She nodded, wondering why she suddenly felt as if she’d known him for a long time. She really knew so little about him....
Except, she knew she wanted to wake up beside him again. She’d be disconsolate if he never touched her again, if she couldn’t study his eyes or the way he smiled. Or watch him when he was working something out—by logic or intuition.
Abby looked down, feeling she’d gushed too much. She didn’t need to be defensive; Savannah was a gem of a city.
“Virginia is great, too,” she said.
He laughed. “Virginia is great. I love Richmond. The White House of the Confederacy, Hollywood Cemetery and all the old Civil War memorials... My part of Virginia is pretty remote. But I think you’d like it.”
She started to answer him; she wanted to talk about Virginia, or anything else rather than what was going on between them. But before she could say a word, she was startled by the presence of someone beside their table.
It was Roger English. “Hey, you two okay?” he asked.
“Fine, Roger.” Abby smiled at him. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I shouldn’t admit it, but yesterday freaked me out. I watched the news today and it’s great—you fished Helen Long out of the river last night!”
“We’ve seen her, Roger, and she’s doing well,” Malachi told him.
“Did she solve everything?” he asked.
“She’s in the hospital, so we’re trying to give her time to feel better before getting her to remember details,” Abby said.
Roger nodded. “Hopefully she’ll have what you need.”
“What are you doing here?” Abby asked him. “Did you just happen by?”
“I came to meet Bianca for lunch. But she’s late.”
“I’m sure she’ll be along in a few minutes,” Abby said.
“I really like her,” Roger murmured.
Abby suddenly heard a mental echo of her own voice. I’m sure she’ll be along in a few minutes.
But she might not be.
She glanced at Malachi, who was studying Roger. “Why don’t you give her a call, see what’s holding her up?” Malachi suggested.
“I have. She’s not answering her cell. I tried her bed-and-breakfast, too. Couldn’t reach her.”
The possible explanation seemed to hit Roger as he spoke. His knees gave out; he would’ve fallen if Malachi hadn’t leaped to his feet to bring a chair around for him.
Roger stared at the two of them. “He’s got her!” he cried. “Call the police! I’ve got to call the police. You are the police. No, you’re the feds... Oh, God. What do I do, what do I do?”
Malachi already had his phone out. “First, don’t panic. People do run late. Cell phone batteries die. But under the circumstances, we’ll get all the information we have on Bianca to David Caswell.”
Roger looked as if he’d been hit by a brick. While Malachi spoke to David on the phone, Abby asked Roger, “Her name is Bianca Salzburg, right? She said she was transferring here from Chicago. Is she from Chicago? This is important, Roger.”
“Salzburg, yes,” Roger answered. “She was born in Chicago and went to Northwestern. She works for a small shipping company that handles delicate items—Pack-A-Gram, it’s called. They’re opening an office in Savannah. She was staying at the old Hayden house. You know the place, Abby. It was owned by Jimmy Hayden until last year when he died. His niece Shelly came back to take over the property and turned it into a B and B. She fixed it up nicely.”
There was little emotion in his voice, he was so distracted.
Abby thought, but didn’t say, that—like the known victims—Bianca had eaten at the Dragonslayer.
Malachi ended his call and made another before returning the phone to his pocket. “David’s on it and he’ll be here soon. We’ve reported the situation to our colleagues, as well. Bianca could show up in a few minutes, but we’ll get started on the information we need, just because we’re all concerned these days. So, how late is she, Roger?”
Roger glanced at his watch. “Now? Almost forty minutes.”
“My colleague Angela Hawkins is on her way here to wait with you. Meanwhile, Jackson Crow is hitting the national databases to get all the information we can on Bianca. Let’s hope she shows in a few minutes, apologizing for being late and explaining that she didn’t charge her phone.”
Roger jumped to his feet. “Helen! You have to get Helen to tell you what’s going on. I’ll go to the hospital. She’ll talk to me—she’ll tell us what happened. You saved her, right? She owes you, Abby. You have to make her tell you!”
Malachi rose and set his hands on Roger’s shoulders. “Look at me, buddy. You panicking will not help Bianca. We’ve spoken with Helen, and we’ll speak with her again, see if we can’t get some details that might help. But listen to me and try to understand. We can’t force Helen to tell us what she doesn’t know.”
“But,” Roger protested, “she’s alive! She has to know—”
“She says she saw a pirate,” Abby said.
“What?” Roger demanded.
“She thinks Blue Anderson attacked her.”