"Why—"
"The rest is for her to tell you, Garvin. I will tell you this one thing. She thinks you believe she had Vic Denardo kill her father."
"Jesus," Garvin breathed, keeping his eyes on the road.
"She doesn't think you believe she had your wife killed. They were too fond of each other. She thinks you believe Denardo did that on his own when he realized that Haley—that your wife knew what had happened. That finished any romance he and Sarah had left, and they both took off in separate directions."
"That's the scenario Sarah thinks I've worked out?"
Annie nodded, not looking at him.
"Does she deny it?"
"Yes."
"And you believe her," Garvin said.
Annie turned to him, her expression difficult to read in the shifting shadows of dusk. "You'll see why in a few minutes."
* * *
Chapter Eight
Street by street, Garvin followed Annie's snaking directions up to an isolated cul-de-sac of small, tidy houses. His head pounded, his blood pumping hard and fast.
Annie gestured out her window. "She lives in the pink house."
Garvin shifted his gaze to Annie. His chest felt compressed, his breathing labored. "You can wait here, if you like. This isn't your problem. Maybe the less you know the better."
"That might have been true two weeks ago, but not anymore."
She pushed out to the paved circle and waited for him to come around the front of his car. Her scarf had fallen off, and she'd just draped it around her neck. He could see she was tense, ambivalent. Even in the twilight her eyes shone, giving his gut a painful twist. He touched her shoulder. "Annie, I know you're in a hell of a position here."
"It's my own doing. I don't blame you or Sarah. I acted without sufficient information. You'll understand why in a minute."
As she swung away from him, Garvin caught her by the elbow and pulled her back around to him. He didn't release her. In the fading light he could see the strain of the past days taking their toll. Dark smudges under her eyes, pale cheeks, a resolute set to her jaw. He wanted to erase them, see her smile, hear her laugh. She was trying to build a new life in San Francisco and chase a dream. Instead, she had stumbled into the nightmare of two five-year-old unsolved murders.
He curved his arm around her small middle, drawing her close, and he kissed her softly, gently. "Forget Sarah, Annie. I'll take you home."
Her fingers dug into his upper arms, her gaze intent as she shook her head. "No, it's okay. You're here now. Sarah's expecting you."
She slipped away from him and swept across the pavement toward the small pink bungalow.
Garvin stiffened. "Sarah can call me and tell me to come herself. You don't need to be her fo-between."
He started back to the driver's side of his car, leaving Annie to make up her own mind about what she wanted to do.
She heaved a sigh behind him. "I'm not doing this just for Sarah's sake. I'm doing it for my own, too."
Garvin kept walking, vaguely wondering what he'd do about Otto. Take him home with him? Could be interesting. He was one big dog. If he decided he was being kidnapped, it could be a rough trip across the Golden Gate.
"Garvin."
Of course, Annie could realize he was serious and get back in the car with him and her dog. Whatever her motives were now, however she rationalized her involvement, she had no place in anything that might bring Vic Denardo back onto her doorstep.
She hissed quietly, impatiently, behind him. "God, you're a stubborn man. Sarah doesn't have a phone."
"She can use a pay phone."
"It's not that easy. She's—" Garvin could feel her grinding her teeth. "Damn it, Garvin, Sarah's practically an invalid."
He came to an abrupt halt. Blood pulsated in his ears. He steadied himself. An invalid. Sarah Linwood? He turned. Annie was silhouetted against the darkening sky, all of San Francisco glittering at her feet. He could feel how torn she was, how determined to do the right thing, how conflicted about what that was.
"I think she has rheumatoid arthritis. She gets around, but with difficulty. She—" Annie breathed in, added softly, "I wasn't going to tell you anything and let you see for yourself. But she's probably a lot different from the woman you remember."
"Annie—"
"Come see for yourself."
She didn't wait for him to respond and continued on toward the house. Garvin could hear her footsteps echoing. His throat ached with tension. His fists were clenched at his side, every muscle in his body knotted.
He lurched after her, knowing now he had no choice.
The little house was bright against the darkening sky, every light apparently on. Annie knocked and gave a quick, furtive glance back at Garvin. He tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. His fingers were stiff, cold. "This isn't easy for you either, is it?"
She gave a small, tight shake of the head.
"I've run roughshod over you to get what I want. I know it's too late, but I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way."