Obsession (31 page)

Nothing happened. Nobody came. Closing it behind her—
carefully, carefully
—she fled down the steps and along the walk to the garage, her keys already in her hand, casting fearful looks over her shoulder all the way. The soft, golden evening and happy sounds and good smells were lost on her now. Every bit of her focus was on getting away.

Heart racing, breathing far too fast, she opened the access door to the garage, closed it behind her, raced to her car, and got in, locking the doors behind her. With a quick exit in mind, she had left the overhead door up. Hands shaking, she put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over.

Then she was outta there.

There were too many people out and about for her to gun it like she wanted to. The alley was too narrow, the pavement too uneven. The kid hitting a tennis ball against the side of a garage down the street did not deserve to be roadkill. Neither did the little old lady struggling to push a wheelbarrow loaded with plants to her neighbor’s yard. She might be sweating despite the blasting air conditioner, her hands might be gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles showed white, but still she had to keep only light pressure on the accelerator.

At least until she got out of the damned alley.

When at last she reached Wilkes, she had to wait what felt like forever for a break in the traffic, and then, pulse racing, biting her tongue in an effort to stay calm, she shot out through the tiny hole in the slipstream and turned left toward the expressway.

And made it about half a block before getting stuck in traffic.

The narrow, cobbled street was packed. Katharine saw that a bright red local bus was making its leisurely way along, stopping at various shops to let some people off and others on. The line of traffic caught behind it, which included her, was moving at a snail’s pace—when it moved. A lot of the time it didn’t. There was no way to pass; the other lane was equally busy. And the sidewalk—yes, she even considered driving up on the sidewalk to get around—was full to bursting with shoppers, folks sitting at small, round tables scarfing down pizza in front of tourist fave Ye Olde Pizzeria, and a ghost walking tour. She knew that was what the moving clump of approximately thirty people was, because the costumed guide was holding up a sign.

If traffic didn’t start moving soon, she thought, she would have a heart attack, and then she could be one of the ghost tour’s featured attractions.

Her pulse raced. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot so tight it was almost painful. But there was nothing to do. Her only option was to just sit there, crawling forward as conditions permitted. She didn’t even honk her horn.

Then the whole line of traffic came to a stop, for a good cause this time as the bus, swinging wide, slowly, ponderously turned right at the intersection at the top of the hill.

There was a sharp tap on the window beside her head.

She almost jumped through the roof. Her head jerked around, and to her horror she found herself looking straight at Bennett, who was glaring at her through the glass.

19

Katharine almost had a mini nervous breakdown right there.

In that instant, while she was still gaping at Bennett, while her heart was doing calisthenics and her pulse was shooting up through the stratosphere, her mind went into overdrive. She could refuse to roll down the window, and as soon as the cursed bus got out of the way—which would, hopefully, unclog the traffic—put the pedal to the metal and scoot on out of there.

With Starkey and Bennett behind her, and the rest of the Agency pretty much at Ed’s command, the chances of getting away without being tailed and/or actually stopped were just about nil.

She could jump from the car and try to lose herself among the crowds, even in a pinch appealing to shopkeepers, tourists, everyone and anyone to protect her from the big, bad men who were after her.

Who just happened to work for the CIA. Who would flash badges if necessary and blather something about her being taken into custody for her own protection.

The shopkeepers and everybody else would give her up like she was contagious.

Same with calling the police. The Agency outranked them. Even if she talked them into shielding her for a little while—by offering to talk to the detectives, say, about Lisa’s murder—Ed would soon get her back. She would be foolish to allow herself any illusions about that.

That left Dan. Her good neighbor had helped her before. But . . . but he was a doctor, and no match for CIA.

Just thinking about running to him made her head pound.

Anyway, she had agreed to leave him out of this. If Ed ever found out about his existence, Dan would be in danger.

Katharine faced the horrible truth: She was on her own. This was like her own personal episode of
Survivor
: She had to outwit, outplay, outlast.

Bennett tapped on the window again, harder than before. Now his face was scrunched up into a ferocious frown.

Rolling down her window, she had no trouble coming up with a ferocious frown of her own.

“What?” she snapped.

His eyes widened slightly. Her tone had taken him aback, she was pleased to see.

It took a couple of seconds, but he recovered. “You trying to ditch us again?”

“You’re damn right I’m trying to ditch you. I’ve had one or both of you with me for the last three days. You know what? I need some space.” The bus was out of the way at last. Traffic—
Thank you, God
—was beginning to move. She started to roll up the window again. “Go away.”

Bennett stuck his hand in the window, preventing her from rolling it up all the way. She thought about continuing regardless, but making him truly angry, which crushing his fingers was almost guaranteed to do, would be stupid. The car was moving now, slowly, as successive vehicles took their turn at the stop sign, and Bennett walked along beside her, his hand folded over the top of the glass.

The scowl she gave him was fierce. “I said
go away
.”

“But . . .” The ferocious frown had been replaced by a look of confusion. “Where are you going?”

“If you must know, to get my cat. Look, I’ll meet you back at the town house in about half an hour, okay? I just need to be by myself for a little while to clear my head.” She cast him an irritated look. “And by the way, I’m rolling up the window.”

"But ...”

This time, as she stepped on the accelerator, she kept her finger on the window button. Bennett snatched his hand back, then just stood there in the middle of the street, frowning after her as she took her turn at the stop sign at last. The black Mercedes was, she saw, some six cars back. She had never even seen it coming.

Taking a deep breath, trying to will her heart to slow its frantic pounding, she drove through the intersection like the coolest cucumber around, and watched in the rearview mirror as Bennett turned and scurried between the opposing lanes of traffic until he reached the Mercedes. Slapping a hand on its hood, presumably to warn Starkey of what he intended to do, he darted in front of the car, opened the passenger-side door, and ducked inside.

At that moment, Katharine crested the rise and was, briefly, out of sight. The Beltway on-ramp was close, she knew. The discreet sign with its accompanying arrow at the side of the road made that clear. Wistfully, she thought about just ignoring the Mercedes behind her, pulling onto the expressway, and roaring west, as far as Saint Louis, maybe, or even California. Forget this nightmare: She could start a whole new life.

But she knew Ed would never let her go. Not like this. If she went, she would have to have enough time to get well away, and then she would have to hide. The thing to do, then, was outsmart him. She would continue to act all huffy and fed up with the lack of privacy—not that it was much of a stretch—and in the meantime she would go pick up Muffy and see if, maybe, Cindy wanted to visit for a while. Like several hours. Maybe even order in pizza and watch a movie or something. The thing was, tomorrow was Wednesday. A workday. Under the circumstances,
she
had taken the week off, but Ed was still going in, and when he was working he was in the office every weekday morning by seven. Probably he wouldn’t want to stay up as long as she was planning to stay out.

If she could just avoid a showdown over their relationship tonight, tomorrow might provide her with another chance to get away. As long as she kept her cool and didn’t let anyone suspect that escaping was what she was trying to do.

Traffic wasn’t a whole lot better on the other side of the intersection, she found to her dismay, and a moment later discovered the reason: POTUS—the president of the United States—was on the move. Police cars, lights flashing, blocked the street as the presidential motorcade, flags flying, rolled past on South Alfred Street.

Just another Tuesday evening in and around the capital.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the Mercedes top the rise.
Okay, forget trying to give them the slip.
She was definitely going to get her cat. The problem was that she couldn’t remember where her good friend Cindy lived.

Having brain damage was starting to get very, very old, but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot she could do about it. Luckily, the solution occurred to her almost instantly: Cindy’s phone number was programmed into her phone. If she input the number into the Lexus’s GPS system, it would come up with the address and direct her there, too.

Muffy, here I come,
she thought, and reached for her phone. A few minutes later, with the GPS’s mechanical voice directing her, she left Old Town behind for its more modern surroundings. Cindy, it turned out, lived out toward Franconia in a fifties-era subdivision. The houses were sturdy brick or stone ranches; the lawns were small and dotted with such child-friendly amenities as aboveground swimming pools and plastic play-houses and swing sets, and children were everywhere.

Although she could conjure up a vague picture of Cindy in her mind, that was all she could do. She knew that they were good friends, but she couldn’t remember anything else about her. Not what she did for a living, not how long they had known each other, not whether Cindy was married or had a family.

The realization made her stomach tighten.

Cindy’s house was the third one from the left on Woodland Street. It was a modest brick ranch with a fifties-era picture window, a small front stoop, and an attached garage. As Katharine pulled into the short driveway that ended at the closed garage door, she glanced back the way she had come. Sure enough, there was the Mercedes, just turning down the street.

Katharine realized that her palms were sweaty. Her heart rate was up. Knowing that Starkey and Bennett were following her on Ed’s orders was really starting to put her on edge. Turning off the engine, she shed her jacket and put on her shoes, then, in T-shirt and slacks, headed for the front door. En route to the house, she had tried giving Cindy a call to let her know that she was on her way, but the answering machine had picked up. Still, she could see through the open front curtains that the TV was on—a cartoon was playing—so she felt fairly confident that someone was home.

“Hi,” she said to the man who opened the door in response to her knock. He looked to be in his early thirties, average height, a little on the stocky side, with short, tobacco-brown hair and a round, jovial-looking face. He was wearing khaki shorts, a blue Orioles T-SHIRT, and flip-flops. A big-eyed, blond-haired toddler in a diaper and pink T-shirt peeked up at her from behind his legs. “Is Cindy home?”

“She’s at the hospital,” the man said. “Lindsey’s finally having that baby.”

From the way he just opened the screen for her to enter, she presumed they knew each other. At a guess, she would say that she was looking at Cindy’s family, her husband and little girl. Also, he clearly thought she knew all about Lindsey, whoever that was, and her baby, when the truth was she didn’t have a clue.

“Finally,” she echoed, figuring she was pretty safe with that. The living room was creamy yellow with lots of chintz. A pink baby blanket and pillow were on the couch. A half-full baby bottle sat on the oak coffee table.

“Oh, listen, I heard what happened with you. Man, I’m sorry. That kind of thing’s why we moved out to the burbs.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it was bad.”

As he closed the door behind her, Katharine got a glimpse of the Mercedes pulling to a stop across the street. She felt herself tensing. Her pulse kicked it up a notch. Her stomach did the full pretzel. With Cindy at the hospital for who knew how long, the prospects of staying at her house for hours to avoid Ed didn’t look good. In fact, she was clearly going to have to come up with plan B.

“You here for your cat?” His eyes slid away from her as if he had spotted something. “Oh, wait, there it is. I gotta tell you, Cindy loves that thing.”

Katharine looked, and there in the doorway that led into a hall that presumably led to the bedrooms stood Muffy. Almost the size of a beagle, the cat was a puffball of fluffy white hair that nearly reached the floor. Ears, paws, tail, feet, and flat, round face were charcoal-gray. From the midst of all that gray, a pair of china-blue eyes stared at her.

“Hi, Muffy,” she achieved by way of a greeting. The strongest emotional reaction she felt upon seeing her pet was surprise that the thing was so big. But of course she had known that. She had just forgotten, was all. Just like she had forgotten so many other things.

Her throat threatened to close up at the thought. Knowing that chunks of her life were missing was really starting to get to her.

“The carrier and food and everything’s in the kitchen,” the guy continued cheerily. He plopped down on the couch, and the little girl climbed up on his lap. A moment later, the child was settled cozily in the crook of his arm with the bottle in her mouth and the pink blanket over her while they both watched TV.