Now You See Her Linda Howard(88)

"That wasn't fair," she accused, but her voice was husky with satisfaction. "Do it again, and do it right this time."

"In your dreams," he managed to growl, delighting her into a laugh. "Well, maybe tonight."

"It's a date." She bounced out of bed, moving him to a sour mental observation about being the one who had done all the work. She pulled off his T-shirt and headed for the bathroom, and the view of that curvy butt was enough to get him out of bed and into the shower with her.

He put on a suit and tie, knowing he would face a battery of reporters at the police station. They hadn't been bothered so far, only because his private number was unlisted, but he figured it wouldn't take some enterprising reporter much longer to get it. The phone downstairs in the office was probably ringing nonstop.

He buzzed Tabitha and found that he had guessed exactly right. "Tell them I'll be giving a statement at the precinct in two hours, and that you don't know anything else."

"I don't," she said, disgruntled.

"And take a long lunch," he added.

"Now you're talking."



He called Edward and asked him to bring the car around, and then he kissed Sweeney, who had put on her usual jeans-and-sweatshirt combination and was sitting cross-legged on the bed watching him. "I'll have the cell phone with me," he said.

"The number's at my apartment."

He scribbled it down again. "If the phone rings, don't answer it. If I call, I'll let it ring once, then I'll hang up and call right back."

"Got it."

"I hope this won't take long, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Why are you so worried?" she asked. "Kai's dead." It didn't seem real. The terror of the night felt as if it had happened to someone else.

He gave her a long, searching look. "Maybe because of what you said, about if he did it. I don't want to take any chances until the lab tests on the trace evidence are in."

She thought of that wall in her mind and of the blank space on the painting where the killer's face would be, if she ever finished it. "I'll be careful," she promised.

He had been gone almost an hour when his assistant called on the intercom. "We're going out to lunch.

Would you like me to bring back something for you?"

"No, I'll rustle up something in the kitchen."

"Too bad Richard gave Violet the day off; she makes the most wonderful omelettes you've ever tasted.

But he was supposed to be out of town today, and she had made plans to visit her son in Chicago.

When all of this came up and he had to cancel, he insisted she go on."

"I'll find something," Sweeney said. She had been feeding herself for most of her life.

She made toast and scrambled an egg, though the simple meal took much longer than usual to prepare in an unfamiliar kitchen. She had to search for everything, including the toaster and coffeemaker, which weren't sitting out on the counter where all toasters and coffeemakers were supposed to sit.

Eventually she found all the necessities, and after the simple meal, found herself at loose ends. If she had been at home, she would have been working, but here she had nothing to do. She explored the house, poking her head into every door and ending up back in the bedroom. She felt much better than she had the day before, but she still hadn't had nearly enough sleep and was considering a nap when her gaze fell on the wrapped canvas, sitting propped on the chair.

She was reluctant to unwrap it, after all that had happened. She didn't want to gaze on that scene of violence again. But some nameless compulsion drove her, and she pulled the cheesecloth away Nothing had changed. The blank space still taunted her inability to finish the painting. She was never without a supply of charcoal pencils, so she dug one out of her purse and made a few preliminary lines on the canvas, trying to block in Kai's head. Her fingers felt clumsy, and the lines looked all wrong.

Kai's hair had been thick and glossy, almost Asian in texture but with just a hint of wave. She tried to capture that look, but the lines that emerged were far too smooth and the style was all wrong—

She stepped back, staring at the painting. The charcoal lines looked rough in comparison with the precision of the oil paint, but the image was clear. The hair was smooth and pale, curving under into a chic bob. There was something familiar about it, something nagging at her, but she couldn't place what it was.

Abruptly she stiffened, staring at the canvas. She whirled and went to the phone, punching in Richard's cell phone number.

He answered immediately. There was a lot of noise in the background, and she wondered if she had caught him in the middle of his press statement. "It's a woman," she said shakily.

"What?" he demanded.

"It's a woman. I've done the hair—just a rough sketch, but I can tell. And… I've seen this hairstyle before."

"Goddamn it," he swore. "I never thought—I have to tell Aquino; he's only looked at the men on the surveillance tape. Keep the door locked and don't let anyone in until I get home."

"I won't," she started to say, but a hint of sound startled her, cut her off.

" Sweeney!"

"I think I heard something," she said. "Something downstairs."