The Shadow Hunter

suspect. Besides, she would have liked to hurt the bastard after what he put her through.
    She set down the bottle and climbed out of the spa, shivering in the cool air. With a towel wrapped around her, she considered the big question.
    Who the hell was he?
    She was quite certain her attacker had been male. Those hands had been decidedly masculine in their size and strength. But whose hands had they been? Hickle’s? Was he on to her somehow, or had he simply equated her in his mind with Jill Dahlbeck, his earlier obsession?
    He had asked if she was an actress, as Jill had been. Maybe there was something about her that had triggered the same feelings that might have led him to splash Jill with battery acid on a dark side street in Hollywood years ago.
    Or maybe the assault had no connection with Hickle or this case. She remembered Wyatt saying,
This is Hollywood, remember. Lots of random craziness. Hickle’s not the only nutcase
.
    Then an absurd thought occurred to her. How well did she really know Vic Wyatt?
    “Oh, come on,” she said under her breath, “that’s paranoid.”
    Of course it was paranoid. She was in a paranoid business. She was trained to be hypervigilant. But the fact was, somebody had just tried to kill her, less than two hours after her meeting with Wyatt—and she didn’t know Wyatt all that well.
    He had bumped into her last night at the bar in Westwood. Suppose it wasn’t a coincidence. Suppose he had been following her. Stalking her…She knew all about that kind of behavior, didn’t she?
    And suppose that tonight, after dinner, he had followed her to this building, and when he saw her enter the tub…
    “Tried to kill me?” she asked herself aloud. “Why would he?”
    She couldn’t say, but she had to admit it was at least possible. The lock on the gate was broken; anyone could have entered the spa area.
    She still didn’t believe it. Wyatt had never struck her as the slightest bit unstable or hostile or obsessive.
    Anyhow, there might be a way to eliminate him from suspicion.
    She took the cell phone out of her purse and called Wyatt’s home number. He lived in the mid-city district near La Brea and Washington. If he’d fled this location just minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have had time to get home yet.
    She waited through three rings, a small knot of worry forming in her stomach. She didn’t want to suspect Wyatt. She didn’t want the assailant to be anyone she knew and liked.
    Four rings—
    And the phone was answered. “Wyatt.”
    “Oh.” She caught her breath. “Hi, Vic, it’s me. Hope I’m not calling too late.”
    “No problem. I’m kind of a night owl, with the schedule I’m working lately. What’s up?”
    She couldn’t very well tell him that she was calling to remove him from suspicion of attempted murder. But she hadn’t had time to think of a cover story. She improvised. “I realized I forgot to ask if there were any other women Hickle went after. You know, in addition to Jill Dahlbeck. Anything in his past, any other reports, before or since.”
    “Not that I’m aware of. But I have a feeling you might know about somebody.”
    “Me?”
    “Why else would a security firm be taking a fresh look at him?”
    “Well…no comment.”
    “That’s what I figured. And if I asked who his new object of affection might be?”
    “No comment.”
    “You sound like a broken record. Anything else you forgot to ask?”
    She almost said no, then changed her mind. “There is one thing. Any reports of drownings in the Hollywood district?”
    “Drownings? You mean, like, little kids who fall in a swimming pool?”
    “No, I mean adults…Any unsolved cases like that? An adult who drowned in a pool or a hot tub, that kind of thing?”
    “What would that have to do with Raymond Hickle?”
    “Probably nothing. Just a loose end I’m trying to tie up.”
    “Well, to answer your question—no, there haven’t been any mysterious, unsolved Hollywood drownings. If there had been, I think the local news would have picked up on it, don’t you?”
    “Sure. Of course they would. Sorry I asked.”
    “No problem. I’m here to help. To protect and serve, that’s my motto.”
    “I’ll see you, Vic.”
    “Take care, Abby.”
    She ended the call. There was no chance he could have made it home that fast, and besides, she had detected no hesitation or fear when she asked about local drownings. He was in the clear.
    That left one other suspect, one who was considerably