Pretend You Don't See Her (30 page)

 
          
She
had a designated parking spot behind her apartment building. She pulled into
the space and turned off the engine. She sat for a moment in the silence. Her
life was a total mess. Here she was, hundreds of miles away from her family,
living an existence that could not be called a life, alone and lonely. She was
trapped in a lie, having to pretend to be someone other than herself—and why?
Why?
Just because she had been a witness to a crime.
Sometimes she wished the killer had seen her there in the closet. She had no
desire to die, but it would have been easier than living this way, she thought
desperately. I’ve got to do something about this.

 
          
She
opened the door and got out of the car, careful to favor her throbbing right
ankle. As she turned to lock the door, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

 
          
It
was the same emotion she experienced in the nightmare, life moving in slow
motion as she tried to scream, but no sound would come. She lunged forward,
trying to break away, then gasped and stumbled as a flash of pain like the
sting of a hot branding iron seared her ankle.

 
          
An
arm went around her, steadying her. A familiar voice said contritely, “Alice,
I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you. Forgive me.”

 
          
It
was Tom Lynch.

 
          
Limp
with relief, Lacey sagged against him. “Oh Tom … Oh God … I … I’m all right, I
just … I guess you startled me.”

 
          
She
started to cry. It was so good to feel
herself
firmly
encircled and protected by his arm. She stood there for several moments, not
moving, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Then she straightened and
turned to face him. She couldn’t do this—not to him, not to herself. “I’m sorry
you bothered to come, Tom. I’m going upstairs,” she said, making
herself
breathe normally, wiping away the tears.

 
          
“I’m
coming with you,” he told her. “We have to talk.”

 
          
“We
have nothing to talk about.”

 
          
“Oh
but we do,” he said.
“Starting with the fact that your father
is looking all over Minneapolis for you because your mother is dying and wants
to make up with you.”

 
          
“What
… are … you … talking … about?” Lacey’s lips felt rubbery. Her throat
constricted to the point where she could barely force the words out of her
mouth.

 
          
“I’m
talking about the fact that Ruth Wilcox told me yesterday afternoon some guy
had showed up at the gym with your picture, looking for you and claiming to be
your father.”

 
          
He’s
in Minneapolis! Lacey thought. He’s going to find me!

 
          
“Alice,
look at me! Is it true? Was that your father looking for you?”

 
          
She
shook her head, desperate now to be free of him. “Tom, please. Go away.”

 
          
“I
will not go away.” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at
him.

 
          
Once
again, Jack Farrell’s voice echoed in Lacey’s mind: You put my face in front of
the one you want, he said. Admit it.

 
          
I
admit it, she thought, looking up at the firm line of Tom’s jaw, the way his
forehead was creased with concern for her—the expression in his eyes.

 
          
The
look you give someone special. Well, I won’t let anything happen to you because
of it, she promised.

 
          
If
Isabelle Waring’s murderer had been able to coax my address out of Ruth Wilcox
at Twin Cities Gym, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now, she thought.
So far, so good.
But where else was he showing her picture?

 
          
“Alice,
I know you’re in trouble, and no matter what it is, I’ll stand by you. But I
can’t be in the dark anymore,” Tom’s voice urged. “Can’t you understand that?”

 
          
She
looked at him. It was such a strange sensation, seeing this man in front of her
who clearly had special feelings for her—love?
Maybe.
And he was exactly the person she had hoped to meet someday. But not now! Not
here! Not in this situation. I cannot do this to him, she thought.

 
          
A
car drove into the parking area. Lacey’s instinct was to pull Tom down, to hide
with him behind her car. I have to get away, she thought. And I have to get Tom
away from me.

 
          
As
the approaching car came into full view she saw that the driver was a woman
whom she recognized as living in the building.

 
          
But
who would be driving the next car to come into the parking lot?
she
wondered angrily. It could be him.

 
          
The
first flakes of snow were beginning to fall.

 
          
“Tom,
please go,” she begged. “I have to call home and talk to my mother.”

 
          
“Then
that story is true.”

 
          
She
nodded, careful not to look at him. “I have to talk to her. I have to
straighten some things out. Can I phone you later?” Finally she looked up.

 
          
His
eyes, troubled and questioning, lingered on her face.

 
          
“Alice,
you will call me?”

 
          
“I
swear I will.”

 
          
“If
I can help you, you know—”

 
          
“Not
now, you can’t,” she said, interrupting him.

 
          
“Will
you honestly tell me just one thing?”

 
          
“Of course.”

 
          
“Is
there another man in your life?”

 
          
She
looked into his eyes. “No, there is not.”

 
          
He
nodded. “That’s all I need to know.”

 
          
Another
car was driving into the parking area. Get away from me, her mind screamed.
“Tom, I have to call home.”

 
          
“At
least let me walk you to the door,” he responded, taking her arm. After they
had gone a few steps, he stopped. “You’re limping.”

 
          
“It’s
nothing. I stumbled over my own feet.” Lacey prayed her face wasn’t showing the
pain she felt when she walked.

 
          
Tom
opened the door to the lobby for her. “When will I hear from you?”

 
          
“In an hour or so.”
She looked at him again, forcing a
smile.

 
          
His
lips touched her cheek. “I’m worried about you. I’m worried for you.” He
clasped her hands and looked intently into her eyes. “But I’ll be waiting for
your call. You’ve given me some great news.
And a whole new
hope.”

 
          
Lacey
waited in the lobby until she saw his dark blue BMW drive away. Then she rushed
to the elevator.

 
          
She
did not wait to take off her coat before she called the health club. The
gratingly cheerful voice of the manager answered.
“Edina
Health Club.
Hold on, please.”

 
          
A
minute, then a second minute went by. Damn her, Lacey thought, slamming her
hand down to break the connection.

 
          
It
was Saturday. There was a chance her mother was home. For the first time in
months Lacey dialed the familiar number directly.

 
          
Her
mother picked up on the first ring.

 
          
Lacey
knew she could not waste time. “Mom, who did you tell I was here?”

 
          
“Lacey?
I didn’t tell a soul. Why?” Her mother’s voice went up in alarm.

 
          
Didn’t deliberately tell a soul, Lacey thought.
“Mom, that dinner last night.
Who all was there?”

 
          
“Alex and Kit and Jay and Jimmy Landi and his partner, Steve
Abbott, and I.
Why?”

 
          
“Did
you say anything about me?”

 
          
“Nothing significant.
Only that you’d joined a new health
club with a squash court. That was all right, wasn’t it?”

 
          
My
God, Lacey thought.

 
          
“Lacey,
Mr. Landi wants very much to talk to you. He asked me to find out if you knew
whether the last few pages of his daughter’s journal were written on unlined
paper.”

 
          
“Why
does he want to know that? I gave him a complete copy.”

 
          
“Because
he said that if they were, somebody stole those pages from the copy while it
was at the police station, and they stole the whole original copy. Lacey, are
you telling me that whoever tried to kill you knows you’re in Minneapolis?”

 
          
“Mom,
I can’t talk. I’ll call you later.”

 
          
Lacey
hung up. Once again she tried the health club. She did not give the manager a
chance to put her on hold this time. “This is Alice Carroll,” she interrupted.
“Don’t—”

 
          
“Oh, Alice.”
The manager’s voice became solicitous. “Your
dad came in looking for you. I took him to the squash court. I thought you were
still there. I didn’t see you leave. Someone told us you gave your ankle a
nasty wrench. Your dad was so worried. I gave him your address. That was all
right, wasn’t it? He left just a couple of minutes ago.”

 
          
*

 
          
Lacey
stopped only long enough to jam the copy of Heather Landi’s journal into her
tote bag before she half ran, half hopped to the car and headed for the
airport. A sharp wind slapped snow against the windshield. Hopefully he won’t
figure out right away that I’ve left, she told herself. I’ll have a little
time.

 
          
There
was a plane leaving for Chicago twelve minutes after she reached the ticket
counter. She managed to get on it just before the gates closed.

 
          
Then
she sat in the plane for three hours on the runway, while they waited for
clearance to take off.

 
          
SANDY
SAVARANO SAT IN HIS RENTAL CAR, THE STREET MAP of the city unfolded in front of
him, the thrill of the chase warming him.

 
          
He
could feel his pulse quicken. He would have her taken care of soon.

 
          
He
had found 520 Hennepin Avenue on the map. It was just ten minutes from the
Radisson Plaza, where he had been staying. He took the car out of PARK and
stepped on the accelerator.

 
          
He
shook his head, still irritated that he had come so close to catching her at
the health club. If she hadn’t fallen on the squash court, she would still have
been inside while he was there, cornered, an easy target.

 
          
He
felt adrenaline pumping through his body, accelerating his heartbeat,
quickening his breath. He was close. This was the part he liked most.

 
          
The
attendant said he had noticed that Farrell was limping when she left the club.
If she had hurt herself badly enough to limp, chances were she went directly
home.