Authors: Diane Chamberlain
Kim laughed. “I hope you’re not holding your breath. I’m no Adam Soria. Besides, I don’t have much time to paint. I’ve gotten a few word processing jobs, finally. They’re keeping me busy.”
“Well, at least one of the three of you is bringing in some money.”
It took Kim a minute to realize who the “three of them” were. Jessie, Adam, and herself. She liked being considered part of a trio.
“Adam has a little bit of the insurance money left,” Cherise said, “but Jessie must be living on her good looks.” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you, the quicker Adam can turn out more paintings like that one”—she pointed to the canvas on the counter—”the quicker he can make himself a living again. People love his work. Tourists come by, asking where they can see paintings done by the mural painter. I show them what I have in the gallery, and they always want to buy one.” She took a sip of her cocoa. “I swear, they’d buy a painting right that second, but Adam’s so weird about it, you know what I mean? He won’t give me permission to make a sale for him. Always wants to know first. He likes to come down and meet the people buying his work. He’s crazy, if you ask me. A couple months ago, this elderly couple came in and they wanted to buy that one with the leaves—you know the one I mean?”
Kim nodded. It was one of her favorites.
“But I couldn’t reach Adam, couldn’t reach him, kept trying, and they finally had to leave. Frustrating! I told him, ‘Adam, you need to carry a pager.’ Turns out he was over at Computer Wizard, returning a loaner computer or something like that. I asked him, is that as important as selling a painting? I said, if you’re going to run around—”
Kim did not hear another word out of Cherise’s mouth. Her hand holding the cup of cocoa froze halfway to her mouth. “What did you say?” she asked. “He was returning a loaner computer?”
“You know, a computer the store lends out when you.., well, I don’t know how all that stuff works.” She gave an annoyed wave of her hand. “I’m computer illiterate and plan to stay that way. Anyhow, I told Adam he’d better just forget about computers and pick up his paintbrush. But back then, he really didn’t care. Now though—” She interrupted herself to lean closer to Kim. “Are you all right, honey? You look a little green.”
Kim stood up, her legs shaking. “I’m fine. I just…the chocolate’s a little too rich for me, I think.” She dumped her cocoa into the sink.
“Oh, no.” Cherise leaned back in her chair. “That man better not have knocked you up already.”
“Cherise!” Kim tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure if the effort was successful.
Cherise stood up. “Can I disturb him? I want to see what he’s working on.”
“Go ahead up,” Kim said. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Cherise carried her cup up the stairs, and Kim sat down at the table again. She felt truly sick.
It can’t be
.
It had to be a coincidence. Probably hundreds of people borrowed computers from Computer Wizard. But wouldn’t Adam have mentioned that he had been one of them when she told him about the history of her own computer? Wouldn’t he have nodded knowingly when she’d talked about it being a loaner?
The invitation.
She nearly groaned out loud. She’d thought Ellen had been behind that unexpected invitation to Adam’s show shortly after her arrival, but Ellen had denied knowing anything about it. Had Adam somehow discovered that she’d bought his computer? Had he intentionally befriended her in an attempt to get his file back, or to see if she knew anything? She thought of how attentive he’d been to her at that show, ignoring friends he’d had for years to talk with her.
She stared blindly at the painting on the counter. She had to stay calm. Think this through.
Was it Adam who had ransacked her apartment? Surely he couldn’t be responsible for the explosions. For
murder
. She thought of the gun in his night table drawer and a fresh tide of nausea washed over her. Thank God, the police had the disk.
No
. The police did
not
have the disk. Not if Adam was the killer. He had been so quick to ask her to let him take the information to the police, so quick to suggest that she not send it herself. The pieces of the puzzle fit together with sickening ease. Adam had betrayed her. She thought of how kind he’d been to her, how loving he seemed. He’d even put that deadbolt lock on her door. What a joke!
Her head spun, and she pressed her palms to her temples. It
didn’t
fit together. It didn’t make sense. Why would Adam want to hurt people? He was a kind-hearted person. She knew about sociopaths—people who could harm others without regret, all the while presenting themselves as caring, charming, individuals—but she could not force Adam into that category. How could he have sat in his living room and calmly watched the horrific aftermath of that bombing at Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker if he’d had anything to do with it? With a sinking heart, she remembered that he hadn’t. “I can’t watch this,” he’d said. Then he’d turned the television off.
She walked over to the counter where she’d left her purse and dug out a copy of the list. What were these people to him?
In addition to the names of individuals, there was one other company besides Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker on the list. Weirs and Taft, targeted for January. It sounded like another law firm. On a whim, she pulled the phonebook from the shelf next to the phone and turned to the yellow pages. She looked under lawyers, and what she saw made her gasp. Two full-page ads, back to back. One for Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker, the other for Weirs and Taft. In large letters, the Sellers ad proclaimed a specialization in “criminal traffic offenses and DWI.” Weirs and Taft promised an “experienced and thorough defense of DWI offenses.” They defended drunk drivers. Was that the connection? She checked some of the other names on the hit list to see if they too were attorneys, but none of them appeared to be.
She looked again at the name of the person targeted to be a victim tonight. Ryan Geary. Nine o’clock, it read next to his name. She could picture his house on that big lot in West Annapolis.
She should call the police. Better yet, she should drive to the police station and hand them the list. Maybe she could get away with it. Lucy’s friend, Frank, hadn’t recognized her or thought her suspicious. Why would anyone else? But there had to be a less risky way for her to keep Ryan Geary safe tonight.
She heard Cherise’s footsteps on the stairs and quickly put away the phone book.
“Can’t wait till he’s done with that one.” Cherise set her empty mug in the sink.
“No, neither can I.” Kim busied herself wrapping the painting again. Her fingers shook so fiercely she could barely tie the cord around the package.
“And the one you’re working on has real promise, girlfriend.” Cherise folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the counter. “You get upstairs and finish it.”
Kim nodded with a forced smile as she handed Cherise the painting.
“You sure you’re okay, honey?” Cherise touched her shoulder. “I swear if you don’t look like a woman who just found out she’s pregnant. You white women always get that sort of green, paley look around your eyes when you’re expecting.”
Kim rolled her eyes. “I’m not pregnant, Cherise. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
“Well then, you better tell Adam to keep his hands to himself tonight, hear?”
Kim tried to laugh as she walked Cherise to the door. She did feel that same sort of buckling-knee sick she’d felt when she was carrying Cody. But this sickness had nothing to do with pregnancy.
She climbed the stairs to the studio, knowing that the man she would see up there was not the same man she had left a half hour ago. He’d suddenly become a monster in her eyes, a monster she’d decided she would stay with every minute that night. She would not let him out of her sight. She would not give him the chance to harm anyone.
“Hi,” Adam gave her a distracted smile. He was painting some of the greenery in front of the picket fence.
She looked at the sunflower-filled garden taking shape on the canvas. That painting simply could not be the work of a man about to kill someone. It had been nearly a month since the last bombing. Adam was much happier now than he’d been then. Even if he hadn’t given the information on the list to the police, he had probably meant it when he said the bombings were a thing of the past. Whatever demons had driven him to those acts of violence were gone now. They had to be.
She tried to get back to work on her own painting, but the brush trembled in her hand. He didn’t seem to notice her anxiety or her silence, however; he was too engrossed in what he was doing.
Tomorrow she would have to find a way to contact the police—as well as a way to back out of her relationship with Adam. But how could she? He knew far too much about her.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that it was a while before she realized that Adam was anxious himself. He kept checking his watch and leaning back from his easel to look out the window.
“You seem a little uptight tonight,” she ventured finally.
“Do I?” He sounded completely innocent. “I guess I have a lot on my mind. I’ve been so focused on painting today that I haven’t had much time to get anything else done.” He looked at his watch again, and she glanced at her own. It was nearly eight-thirty.
“Let’s call Jessie and get her over here,” Adam suggested suddenly. “I’m in the mood to whip up something to eat. Spaghetti maybe. How does that sound?” He had already set down his brush and was reaching for the phone.
“Sure,” she said. She was surprised by the suggestion, but it sounded like a great idea to her. They would get Jessie over here and eat and talk until late, and Ryan Geary would be safe. And she’d feel safer with Jessie around. The thought of those nights she’d spent alone with Adam—and his gun—made her shudder.
She continued painting as Adam dialed Jessie’s number, but she was watching him from the corner of her eye. With the phone held to his ear, Adam tapped the side of the table with his fingers. He drew in a few deep breaths and blew them out through his mouth. She had never seen that agitation in him before.
Abruptly, Adam hung up the phone. “I just remembered we don’t have any tomato sauce,” he said. “I’m going to run out and get some.”
“
No
.” She set down her brush. “I mean, that’s silly. We don’t need to have spaghetti. We can find something else. Or order a pizza.”
But he was already heading down the stairs. She followed him, catching up to him as he took his jacket from the hall closet. His hands shook as he tried to button the jacket, and she had the sickening thought that he had not called Jessie at all. He’d called the Geary residence, wanting to make sure that Ryan was home before making the trip over there.
“I’ll go with you.” She actually grabbed his arm, but he didn’t seem to notice her panic.
“No,” he said sharply. “I won’t be long.” He brushed his lips over her cheek and was gone. A sense of helplessness consumed her as she watched him walk quickly to his car.
She looked at her own watch. Twenty of nine. In her mind, she suddenly saw the television images of those two children killed in the Sellers, Sellers, and Wittaker office. Did Ryan Geary have children?
“You have no choice,” she said out loud. She had to call the police. In the kitchen, she once again pulled the list from her purse, and she had the phone in her hand when it startled her by ringing. She stared at the receiver, uncertain what to do, and the answering machine picked up before she could decide. She felt dazed as she watched the outgoing message tape turn on its spool. Then, suddenly, Noel’s voice filled the air.
“Hey, Adam,” Noel said. “Did you happen to catch that
Missing Persons
show tonight? I’m certain Kim Stratton and her little boy were on it. Her real name’s Susanna somebody, and she’s from Colorado. You might want to give her a heads up. She’s a good lady, not to mention a good typist.” Noel laughed. “I need her to stick around. Besides, I’d hate to see her get screwed.”
Kim closed her eyes, one hand gripping the counter. She was trapped. They’d shown her picture, told her story, on TV. Who’d seen it? Who’d be the one to turn her in?
No time to waste. She lifted the receiver again, and her fingers felt numb as she dialed. She could do this. She had to. No reason she had to identify herself. She’d make the call, race home, and if the coast looked clear, she could get her money and the duffel bag and her felt-tipped marker before she disappeared, once again.
She could be far away by the time anyone realized Kim Stratton was missing. South. This time she would drive south. She thought about the work in her computer, the paycheck due her on Friday.
No damn choice
, she told herself.
“Is this an emergency?” the dispatcher asked when she answered the call.
“Yes,” Kim said. “I believe someone is planting a bomb to go off at nine o’clock at the residence on…” Her hands trembled as she flattened the list on the counter. “Two-oh-seven North Plain Street.”
“What is your name?” the dispatcher asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She knew that Adam’s address was probably flashing on the dispatcher’s computer screen as they spoke. She had to get out of there, fast. “Just trust me,” Kim said, “the person who’s responsible for the explosions that have killed people around Annapolis is about to strike again. At that address.” She hung up before the woman could ask her any more questions.
She ran up to Liam’s bedroom, where she literally snatched Cody out of the bed and carried him downstairs. He was too sleepy to protest, and he was a warm and heavy weight against her chest and shoulder. She grabbed her jacket and his from the sofa in the living room and raced out to her car.
Her hands shook as she buckled Cody into his car seat, and she’d gotten in behind the wheel when he suddenly began to cry.
“Munka, munka,” he said.
The monkey. She bit her lip.
“We have to leave it, sweetheart,” she said.
“Munka!”
The thought of leaving that raggedy old stuffed animal behind forever chipped at her heart.