Текст книги "The Dark Horse "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

Chapter Six

I opened my eyes.

I was lying on the sofa. The ceiling fan whispered above me, the blades swirling in a hypnotic blur. It threw a black shadow flower against the plaster, the petals whirring into a smear.

«Hey, sweetheart.» Dan leaned over me, his face white. Even his lips looked pale. There were little lines around his eyes I didn't remember seeing before. Poor Dan. Just what he needed after a hard day of chasing bad guys: scraping his crazy boyfriend off the carpet. I whispered, «Sorry about that.» He stroked my hair back from my forehead. «There's nothing to be sorry for.» There was, though. Lenny Norman. I covered my eyes with my arm. «Don't, Sean. It's not your fault.» Funny how easily he could read my mind. «No?» «Christ, no.» «He thinks he's helping me.»

But how could Hammond possibly know that I was trying for a role in The Charioteer? How could he know that Lenny Norman stood in the way of what I wanted? «Whoever is behind this doesn't think he's helping you.»

I lowered my arm. «We know who's behind it. Jesus, tell me we aren't going to go through this again. You know Hammond did this. He killed the dog and now –«

«Listen to me,» he said, and something in his tone caught my attention. «They found Hammond's body.» «They …» I felt winded, like he'd punched me. «There's no mistake. Paul Hammond is dead.» I blinked. I had been so sure.

Dan said, «He must have been thrown from the car when it went off the road. From what the ME could tell, he crawled several yards away from the crash site before he died from internal injuries. They found him in a small gully. Apparently, because the car wound up in the aqueduct, no one thought to canvass the surrounding area.» I put a hand to my head trying to make sense of this. «There's no doubt?» Grimly, Dan said, «I visited the morgue myself to make sure.»

I gathered from his expression that the trip to the morgue had been pretty ghastly; I recognized that this had been done as a favor to me, something I should be grateful for. Instead I felt bewildered. «Then who shot Lenny Norman?»

«We can't assume that Norman's murder is connected to whoever is harassing you. It could have been a jealous boyfriend, a drug deal gone bad; he was not a popular guy. It could have been someone he fired or someone he turned down for a role.» «You don't believe that, do you?»

«I know that you believe Norman's death is too much of a coincidence, but I'm here to tell you that coincidences happen.»

I barely heard him. It was like someone had dumped water on the circuit board of my brain; my thoughts kept shorting out. Norman's death couldn't be a coincidence, but how could anyone outside my immediate circle know that I feared he would stop me from getting The Charioteer? Only a handful of people could possibly know I was interested in the role. And killing Norman wasn't doing me any favors. Most likely the entire production would be cancelled now; the adaptation had been his baby, his project, he had been the one fueling it. So if someone was trying to do me a favor, it was someone who didn't understand how the film industry ran. Watching me, Dan asked, «Feel ready to sit up?» I assented.

He slipped an arm behind me and I sat up, surprised to find that I really needed his help. I felt weak. Shattered.

I stared around the room like I'd never seen it. It was so white. White carpets and white upholstery, white walls – so clinical. Medicinal. Had I picked all this stuff? The seascape over the fireplace, the dark wood furniture and bookshelves. The books themselves. They all looked like they belonged to someone else, someone who lived a long, long way away from me – maybe on another planet.

The only thing that felt real was Dan's arm around me. Was he afraid I was going to keel over again? I said, «I need a drink.» He hesitated. «You don't want to mix pills and booze.» «I don't plan on taking any pills.»

Another pause while he searched for a way to say what he wanted to without antagonizing me. «You might want something to help you sleep. Later.»

I shook my head. He squeezed my shoulder and rose. He was back in a minute with two fingers of brandy in a tumbler. I knocked it back, barely registering the burn down my throat, the heat pooling in my belly. Dan's hand absently stroked up and down my spine.

«Where's Markowitz?» I asked, then nearly dropped the glass as the phone rang. «I can't talk to anyone,» I told Dan.

«I've got it.» He rose, and I instantly missed his warmth and strength. Too much.

From that detached distance I listened to him talk. Quiet and clipped. Cop talk. I remembered that I had hung up on Steve. I needed to talk to him. Later. He'd understand that it had to be later.

Dan came back and sat down beside me again. «Norman had an argument with his neighbor last night – and not the first.» «I don't believe –« «Just for the sake of argument, look at these things separately for a minute.»

A thought popped into my head. I interrupted him, asking, «When did you find out Hammond was dead?» «Yesterday.» «Yesterday?» No apology, no explanation. Just the facts, ma'am.

Something else didn't make sense, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I said, «Where did you say Markowitz was?» Dan nodded toward the front room. «Did you need him for something?» «No. I don't need him.» I woke up with the confused memory of the phone ringing.

The room was in darkness, the shutters closed, drapes drawn. Dan's side of the bed –he had a side now – was empty. I rolled over in a twist of sheet, checked the clock on the nightstand. Seven-thirty. At night? What the hell was I doing in bed? I was supposed to be at dinner with Winston Marshall and Lenny Norman.

It all came flooding back. Steve's phone call and the news Lenny Norman had been murdered. My faint. Then talking with Dan until the alcohol had hit and I'd gone up to lie down. Had I taken pills after that? I didn't remember, but I felt groggy, doped. I hadn't dreamed that single aborted ring, had I?

I picked the phone up and heard Dan talking. «… shock. I don't want to wake him.» Steve replied, «I understand, but I think he'll want to take this call.» «I'll tell him you rang as soon as he wakes up.»

Still only half awake, I dropped the handset, had to feel around in the coverlet for it. I put it back against my ear in time to hear Steve saying, «You mean, what you think is best for Sean. Maybe Sean wouldn't agree.» «In this five seconds Sean isn't the best judge of what he needs.»

I blinked at this from a great distance. Did Dan mean that the way it sounded? Because what did that mean? And whatever it meant, it was pretty damn high-handed.

And apparently Steve agreed. He said in a tone I'd never heard before, «But I guess you are?» I waited for Dan's answer. He didn't say anything, which I guess was his answer.

I replaced the phone carefully on the hook. I didn't feel up to talking to Steve right now, I didn't feel ready to deal with whatever this new piece of news was, but Steve was right. Dan didn't have a right to screen my calls. I should be a lot more angry, right? It couldn't be a good sign that I felt so apathetic; that all I wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep.

Maybe Dan wasn't so far off base. Maybe I wasn't as well as I believed. My stomach twisted into knots of anxiety.

But anyone would be shocked about murder, right? And death threats, that would take a toll on anyone.

Wasn't I basically stressing over how stressed I was? In fact, this was really sort of funny if I looked at it in just the right way. Yep, hysterical. And if I started laughing, I'd never stop.

Say I did crack up again, what would happen with Dan and me? Nobody was going to hang in there for that. You couldn't expect it. I tried to picture Dan driving down on visiting days to have lunch with me in my bathrobe.

I hugged the pillow and buried my face in the cool cotton. It smelled good. Like Dan. * * * * * I jerked awake to furtive rustling sounds.

«It's me.» Dan spoke from near the window. «I didn't want to startle you with the light.» Right, because creepy sounds in the darkness were a lot less alarming. «What time is it?»

«About three in the morning.» His shadow passed through the bars of moonlight. The mattress dipped on his side of the bed. I could hear the fatigue in his voice. «Do you need anything? You didn't eat dinner. Do you want some scrambled eggs?» «No.» «A hot drink?»

I had a sudden and totally inexplicable longing for the hot cocoa and plain animal cookies my mom used to fix me when I a little kid and feeling sick or sad. I hadn't seen or spoken to my mother in five years. Not since the memorable lunch where she'd spent the

first half reassuring me that there were doctors and clinics and therapies to help me get over being gay, and the second half crying about what she and my father could have done to deserve a son like me.

Two days later I'd checked myself into the hospital for a few weeks of R&R. But, it only took a day for me to realize that being depressed or nervous didn't mean I wasn't safe with the cutlery. The first step had been learning to trust myself. The second step had been putting a healthy distance between me and my family. «Nothing,» I told Dan. And then belatedly, «Thanks.»

He lay back with a sigh. «Jesus, what a fucked up day,» he muttered. I don't think he meant to say it aloud. I'd never heard him sound so drained. I lifted my head. «Are you okay? Can I get you something?» He said huskily, «I could really use a hug right about now.»

For a sec I didn't think I'd heard him right. I was so used to him being the caretaker that it didn't occur to me that he might occasionally need solace – or that I'd be the person best qualified to offer it.

«Hey,» I whispered, and reached for him. His arms locked around me. I wasn't exactly sure who was hugging whom. I rested my cheek against the soft crispness of his hair, kissed him lightly. His breath was warm against my ear. Toothpaste and a hint of the coffee he'd had earlier. He inhaled sharply. Held me even tighter. «I love the way you smell,» he whispered.

I smiled a little. Gave him another of those tiny stray kisses. After a few minutes, I felt his body relaxing against mine, growing heavy and drowsy. It was unexpectedly comforting. I held him until I too gave into sleep.

I slept late the next morning. Dan was gone by the time I wandered into the front room.

Markowitz sat on the couch reading Variety. Maria was scouring the granite countertops. She looked up, smiling with false brightness when I walked into the kitchen. «Buenos dias!» «Morning.» I opened the fridge. Took out the jug of orange juice.

«I make you breakfast, Mr. Fairchild,» Maria said, handing me a glass. Her soft brown eyes looked worried. Why was she worried?

«How about if I make you breakfast,» I said. «Markowitz, would you like breakfast?»

«I had a couple of Pop Tarts before I left the house,» Markowitz said from behind the newspaper. «Me, I'm dieting,» Maria said.

That made it unanimous. I drank my orange juice watching Mrs. Wilgi walking the beach. A little speck danced in front of her. A puppy.

I sat down and turned on the TV, flipping channels 'til I found a local station. I sat through two morning talk shows with celebrity guests – all of them much younger and prettier than me – cartoons I didn't recognize, and finally a news update on Lenny Norman.

Police were questioning a neighbor with whom he'd had a long-running feud. And that was about it. Norman had been shot to death late Monday night. His bullet-riddled body had been found by his gardener Tuesday morning.

News at eleven. Eleven a.m. because it wasn't very important news, the murder of one small-time indie director. Few, if any, of the at home viewers were going to recognize his film credits.

«The victim was killed by three shots from a 9 mm semiautomatic,» announced the perky blond reporter in her faux trench coat.

I said to Markowitz, who had lowered the paper for this news flash, «That's the old police issue, isn't it?» I knew Dan still carried a Beretta M9, though a lot of cops had switched to Glocks.

«I prefer the grip of a Beretta,» Markowitz said quite civilly. «They've been having problems with the Glock 21s.»

From the kitchen, Maria made clucking noises. «You don't want feel your head with that bad stuff, Mr. Fairchild!» The phone rang. My keepers exchanged looks.

I uncurled out of the overstuffed chair. «I've got it,» I said. I picked up before the answering machine. «Dude, is that you?» Steve sounded unusually subdued. «Yes.» I glanced at Maria. «I'll take this upstairs.» She nodded.

I ran upstairs, picked up, and said into the phone, «You can hang up now, Maria.» I waited for the clatter of the phone settling back on the hook, and then said, «What's up?» «Is everything okay?» «Of course.» «I tried to call last night.» «I know. I'm sorry. I was kind of out of it last night.» «Yeah. I heard.» Awkward pause.

«Well, listen,» Steve said finally, «I've got some news. I think it's good news. Winston Marshall called me this morning. He's going ahead with The Charioteer. He's already talked to Bruce Watts about replacing Lenny Norman as director, and the first person Bruce mentioned when he heard the Laurie role hadn't been cast yet was you.»

«Bruce is going to direct?» Bruce Watts had directed my last two films. He was wonderful to work with, an actor's director. «The part's yours if you still want it.» «If I still want it? Of course I still want it!» «Are you sure, Sean? Because there are other films and other parts.» «What are you talking about? I want this part. I want this film.»

Steve, sounding totally unlike himself, said, «Okay, but are you … sure you're up to it?»

«Hell, yes, I'm up to it.» The realization of what he was really saying hit me in the gut. «Why don't you just say what's on your mind, Steve?»

Clearly uncomfortable, he forged on. «Yeah, well, Dan and I talked last night. He said that you might not be … strong enough to go back to work so soon.» I was holding the receiver so hard I thought it might crack. «He said what?»

«Well, with all this shit going on. First Hammond and then this other lunatic and then thinking Hammond was this other lunatic. You have to admit you have been under a lot of strain. I mean, no wonder if you're emotionally fragile.» I felt like I couldn't get my breath. «Dan said I was emotionally fragile?» Silence. «Steve? Is that what Dan said? That I'm emotionally fragile?»

Steve said in an uncomfortable rush, «I think he's worried, Sean. I mean, we all are. But … Dan especially.»

«What else did he say?» I had hung the phone up too quickly last night. No wonder Maria and Markowitz were giving me funny looks this morning. «That you –« He bit it off. «That I what? Jesus! Tell me what the fuck he said!»

Steve spoke like the words were being dragged out of him one at a time. «He thought that maybe we should talk to you together. Convince you to get yourself admitted to UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Hospital.» I felt like gravity suddenly slipped and I was about to float off into space.

The Neuropsychiatric Hospital at UCLA is a facility for patients who require medical assistance in stabilizing acute emotional psychiatric crisis. Residential treatment. Supervised activity from eight a.m. to eight p.m. Deck time and occupational therapy and exercise and medication. It's a great hospital. I know. I once spent nine months there.

There was a weird humming in my ears. I wondered if I was going to make a habit of fainting.

My mouth was so dry I could hardly get the words out. «He wants to have me committed?»

«No! God, no. He wants it to be voluntary. Voluntary hospitalization, you know. Just for rest and observation.»

I swallowed so hard he must have heard it all the way in West Hollywood because he said quickly, «Like before. The second time, I mean, when you went in yourself for a-a rest.» «I don't need a rest. I need to get back to work.» «We all want what's best for you, Sean.»

I wanted to scream at that kind, noncommittal tone. He sounded like Dan at his most aggravating. I said as calmly as I could, «You've known me a long time, Steve. Do you think I need to be hospitalized? Do I seem irrational?» I had to fight to keep my voice even, in case I sounded as irrational as Dan apparently thought I was. «Do I seem like a danger to myself or anyone else?»

«Shit, no!» he said quickly and loyally. But then he said, «But I'm not living with you, Sean. Dan sees a different side, I guess.» I said tightly, «If anyone is crazy, it's Dan.» He said, «Hey, he never used the C-word.» «Yeah, they're not supposed to,» I retorted. «It's not politically correct.»

He did laugh at that, an unwilling snort of a laugh. «Well, you sound normal enough. Normal for you, anyway.»

«I'm going to have this out with Dan,» I said. «I'm tired of his –« I bit the rest of it off. Despite Dan's betrayal whatever happened between us was still none of Steve's business. «You can tell Bruce that he's got his Laurie,» I said. «Is Dan going to go for that?» «Dan doesn't have a say in this.»

«Okay,» Steve said doubtfully. «Maybe I'll wait to tell Bruce 'til you talk to Dan, though.» «Tell Bruce I'm in,» I said tersely. «I'll deal with Dan.»

«Uh, sure, sure. But call me after you talk to him. I just … want to make sure you're –well, just call me.» «I'll call you.»

I hung up and went downstairs. «I need some fresh air,» I told Markowitz. «I want to go for a run on the beach.» «Not a good idea,» he said. «You'll be with me. I'll be fine. I can't stay cooped up here all day.»

«Easiest thing in the world for someone to take you out with a scope and a high-powered rifle.» Maria dropped a cup on the granite countertop.

The smash of china barely registered. I said, «This guy doesn't want to take me out long-distance, or he'd have done it days ago. Whatever he's planning, it's going to be personal delivery.»

I waited for Markowitz to deliver his verdict. Waited to see if I was, in fact, already in protective custody. Markowitz considered. He shrugged. «You're the boss.»

Wobbly with relief, I went upstairs, changed into running shoes, met Markowitz on the deck.

«Here's the deal,» he said. «If anything happens – and I mean anything – you go into the water. You go out as far as you safely can, and you stay there until I give the all clear.» I nodded, doing a few warming lunges, while I listened.

«If you hear me whistle-« He paused to whistle once, sharply. «Same deal. You go into the water and wait there.» I nodded and took off running.

It felt good to give my anger this physical release. I needed time and I needed distance before I confronted Dan. I didn't want to overreact. I realized that whatever he had said to Steve had been said out of concern for me. He cared for me; I didn't doubt that for a moment.

He wanted to shield me-whether from a bullet or a breakdown. He had been hired to protect me. So it would be a little ungrateful to be angry at him for doing that very thing now, especially since he felt he had a personal stake in my well-being.

My feet pounded the sand, my muscles burned. I ran faster, stretching out, trying to out– distance the thing I couldn't possibly outrun. I was afraid I was losing it; so why did Dan's fear feel like such a betrayal? Why did I expect him to have faith in me when I didn't have faith in myself? Sweat stung my eyes. I slowed, stopped. Wiped my face with my sweatshirt front.

Markowitz was huffing and puffing a few yards behind, keeping an unhappy eye on the hillside above us. I realized that I was making his job a lot harder than it had to be.

I could imagine what Dan would have to stay about this stunt. He'd probably program the guys in the white coats into speed dial.

«I'm starting back,» I called. Markowitz nodded, his relief plain, although I thought that was more about his heart exploding than my safety. Turning, I started back toward the house at a lope.

Why the hell did I care so much what Dan thought? Dan had been wrong. Twice. He had been wrong about there being no threat to my safety, and he was wrong about me. Maybe I wasn't as calm and courageous as he'd be if someone was stalking him, but I wasn't losing my grip on reality. I was still operational, still firing on most of my cylinders.

For the first time I considered what would happen if I did collapse again. Would my parents be made my legal guardians? God help me. Or would I be placed in some kind of conservatorship? I'd been focused for so long on staying well and strong that the possibility had never occurred to me. I remembered Steve's joke about my will. Not so funny, really.

I took the steps to the deck fast, went inside, not hearing whatever Maria said to me, and headed upstairs to Dan's office.

I told myself it was my house and I had a right to search for anything I felt I needed to search for – but it still felt about one step lower than Bunny spiking Ralph's drinks in The Charioteer. I opened the top drawer of Dan's desk; it wasn't locked and I felt another stab of shame. Either he had nothing to hide or he trusted me to respect his privacy.

What had he said about having a few trust issues of his own? I guess the soup du jour was betrayal all around.

I shuffled briefly through his mail. A couple of utility bills and a credit card statement. I scanned the charges. Nothing ominous – although I winced at the small fortune he'd paid for that Ella Fitzgerald record. I told myself I should drop it right then and there.

Instead I opened the deep side drawer and hit pay dirt. Inside the drawer was a large clear plastic bag containing postcards. My hand shook as I lifted it out. Three postcards. I turned the bag over. In Paul Hammond's spidery writing were the usual threats: You'll be sorry; I haven't forgotten; and, chillingly, Time is up.

Paul Hammond's hand and this week's postmark. But Hammond was dead. Had been dead for over two weeks now. Cold sweat broke out over my body.

Dan could have shot Lenny Norman believing he was helping me out, removing an obstacle from my path. Norman had been killed by a 9 mm and Dan carried a 9 mm. Nausea welled in my throat. But then reason reasserted itself. Dan had been home with me Monday night.

And if Dan was my stalker, he would certainly have locked this drawer. And more to the point, if he was stalking me, he'd have made sure I got the cards. Not much point in hiding them from me if he were the one trying to terrorize me. In this five seconds Sean isn't the best judge of what he needs.

Sick horror gave way to rage. He had hidden these cards from me, and whatever his reason had been, he'd no right to do such a thing. He had lied to me. Pretended there was no threat. Allowed me to believe that it was all in my head. He had withheld evidence.

I sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. I dialed his cell. He answered right away. «Chief.»

He sounded so normal. Like he was simply glad to hear from me and hadn't a secret in the world. I had to steady my voice before I could get the words out. «Can you come home?» «What's wrong?» «I need to talk to you.»

«Where's Markowitz? Is everything all right?» «Everything's fine. When can you get here?» He did some mental calculations. «It'll take me about an hour.» «I'll see you in an hour,» I said and hung up. * * * * * He was home in fifty-five minutes.

Lost in thought, I was startled when I heard the front door. Heard Dan's deep tones and Maria's lighter ones. Heard his footsteps on the stairs, coming down the hall. He started to walk past his office, then looked inside. He seemed puzzled to find me sitting at his desk. «What are you doing in here? What's going on?» «You tell me.» He looked confused. Not guilty. Not wary. Just confused. «What's wrong?»

«I had a talk with Steve. He said they've found a new director for The Charioteer, and if I want the part of Laurie, it's mine.» Dan's blue eyes studied my face. «So that's good news, right?» «Yeah, I guess. Do you think I'm well enough to take the part?» He said slowly, «Do you think you're well enough?» «Yes. I do.» He considered me for a long moment. «Then what's the problem?» «Did you tell Steve that I wasn't well enough to work?» «Hell, no.»

That caught me off guard. I didn't expect him to lie about it. I expected him to simply say what he obviously thought, that I needed to be locked up in a psych ward as soon as conveniently possible. «You didn't tell him that I was emotionally fragile?»

His face changed. «I might have asked him to go easy on fanning your fears about Paul Hammond.» «You used the term 'emotionally fragile'?»

«I may have,» his tone was guarded – obviously not wanting to rile the maniac too much.

«Did you tell Steve that the two of you should try to convince me to check myself into UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Hospital?» «Huh?» He looked utterly taken aback. «Of course not.» «You didn't try to get Steve to pull an intervention with you?» «Are you serious?»

«Yes, I'm serious. Steve said that you told him that I was ill and needed to be hospitalized. Voluntarily if possible.»

«I don't know what the hell Steve is playing at, but I never said anything like that. Ever.» «Are you saying Steve lied?» «Are you saying I would?»

I'd expected him to waffle a bit; claim that maybe Steve had misunderstood, although as far as I could tell Steve had got it right in every way that counted. «Steve has no reason to lie.» I could see that hurt him; his face went stony.

«Come on, Sean. Steve is jealous as hell of you – and he plays you like a pro.» And as though that weren't enough of a red flag flapping in my face, he added flatly, «And for the record, if I thought you needed to be hospitalized, I wouldn't waste time calling Steve for back up or trying to talk you into it.»

I was so mad I could hardly get the words out without stuttering. «Now that I believe, you arrogant son of a bitch!» Dan's eyes turned arctic-blue. Hard to believe I'd ever seen them warm with tenderness or alight with laughter. «You want to explain this?» I hurled the plastic bag of post cards at him. He caught them one-handed, barely glancing at the bag. «You went through my desk?»

His contempt made me defiant. «Hey, it's my house. And technically it's my desk.»

He went so still he didn't appear to be breathing, and yet, despite the silence I heard something shatter. I didn't let myself stop to consider what I was doing; that I was deliberately destroying something that might be irreplaceable. I just kept sweeping the counters and letting the valuables smash on the floor.

«Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, but I never saw them. You want to explain that to me?»

All at once he was totally calm. «Why don't you tell me what you think it means?»

I said, «I think you had Maria take them out of the mail when you weren't here to grab them first.» «That's right.» Zero apology or guilt. «How the hell dare you?»

He snorted. «'How the hell dare I?' You sound like a B-movie. I'll tell you how the hell I dared. You were coming apart at the seams. I tried to protect you – if only from yourself.»

Well, there was pretty much the confirmation I was looking for. He might not have phrased things exactly the way Steve remembered, but the intent seemed to be the same. «I didn't ask you to protect me!» «What are you talking about? It's my job to protect you!»

«Then,» I cried. «Before we were together. Not now. Not once we –« I couldn't finish it because whatever we had been, it was ending now. Even if I'd wanted to pull out of this tailspin, it was too late. Our relationship was crashing and burning in front of us. «Kid, you've got some weird ideas of what happens when people get together.» He had developed a knack for pushing all the wrong buttons. «Like you're an expert on relationships?»

He opened his mouth and then bit back whatever he started to say. Unreasonably, his restraint further goaded me. I sneered, «I don't have your experience, that's for sure. And I don't want it.» «Yeah, that came through loud and clear.»

Not like I hadn't asked for that one, but all at once the heat went out of my anger. I felt numb. I said, «What else did you lie about? Obviously Hammond isn't dead, is he? I'm still getting postcards from him.»

«The postcards aren't from Hammond,» he said with acrid satisfaction. «I didn't lie about him being dead or about getting the cards analyzed. The writing isn't his. It's not even that good of a forgery.» «Then who sent them?» «I'm not sure. Yet.»

It took a second for that to register. He didn't say he didn't know, he said he wasn't sure. So he thought he knew. He had a suspect. Another piece of information he wouldn't be sharing because he didn't trust me with the truth. The arrogant son of a bitch actually believed that «protecting» me meant keeping me in a state of blissful ignorance. Only ignorance wasn't bliss. It was dangerous. «Really? I thought you had all the answers.» Dan said wearily, «I thought I had one or two of them figured out. I guess not.»

I understood that we were no longer talking about Steve or Hammond. My chest rose and fell as though I'd raced to get to this moment with Dan, and now here we stood with a chasm growing wider and wider between us. I could feel the ring he'd bought me resting on my breast bone like a weight on my heart. I heard myself say, «I guess it's over.» I waited for him to say something. Anything. He said nothing. His eyes never wavered from mine.

«I can't be with someone I don't trust. And I can't trust someone who doesn't trust me.» To my amazement he laughed. Not a very pleasant laugh, granted.

His gaze moved deliberately from the plastic bag of postcards to the desk I had searched. «I can see that might be a problem.» Heat flooded my face. Dan shrugged. «You got one thing right. It's over.»