to return to the library afterwards, but she still needed to get to the motor pool. Using the phone in the shooting range office, she asked Toni to lock the manila envelope with the briefing papers in her desk for the night. An hour later Kate drove off the grounds in an almost-new, blue Ford and drove into her apartment’s parking garage at 5:30.
When she walked into her new quarters she threw purse and keys on the small table next to the door, then kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket, which she tossed on the table, too. Next she went to the bedroom and exchanged her work clothes for a t-shirt and matching stretch cotton pants. The knife she left sheathed to her leg. On the way back to the living room, she caught herself in the mirror and stopped abruptly, emotion tightening her throat. Jan had given her these clothes last summer when she was in the hospital, and she’d worn them a lot—mostly with Jan—in the days after she’d gotten out.
I’ve got to pull myself together! I can’t get all weepy every time I put on these sweats, for heaven’s sake.
Forcing herself to turn away from the mirror, she made for the kitchen and considered what she could make for dinner. Another pbj? No, something more nutritious. But nothing in the kitchen was nutritious. Then she recalled seeing a Chinese down the street. When was the last time she’d had American Chinese food? German Chinese she’d had a lot. They’d often eaten at one near their apartment in Berlin. The food was good, and the owners hadn’t minded if the baby made a ruckus.
Why the fuck did I let myself think about that?
Rude tears stung the corners of her eyes. Angrily wiping them away, she started ripping open kitchen drawers, searching for a phone book without success. Frustrated, she glanced into the living room and immediately noticed the phone on a side table. Dubbing herself an idiot, she stomped to the table and found the directory in its drawer.
The food—in five of the ubiquitous Chinese take-out boxes—arrived thirty minutes later. She ate out of the boxes in front of the TV. CNN had existed before she’d left the US, but she’d never had much time to watch. Twenty-four hour news fascinated her, but after a while the commercials annoyed her, so she surfed until she found Mystery on PBS. Tonight they were showing an adaptation of one of her favorites: The Hound of the Baskervilles. She snuggled down on the sofa, planning to revel in thinking about nothing except the famous hound…and promptly fell asleep.
At first Kate slept soundly, despite the shreds of dreams that flapped through her mind like rags on a clothes line. At some point she woke up and clicked off the TV and struggled out her pants. She started to shed the shirt, but it was too much effort. She curled up and fell asleep again.
Chapter Three
Friday morning Macey Sullivan and the two other agents were back in the briefing room, waiting, keeping their eyes uneasily on the two empty seats. At 8:01, Simon Holder strode through the door and, like yesterday, scanned the room. When he got to Taylor’s spot, a second of rage passed over his face before he shuttered it again and launched the briefing. For an hour he conducted business as usual. At 9:00 he stopped abruptly.
“Morgan!” he shouted to his assistant standing right outside. Morgan stuck his head in the door. “Find out if Taylor’s checked in!” Soon he returned and told his boss that she hadn’t been seen.
“Damn that woman!” Holder muttered under his breath.
“Call her. Get her over here, now!” Morgan nodded and left.
Holder waited. Sullivan and the other agents looked at their notes; at the walls; at their watches; anywhere but at Holder, who was staring straight ahead, eyebrows drawn and mouth clenched. Two minutes later Morgan reported that nobody was answering Taylor’s line.
“Damn,” Holder exploded. “What the fuck does that mean? She’s not here, and she’s not home.” He slapped his hand on the table; everyone jumped. He took a deep breath and ordered Morgan to keep trying. They went on with the briefing, but nobody was really paying attention. Five minutes passed; ten; then fifteen before Holder bellowed for Morgan to come back, demanding to know what was going on.
“Nothing, sir!”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Nobody’s answering, sir!”
“What?” Holder asked incredulously, staring at Morgan. Then he opened his eyes wide and looked off into space. Leaping up, he rushed out, shouting to Morgan to get his car ready. Next he ran to his office and unlocked the lower right-hand desk drawer. He pulled out a key, put it in his jacket pocket, raced back into the corridor, and punched the down elevator button repeatedly until the doors finally sprang open. By the time he reached the entrance, Morgan was holding the car door for him. As Holder got in, they exchanged worried looks.
When they reached the apartment building, Morgan double-parked in front of the building, and they hurried up to the third floor. Reaching number 307, Holder knocked. There was no answer. He stuck the key in the lock, turned the knob, and threw open the door.
THE sound at the door roused Kate. She’d been lapsing in and out of consciousness ever since the attack hours earlier. At one point she’d made out the telephone blaring, and hope had lapped seductively at the edges of her mind. But the phone had fallen silent, and she’d descended back into despair. Now hope crashed over her like a wave. She had to signal whoever it was to come in, to save her. She tried to scream, but nothing came out.
Try! I can’t let them go away! Say something!
As she was attempting to croak out a sound, she heard the door burst open and the words: “Kate! Where are you?”
“Help,” she whispered.
Then hands were ripping at the thing over her eyes and light burst in on her. She screamed as the brilliance exploded in her head, and she shut her eyes tight.
“Kate, stay with me! Morgan, find some scissors!” Holder ordered as he fumbled with the cord binding her to the pipe. A moment later Morgan was snipping at the cord, and quickly she was free. Kate immediately tried to raise one hand to her throbbing head but the effort was too great and allowed it to fall back. She kept her eyes clamped shut, shutting out the vicious light.
“Kate, tell me if you’re hurt anywhere except your head.”
She was trying to determine for herself what hurt and what didn’t when she opened her eyes a slit. Recognizing the man in front of her, her eyes widened despite the pain it caused, and tears welled up. “Why…why didn’t you come?” she asked, sorrow and accusation combining in her soft words.
“I got here as soon as I could,” he assured her.
The tears slid down her face, and she stared at him until she could stand the pain no longer and closed her eyes. “You took so long. Why did you leave me here?”
“I didn’t leave you, Kate. I didn’t know you were here till….”
Her eyes snapped open again, and she said with as much force as she could muster: “Didn’t know?” Looking away from him, she murmured, to herself as much as to him: “They hurt me.” Then to him she said: “I needed you!”
At first Holder held Kate’s stare, but then he had to break contact. With great effort he dragged his eyes back to confront hers. “Kate, I’m…I’m here now,” he stuttered, reaching out touch her face. She turned away, her lips a tight line. Distress etched on his face, he tried again: “I’m going to take care of you now.”
Tears continued to trickle down her face, and she remained silent. After a long minute, he straightened his shoulders and smoothed his face back into its blank detachment. “Tell me where you’re hurt, other than your head.”
An easier question for her was: Where did it not hurt? She was still resting on her side, so she figured the first thing she should do was to lie flat on the ground, but when she did, she was rewarded with a sharp pain below her left hip. She grunted,