The Perfect Victim

Randall scrubbed his hand over his face. "Maybe Bernstein has something in his office we can get our hands on. Whatever Jack was able to come up with was probably burned in the fire. I'll check it out, but it's probably gone."

 

"What about the newspaper clipping?"

 

"It's something. It will help. But Stukins will never hold up in court."

 

"Surely there was some kind of police report—"

 

"McEvoy said the police records were destroyed. As far as we know that son of a bitch is in Tate's hip pocket."

 

For the first time Addison felt the full force of the fury burning inside her. So many innocent people senselessly murdered. So many lives destroyed. All so one evil man could get away with his sins.

 

"We can't let him get away with this," she choked. "I want the bastard to pay."

 

Randall reached across the table and took her hands in his. "It's going to be a while before the doctor gets here. I need to talk to him. I've got to take care of Jack. In the interim, I'm going to get you checked into a hotel."

 

"I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving Jack—"

 

"You need to sleep." He squeezed her hands. "Neither of us is going to be worth a damn if we don't get some sleep."

 

She didn't like the idea of separating, but she saw the logic behind it. She wouldn't last much longer without sleep. Neither would he. "You need sleep, too."

 

"I've got to talk to the doctor first. Then I'm going to check out the office and meet with Van-Dyne. I'll meet you at the hotel in a few hours."

 

"What are you going to tell Van-Dyne?"

 

"Everything except that we suspect Tate is involved. We need an ally, and I'll take whoever I can get at this point."

 

"What if he doesn't believe you?" she asked. "Let's face it. We're making some wild allegations. The only piece of hard evidence we've got is a twenty-six-year-old newspaper clipping that doesn't name names. Pretty flimsy, considering who we're going up against."

 

''True, but if I can convince him the attempt on your life and Bernstein's murder are related, I may be able to get him to begin an investigation."

 

*

 

 

 

The drive to the hotel was a twisting, high speed, single-car chase that had Addison clutching the dash and wishing she'd passed on coffee back at the hospital. Randall covered the entire city and half its suburbs at least twice before hauling the Jeep into the parking garage of the Loews Giorgio Hotel just southeast of downtown.

 

"I'm going back to the hospital with you," she said as he made a final check of the room. She barely noticed the Italian decor and European antiques strewn about like expensive beanbags. "I'll sit with Jack while you talk to Van-Dyne."

 

"No."

 

"I can't just sit around and do nothing." Her stomach clenched every time she envisioned him walking out that door without her. "I won't be able to sleep."

 

"Yes, you will." He slipped a small chrome pistol from his parka. "Take this."

 

Addison gaped at the gun. "You really know how to make a girl feel safe."

 

"It's a Colt Mustang semiautomatic. Take it into the shower with you. Take it to bed with you. Whatever you do, don't let anyone into the room unless it's me."

 

When she didn't move to take the gun, he reached for her right hand and placed the pistol in her palm. "Dammit, do as I say."

 

The gun felt like a chunk of ice in her hand. Surprisingly, the grip fit comfortably into her palm; her fingers reached the trigger easily. She listened half-heartedly as he explained how to use it. "The clip holds seven rounds. That ought to be enough to stop anyone if you get into trouble."

 

"How long are you going to be gone?"

 

“A few hours."

 

"Any longer and I'll come looking for you."

 

He looked haggard and tired and as dangerous as a cobra staring back at her.

 

She had the crazy urge to tell him she loved him. The idea shook her so violently she had to blink back tears. "Be careful," she said instead.

 

Raising his hand, he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "Get some sleep." At that, he slipped away from her and left the room without looking back.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

 

 

Addison sensed his presence before she actually awoke. She heard the muted sound of his shoes against the Aubusson carpet, felt the bed shift as he moved over her.

 

She jerked awake, terror at the back of her throat, a scream buried beneath it. The room was dark. Blindly, she flung herself across the bed, toward the gun.

 

Two strong arms gripped hers. "Whoa, Addison. Honey, it's me."

 

The gentle voice lapped at the fear, smoothing it down, and it drained away, like water discarded after a cleansing bath. She stopped struggling. Randall. Close to her, touching her. She reached for him.

 

"Tate was here." She shivered as the memory of the nightmare swooped down on her. Garrison Tate had stood by the window and smiled at her. He'd spoken to her, but she couldn't recall the words. His presence had been powerful, oppressive and terrifying. Worst of all, she'd sensed that he wanted to hurt her.

 

Randall stretched out on the bed beside her. "It was a nightmare. Nobody knows we're here. We're safe."

 

A thin gray ribbon of light filtered in through the window. A glance at the crystal timepiece on the night table told her it was nearly eight A.M.

 

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