Kill Me Again. Maggie Shayne
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the redhead,” she said.
She sounded a little exasperated with him, and he found that mildly amusing. She was so staid and tucked in, he found he enjoyed ruffling her a little bit.
But she was staring at him, awaiting an answer. He sighed. “I don’t know how I knew. I don’t know anything. Remember?”
She nodded, taking the card from him and setting it on the table beside his bed. Then she snatched a few tissues from the box there and used them to wipe the black smudges from her fingertips.
“So you’re sure that’s the card you sent me.”
“I certainly haven’t sent anyone else that information,” she replied.
That caught his attention, because it was such an adamant reply. As if it were ludicrous to think she might have given her personal info to anyone else.
Maybe it was. There was more to this woman than had been apparent at first, he thought.
She seemed to try to pull her focus back to the matter at hand. “To get back to the subject, Mr. Westhaven was due to arrive today.”
“Arrive where?” he asked.
“My house. He—you—were going to use my guest room. But he never arrived. And my card, the one I sent to him, was on you when the boys found you.”
“Along with the pocket watch and key ring they found on me, it’s the sum total of my worldly possessions at the moment.”
“Still, that’s why it’s fairly obvious that you’re him.”
He nodded. “If I am him, I still say I sound like a pompous prima donna. Making you people jump through all those hoops just to get me to visit for an afternoon.”
She shrugged, but her puzzled frown was genuine, he thought. “It seems clear that you have reasons to guard your privacy. Big reasons. Reasons that go way beyond just being a prima donna, Aaron.”
It was odd, being called by a name that didn’t feel like his own. It felt odder still, that her point sounded right on target.
“Most people who’ve heard of it probably think your reclusiveness is about privacy or shyness, or that it’s just a publicity stunt, a big-time author being eccentric and arrogant and getting away with it.”
She’d given this a lot of thought, he mused. She’d probably been justifying this ink-Nazi’s egomania ever since she’d decided to worship him from afar. “Uh-huh. And what do you think?”
She shrugged. “The first time you stuck your head out in the open, someone tried to blow it off. I’d say you knew that could happen, and that’s why you play the recluse. To keep yourself alive.”
He nodded slowly. “You know, I think you just might have a point there. Now, would you do me a favor and grab my clothes from the closet?” As he spoke, he shoved his covers back.
She frowned at him. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“Leave.”
She got up again. “You can’t just leave,” she said.
“No, what I can’t do is just stay here. Hand me my stuff, will you?”
She nodded, the motion jerky, and turned to open the closet. She pulled out a suit and held it out, looking it over. “Too bad,” she said.
“What?” He was reaching for the hanger, but she shook her head and put it back in the closet. “It’s an Armani, but it’s completely ruined. Blood, dirt. There’s no saving it.” Then she bent down. “Shoes look all right, though.”
He let his head hit the pillow and sighed. “I can’t stay here. It’s not defensible.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, someone just tried to take me out. I was shot in the back of the head, all my ID was taken and my body was dumped in the middle of nowhere. That was a hit. A professional hit.”
She stood very still for a long moment, and he watched her absorb that piece of information. Her only reaction was to close her eyes slowly, leave them that way for a few ticks and then open them just as slowly. “Some professional,” she said, moving again to close the closet door. “Seeing as you’re still alive.”
“Yeah, clearly he wasn’t Einstein, but a steel plate in the skull isn’t something most people would even think of. Still, even an amateur would know enough to verify the kill.” He smiled grimly.
“That was a mistake, but he won’t make another.” He looked at her, saw her looking at him as if for the first time. “What?” he asked. “Are you not getting it? The minute this guy figures out I’m in the hospital, he’ll be coming by to finish the job.”
“I thought of that already.”
She had? He went stone silent.
“I asked Bryan—Officer Kendall—to try to keep this out of the press for now, and he agreed it was for the best. No word of a gunshot victim being found and taken to the hospital will appear in the local newspapers. I guarantee it. The hospital staff are cooperating, too.”
He blinked at her, surprised she would have come up with that strategy on her own. “Thank you for that,” he said.
She nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“Even so,” he continued, “it won’t stay a secret for long. People talk. The boys will say something. Wives will tell their husbands. Husbands will tell their best pals. Those best pals will tell their wives, and so on.”
“It’ll only have to hold for a day or two,” she said. The odd way she’d been looking at him before—like a wary doe eyeing an armed hunter—had faded. “Bryan’s going to contact your publisher to see if someone there can identify you, or if they know of someone who can. From there, we should be able to find out where you live, who your relatives are, all the things you must be so eager to learn. As frustrating as I know this must be, it won’t take long to fill in the gaps. In the meantime, there’s no reason to let the killer know he didn’t succeed.”
Did she know how much better she was making him feel? he wondered. To think he would have all the answers in a day or two…
“But…the shooter probably expects to see something in the papers about a body being found. That would be big news in a town this size, wouldn’t it?”
She frowned at him. “How did you know Shadow Falls was a small town, not a city?”
He stopped short and wondered about that. “I don’t know. Bits of conversations pinned together, combined with the view outside my window, I guess.”
“Or because it’s something you knew before, and the knowledge is still there, in your memory, right where you left it. I think it’s a good sign, Aaron.”
He felt his worry lighten just a little. “I hope you’re right.”
She nodded. “I’m sure I am. But to answer your question, you were found along a back road that leads through a state forest. It’s dirt, not pavement, not even gravel. Just dirt, and hardly ever traveled. It’s near one of the spots where the high school kids go to party and underage couples go to have sex, when they aren’t out at the old abandoned Campbell farm or the vacant cheese factory. It’s perfectly believable that a body dumped out there might not be found for a few days.”
He frowned and looked her up and down yet again, taking in her pencil skirt, silky blouse and tightly wound hair. “You say you’re an English teacher?”
“Why do you ask it like that?”
“Because you think like a cop. Or a criminal.”
She looked away so quickly that he knew she had something to hide. Some deep, dark secrets of her own. And all of a sudden he was almost as curious about her past as he was about his own hidden