Kill Me Again

“So if I’m famous and I agreed to come to town to speak, why didn’t anyone know who I was?”

“Your terms were explicit and a little extreme,” she said, averting her eyes. “We were only allowed to advertise a secret special guest speaker and had to promise not to tell anyone it was you. We had to make the event by invitation only, and we were told to invite only the top one hundred most generous contributors among our alumni. No more. So there’s been no press announcement or publicity around this at all. With it being limited to invited guests only, advertising wasn’t necessary.”

He was watching her, and it occurred to him that he was looking for signs she was lying and not finding any. And that was an odd thing to catch himself doing, wasn’t it? As if he was accustomed to being lied to, as if he knew what it looked like. “So I’m famous enough to get away with those kinds of bullshit demands?”

She shrugged. “The university agreed to all of it.”

“So that’s a yes, then.”

“I sent you my business card, with my unlisted number and home address handwritten on the back,” she said, pulling the card from her pocket and handing it to him.

“So you have my home address?” he asked quickly, a gusher of hope rising in his chest.

“No, I sent it to the P.O. box. That was the only return address on your reply to me. Sorry.”

He felt the disappointment but tried not to let it show by focusing on the card she’d handed him, turning it over as he checked it out. “Did they find any prints on it?”

“How did you know that was fingerprint dust?”

He shrugged, handing the card back to her. “Isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t know that. Neither did Dr. Overton.”

“The redhead?”

“Yes, the redhead,” she said.

She sounded a little exasperated with him, and he found that mildly amusing. She was so staid and tucked in, he found he enjoyed ruffling her a little bit.

But she was staring at him, awaiting an answer. He sighed. “I don’t know how I knew. I don’t know anything. Remember?”

She nodded, taking the card from him and setting it on the table beside his bed. Then she snatched a few tissues from the box there and used them to wipe the black smudges from her fingertips.

“So you’re sure that’s the card you sent me.”

“I certainly haven’t sent anyone else that information,” she replied.

That caught his attention, because it was such an adamant reply. As if it were ludicrous to think she might have given her personal info to anyone else.

Maybe it was. There was more to this woman than had been apparent at first, he thought.

She seemed to try to pull her focus back to the matter at hand. “To get back to the subject, Mr. Westhaven was due to arrive today.”

“Arrive where?” he asked.

“My house. He—you—were going to use my guest room. But he never arrived. And my card, the one I sent to him, was on you when the boys found you.”

“Along with the pocket watch and key ring they found on me, it’s the sum total of my worldly possessions at the moment.”

“Still, that’s why it’s fairly obvious that you’re him.”

He nodded. “If I am him, I still say I sound like a pompous prima donna. Making you people jump through all those hoops just to get me to visit for an afternoon.”

She shrugged, but her puzzled frown was genuine, he thought. “It seems clear that you have reasons to guard your privacy. Big reasons. Reasons that go way beyond just being a prima donna, Aaron.”

It was odd, being called by a name that didn’t feel like his own. It felt odder still, that her point sounded right on target.

“Most people who’ve heard of it probably think your reclusiveness is about privacy or shyness, or that it’s just a publicity stunt, a big-time author being eccentric and arrogant and getting away with it.”

She’d given this a lot of thought, he mused. She’d probably been justifying this ink-Nazi’s egomania ever since she’d decided to worship him from afar. “Uh-huh. And what do you think?”

She shrugged. “The first time you stuck your head out in the open, someone tried to blow it off. I’d say you knew that could happen, and that’s why you play the recluse. To keep yourself alive.”

He nodded slowly. “You know, I think you just might have a point there. Now, would you do me a favor and grab my clothes from the closet?” As he spoke, he shoved his covers back.

She frowned at him. “Why? What are you going to do?”

“Leave.”

She got up again. “You can’t just leave,” she said.

“No, what I can’t do is just stay here. Hand me my stuff, will you?”

She nodded, the motion jerky, and turned to open the closet. She pulled out a suit and held it out, looking it over. “Too bad,” she said.

“What?” He was reaching for the hanger, but she shook her head and put it back in the closet. “It’s an Armani, but it’s completely ruined. Blood, dirt. There’s no saving it.” Then she bent down. “Shoes look all right, though.”

He let his head hit the pillow and sighed. “I can’t stay here. It’s not defensible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone just tried to take me out. I was shot in the back of the head, all my ID was taken and my body was dumped in the middle of nowhere. That was a hit. A professional hit.”

She stood very still for a long moment, and he watched her absorb that piece of information. Her only reaction was to close her eyes slowly, leave them that way for a few ticks and then open them just as slowly. “Some professional,” she said, moving again to close the closet door. “Seeing as you’re still alive.”

“Yeah, clearly he wasn’t Einstein, but a steel plate in the skull isn’t something most people would even think of. Still, even an amateur would know enough to verify the kill.” He smiled grimly.

“That was a mistake, but he won’t make another.” He looked at her, saw her looking at him as if for the first time. “What?” he asked. “Are you not getting it? The minute this guy figures out I’m in the hospital, he’ll be coming by to finish the job.”

“I thought of that already.”

She had? He went stone silent.

“I asked Bryan—Officer Kendall—to try to keep this out of the press for now, and he agreed it was for the best. No word of a gunshot victim being found and taken to the hospital will appear in the local newspapers. I guarantee it. The hospital staff are cooperating, too.”

He blinked at her, surprised she would have come up with that strategy on her own. “Thank you for that,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re welcome.”