The Cove

ever say anything like that again, you'll piss me off. When I get pissed off I do strange things, like take off all my clothes and chase ducks in the park." The tension fell away from her. He had no idea why he'd told her she was beautiful; it had just slipped out. Actually, she was more than beautiful-she was warm and caring, even while she was living this nightmare. He wished he knew what to do.

    "You said you didn't remember about that night your father was killed. Do you have other gaps in your memory?"

    "Yes. Sometimes when I think about that place, very sharp memories will come to me, but I couldn't swear if they are truly memories or just weird images stewed up by my brain. I remember everything very clearly until about six months ago."

    "What happened six months ago?"

    "That's when everything went dim."

    "What happened six months ago?"

    "Senator Bainbridge retired suddenly, and I was out of a job. I remember that I was going to interview with Senator Irwin, but I never got to his office."

    "Why not?"

    "I don't know. I remember it was a sunny day. I was singing. The top was down on my Mustang. The air was sharp and warm." She paused, frowning, then shrugged. "I always sang when the top was down. I don't remember anything else, but I know I never saw Senator Irwin."

    She said nothing more. She was eating her meat loaf. She probably didn't realize she was eating, but he wanted her to keep at it. He guessed he wanted her to eat more than he wanted her to talk. At least for now. What the hell had happened?

    James paid their bill and walked outside while Sally went to the women's room. He wondered how he was going to keep his hands off her when they got back to his tower bedroom.

12

    HE HEARD A whisper of sound that didn't belong in that small narrow space beside the Hinterlands. He turned around, wondering if Sally had come out of the cafe without his seeing her. That was when he heard it again. There it was, just a whisper of sound. He pivoted quickly on his heel, his hand inside his jacket on the butt of his German SIG-sauer, a 9 mm semiautomatic pistol that fit his hand and his personality perfectly. He was at one with that pistol, as he'd never been with any other before in his professional life. He was pulling it out, smooth and quick, but still, he was too late. The blow struck him just over his left ear. He went down without a sound.

    "James?" Sally stuck her head out the door of the cafe. There was no one around. She waved to Nelda, then turned back. Where was James? She frowned and stepped down. She heard a whisper of sound that didn't seem like it belonged. She wheeled about to look in that sliver of space beside the building.

    What she saw was James lying on his side on the ground, a trickle of blood trailing down his cheek toward his chin. She yelled his name and skidded onto her knees beside him, snaking him, then drawing back. She sucked in her breath. Gently she laid her fingers on the pulse in his throat. It was strong and slow. Thank God, he was all right. What was going on here? But then she knew.

    It was her father, he'd finally come to get her, just as he'd promised he would. He'd hurt James, probably because he'd been protecting her.

    She looked up for help, praying to see anyone, it didn't matter how old he was, just anyone. There was no one around, not a single soul.

    Oh, God, what should she do? She was leaning down to look at the wound when the blow crashed directly down on the back of her head and she crumpled over James.

    She heard the sound. It came at short intervals. It was water, one drop after another, hitting metal.

    Plop.

    She opened her eyes but couldn't seem to focus. Her brain felt loose, as if it were floating inside her head. She couldn't seem to think, she could only hear that plop. She knew something wasn't right. She tried to remember but couldn't quite make her brain fasten onto something that would trigger a thought, any thought, anything that happened to her before she was here, wherever here was.

    "You're awake. Good."

    A voice, a man's voice, his voice. She managed to follow the sound of his face. It was Dr. Beadermeyer, the man who had tormented her for six long months.

    Yes, she remembered that, not all of it, but enough to have it burn through her sleep and terrify her over and over in nightmares that still brought vivid pain.

    Suddenly she remembered. She'd been with James. Yes, James Quinlan. He'd been struck on the head. He was lying