Riptide

gave
    you the earliest sunrise and latest sunset.
    She was still wearing the light-blue cotton sundress that Sherlock
    had brought back to New York with her, and she wished she
    had a sweater. Fear seemed to leach the heat right out of her.
    The house was cooler. She made iced tea, put together a tuna
    salad sandwich, and sat out on the wide veranda, watching night
    slowly fall. She wondered if anyone would slip into Jacob Marley's
    house. The wristband was one-way.
    Odd, but she didn't think about Krimakov. She thought about
    Adam, his face now clear in her mind.
    He'd snuck up on her, just as, she supposed, she'd snuck up on
    him. She smiled. He was a good man, sexy as hell, which she
    wouldn't tell him just yet, and he had a streak of honor a mile wide.
    Even when she'd bitten his hand and cursed him, wanted to kick
    him into the dirt, she'd known that honor of his was real and
    wouldn't ever change to suit the circumstance.
    And Adam knew her father a lot better than she did. And he'd
    never said a word. What did that say about this mile-wide honor of
    his? She'd have to think about that.

She took the last bite of her sandwich and wadded up the napkin.
    It was nearly dark now. Surely Krimakov would do something
    soon. Her Coonan was in the pocket of her sundress. She hadn't
    told anyone about the gun, but she suspected that Adam knew she
    had it. He'd kept his mouth shut, a smart move, or else she might
    have bitten him again.
    She hadn't seen a soul, at least not a soul who was here especially
    for her. It would be soon, she felt it. Krimakov was close. Everyone
    else was close, too. She wasn't alone in this. And she thought
    of Sam and of Krimakov's note.
    She waited and looked up at the sliver of moon in the dark sky.
    She prayed that Sheriff Gaffney had decided not to come see her
    tonight. Finally, she walked into the house, shut and locked the
    front door. She closed and locked all the windows. She didn't want
    to go upstairs to the bedroom where he'd hidden in her closet and
    stuck a needle in her arm.
    She was on the stairs when the phone rang. Her fingers clutched
    at the oak railing so tightly they turned white. The phone rang
    again. It had to be Krimakov.
    It was. She pushed the small button on the wristband and
    pressed her wrist close to the phone receiver.
    "Hello, Rebecca. It's your boyfriend." His voice was playful,
    filled with crazy fun. It scared her to death. "Hey, I hope I didn't
    hurt you too badly when I threw you out of the car in New York?"
    His voice was still mischievous, but now he'd pitched it lower,
    maybe even put a handkerchief over the mouthpiece. She wondered
    if her father would recognize his voice after twenty years.
    "No, you didn't hurt me too badly, but you already know that,
    don't you? You killed four people in NYU Hospital to get to me
    and my father, but we weren't there. You failed, you murdering
    butcher. Where the hell is Sam? Don't you dare hurt that little boy."

"Why not? He's worth nothing except that he did get you here
    for me. I'll just bet the CIA director got ahold of you really fast.
    Now you're here and you're alone, I see. You followed my instructions.
    Hard to believe they let you come here all by yourself, all
    unprotected."
    "I ran away. I'm waiting for you, you bastard. Come here and
    bring Sam."
    "Now, now, there's no rush, is there?"
    He was playing with her, nothing new in that. She drew a deep
    breath, tried to be calm. "I don't understand why you didn't want
    my father to come with me. It's him you want to kill, isn't that
    right?"
    "Your father is a very bad man, Rebecca, very bad, indeed. You
    have no idea what he's done, how many innocent people he's destroyed."
    "I know that he shot your wife by accident a long time ago, and
    that you swore to get revenge. All the rest of it, it's a fabrication of
    your own crazy mind. I don't think anyone has killed more people
    than you have. Listen to me, please. Why not just stop it all now?
    My father was devastated when he accidentally shot your wife. He
    told me you had brought her with you, faking a vacation when you
    were really there to assassinate that visiting German industrialist.
    Why did you use your wife like that?"
    "You know nothing about it. Shut up."
    "Why won't you tell me? Did you really believe that she
    wouldn't be in any danger if you took her with you?"
    "I told you to shut up, Rebecca. Hearing you talk about that
    wonderful woman dirties her memory. You're from his seed, and
    that