done-’ She wrenched free from him, hit him in the chest, spun for the door. She opened it and saw Groote – the man from Santa Fe – running toward the room from the motel office, his eyes lasered on hers. She slammed the door, fumbled to engage the chain lock, missing, and then Groote powered against the door with all his muscle and fury and she landed hard on the worn carpet.
He leveled a gun at Celeste’s head.
Nathan threw himself at Groote, and Groote whipped the pistol hard across Nathan’s face, cutting his cheek. He kicked Nathan, pile-driving him onto Celeste.
Groote closed the door, threw the dead bolt, aimed the gun at them.
‘Hi, Nathan. Don’t light any fires. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Brent. Don’t scream.’ His smile chilled Celeste’s skin. ‘We need to talk.’
FORTY-ONE
Edward Wallace’s windows needed a scrubbing. The sides of the bungalow cried for a fresh coat of paint. But a gleaming Mercedes stood in the driveway, at odds with the tumbledown air of the home. Not a home; just a house where someone lived.
Miles remembered Allison’s neat tidiness; he couldn’t picture her at this house. But then, she’d lived a lie; he didn’t know the real Allison at all.
Miles went up to the porch, knocked. He heard a shuffle of footsteps; the door opened a crack. Miles saw a sliver of face: blue eye, blond hair, unshaven cheek.
‘Mr. Wallace?’
‘It’s Doctor.’
‘My apologies. Doctor Wallace. We need to talk.’
‘I don’t believe in God or fund raisers.’ He shut the door.
Miles leaned forward, spoke low against the door frame. ‘Allison sent me. Or I guess you call her Renee.’
Four beats of silence. Then the door opened.
Edward Wallace matched the picture of the man in the wedding photo; tall with a thin, intellectual face and the lean build of a marathon runner. He held a sleek automatic pistol in his hand, aimed at Miles’s stomach. It trembled in his grip.
‘Who are you?’
‘Miles Kendrick. I knew your wife. At least, I thought I did.’
Edward Wallace bit his lip. ‘You’re the federal witness.’
Miles kept his surprise off his face. ‘Allison told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you mind pointing your friend away from me, Doctor Wallace?’
Wallace lowered the gun. ‘I would have missed. I don’t know anything about guns.’
‘I have about a thousand questions for you,’ Miles said.
‘Well, I have only one answer. You and I are both dead men,’ Wallace said, ‘unless we help each other.’
FORTY-TWO
‘You gave me a chase, man.’ Groote knelt down near Nathan, keeping the gun firmly aimed at Celeste’s head. ‘Now. No more fighting, okay? It only hurts us both.’
Nathan’s mouth trembled. ‘No. No.’
‘Thinking about the time we spent together?’ Groote said. ‘I don’t enjoy hurting people. But no pain for you, no gain for me. Talk to me, and I won’t get out Mr. Screwdriver again. At least not on you.’ He grabbed Celeste, who had wriggled free from under Nathan.
‘Don’t,’ Nathan said. ‘Don’t hurt her.’
‘Then help me, Nathan.’ He ran the gun barrel along the top of Celeste’s new haircut. ‘But I want to know where Frost and Miles Kendrick are.’
‘Miles is gone,’ Celeste said before Nathan could answer.
‘Where?’
‘To get Frost,’ Celeste said.
‘You’re cooperative, Mrs. Brent,’ Groote said.
