Dark Rivers of the Heart

Spencer said, "but I wish we had a printer, could get a copy of that."
        "There's a printer built in," she said, indicating a slot on the side of the attache case. "I think there's a supply of maybe fifty sheets of eightand-a-half-by-eleven bond paper. I sort of remember that's what Danny told me about it."
        "All I need is one."
        "Two. One for me."
        They picked the clearest shot of their benign-looking enemy, and Ellie printed out twice.
        "You've never seen him before, huh?" Spencer asked.
        "No."
        "Well, I suspect we'll be seeing him again."
        Ellie closed out Illinois Bell and returned to Mama's seemingly endless series of menus. The depth and breadth of the megabitch's abilities really did make her seem omnipotent and omniscient.
        Settling back into his seat, Spencer said, "Think you can give Mama a terminal stroke?"
        She shook her head. "No. Too many redundancies built into her for that."
        "A bloody nose, then?"
        "At least that much."
        She was aware of him staring at her for the better part of a minute, while she worked.
        Finally he said, "Have you broken many?"
        "Noses? Me?"
        "Hearts."
        She was amazed to feel a blush rising in her cheeks. "Not me."
        "You could. Easy."
        She said nothing.
        "The dog's listening," he said.
        "What?"
        "I can only speak the truth."
        "I'm no cover girl."
        "I love the way you look."

    "I'd like a better nose."
        "I'll buy you a different one if you want."
        "I'll think about it."
        "But it's only going to be different. Not any better."
        "You're a strange man."
        "Besides, I wasn't talking about looks."
        She didn't respond, just kept poring through Mama.
        He said, "If I was blind, if I'd never seen your face, I already know you well enough that you could still break my heart."
        When she was finally able to take a breath, she said, "As soon as they give up on Earthguard, they'll try to get control of another satellite and find us again. So it's time to drop below radar and change course.
        Better tell the flyboys."
        After a hesitation, which might have indicated disappointment in her failure to respond in any expected fashion to the way he had bared his feelings, he said, "Where are we going?"
        "As near the Colorado border as this bucket will take us."
        "I'll find out how much fuel we have. But why Colorado?"
        "Because Denver is the nearest really major city And if we can get to a major city, I can make contact with people who can help us."
        "Do we need help?"
        "Haven't you been paying attention?"
        "I've got a history with Colorado," he said, and an uneasiness marked his voice.
        "I'm aware of that."
        "Quite a history."
        "Does it matter?"
        "Maybe," he said, and he was no longer romancing her. "I guess it shouldn't. It's just a place…
        She met his eyes. "The heat's on us too high right now. We need to get to some people who can hide us out, let things cool off."
        "You know people like that?"
        "Not until recently. I've always been on my own before. But lately… things have changed."
        "Who are they?"
        "Good people. That's all you need to know for now."
        "Then I guess we're going to Denver," he said.
        Mormons, Mormons were everywhere, a plague of Mormons, Mormons in neatly pressed uniforms, clean-shaven, clear-eyed, too soft-spoken for cops, so excessively polite that Roy Miro wondered if it was all an act, Mormons to the left of him, Mormons to the right of him, both local and county authorities, and all of them too efficient and by-the-book either to flub their investigation or to let this whole mess be covered over with a wink and a slap on the back. What bothered Roy the most about these particular Mormons was that they robbed him of his usual advantage, because in their company, his affable manner was nothing unusual. His politeness paled in comparison to theirs. His quick and easy smile was only one in a blizzard of smiles full of teeth remarkably whiter than his own.
        They swarmed through the shopping center and the supermarket, these Mormons, asking their oh-so-polite questions, armed with their small notebooks and Bic pens and direct Mormon stares, and Roy could never be sure