Shaken by the thought of increasing thirst and a slow and agonizing bodily shutdown, he prayed fervently to the great cat god that he could open that lock-yet even hidden by the back of the seat he was reluctant to reach up an exploring paw and try it, afraid he'd make some little noise or that she'd glimpse his paw in the space between the seat and the door. Tempted as he was, he remained crouched in a frightened funk as more airport signs flipped by overhead on their tall poles. She slowed at the sign for short-term parking.
They sat idling, as if there were cars lined up ahead. Was the Honda up there in front of them? He heard the gate arm rise five times, as the drivers ahead stepped on the gas and pulled through.
Was Ray leading her into a trap? Wanted her to park inside that cavernous, covered, fenced lot, where he could get at her?
As wild as that seemed, if Ray or Ryder had killed Carson, and maybe Nina, what difference was one more murder? Had Lindsey thought of that? Did she realize how foolish she might be to follow them?
He kept puzzling over why, after their argument in the condo, the couple was fleeing together. It had sounded as if each was conning the other, as if either one could be the killer. Now, the only conclusion was that whoever was the killer had at last confided in the other, that they had fled together, partners to the end.
Unless he was reading this all wrong. Unless, despite Ray's hatred of cops, both were in fact innocent.
Could Lindsey be following them knowing full well they were innocent? Following them because she needed a scapegoat and was somehow setting them up?
He heard the parking machine whir as Lindsey punched the button for her ticket, heard the gate rise again. She'd turned the air-conditioning down, and already it was getting hot on the floor. He wondered if, at the last minute, he could leap out before she slammed the door. Or if he'd lose his nerve, break his solemn commitment to silence, even forget that all he need do was meow, and find himself shouting in fear for her to let him out, to save him? If, in panic, he'd spill his and Dulcie's and Kit's secret to save his own scrawny neck?
They moved through the gate at a crawl. As they crept beneath the concrete roof, the interior of the car darkened to a murky half-light. She stopped several times, apparently as cars paused ahead of her, then she swerved abruptly into a parking space, pulling in beside a tall SUV that blocked his view on the right. He poised to leap as she got out. But she was too quick, she flipped the master lock, slammed the door nearly in his face, and slipped along beside the car, looking across the lot. Watching Ray and Ryder?
Locked in the car, should he make his presence known? Mewl and yowl like an ordinary cat and paw at the window? One more second and she'd be gone, it would be too late.
Cautiously rearing up, he saw Ray and Ryder crossing the street, heading for the terminal. When Lindsey moved as if to follow them, Joe remained silent, his paws sweating-then it was too late, she was gone between the parked cars.
He tried the back door handle and the lock. He couldn't budge either, nor the lock on the other back door. Had she activated some kind of safety lock, some child-proof mechanism? When he rose to look out, she was nearly to the terminal. He paused before jumping into the front seat.
Alone, he began to feel very small. The parking cavern spread over him vast and grim into its own horizons, as if there was nothing else in all the world. Could she mean to follow them onto a plane, find out where they were going, and then scramble to buy a ticket? The car was growing uncomfortably warm.
Maybe she meant only to see what flight they boarded, then use a phone in the airport to call the station?
If one of them was the killer, wouldn't they try for an international flight, skip the country, go where they'd be hard to locate? Not likely that Lindsey would have a passport with her. Would Ray and Ryder board using assumed names, carrying false IDs? Who knew what other crimes those two might have committed that would require a fake ID as a tool of the trade. Leaping to the front seat to try those locks, he heard footsteps.
She was coming back. He ducked down fast, didn't dare jump over into the backseat again, she was too close and he was in plain sight. He crouched on the seat waiting for her to open the door, determined to fly through.
Nothing happened. Her footsteps stopped.
When he rose to sneak a fast look, she was standing in front of the car shielded by a pillar, looking across the vast sea of cars toward the terminal. He could see Ray and Ryder in front of an entry, they seemed to be arguing. Lindsey watched for a moment, but when they turned away, moving inside through the swinging door, she took off running.
31
PAWING AT the driver's-door handle of the Mercedes, Joe was surprised that it pulled down easily. No safety lock here. But he'd set off the alarm! Its whoop deafened him.
Shouldering the door open fast, he was out of there. He remembered only then that if a car was locked from outside, then opened from the inside, this would inevitably happen. Leaping to the top of the car trying to ignore its shrill scream, and watching for security, he stared frantically across the rows of parked vehicles for Lindsey.
He saw where Ray had parked the Honda. Looked like he'd been in such a hurry he'd left the windows down. Even rearing up, Joe couldn't see much on the street beyond. Leaping to the top of a tall RV, wondering how long that siren would keep pulsating, he looked over the tops of the other parked cars, past the gray concrete expanse to the terminal.
There she was, running through the crowd of hurrying passengers. She seemed to be headed for a cop car parked a block away in front of the Delta entrance. As she dodged behind a bus, he saw Ray Gibbs.
Gibbs had spotted her. He spun around, ran straight for her. She didn't see him. The alarm of the Mercedes was still blaring. Another second and Ray would grab her. Joe, speeding over the roofs of parked cars, heading for the unlocked Honda, prayed for luck, prayed they'd been in such a hurry they'd left belongings behind. Had maybe left…Leaping up clawing at the partly open glass, he hung there for an instant then bellied over into the seat praying to find…
A jacket lay crumpled on the seat, half a dozen empty paper cups and wadded paper bags were on the floor, and, beside the jacket, Ryder's open purse. Then they were coming back, he thought frantically.
Rooting in the purse, he found what he wanted. Stuffed down among lipstick, nail polish, wadded tissues, and a packet of broken crackers nestled Ryder's cell phone, either abandoned or forgotten. Pawing open the phone, he was studying it, hoping he could figure this one out, when he heard a scream.
He never knew later how he got up onto the Honda's roof so fast, clawing himself up over the edge and then rearing high…Surprised himself that he had the cell phone clutched in his teeth, probably soaking it with cat spit. They were closer, just outside the parking area. Ray had Lindsey, pulling her arm behind her. She elbowed him and kicked at him. People were staring, but no one ran to help. Pedestrians moved back, scattered. Had the cop seen? Joe stared at the unit a block away. It looked empty.
"What the hell do you want?" Ray was shouting. "Why did you follow us?" Joe forgot about the phone as Lindsey fought, hitting useless blows, twisting around trying to strike at his face; Ray ducked, grabbing both her arms. Lindsey kneed him hard. As he doubled over, Joe turned frantically to the phone. Where was the security vehicle that should have come to the Mercedes's siren blast? Dial 911, Joe thought frantically, dial it now-there it is, the Send button.