Maggie stared at him for a long moment. “It’ll take me five minutes.”
“Make it three.” And he turned from the doorway and headed back into the living room.
She made it in two and a half, still pulling on a battered Nike as she stumbled out of her bedroom. Randall was standing by the window, his body stiff and unyielding. He turned, and his face was impassive. “Are you ready? Or do you want to call your mother first?”
“Why?”
“To tell her Chrissie’s all right.”
“Learned your lesson, did you? That’ll teach you to mess with … superwoman.” She said the word deliberately, waiting to see his reaction. “Sybil can wait.”
“Superwoman, eh?” he echoed. “You’ll have to convince m
e.”
“Didn’t I just do that?”
He shook his head. “Not by a long shot. Come on, Maggie, let’s go catch us some spies.”
twenty
Caleb McAllister was waiting for them as they left the building. The August heat was already baking the air; the smell of exhaust and gas and summer sidewalks rose up and surrounded them in a cocoon of city life. Maggie saw him first, his tall, angular body tense and angry, and she nudged Randall ungently in the ribs.
“Here’s your chance to find out if he’s involved,” she said quietly.
Frustration and something else shadowed Randall’s eyes. “One of us needs to go after your sister and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed. We don’t know for sure that Alicia didn’t kill Francis. And even if she didn’t, there’s another murderer loose if Caleb is innocent. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about killing to protect himself.”
“You take Caleb,” Maggie muttered. “I’m going after Kate.”
“Maggie—” But she moved quickly out of reach, directly into Caleb’s path. Randall’s mouth shut with an angry snap.
“Hi, Caleb. Why aren’t you at the studio?” she demanded abruptly.
“The studio’s closed on Wednesdays. What the hell does that matter? Listen, Sybil called me—”
“Where does Alicia live?” she broke in.
“42557 Springhill Estates,” he said automatically. “I have to talk to you, Maggie.”
“Talk to Randall,” she said, rushing past him and grabbing the first taxi that was lined up outside the hotel next to Kate’s building. She didn’t even look back as they zoomed out into the midmorning traffic.
It was a long drive. The taxi driver had an all-news radio station on, and the crackle and buzz rattled Maggie’s nerve endings as she prayed she’d be in time.
The built-up newness of the city deteriorated into the shabbiness of the older neighborhoods, then began to brighten up as middle-class suburbs approached. Those thinned out, and random, sprawling estates took their place. Maggie’s palms were cold and damp with sweat.
The radio was blaring on about hurricanes in the Gulf, and Maggie shut her eyes for a moment, trying to block out the intrusion. And then her eyes shot open again at the newscaster’s laconic tone.
“Admiral Jefferson Wentworth was found dead in his Arlington, Virginia, apartment today, an apparent suicide. Admiral Wentworth served on the Naval Intelligence Committee before his retirement in 1984. The police have not ruled out the possibility of foul play.”
Maggie’s stomach lurched, and her nails bit into her palms. Why the hell had she left her gun in New York when her sister’s very life might depend on it? But she knew why—she’d been too befuddled with Randall Carter. That was another she owed him.
“Gates are closed, lady.”
The driver’s voice pulled her attention back to the present, and she looked up, startled. Wide iron gates spanned the curving drive that led up to an imposing, utterly tasteless white stone mansion. Kate’s slightly battered Datsun was parked at a haphazard angle in front of them, blocking entry. There was no sign of her sister.
“This is good enough,” Maggie said, shoving money at the driver and almost falling out of the cab. Her sense of disaster was getting stronger all the time, and it took every ounce of will to calm herself. Panic wouldn’t help Kate; calm, rational planning would. First of all, she had to figure how to get past the high stone walls that guarded Alicia Stoneham.
In the end it was easier than she’d imagined. Although the front gates were securely locked, the narrow door in the thick stone wall was unlatched. Maggie simply walked through, breaking into a stealthy run as she reached the other side of the curving drive.