The Cove

here?"

    "Sorry-no me, then no Sally."

    She looked from Sally to Quinlan, shaking her head. She looked confused.

    "Noelle, it's all right. Let us in."

    She was shaking her head, back and forth. "But he's FBI, Sally. I don't want him here. He was here before with another man, and they searched the house looking for you. Why would you want him with you? It doesn't make sense. The last person you want around you is a cop. He's lied to you. He's manipulating you. He's just making you more confused."

    "No, Noelle, I'm not confused at all about this."

    "But Sally, when your grandparents called me, they told me he was right behind you and you claimed you knew he would be. You said he was smart. But they said you wanted to escape and go into hiding. You said the same thing to me. Why are you with him? Why do you want to be with him?''

    "He caught me. I'm an amateur and he's not. And trust me, you want him with me, too." Sally took a small step forward and lightly laid her fingertips on her mother's arm.

    "That's me, ma'am, real smart. Special Agent James Quinlan. I'm pleased you remember me."

    "I wish I didn't remember, sir," Noelle said. She looked back over her shoulder. James smiled, knowing now that there was someone else in the living room. Scott Brainerd? Dr. Beadermeyer? Or both of them? He sure as hell hoped both of them were. "Both of us or neither of us," he said. "It's chilly out here. Make up your mind, ma'am."

    "All right, but I don't know why you're with her. You've no right, none at all. Sally's my daughter, she's ill, the FBI can't hold her since she's mentally unstable, nor can the police. She's my responsibility, I'm her guardian, and I say she's going back to the sanitarium. It's the only way she can be protected."

    "All that?" James said, looking amazed. Noelle looked at him as if she'd like to smack his face. "She doesn't look unstable to me. I'll bet she could withstand being beaten with rubber hoses, even having her fingernails yanked out. There's not an unstable cell in Sally's brain."

    "She's been very ill for the past six months," Noelle said, as she stood back.

    They walked past her into the foyer. There were fresh flowers on the beautiful antique table with the large gilded mirror hanging over it. There had always been fresh flowers in that hideous oriental vase, Sally thought, usually white and yellow chrysanthemums.

    "Come along into your father's study, Sally. Let's get this over with. Then I'll make certain you're safe again."

    "Safe again?" Sally whispered. "Is she nuts?"

    Quinlan hugged her quickly against him, and when she looked up at him, he winked at her. "Don't worry."

    "Well, well, what a surprise," he said when he saw Dr. Beadermeyer standing by the fireplace. He'd studied the man's photo so many times he felt as if he'd interviewed him, even though they'd never met in the flesh before. Was he the bastard who'd struck him on the head at The Cove? He'd find out soon enough.

    He turned to the other man. “And this, I take it, is your husband, Sally? That famous deal-maker, Scott Brainerd? Who worked for your father? Who probably married you because your father ordered him to?"

    "Her name's Susan," the man said. " 'Sally' is a little girl's name. I never liked it. I call her Susan." He took a step forward, then stopped. "You're looking a bit on edge, Susan, and no wonder. What are you doing with him? Noelle just told me he's an FBI agent-"

    "Special agent," Quinlan said, wanting to goad this damned man until he gnashed his teeth. "I've always been a special agent."

    "He caught up with her," Noelle said, "and he brought her back. I don't know why he's here, but we must convince him that since Sally isn't well, she wasn't responsible for killing her father. We can protect her. Doctor Beadermeyer can take her back to the sanitarium and keep her safe."

    "Since Father's dead," Sally said, staring her mother right in the eye, “that raises a whole lot of questions. For example, since he's no longer with us, then who will come and beat me and fondle me and humiliate me every week?''

    Her mother stared at her, her mouth working, but no sound came out. Her face was leached of color. She looked sick now, and uncertain. "Oh, God, no, Sally, that's not possible. Your father and Scott and Doctor Beadermeyer, they all told me every week how well you were doing, what fine care you were getting. No, this can't be true."

    "She shouldn't speak of her dead father like that," Dr.