Dead Hunt

and took her hand.
Diane’s lip quivered. ‘‘I thought the guy at the hospital was going to rape me,’’ she said. Saying it out loud brought her close to tears again.
Frank squeezed her hand. Diane saw his jaw muscle clench. The light changed and he accelerated.
‘‘I wasn’t going to let that happen,’’ she said, knowing that most of the time the victim can’t stop a determined rapist. She shook her head as if there might be something out of place inside her skull. ‘‘I don’t know what came over me—I didn’t care what threat he made—I just wasn’t going to let it happen. And there I was in that stupid gown. Thank heavens I’d found a second one just a minute before and put it on backwards—not that I was much more protected.’’ She took a breath. ‘‘And there was that idiot nurse. She wouldn’t believe me and just stood there grinning when I told her to go get security. They need to make those gowns in power colors.’’
‘‘You asked for security? Why didn’t you say something back there?’’ asked Frank.
‘‘Because nurse’s aide is a low-paying job and she’s probably the sole support of five kids, a no-account husband, and five brothers-in-law and their families,’’ said Diane.
She saw Frank’s jaw twitch into a tiny smile. They were silent until he pulled into his driveway. Diane looked at her watch.
‘‘You’re going to be late for work,’’ she said.
‘‘It’s okay. I want to stay with you for a while. Come in and tell me what happened at your home and at the hospital. You said you thought he was going to rape you. That wasn’t his goal?’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘No, he wanted to kill me.’’

Chapter 19
    Frank’s Queen Anne–style house was set off the road amid several huge oak trees. It was an old house that had been well maintained. Its hardwood floors had a high polish. The interior walls were a light yellow-tan color that made the rooms look bright and clean. He had a preference for stuffed chairs and sofas, and oak and walnut furniture that suited the age of the house. It was a house that always reminded her of Frank himself—a sound and comfortable port in a storm.
    They sat on one of the stuffed sofas facing a rock fireplace. There was no fire and it looked like a yawning dark entrance to a cave. It looked inviting. Diane hadn’t been caving in several months, and a dark cool cavern was appealing right now. Nothing like crawling into the earth to escape your troubles. She leaned against Frank and he held her tight as if his arms might stop her trembling. After several minutes Diane gently pulled away and sat up.
    ‘‘I’m okay, really,’’ she said, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers, making an effort not to lose control. She couldn’t go to the museum looking so vulnerable—not now, not when the entire museum was looking to her for strength.
    Frank studied her for a moment and smiled in the way that made his eyes twinkle—which made everything seem all right.
    ‘‘Good. I’ll get us some coffee and you can tell me all about your day so far.’’
Frank rose from the sofa, leaned over, and gave Diane a quick kiss on the lips. While he was gone, Diane went to the mantel to look at the photographs. She had seen them all many times but she liked looking at them. Frank had a nice family—parents who were still alive and still married, two brothers and one sister, nieces, nephews. He had a photograph of his son, Kevin, from a previous marriage and one of Star, the young girl he adopted after her parents were murdered. Diane took down the photograph and smiled at it. Star, now going to Bartram University, had been working hard, overcoming a lot.
Frank came back with two cups of cappuccino— which was always way too strong. But right now she needed a good jolt. She put the photo of Star back on the mantle.
‘‘Do I need to sip this sitting down?’’ she said.
‘‘It probably would help.’’ He sat down next to her with his own drink.
Diane blew across the top of the beverage to cool it, then took a small drink. It was hot, strong, and good.
After a moment she began her recounting of the day by telling him about waking up to the knock at the door and then slipping in the blood. She told him about the attack in the hospital in more detail than she had related in the presence of Lynn Webber and the nurse’s aide.
‘‘Did you recognize the voice?’’ asked Frank. As they spoke he sipped his coffee and