"Toys," Abby echoed. There was a stillness within her that felt dangerous, like the hush before a storm.
"I doubt the women were to blame for that. Paul's a fascinating man, but he keeps his feelings close to the vest. He doesn't open up, and he's not easy to open up to."
"But you got him to open up."
"Emotionally? Yes. We just connected, I think. Even though we never did more than talk, it seemed to mean a lot to him. To me too. I needed somebody to talk to, somebody who wouldn't treat me like a paranoid fool because I worried about Hickle all the time.
Somebody who would show me some respect.
Howard never respected my feelings at all."
"How do you think Paul felt about your time together?"
Kris smiled.
"He told me it was like coming alive at the age of forty-four. As if he'd been numb for years, withdrawn and tight, until…"
"Until you."
"I know it sounds silly-"
"No, it doesn't. What about Howard?"
"Howard?"
"You seemed to think he suspects you of actually having an affair."
Kris pursed her lips.
"I think I was being hysterical.
The truth is, I doubt Howard has a clue that Paul has ever looked at me as anything other than a client. He's too wrapped up in his toys and cars and… maybe this plot against me."
"If he is Hickle's accomplice…"
"Yes?"
"You'll be free of him."
"I suppose I will."
"And Paul will still be there."
"You're asking if I might hook up with him?"
Abby nodded.
"It seems to be what he wants. And from what I can tell, it's what you want too."
Kris laughed sadly.
"Oh, hell, I don't know what I want. You know, everybody's life is such a mess, isn't it? We're so screwed up, all of us." She fixed her blue gaze on Abby.
"Except maybe you."
"Me?"
"You're one of the few truly self-sufficient people I've run into. I'll bet you wouldn't get your love life tied up in knots like this, would you?"
"Don't be so sure."
Kris lifted an eyebrow.
"So you have your blind spots too?"
"Maybe just one. But it's a big one."
"Well, I'm glad we have something in common."
Abby was silent. She didn't know what to say.
"It's good you told me all this," Kris added.
"I wouldn't have wanted to find out from the police or our lawyer."
She took a step toward the door. Abby stopped her.
"You never answered my question."
"About Paul? A future with him?" Kris canted her head to one side, an unconsciously glamorous pose, her blond hair falling across one shoulder like golden smoke.
"You know, it's funny."
"Is it?" Abby wasn't finding anything funny right now.
"Before last night I would have said no. But now… well, Paul Travis saved me. He pulled me out of that car and dragged me to cover with shotgun shells flying.
He saved my life." She emitted a short laugh like a sob.
"Howard didn't even come out of the house."
Abby nodded slowly. She'd heard everything she needed to hear.
"Thanks, Kris."
"What for?"
"This talk."
Kris shrugged, honestly bewildered.
"I'm the one who should thank you for all you've done. And just now… for listening."
"I'm a good listener." Abby smiled.
"Everybody tells me so." They said good-bye. Abby sat on the bed and listened to Kris and her bodyguard walk away down the hall. Their footsteps faded out, and Abby was all alone.
Still she didn't move. She thought it was possible she would never move again. Maybe she had experienced too many poundings, physical and psychological, over the past twenty hours. She was worn out. She'd thought-she had honestly thought-"I thought he loved me," she whispered, saying the words aloud to hear them in her own voice.
She had always been wary of love and intimacy. She had protected herself from hurt. Yet it seemed all the barriers she had raised had not saved her. Or perhaps it was the barriers that had been the problem. Had she been too vigilant or not vigilant enough? Or was it wrong to blame herself when what mattered was Travis's dishonesty, his betrayal?
Eyes shut, she wondered if she had loved Paul Travis, imagined a life with him. It seemed ridiculous to plan a future with a man who wouldn't even kiss her in public- for fear of exposing their relationship.
Why, then, had she continued to see a man who gave her so little?
Perhaps because he demanded so little in return. It was a relationship that had seemed to suit them both. Some people had marriages of convenience.
Theirs had been a love affair of convenience.
She could see the plain truth now, but never before.
The mind was capable of phenomenal feats of self-deception.
And the heart… the lover's heart… "The heart has its reasons," she murmured. She had read those words someplace-where? Oh, yes. In Kris Barwood's yearbook, in Raymond Hickle's bedroom.
The heart has its reasons, which reason knows nothing of. Hickle's heart, and Kris's, and Howard's, and Travis's-and hers too, she guessed. Hers too.
The doctor took his time coming to see her, but by 5 p.m. he had given Abby a clean bill of health, and at 5:30 she was in the backseat of a cab, riding toward Hollywood. She watched the streets flow past in a grainy smear. The orange sun burned through the taxi's rear window and pressed against the back of her head.
After her talk with Kris, she had turned on the TV to follow the news coverage. Hickle had achieved the status he'd always longed for; he had become, in some sense, a celebrity. His photo, several years out of date and taken apparently from an employee identification badge he'd worn on one of his various jobs, was flashed on the screen whenever any local station interrupted its Saturday afternoon programming for another pointless news update.
Howard Barwood was no less famous. A photo of him at a charity function was broadcast with almost equal regularity. Both men were still missing. The only new development was that a car stolen last night from Malibu had been found, abandoned in the Sylmar district of the San Fernando Valley. Since the car had disappeared around the same time that Hickle made his escape, he was presumed to have taken it. How long the car had been in Sylmar, and where Hickle was now, nobody could say.
The cab dropped Abby near the Gainford Arms. Her Dodge was still parked on the side street where she and Wyatt had left it. She unlocked the door and keyed the ignition.
Home was where she wanted to go, but first she had a stop to make. She drove to Hollywood Station, arriving after 6 P.M. By now Wyatt ought to be on duty.
She hated entering a police station; the fewer cops who saw her face, the better. But she had two questions to ask, which Wyatt might be more inclined to answer if she spoke with him in person.
She left her gun and locksmith tools in the glove compartment so she wouldn't set off the metal detector in the station house. At the entryway she paused to look again at the swollen, westering sun. Having slept for much of the day, she found it odd that the darkness was coming on so soon. She wondered what the night would bring.
In the lobby she asked for Sergeant Wyatt. The desk officer spoke into the phone, then said the sergeant would see her in a minute or two. As it turned out, she waited more than ten minutes. When Wyatt appeared, he led her into an office down the hall. He didn't speak to her until the door was closed.
"Abby, how are you doing?"
She lifted her arms to demonstrate that all her parts still worked.
"Made a full recovery."
"You ought to be home resting."
"I'm on my way home now. Did you just come on duty?"
"Yeah, that's why you had to wait awhile. I conduct a briefing at the start of the watch."