Thin Air

EIGHT

Two hours and a boring number of minutes later, we entered a dry, sun-faded little town called Ares, Nevada. Population 318, and no doubt declining. It wasn’t a garden spot, unless you liked your garden with lots of thorns and spikes. I remembered-actually, Cherise had remembered-my sister as being impeccably groomed, focused on polish and presentation. I doubted that would get her very far in the social scene of Ares, which probably revolved around the local Dairy Queen we’d passed, and possibly a strip club.

There was one stoplight in town, and Eamon obeyed it at the corner of Main and Robbins, then turned right. Nothing after the next block but some emptied-out stores with soaped windows, and the ruins of a few buildings that hadn’t been so lucky or durable. We kept driving. About a mile on, Eamon turned the car off on a bumpy, unpaved side road, and I saw that we were heading for a mobile home community.

As trailer parks went, it tried to rise above the clichés.

There were a few struggling bushes, some attempt at landscaping at the front entrance. Not much clutter. The trailers were mostly in decent shape, although a few showed the ravages of time and weather. There were a couple of retirees walking small, fat dogs along the roadside, and one of them waved. Eamon waved back.

“I hate this place,” Sarah said. She sounded like she meant it.

“It’s temporary, Sarah. You know that.” Eamon must have been tired of explaining it; his tone was more than a little sharp. “Just until the funds come through on the international transfer.”

“Meanwhile, we’re living in a trailer park. With crack-heads! I used to live in the same zip code with Mel Gibson, for God’s sake!” I wondered if the trailer park had its fringe benefits for her, like being a good place to score drugs. Heroin? Meth? Coke? Something that made her pupils so inordinately wide. Eamon seemed sober as a judge, though, so it wasn’t likely he was the one supplying her habits. I wasn’t sure he even knew, which made me think that he was willfully blind to her problems. Or he knew, and he’d given up trying to fix her.

“It’s only temporary,” Eamon said again. “I’m sorry, love; I know it’s not what you’re used to. Things will get better. You’ll bear with me, won’t you?”

There was a kind of wistful longing in his voice, and Sarah softened. She stretched out a hand toward him, and he took it and held it. He had amazing hands-long, elegant, beautifully cared for. His fingers overlapped hers by inches. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I’ll put up with whatever I have to for us to be together.” She threw me a look in the rearview mirror. A defiant one. “No matter what other people think.”

I’d thought Eamon was bad for her? Wow. I really hadn’t had a clue about my sister if I’d thought that a slick English guy who would put up with her bullshit was a bad deal for her. “Other people meaning me?” I asked, and let a little of my frustration out. Sarah glared.

“Of course, meaning you,” she snapped. “What other controlling, know-it-all relative do I have in the backseat? Is Mom in your pocket?”

Eamon pulled the car to a stop before I could think of a suitably acid reply to any of that. Probably for the best. The sedan wasn’t big enough for a real girl fight, and the bloodstains would never come out of the upholstery.

“Home sweet home,” he said with just the right touch of irony. “Sorry, I’ve given the staff the day off. Do forgive the mess.”

It was a trailer. Not a very big one-not one of the kingly double-wides, like the one across the road. And it was dented, faded, and run-down. There were some cheerful window boxes, but they were full of dead plants; what a shock. I couldn’t see Sarah as the getting-her-hands-dirty gardener. Apart from the bold landscaping choice of a chain-link fence around some struggling, sun-blasted grass, there wasn’t much to recommend the place.

“Nice,” I said noncommittally, and got out to follow Eamon toward the aluminum Taj Mahal.

It wasn’t any better on the inside, although it was darker. The smell was a little strange-a combination of unwashed towels and old fried fish, with a little stale cat litter thrown in-and as I blinked to adjust my eyes I saw that the place must have been bought fully furnished. Matted, ancient gold shag carpet. Heavy, dark furniture that had gone out of style twenty years ago, at least. Clunky, vegetable-colored appliances in the small kitchen. There were dips in the carpet that I suspected meant rotting floors.

Still, they’d made an attempt. The place was mostly clean, and it was also mostly impersonal, with only a few personal items-Sarah’s-in view. A trashy candy-colored book on the coffee table, facedown. A wineglass with some sticky residue in the bottom next to it. A fleece robe flung over one end of the couch, and I hoped it didn’t belong to Eamon, because pale pink wasn’t really his color.

Eamon swept the place with a look, tossed his keys on the counter, and turned to face me. It was my first good look at him, and I wasn’t disappointed. My sister did have good taste in exteriors, at least. He wasn’t gorgeous, but he was nice-looking, with a clever face and a sweet smile. The only thing that bothered me about him were the dark, steady eyes that didn’t quite match the rest of his expression.

“Jo,” he said, and opened his arms. I took the cue and hugged him. He had a strong, flat body, vividly warm, and he didn’t hang on an inappropriately long time, though he gave good value for his five seconds. When we parted again, his eyes were bright, almost feverish. “I’ll tell you the honest truth: It’s good to see you again,” he said. “I know I speak for Sarah when I say that we were worried when you dropped out of sight. Where have you been?”

I had no idea what span of time that covered, of course, not that I was going to tell him that. “Around,” I said, and smiled back. “I’m parched. Can I get something to drink?”

“Of course. Sarah.” He said it as if she were his servant, and I saw her frown work its way deeper into her forehead. Couldn’t blame her on that one. I wouldn’t have appreciated it, either. Still, she wandered into the kitchen and started rooting through cabinets, assembling me a drink. She didn’t ask what I liked. I guessed either she already knew or didn’t care. “Please, sit down. Tell me what happened to get you into this problem.”

“Mistaken identity,” I said, but I obeyed the graceful wave of his hand toward the couch. Eamon took a chair next to it. “Nothing to tell, really. They think I killed a cop.”

“Ah. Which cop would this be?”

“Detective Quinn.”

“I see. And did you?” he asked, not looking at me. He needed a haircut; his brown, silky shag was starting to take on a retro-seventies look that made him look a little dangerous.

“I can’t believe you asked me that,” I said, which was a nice nonanswer. “What do you think?”

“I think that they’re talking about Orry, aren’t they?”

“Thomas Quinn,” I said. “They didn’t mention anyone named Orry.”

He shot me a quick, unreadable glance. “Oh,” he said. “I see. Not the same person, then.”

I covered with a noncommittal shrug. Eamon smiled slightly, and then moved back in his chair as Sarah came toward us with drinks. Eamon’s was clearly alcohol-something amber, on the rocks-and mine was just as clearly not. It bubbled with carbonation. I sipped carefully, but it was just Coca-Cola. No rum, no whiskey. It was even diet.

And yes, it was delicious. My body went into spasms of ecstasy over the faux-sugar rush, and it was all I could do not to chug the entire thing in one long gulp.

Sarah perched on the arm of Eamon’s chair, her own glass clutched in one long-fingernailed hand. She needed a manicure, and she didn’t need to be drinking whatever was in that glass, which wasn’t likely to be as innocuous as my Diet Coke. “What were you talking about?” she asked. Eamon raised his eyebrows at me.

“Water under the bridge,” he said. “Now. Just so we understand each other, Jo, I did put up your bail money. It wasn’t purely because I like you, although I do…or because I love your sister, although I do love her, obviously. It’s because I have a business proposition for you, and I thought this might be an opportunity to have your full and undivided attention while we discuss the details.”

What kind of business did I have with Sarah’s boyfriend? I felt a growing sense of disquiet, and it wasn’t anything I could put my finger on… Eamon’s body language was kind, gentle, unaggressive. His eyes were bright and his smile a bit too sharp, but that might have been my own paranoia. Yes, the trailer wasn’t a Malibu beach house, but it wasn’t exactly a horrifying dump, either. Sarah was on drugs-I was nearly sure of that-but that didn’t mean danger to me, only to her.

And yet. And yet.

“A business proposition,” I repeated, locking gazes with Eamon. “Go on. I’m all ears. Anybody who puts up bail money gets that much.”

His smile got wider. “You might not recall, but I had a small business venture under way in Florida when you arrived back there and took up residence. I was investing in construction with some silent partners. I was hoping to revive that effort, maybe do something on the West Coast for a change. I’d like to have your commitment to be involved.”

“I’m not really up for investing,” I said. “What with the murder charge, and the fact that I seem to be running a little short of cash. Nothing personal.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and I had no idea why he’d find that funny. “No indeed,” he agreed. “Not personal in the least. Well, to be blunt, you do owe me, Joanne. Not just for the bail, although obviously I have to consider that. No, before you left Florida, you promised to locate something very rare and very special for me-something I needed a great deal. As it turned out, you had a bit of a problem delivering on your promise, which was very disappointing for me, and caused me to lose something that I really wasn’t planning to give up. But as you said, water under the bridge, and that’s certainly far downstream at this point. Both our circumstances have changed-perhaps not, in your case, for the better. So please consider my offer as being a way for you to get back on your feet, in a sense, as well as a way to repay your debts to me.”

“I see.”

“It’s either that or, regretfully, I’ll have to ask you to immediately pay back the money. As you heard, I’m waiting on a funds transfer from Asia, but various political problems in that part of the world are causing delays. And, of course, I had to sink some of my capital into providing for your temporary freedom, pending trial. So perhaps you’d like to contact your bank and have them wire me about five thousand dollars. That should tide us over.”

In a trailer like this, in Ares, Nevada? I imagined that five thousand would probably tide them over for months on end. In style. Even if Sarah’s drug habit was worse than I thought. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I don’t have any cash. No wallet, no credit cards, no checks. Nothing. I can’t even go to a bank and draw out cash with no identification. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just as pissed about that as you are.”

“Ah,” Eamon said, and sat back, eyes going half-lidded and remote. “Well. How ever are you planning to pay me back for your bail money, then, if you’re not interested in the investment and you can’t provide the cash?”

“It’s a temporary situation. It’ll all-”

“Work out?” he supplied dryly. “Yes. I’m sure it will. Things do seem to do that for you. The favored, fortunate child, aren’t you just?” Eamon suddenly came up with a lovely, charming smile, which he turned on my sister like a cannon, with about the same effect. “Sweets, why don’t you give us a moment alone?”

Sarah clouded over, but it was a foregone conclusion that she’d obey. I ignored the intervening whines and concentrated on Eamon and on my environment. What kind of trouble was I in? And what could I do about it?

Sarah finally left the room, went to the bedroom, and slammed the thin, scratched door behind her.

He watched her go, his eyes intent and strangely fond, and without any change in his expression Eamon said, “I don’t want to alarm your sister, but I’ll warn you, if you try to pull any of your magical shit with me, I’ll make both of you pay for it. Are we clear, then?”

It felt like he’d kicked me in the stomach. I opened my mouth but didn’t quite know what to say. What the hell had just happened?

“Right,” he said. “Enough of our little dance, my dear. You’re a puzzle to me at the moment-a not entirely unattractive one, but I have issues of my own to overcome, so I’m not terribly concerned about yours. Although you certainly can’t believe some of the things you’ve been telling me, and I wonder what kind of mad plan you have in mind if you’re lying about so much, and so blatantly. Nothing to my benefit, I’m sure. Well, let’s be blunt, then: I need to get out of this town before I either go mad or do something quite unpleasant to your dear sister. Neither of us wants that, and I’m sure you’d like to help me out in this.”

“Are you threatening Sarah?” I asked. I stood up-not because I meant to, just because my muscles tensed so badly I couldn’t sit still. I stared at him, and he smiled, still entirely at ease.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Come, now, don’t act surprised. You knew it was coming, love; it was just foreplay to get there. Now we’re down to the sweaty parts.”

“Watch it.”

“Well, you know that I do enjoy that as well,” he said, and grinned like a wolf. It made my skin crawl. Who was this guy? Why couldn’t I get a decent read on him?

“Why’d you really bail me out?” I demanded. Eamon shrugged and tossed back the rest of his drink in one neat mouthful.

“I suppose because Sarah felt it was the thing to do, and I was curious about what you’d do and say; besides, I thought you might be useful. You had to know that I had her sometime, and it seemed to be a good time to press my advantage in that area. Tell the truth. Did you know I’d be with her? I know you were very serious about the threats you delivered last time, and I don’t underestimate your ability to carry through…except that you do seem to be more alone than ever. What’s wrong, love? Finally drive away the last few people who cared about you?”

I felt a buzzing in my head and a buildup of power along my spine. You can fry him like an egg, I thought. Erase any trace of this asshole. It’d be a public service. Except that I wasn’t a murderer, and I didn’t aspire to become one, either. I controlled my anger and directed it in less mutilating ways. “So tell me, was Sarah already an addict when you brought her to this little paradise, or did you start her on that once you got her here, just to keep her occupied?” I asked. “And don’t give me any you-didn’t-know bullshit. I know, and-” And I just met her. I didn’t want to say that, though. One thing about Eamon: He was inspiring me to keep my cards close to my vest. “And I don’t live with her.”

I thought I saw a deep flash of something in his eyes, quickly hidden. Anger? Appreciation? No idea. He was pretty hard to read, all around. His physical cues-a relaxed posture, friendly smile, graceful and gentle gestures-were all completely at odds with what I sensed was going on inside of him. Tightly controlled, this guy. And dangerous. I was sure of that part.

“Hardly my master plan. Sarah was bored,” he said. “I didn’t encourage her, but no, I didn’t stop her, either. It keeps her…relatively content. And I’m sure you know that Sarah can be demanding. She’s always going on about how much she misses her old life, with all her country club friends and shopping sprees. And while I’d love to give her that life…well. It’s not possible, given what I do.”

“And what is it you do?” I asked.

“Oh, love,” he said. “You know exactly what I do. I’m a criminal. I’m a very bad man, and if you don’t remember that, well, there’s something very wrong with you, isn’t there? And that can only work to my advantage.”

The trailer was starting to close in on me. I was thinking wistfully of open forest, cold, sharp air, the company of David and Lewis. Good times, even if I’d thought I’d been suffering. This was suffering, right here. What my sister was going through with this asshole was real suffering, and he had every intention of spreading the joy to me, too.

“What do you want?” It came out harsher than I intended. My hands were curled into fists, and I forced my aching fingers to straighten out.

Eamon smiled at me, the same blindingly charming smile he’d used on Sarah. Luckily I was wearing my cynical sunglasses. “You don’t remember, do you? None of it. Not Quinn. Not what happened in Florida. No wonder you’re so careful when you say something to me. Couple of critical mistakes along the way, though: First, Thomas Quinn and Orry are one and the same, and you of all people should have remembered that, if you remembered anything. It was a bit important to you, that piece of information.”

“What do you want?”

“Almost nothing, really. I just want you to change the weather,” he said. “See? Couldn’t be easier. Do that, and I’ll forget the money you owe me, the favors you failed to perform, and I’ll put your sister into rehab and part ways with her for good. I’ll leave you and yours strictly alone in the future. In short, I’ll give you everything you want, Joanne.”

“In exchange for changing the weather.”

“Exactly.”

“Where?”

“Ah.” His teeth flashed, white and slightly crooked, just enough to give him character. I could see how Sarah got sucked into this guy’s orbit; she didn’t strike me as especially strong, and Eamon just radiated competence. Bad competence, sure, but…“I’ll show you, but not until we have an agreement. Do we?”

“No. We don’t.”

“Damn. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to raise the stakes, but you really leave me very little choice.” The warmth drained out of his smile. “Things can happen to your sister. Terrible things. I’m not saying that I would personally do them, but such things can be outsourced these days, and it’s such a cold, cruel world for a sensitive woman with a drug problem, yeah?”

I was almost speechless with fury. “You-”

“Ah!” He held up a long finger and waggled it gently from side to side. “Let’s not insult each other. We both understand that Sarah’s a dependent personality; if I want her to stay with me, she’ll stay, no matter how I treat her. No matter how much I hurt her. If you want to ensure your sister’s future safety and happiness, you’re going to have to pay me off. And that means this one simple favor.”

“Fine,” I snapped. He raised his eyebrows. “What, you want me to sign it in blood? You’ve made your fucking point!”

Eamon sniffed the air. “Is that brimstone I smell? Love, I’m not the devil. I don’t require signatures, and I wouldn’t want your grimy, well-used soul, either. Don’t play the innocent with me; I’ve seen you without your airs and social graces.” His eyes focused in on me like laser guidance systems for a bomb. “And by the way, I know what Orry did to you that day in the desert. I don’t blame you for killing him. It did put me to a spot of inconvenience, but no one can debate that he deserved what happened to him out there.”

That spoke volumes about things I didn’t remember, and was glad I couldn’t. I shuddered, but I did it inside, where he couldn’t see. “Let’s leave the past out of it,” I said. “So I do this thing for you, and you’re out of my life? Out of my sister’s life?”

“Once and for all,” he said. “Truthfully, I’m a bit sorry I ever came back into it. She’s…difficult. But I did-and do-care about her. Please believe that. It’s not all about leverage. If it had been, I’d have kicked her to the curb weeks ago, when she ceased to be amusing.”

Strangely, I did believe that. Or wanted to, anyway. “I wish you had,” I said. “She’d be better off.”

He gave me a pitying look. “When I take the trash to the curb, I put it out in plastic bags,” he said. “Think, love. I never claimed I was a good catch. But in my own way, I have tried to do my best for her.”

“Just not enough to keep her off of drugs,” I said.

He shrugged. “The only person who can keep Sarah clean is Sarah. You know that.”

Eamon’s philosophy of personal responsibility was convenient, to say the least. I got up and paced the trailer’s worn carpet. The floor creaked. Eamon watched me without appearing worried about anything I might do; I stopped near a lopsided scattering of framed photographs and stared.

There I was, with my arm around Sarah. Happier times, clearly; I had a smug grin, and she looked rosy and glowing with happiness. Younger, both of us. There was another photo next to it of an older woman sitting on a beach, looking out to sea. There was a contemplative air to the picture, and a kind of sadness. I reached out and touched the face with a fingertip.

“I haven’t seen this in years,” I said. I was taking a guess that Eamon wouldn’t bother with family photos-if he had, and I was pointing at a picture of his dear old mum from Manchester or wherever, I was probably screwed. He already knew my memory was faulty; I just didn’t want him to know the extent of it. He’d probably assume it was confined to a specific period-hell, I’d have assumed that, in his place. The alternative would have seemed ridiculously unlikely.

Whatever he thought, he just said, “Sarah loves that photograph. She said it was your mother’s favorite, as well. You took it, didn’t you?”

I decided the safest course was not to answer. I picked up the picture and stared at it, trying to read its secrets. My mother. What had she been like? Had she been protective? Proud? Absent? Abusive? So many questions, and I knew I wouldn’t get the answers here. Not out of Eamon, anyway.

“Not that I’m unsympathetic to your current stroll down Memory Lane, love, but there’s a deal on the table,” Eamon said. “And you know how much I like to close deals.”

Some dark, velvet tone of amusement in that made me put the picture down and turn to look at him. I hadn’t, right? Oh, tell me I hadn’t slept with my sister’s skanky, possibly homicidal boyfriend.

Man, I was changing my ways if that was the case. Possibly joining a nunnery.

“You show me where you want the weather changed,” I said, “and I’ll make it happen.”

He smiled slowly. “I know you will. Because you’re not stupid enough to double-cross me twice.”

I wasn’t too surprised to find that while Eamon and I had been trading threats and barely concealed attacks, Sarah had taken the opportunity of self-medicating herself into oblivion. Not surprised, but sad. I found out what her poison of choice was, because it was in plain sight on the nightstand…an orange-brown prescription bottle of OxyContin. At least, I thought, it wasn’t meth. But Sarah would have found meth too low class, no doubt. To me, high was high; it didn’t really matter whether you blissed out from prescription drugs or something a toothless wonder cooked up in a pot on his stove. The problem was the same.

I got her out of bed. She opened her eyes, and the pupils were hugely dilated. She yawned as I tossed clothes at her. There were bruises on her arms and legs, and I felt a newly sick sensation bubbling deep in my stomach. Those were not exactly the signs of a loving relationship, but then, what had I really expected? Consideration? Dependent personality, he said, and although I hated him for it, Eamon was right. Sarah had hooked up with a guy who’d treat her like crap, because deep down that was what she expected to get. And maybe he was what she needed to continue eroding her own nonexistent self-worth.

How could two sisters be so damn different?

“Where are we going?” she mumbled. I helped her put on a floral shirt with ruffles down the front; it would have looked like crap on me, but on her it looked fresh and pretty. It offset the haggard lines in her face, anyway. She needed sleep, and not the kind induced by chemicals. And an environment where she could find out just how powerful she could be, if given the chance.

“We’re going on a little trip,” I said. “Sarah, look at me. Look at me. You recognize me, right?”

Her wandering eyes focused on me. I was eerily reminded of Cherise’s time-delayed attention, but this was different; Sarah had at least chosen this. “Of course I know who you are,” Sarah said, and put a hand to my cheek. Her skin felt cool and clammy. “You’re my sister. You’re all I’ve got. Sometimes I hate you, though. But mostly I love you.”

I felt that artlessly cruel statement lodge between my ribs, sharp and cold, and felt tears sting my eyes. I loved her. I had no reason to, but I loved her anyway.

And now I’d made myself responsible for her, and right now I wasn’t sure that was such a great idea… I hardly could take care of myself. But I couldn’t exactly leave her with Eamon.

“That’s right,” I said, and managed a smile. I put my hand over hers, holding it to my cheek. “I love you, too. You and me against the world, Sarah. But I’m going to need your help now.” I reached for the prescription bottle and checked the label. Unless her name was Mabel Thornton, they weren’t her pills. I rattled them in front of her until she focused on them. “You’re going to have to stop taking these.”

She blinked, and then she grabbed for them. I easily pulled them out of reach. “Those are mine!” she said, and set that sharp chin of hers in a hard, stubborn line. “Jo, give them back! I only take them when I need them! I take them for pain!”

Her life was full of that right now, starting with being in a relationship with the asshole in the other room, and ending with the fact she was living in a trailer in Ares, Nevada, with nothing to look forward to but more abuse. But it could all be fixed. It would all be fixed.

“I’ll hang onto them for you,” I said, and slipped them into the pocket of my jeans with a mental promise to ditch them in the first trash can I passed. “Up and at ’em, kid.”

She giggled drunkenly. “I’m not the kid! You’re the kid!”

Not at the moment, I wasn’t.

Getting Sarah dressed was an effort. While she figured out the complexities of pants, I ransacked her closet, shoved what passed for her wardrobe into a bag-Louis Vuitton, evidently a souvenir of better days-and added the few personal touches she had around the trailer. Especially the photographs. I lingered over the one of our mother, and I ached to ask…but I didn’t dare. So far, I thought I’d danced around the subject of memory pretty well with her, but one false move and everything could fall apart.

It was depressingly easy to remove all traces of Sarah from what was supposed to be her home. I supposed it was possible to look on it as freewheeling independence, but it just seemed really creepy as hell. A reminder of just how easily a life could be erased from the world.

Eamon didn’t help, literally or figuratively. When I ushered Sarah back out into the living room and got her sitting on the couch, weaving and blinking, Eamon was finishing off a fresh glass of whiskey. “Ah,” he said with that slow, all-knowing smile. “I see you’re ready.”

“Yes,” I said, and thumped the suitcase down next to the door. “Where are we going?”

“California,” he said. “Land of fruits and nuts, they say. You ought to be right at home.”

I thought, somehow, that Sarah would have looked pleased-after all, pretty much anywhere in California had to be an improvement over the current situation, and she’d talked about living in the same zip code with Mel Gibson. But instead she looked mortified. Scared, even. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t want to go to California. Jo, why can’t we go back to Florida? I liked Florida. It was nice, and-”

Eamon interrupted as if she hadn’t even opened her mouth. “I suppose you could do this from anywhere, but I’d like to actually be there to see it, if you don’t mind. Not that I don’t trust you, but…well, I don’t trust you.”

“Ditto,” I said grimly. “Oh, and you’re not driving, jerk. Give me the keys.”

“But I don’t want to go to California!” Sarah repeated, half a wail.

“Okay,” I said. “Want to stay here? Alone?”

She looked from me to Eamon, back to me. Eyes wide and still medically dilated.

And she burst into an addict’s helpless tears.

“I’ll take that as a no,” I said, and got her under the arm to help her up. “So let’s get moving.”

The instant I banged open the rickety front door of the trailer and stepped down onto the cinder-block steps, Louis Vuitton suitcase in hand, I knew something was wrong out there. There was a sense of stillness, of the world not quite breathing. No birds in the sky, no wind. It was the weightless moment before the ground crumbles under your feet, and you fall, screaming.

I froze. Maybe the old me would have known what to do, but the new, not-so-improved me had no earthly idea what the right move might be. I just waited for the hammer to fall.

She’s looking for me. I held myself completely still, completely silent, until I felt the shadow drift away. Maybe this was how the rabbit felt when the shadow of the hawk moved overhead. It was humbling and horrifying, and I had no idea how I was supposed to react except that I had a deep, burning desire to get the hell out. Come on, Venna, I thought. If you’re not too busy braiding your hair.

I finally let myself draw in a breath, blinked, and came down the two unstable steps to the soft, sandy ground. It still felt strange, but maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just paranoid.

You’re not paranoid. Somebody’s out to get you, remember? Several somebodies, maybe, but certainly including that evil doppelgänger back at the clinic. And if the Joanne back at the clinic had her way-somehow I was almost sure she was managing it-she’d have convinced Lewis of her sincerity by now. And, though it turned my stomach to think about it, she might have even fooled David. In which case it wouldn’t be her getting her hands dirty, coming after me. She’d have plenty of shock troops available, and all the eyes and ears of the Wardens.

A breath of wind touched me from the west. It blew hair across my eyes, and I reached up to push it away. In the half second of partial vision, something flickered across my line of sight, and was gone.

“David?” I whispered. I felt nothing, and if it was David, he didn’t show himself. I don’t know why I wanted it to be him; he was trouble, and nothing but. Especially now.

And I still missed him, as stupid and shallow as that might be.

I stalked out the gate, dragging the designer luggage ruthlessly across gravel and sand, and popped the trunk of the black sedan. I heaved the suitcase up to dump it inside, and staggered backward, off balance, in shock. Because the trunk was already occupied.

Dead guy. Dead guy in the luggage area, and recently dead, too. There was very little blood, and just one neat hole in the center of his forehead and a thin trickle, but I didn’t want to examine the exit wound, which was luckily facing away from me.

I didn’t recognize him, naturally.

I was still staring at the body, frozen in shock, when Eamon reached over and slammed the trunk lid closed. “Full up. Suitcase in the backseat,” he said. “There’s a love.”

I dropped the suitcase and backed away from him. He looked surprised. Well, not really surprised, but as if he wanted to look surprised. Eamon was a master at putting on emotions like outfits.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You’re not one to shy away from violence; I know that for a fact.”

“You killed him,” I said. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know?” He studied my face, and I felt naked. Way too exposed. “I know you’re not generally popular with your peers, but I’m surprised you don’t at least know the ones who want you dead.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about the dead man in your trunk.” I was clenching my teeth now, and wishing I had a weapon. A big one. Large-caliber. “What the hell is going on?”

“No idea,” Eamon said. “He was waiting for you outside of the prison with a rather nice three-eighty, which would have put a large and bloody hole in your back, shredded your lungs, and blown your heart halfway to hell. I say your back because of where he’d stationed himself. Because of the angle.”

I felt sick, and a little bit relieved. Okay, so it’s a bad guy dead in the trunk. That’s better, right? Of course it wasn’t, and just because the psychopath went after other villains didn’t make him any less of a psychopath, did it? Besides, I had no idea if Eamon was telling the truth. He seemed sincere, but he seemed a lot of things he wasn’t-nothing if not facile.

“Oh, don’t look so worried,” Eamon said, and opened the back door of the car for Sarah. She moved as if she were missing some bones, folding like wet cardboard when she was finally in the seat. I opened the other side and put her suitcase inside. She promptly used it as a pillow, and went right to sleep. “I doubt he’ll be missed. Contract killers rarely have what you might call an extensive social circle.”

Eamon had brought out a cheap-looking velour blanket. He spread it over Sarah as he spoke. It was an odd gesture of kindness from a guy who thought nothing of loading up the trunk with corpses, and his contradictions were starting to make my head hurt.

“What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

“Let’s just say he won’t be accompanying us all the way to California,” Eamon replied. “There’s plenty of desert between here and there.”

“Do you know who he is?” I asked.

“Not a fucking clue,” he said, and reached in his pocket. He took out a slim black wallet, which he flipped over the car’s roof to me. I caught it, startled. “Perhaps you’ll see something that rings a bell, eh?”

I opened it and checked for ID. There was a driver’s license for a guy named John T. Hunter. I wondered if that was a joke of some kind: John The Hunter. Like, assassin. But why would I have a professional assassin on my case? Then again, why wouldn’t I? Given the gigantic mountain of nothing that I knew about my life, I supposed I couldn’t rule it out.

Other than the license, his wallet was empty except for a fat stash of cash, which I felt sick about taking, but hey, I needed it.

“Well?” Eamon asked, staring at me over the top of the black car. “His chances of recovery aren’t improving, I assure you. So I’d suggest we roll along.”

“What if I just walk away?” I asked. “What if I go to the police?” I darted a look into the backseat. Sarah slept on peacefully.

“Well, two things will happen. First, you’ll be arrested, because of course I’ll have to give a statement that you shot this poor man and stole his money. Second, your sister will be dead, and it’ll look as if you had quite a bit to do with it. Did you know that statistically most murders are committed by a person close to the victim? Shocking.” He said it flatly, without any emphasis, but I believed him. “All right, even if you’ve lost your memory, you know exactly who I am and what I can do, because there’s ample evidence in the trunk with a bullet in his head. So let’s stop dancing around the proprieties and get on with it, shall we? I need your particular talents for one thing and one thing only, and then, as far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell and take Sarah with you. Are we clear?”

His eyes glittered. There was something feral in him, something pushed into a corner. I didn’t doubt he’d kill. He was right. The body in the trunk was proof enough of that.

I didn’t answer him. I held his stare long enough to promise him a whole lot of things, most of them violent, and then I opened the front driver’s-side door, got in, and started the engine. I considered gunning it and leaving him there in the dust, but all he had to do was make a phone call, and I was a wanted felon with a body in the trunk.

Play along. Find an opportunity. Wait for Venna.

It was risky, but it was the only card in my hand at the moment.