things she knew she ought to know were missing in action.
“What kind of robbery? Did they take anything? What’d they take?” There was a wealth of anxiety in the forceful voice on the other end of the phone.
Okay, she was still blanking. Before she answered any questions, she felt that it was important to establish who she was talking to. After all, somebody had tried to kill her last night.
For all she knew, it might even have been the person behind this authoritative voice on the other end of the phone.
“Um, who is this?” she asked cautiously, her gaze resting on Dan. He had turned away from the bed and was examining some beige metal boxlike piece of medical equipment that stood unused on a stand beside the bed as he politely pretended not to listen.
There was the briefest of pauses on the other end of the phone.
“It’s me, Ed.” Impatience sharpened his voice. “Who the hell do you think? Katharine, did they take anything ?”
Ed. Her boyfriend. Her divorcing, powerful lover. Of course.
The disconcerting thing was, even now that she knew who he was, she didn’t recognize his voice at all.
4
"Ed,” she murmured, seeking to mentally cement his name to the growling voice. Instantly his image appeared in her mind’s eye: short, well-groomed black hair just starting to go gray; heavy-lidded brown eyes; meaty, triangular nose; full lips; a perpetually tan face with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. He was a hair taller than five-ten, an attractive, muscular man who liked to work out and had a closet full of expensive designer suits. And, good lord, he sounded like he was used to people asking How high? when he said jump. Well, maybe he was just upset. She concentrated, trying to remember what he’d asked. Oh, yeah.
“I don’t know what they actually took,” she said meticulously. “They were after jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” He sounded dumbfounded.
“That’s what they said. I think they must have seen the picture in the Post. You know, the one where I had on that set you . . .”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. The picture had caused him no end of trouble, too. He’d been with her in it, of course, with his arm around her, escorting her up some steps into the house. The magnificent necklace and bracelet and earrings she had been wearing had rightfully belonged to his wife, who was not yet his ex, and who had raised hell when she saw the paper. And, not incidentally, moved out of the house they were still sharing on a halfway-friendly basis and upped her financial demands. “What makes you think they were after jewelry?”
“I . . . I . . . that’s what they said.” She took a deep breath, trying her best to remember, to keep it all together. “They shot Lisa. She’s dead.”
There was the briefest of pauses.
“I heard. That’s a hell of a thing.” Another pause, and she could almost sense him fighting to rein in his impatience. Clearly, Lisa’s murder was not, for him, the most important thing. Not that he knew Lisa. Unless her memory was failing her—well, it was, but still, she was pretty sure about this—he’d never even met Lisa. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Well . . .” she began, meaning to tell him that she wasn’t as okay as he seemed to think. But he interrupted before she could continue.
“Katharine. Who were they?” There was an urgency to his tone that made her grip on the receiver tighten.
“I . . . I don’t know. Burglars. Thugs. They—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Could they have been working for somebody?”
She didn’t understand. “What?”
He gave an impatient tcch. “Do you think they were spooks?”
Katharine blinked, still all at sea. Then his meaning hit her. He was talking spooks as in the dark side inhabitants of the Alphabet Soup World they inhabited: CIA, FBI, NSA, DOD, NORAD, and at least a dozen more. Spooks as uttered by Ed meant covert operatives. The thought made her heart lurch. Her mind flashed back to
“What kind of robbery? Did they take anything? What’d they take?” There was a wealth of anxiety in the forceful voice on the other end of the phone.
Okay, she was still blanking. Before she answered any questions, she felt that it was important to establish who she was talking to. After all, somebody had tried to kill her last night.
For all she knew, it might even have been the person behind this authoritative voice on the other end of the phone.
“Um, who is this?” she asked cautiously, her gaze resting on Dan. He had turned away from the bed and was examining some beige metal boxlike piece of medical equipment that stood unused on a stand beside the bed as he politely pretended not to listen.
There was the briefest of pauses on the other end of the phone.
“It’s me, Ed.” Impatience sharpened his voice. “Who the hell do you think? Katharine, did they take anything ?”
Ed. Her boyfriend. Her divorcing, powerful lover. Of course.
The disconcerting thing was, even now that she knew who he was, she didn’t recognize his voice at all.
4
"Ed,” she murmured, seeking to mentally cement his name to the growling voice. Instantly his image appeared in her mind’s eye: short, well-groomed black hair just starting to go gray; heavy-lidded brown eyes; meaty, triangular nose; full lips; a perpetually tan face with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. He was a hair taller than five-ten, an attractive, muscular man who liked to work out and had a closet full of expensive designer suits. And, good lord, he sounded like he was used to people asking How high? when he said jump. Well, maybe he was just upset. She concentrated, trying to remember what he’d asked. Oh, yeah.
“I don’t know what they actually took,” she said meticulously. “They were after jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” He sounded dumbfounded.
“That’s what they said. I think they must have seen the picture in the Post. You know, the one where I had on that set you . . .”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. The picture had caused him no end of trouble, too. He’d been with her in it, of course, with his arm around her, escorting her up some steps into the house. The magnificent necklace and bracelet and earrings she had been wearing had rightfully belonged to his wife, who was not yet his ex, and who had raised hell when she saw the paper. And, not incidentally, moved out of the house they were still sharing on a halfway-friendly basis and upped her financial demands. “What makes you think they were after jewelry?”
“I . . . I . . . that’s what they said.” She took a deep breath, trying her best to remember, to keep it all together. “They shot Lisa. She’s dead.”
There was the briefest of pauses.
“I heard. That’s a hell of a thing.” Another pause, and she could almost sense him fighting to rein in his impatience. Clearly, Lisa’s murder was not, for him, the most important thing. Not that he knew Lisa. Unless her memory was failing her—well, it was, but still, she was pretty sure about this—he’d never even met Lisa. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Well . . .” she began, meaning to tell him that she wasn’t as okay as he seemed to think. But he interrupted before she could continue.
“Katharine. Who were they?” There was an urgency to his tone that made her grip on the receiver tighten.
“I . . . I don’t know. Burglars. Thugs. They—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Could they have been working for somebody?”
She didn’t understand. “What?”
He gave an impatient tcch. “Do you think they were spooks?”
Katharine blinked, still all at sea. Then his meaning hit her. He was talking spooks as in the dark side inhabitants of the Alphabet Soup World they inhabited: CIA, FBI, NSA, DOD, NORAD, and at least a dozen more. Spooks as uttered by Ed meant covert operatives. The thought made her heart lurch. Her mind flashed back to
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