Читать книгу Sudden Alliance - Jackie Manning - Страница 12

“Holy—” A jolt of adrenaline shot through Liam as he gripped the steering wheel. Was the fog playing tricks on him, or was that really a woman he saw, staggering along the side of the narrow road at almost four in the morning?

The woman froze like a terrified rabbit, her eyes wide with shock as she stared into the car’s headlights. Her face contorted in horror, and when she screamed the sound was as piercing as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. A moment later, she swayed and collapsed to the ground.

Liam swerved the convertible to avoid hitting her, then downshifted into second. With a few deft motions, he spun the Alpha Romeo in a 180-degree turn, tires screeching in the early morning stillness.

The low beams of his car illuminated the sprawled figure lying on the sandy shoulder of the road. Leaping from the vehicle, he lunged toward where she had fallen.

Kneeling beside her, he cradled her head in his lap and brushed long strands of hair from her face. Probing gently, he found an egg-shaped lump near her temple. She moaned when his fingers gently touched the injury, her back arching in pain.

He felt for broken bones and was relieved that despite numerous bloody scratches along her arms and legs—incredibly long and shapely legs—her wounds appeared to be mostly superficial. All except for that bump on the head. She might be suffering from a concussion.

Holding her carefully, he shrugged free of his wind-breaker, then very gently cradled her again, slipping it around her shoulders. As he did so her eyes flew open—enormous green eyes, if the color wasn’t a shadowy trick of the headlights.

Her oval face paled with terror. “No! No! No!” she screamed, fighting him with almost superhuman strength. Her fingers curled as if to scratch him.

Liam released her, afraid to further frighten her, and scooted back. “Hey, lady! I’m one of the good guys. I’m here to help.” As she struggled to her feet, her long hair swung forward, and he saw bits of leaves and twigs embedded in it. The jeans she wore were ripped, and her yellow T-shirt looked as if she’d fought her way out of a bramble bush.

“What happened? Were you in an accident?”

He knew this isolated stretch of dunes, dubbed “lovers’ lane,” was a favorite with the local teenagers. But she looked much older. Twenty-five or so? Still, who could tell? Maybe her boyfriend had dumped her because her answer to Romeo was no. Or, Liam thought with a sickening twist in his gut, had she been raped?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently, setting aside his fury at sick bastards who got their kicks from violating and abusing women. “I have a phone in my car. I’m going to call for help.”

“No!” She screamed the word and stepped back, her hands shielding her eyes from the car’s headlights.

“I want to help you. Are you hurt?” Liam asked, afraid to touch her. He feared she might be going into shock. “Are you alone? Can you tell me what happened?”

Instead of answering, she turned and bolted toward the dunes. But before she had taken three steps, she staggered, struggling for balance. Her arms flailed like a child learning how to ice-skate. Liam rushed to her side just before her knees buckled. He leaned her against his chest and, for a moment, she appeared too weak to protest. Her moist breath fanned his neck as she laid her head against the V of his open sport shirt. He sensed she was only resting long enough to regain her equilibrium, then she’d try to escape once more. Damn, he wished she’d let him help her.

Liam glanced along the deserted dunes that lined the road, hoping for some sign of a car, but all he saw was deepening shadows and fog. He knew that at this time of early morning, in early spring, the chance of someone coming along this stretch of summer cottages was practically nil.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms. “Look, miss,” he said, noticing that she wasn’t wearing a gold band or any kind of ring. Nor was there an indentation on her ring finger from a discarded wedding band. “My sister is a doctor. I’m on my way to see her at the family cottage, a few miles up the road. She can help you.”

“No! Leave me alone.” Her fists rapped his chest in a futile attempt to push him away. He winced inwardly, knowing her protests took every ounce of what little strength she had left.

“You’re in no condition to be alone,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders. “I grew up in these parts and I know that no one lives here this time of year. We’re on a narrow peninsula with an isolated bird sanctuary on one side and the ocean on the other.” His gaze took in her T-shirt and jeans. “You’re not dressed for this weather, either.”

She dragged air into her lungs and lifted her head, gazing blindly into his eyes. The whimpering sound she made at the back of her throat reminded him of a wounded puppy. Something twisted in his gut. She needed his protection, whether she wanted it or not. For a moment she quieted, and he was filled with hope that maybe she understood that he was trying to help her.

He put his arm around her as he led her toward his car. “There, that’s not so bad, is it?” he said. She took several steps beside him, then suddenly jerked away again, as though his touch were deadly. Then she totally collapsed.

GRAVEL CRUNCHED ALONG the driveway as Liam’s convertible pulled to a stop in front of the weathered clapboard cottage at the end of the peninsula. He honked the horn several times. Almost immediately, the porch lights sprang to life, and a blond woman poked her head around the screen door.

“Is that you, Liam?” Dr. Bridget O’Shea Thomas flung open the door and, when he called to her, she wrapped her chenille robe tightly around herself and ran down the steps. A collie lumbered beside her heels, barking a welcome. “Quiet, Bounder!” Bridget ordered, her feet beating a tattoo along the seashell-lined path. “With this fog I didn’t expect you until morning,” she said, “but…” She stopped when she saw Liam wasn’t alone.

His sister sighed. “I wish you’d have told me before bringing a…” Her words trailed off when she saw the woman slumped against Liam’s shoulder, in the front seat of the sports car, apparently asleep.

Liam turned off the ignition, pulled on the emergency brake and turned to the unconscious woman beside him. “Get a bed ready, Bridget. I found her alongside the road. She may be going into shock.”

Bridget ordered the collie back to the porch. Then she dashed around the passenger side of the car and leaned over the woman. Her movements deft and professional, she lifted the woman’s eyelids. “I’ll call Willie,” she said. “Luckily she drove down with me yesterday.”

Liam should have known that Bridget would have brought Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott, the O’Shea family’s long-time friend and summer neighbor since Liam and his sisters were babies.

“Carry her upstairs,” Bridget ordered. “Put her in your room.” The look she gave Liam was cautiously controlled, but he recognized the concern in his sister’s eyes. Without another word, Bridget turned and made a beeline to the cottage.

Carrying the woman, Liam followed his sister up the porch steps. “Are David and the girls here with you?” he asked Bridget, knowing that her husband loved the old family cottage as much as his wife.

“No. Linda had basketball practice and Kathy had a swim meet. David is driving them later this morning.”

When Liam approached the stairway, Bridget called out, “Watch your step. Kate waxed the floors yesterday and they’re as slippery as an ice rink.” Bridget stood on the first-floor landing and punched numbers into her cell phone.

Liam’s boots clomped loudly on the polished oak steps as the familiar smells of furniture wax, mothballs and pine cleaning solution filled his nostrils. As he carried the slight body up the stairs, the woman’s arms dangled lifelessly.

The collie was waiting on the landing, his tail thumping loudly on the floorboards. Then the dog raced excitedly down the hall and whined outside Liam’s closed bedroom door.

“Don’t jump on the bed,” Liam warned as he opened it.

The collie scampered inside and leaped on the bed. Liam scowled at the animal as he pressed the light switch with his elbow. The room sprang to life, and with it memories of his boyhood summers. Army football pennants and posters of rock-and-roll icons shared wall space with models of fighter jets and helicopters.

“Let me help you,” Bridget said as she came up beside him, her medical bag in hand. “I called Willie,” she added, folding back the red plaid bedspread on the double bed.

The injured woman groaned softly as Liam gently laid her down. Against the pristine white sheets, her scratches and cuts stood out like red flags along her arms and legs. Above her right temple, the goose-egg-size lump he’d felt earlier was visible now. Her fingernails were dirty, ripped and bleeding. She moaned, her head thrashing back and forth against the pillows.

“Did she have a purse or any ID?” Bridget asked, fumbling inside her leather medical bag.

“Not that I could see in the car headlights,” Liam said, reaching for the cell phone hooked to his belt. “As soon as it’s light, I’ll go back and check around.”

Bridget inspected the woman’s arms for needle tracks, then flicked back her eyelids, flashing a penlight on and off. “She’s not on drugs, which was my first thought. Nor do I smell alcohol on her breath.” She glanced up. “Who are you calling?”

“The police,” he said as he made his way toward the door. “Maybe she wandered from the scene of an accident. Or maybe there’s a missing persons report out on her.”

“Good idea. I want to get her cleaned up a bit before Willie gets here.”

“Okay,” Liam said, moving toward the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He stepped into the hall, shutting the door on his way out.

The receptionist at the Bellwood Island Police Department answered on the first ring. “Connect me to Detective Zarella,” Liam said, unable to forget the fear in the woman’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d seen such terror. Not since Iraq and those fearful dark eyes of women searching for their loved ones among the war casualties. He blocked off the thought when Detective Frances Zarella answered.

“Francie, it’s Liam. Were any accident reports filed today, or any missing persons reported in the past couple days?”

“Hmm. I don’t hear from you in six months and I don’t even rate a ‘Hi, Francie, how ya been since I stole those ten bucks from you?’”

Liam smiled. “Don’t be a sore loser, Francie. You lost that sawbuck fair and square. Next time, bet on a winning team.”

He heard her warm laughter on the other end of the line. “Don’t you know that it’s an act of treason for a New Englander to bet on any team except the Red Sox?”

“That’s not loyalty. That’s stupidity.” He grinned when he heard her swear.

“Hold on while I check.”

The light teasing with Francie did little to distract Liam’s thoughts from the mysterious woman lying in the next room.

“An eighty-two-year-old man wandered from the Bellwood Harbor Nursing Home last night,” Francie said, coming back on the line. “But he was found several hours later. We had a report of a missing seven-year-old boy at 10:05 a.m. yesterday, but his mother called back to say he’d fallen asleep in the back seat of his grandfather’s car. That’s it, Liam.” She hesitated. “Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he said, surprising himself when he realized that he’d decided to wait until the woman regained consciousness before reporting the incident to the police. More surprising, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she’d seemed so terrified. Until he knew who or what she was afraid of, he’d trust his instincts. “I’ll stop in and say hi before I head back to the city. I promise.”

“You’d better. Al will be wicked mad if you dare leave for the Big Apple before he has a chance to trade war stories with you.”

“Well, I know better than to tick off your partner. Take care, Francie. And thanks.”

He clicked off the phone and absently hooked it back onto his belt, his mind on the unconscious woman. Maybe she wasn’t from this area of Cape Cod. The tourist season wouldn’t be starting for another four weeks or more. Maybe she had been visiting one of the new year-round homes that had sprung up along the coast recently, and she’d taken a wrong turn. He hadn’t seen her car, which brought him back to his first thought—that she’d been dropped off to fend for herself.

He strode back toward his room, determined to solve the mystery. When he knocked, he heard his sister say, “Come on in, Liam. I’m just about finished.”

As Liam stepped inside, he was surprised to find the woman alert. She jerked her head up and glanced around the room.

“You’re safe, dear,” Bridget said in a gentle voice. She was sitting beside the bed. “You’re with friends.”

The woman’s green eyes fixed on Liam. Her face had been washed, so the cuts and scratches stood out even more against her ivory complexion. Her hair had been smoothed back, and she was dressed in one of Bridget’s flannel nightgowns.

Liam stepped to the fireplace mantel and leaned against it, wondering if she recognized him as the man who’d found her. Her stare held no sign of recognition.

“That’s my brother, Liam,” Bridget said, as if to remove the woman’s confusion. “He’s the man who found you on the road. I’m a doctor. A pediatrician. He brought you to our cottage because he knew you’d be safe here. I’ve called a neighbor who is an internist. I want her to have a look at you. Then I’d like to take you to the local hospital—”

“No!” The woman swung around and stared at Bridget. “I can’t stay here!” She threw the cover back and struggled to sit up.

Bridget shot a worried look at Liam. “You’re free to go, dear,” she said, “but please let us help you.” This woman was in no condition to leave on her own. “Can I call someone for you? It’s four in the morning. Do you have a husband, a boyfriend, someone who is worried about you?”

The woman looked confused, then rubbed her head. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Bridget repeated, then glanced worriedly at Liam again.

Liam knew from the bump on her head that she might be suffering from amnesia. He motioned to Bridget, then stepped back into the hall. A minute later, she met him outside the door.

“She’s terrified of being confined and suffering extreme panic—symptomatic of hysterical amnesia. Did you find out anything at the police station?” she whispered.

“No. Nothing. Do you think she’s been attacked?”

“I’ll wait for Willie to take a look at her. Willie helped organize the local rape crisis center here on the island and will know how to approach her. The woman should be x-rayed, and checked by a trauma team at the E.R.”

“Not without her permission. When I offered to take her to the hospital, I think she would have bolted off across the dunes if she hadn’t collapsed first.”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and wait for Willie while I stay with our mystery guest?”

“Did you turn on the security alarm? You’ll need to keep an eye on her,” Liam said. “I’ve got a feeling she’ll try to sneak off the minute your back is turned.”

Bridget rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “Okay, brother. I won’t forget.” She gave him a playful shove toward the stairs.

He remembered how reluctant Bridget had been when he’d first suggested that TALON-6, the security company in which he was a partner, install the latest bells-and-whistles surveillance system to protect the family’s summer cottage. Regardless of his older sister’s suspicions of high-tech gadgets, he knew she realized that the equipment he’d installed at the beach cottage was a good idea.

Several minutes later, Liam was pulling a set of sheets, a blanket and a pillow from the hall linen closet when he heard Bridget’s light footfalls behind him. “I’ll sleep on the living room couch,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on the front door in case our houseguest decides to sneak out.”

Bridget stood on tiptoe, reached up to pull out a handstitched quilt from the top shelf. “That might be a good idea.” She shrugged. “She seems very agitated. Who knows what she might do?” She walked toward the stairs with Liam. “She’s very lucky. With the darkness and the patchy fog, it’s a wonder you saw her.”

The coincidence wasn’t lost on Liam, either. His sixth sense had been tingling ever since he’d spotted the woman. Something wasn’t right.

Maybe he was just paranoid. He’d had very little sleep in the last twenty-four hours, and had been back in the country only since last night. No doubt what he’d been through was finally catching up with him.

Liam took the quilt without argument. “I’ll send Willie upstairs as soon as she arrives.”

“SO YOU’RE SAYING she wasn’t raped?” Liam asked awhile later as he studied their neighbor. He’d known the gray-haired woman for as long as he could remember. Dressed in a faded flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to her deeply tanned elbows, Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott returned his gaze over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses.

“That I’m sure of,” Willie said, folding her stethoscope inside her black leather medical bag. “I can’t tell you much more until she’s x-rayed. She might have short-term memory loss from that bump on the head.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

Willie shook her head. “No, but I gave her something to relax her. After she’s rested, I think she’ll be more receptive.” She leaned over to stroke the collie’s head. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her sleep too long. Bridget knows what to do, and she’ll take the first watch.”

Willie peered at Liam with a no-nonsense look in her gray eyes. “Your sister said you drove up here from New York City in this fog.”

“Now, Willie,” he said lightly. “The highway was clear until I reached the island, and then there were only patches of it.” When his answer failed to melt the censure in her flinty gaze, Liam added, “I just came off a mission in the Middle East and needed to finish debriefing. I left as soon as I could.”

Willie’s lips firmed into a tight line. “Bridget and your other sisters worry about you, Liam.” She shook her head. “You’re getting too old for living on the edge.”

“Let me walk you to your cottage,” Liam said, hoping to avoid the usual lecture. Dear Willie meant well, but ever since his Special Forces buddy and close friend, Master Sergeant Stewart Thomas, who was also Bridget’s husband’s brother, had been killed in a covert mission four years ago, Willie and his sisters had been clamoring for Liam to quit taking covert ops and find a less dangerous profession.

“It’s time you settled down, got married. Your life is too risky, Liam. It’s time you grew up.”

Liam kissed Willie’s leathery cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, Will, but I’m fine.”

“Don’t think you can use your Irish charm on me,” she said, but the smile in her eyes betrayed her words. “You’ll be thirty-four in June. Time to get married. Settle down like your sisters.”

“I’ll marry you tomorrow, Willie, if you’ll have me.”

Her mouth curled and her eyes twinkled. “Ah, if I were forty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

Liam heard her chuckle as he helped her into her yellow hooded slicker. She was still grinning when she grabbed her medical bag.

“If anything changes, give me a holler.”

“I will,” he said, “and thanks for coming over so soon.” His thoughts turned back to the woman lying upstairs. Thank God she hadn’t been raped. Yet whatever had spooked her might have been as traumatic or worse. He followed Willie toward the porch steps, preparing to walk her to her cottage.

“Stay where you are,” she said, pulling the hood over her short gray curls. “I’ve been making my way around these dunes since you were a twinkle in your ma’s eye.” She stomped down the porch steps, as agile as a woman half her age. “Get some sleep, Liam. You’re still as handsome as sin, but you look as tired as I feel.”

He chuckled softly. “’Night, Willie.”

“Don’t forget your niece’s baptism is at one o’clock. Maureen will be sorely disappointed if you miss it.” Willie’s voice rang with spirit. “See you in church.”

Liam nodded, then watched until the old woman disappeared behind the shoulder-high clumps of sea grass that sprouted from the shifting dunes between the O’Shea summer cottage and Willie’s place at the end of the road.

He was about to shut off the porch light when Bridget’s footfalls on the stairs caught his attention. He looked up to see her walking toward him, a pair of scuffed running shoes in her hand. “I laid a change of clean clothing out for her in her room. I think we’re close to the same size.” Bridget looked up. “Did Willie leave already?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Think I should go after Willie to be sure she gets home okay?” he asked.

Bridget frowned, brushing past him. “Heaven forbid! She’s like a mountain goat along the dunes.” She laid the shoes on the welcome mat, inside the door. “Besides, you’d hurt her feelings. She’d think you decided she was getting old.” Bridget straightened, bracing her hands at the small of her back as she studied him. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.” She moved toward him, then put her palm on his shoulder as if she needed to feel him to be sure he was really there. “Even if it’s only for a few days.”

He gave a deep sigh. “One day, I’m afraid, sis. I planned to head back to New York late tonight.”

Bridget withdrew her hand and glared at him. “Damn it, Liam. David and the girls and all our sisters and their families will be here in a few hours.” She swallowed, as though fighting back her temper. “You haven’t been home in two years. And that was for Mom’s funeral.”

Liam knew the issue wasn’t that he was away from the family, but that Bridget feared what had happened to Stewart would happen to him. He waited, giving his sister the time she needed to pull herself together.

“How’s the patient?” he asked when she had quieted, purposely changing the subject.

“When I left her, she was asleep.” Bridget leaned on the porch railing, gazing across the driveway at the silvery wisps of fog hovering among the shadowy pines. When she turned back to him, her eyes were thoughtful. “You’ve been bringing home strays ever since you were old enough to crawl. But you’re going to have your hands full with this one, brother.”

Surprised, he frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Bridget pursed her lips. “I wonder what our mystery lady was running from?” One eyebrow lifted. “I hope you don’t get involved, Liam. She’s in a lot of trouble.”

Liam completely agreed. Yet he didn’t want his sister to worry. “There you go, conjuring up your Celtic dark side.” He put his arm around her and gently guided her toward the stairs. “Get some rest while your patient sleeps. Wake me in a few hours and I’ll take over.”

Bridget shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t think you can dismiss me this easily, Liam. For all we know, we may be harboring a fugitive. She might be putting us in danger.”

“Or she’s an innocent victim who needs our help.”

Bridget blinked back a rush of sudden emotion. “The trouble with you, Liam, is you’re attracted to danger. You always have been, even when you were little.” Her voice was sharp and accusing. “Why can’t you enjoy a normal job? Your friends Al and Francie love adventure, too. But they joined the police force. At least they can have a family life, live here on the island. No, my brother has to chase danger all over the globe—” Her voice broke and she turned away.

Liam knew that his teammate’s death had affected all his sisters, but Bridget was the most sensitive. Her husband was Stewart’s brother, after all. Yet Liam knew her anger would be piling up between them unless he faced this straight on. “Bridget, I’m not Stewart. You heard him say that when a bullet has your name on it, there’s nothing you can do.”

She snorted. “Do you really believe that? Do you think his wife and daughter believe that? I know you and your partners at TALON-6 have tried to make it up to Liz and Bailey. Paying for Bailey’s education and looking out for her under everyone’s watchful eye while she works as a receptionist for TALON-6 is very noble. But don’t you think Bailey and her mother would rather have Stewart back in a heartbeat than—” Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath. “Dear God, I didn’t want to get into this, but now that I have—” Bridget’s eyes glittered with anger. “You know what I think? I think Stewart was a selfish bastard who never grew up. His place was with Liz and Bailey, not on a secret mission in some Colombian jungle fighting the—” Her anger gave way to tears, and she swiped at her eyes. “Damn it, Liam. You were right there with him. It might have been you when that rocket fired—”

He drew her into a hug. “Liz knew who Stewart was when she married him. She loved him anyway.”

Bridget pulled away, then took a hankie from her sweater pocket and wiped her eyes. When her tears had stopped, he added, “I don’t want you to worry, but I can’t live your play-it-safe life just because you and the family want me to. If you can’t accept me for who I am, sis, then I’m sorry. But I’m very good at what I do. I’ve been trained by the best our government has to offer. Since I’ve joined TALON-6, I can protect innocent people against the most inhuman situations.”

She swallowed. “You’re also a hopeless adrenaline junkie.” She forced a weak smile. “Of course I’m proud of you, Liam.” Her lips twisted. “I’m just so afraid for you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Trust me.”

Bridget shot him a look. “I better get back to our patient.”

He sighed as he watched her climb the stairs. Damn, he loved her, but how could he expect his sisters to understand? Thank God he’d made the choice never to marry.

Most people didn’t understand the covert operations so necessary in today’s world. How could they? Most of the top-secret surveillance equipment he’d designed was unknown to the general public. Information technology was of prime importance to military power, and working for agencies like TALON-6 provided him the opportunity to do what he did best. But Stewart had understood.

Liam’s stomach clenched like a fist as the memory of that Colombian night four years ago slammed into his brain. As though it were yesterday, he could still feel the sweat drip down his body, smell the rotting, fecund earth and hear the screeching of monkeys in the treetops as the TALON-6 team slipped silently through the dark, wet jungle toward the guerilla camp of the National Liberation Army, or ELN.

In record time, they’d wended their way past sleeping and half-drunken guards, to rescue the DEA agent held prisoner. Once they had cut the man loose from his cage, they’d carried him back, retracing their path through the mountains.

Like clockwork, the night op had gone successfully, according to plan. Too successfully, they’d soon discovered. As the team had crisscrossed the jungle on ancient footpaths, an ambush was waiting. Stewart, in rear guard position, his .308 Remington 700 sniper rifle held to his shoulder, had shuffle-stepped backward, waiting to draw a bead on the first ELN guerilla who showed himself. For an exceptionally large man—six foot five and two hundred eighty pounds of muscle—he’d moved deceptively fast.

Within three hundred yards of where their Blackhawk helicopter waited, a Russian B-40 rocket had sailed overhead and, with an earth-shattering blast, made a direct hit on the tree beside Stewart. Wood splinters and shrapnel had sliced the predawn air in a bloody dance of death. Moments earlier, Liam would have taken the hit.

He had made the first move, opening fire with a steady hail of bullets from his M-60. “We’ve got to get Stewart,” he had screamed as strong arms dragged him aboard the copter.

“He’s gone, Liam,” the team officer, Mike Landis, had said.”

“No, we’ve got to bring him back.” Liam had turned to leap out of the open hatch just as the copter lifted and swerved, narrowly missing another rocket.

The explosion had lit up the ground, revealing scores of guerillas in camouflage fatigues swarming from the jungle. Gunfire had strafed the gray dawn as the Blackhawk pulled away from what was now a burning inferno.

Their mission had been successful. The TALON-6 team had rescued the DEA agent from ELN.

Liam closed his eyes. Four years. He’d thought he’d gotten past the haunting memories that were burned into his soul. Maybe he never would.

Was Stewart a junkie who’d needed an even higher dose of adrenaline to keep feeling good? Or had he taken on the dangerous jobs and fed off the danger to get the job done? And would a real adrenaline addict be able to tell the difference?

WHEN LIAM RETURNED to the living room awhile later, the collie was stretched out on the couch, ears pointed, claiming his territory. “Okay, Bounder. Get up. You’re sleeping on the porch.”

The dog studied him as Liam walked to the porch doorway and pointed to the stuffed rattan settee. The collie bounded playfully on the couch, as if enjoying the game.

Liam’s gaze dropped to the scuffed running shoes lying on the mat. Her shoes. He picked up the right sneaker and examined it. A small pocket, fastened with Velcro, ran along the top of the padded tongue. He ripped open the fastener. There, inside, was a key with a tag. His curiosity rose a notch as he moved toward the living room light and peered at the tag. Sand Dune Motel, 26.

So the mystery lady was staying at the only motel open this time of year in Bellwood. He slid the key into his hip pocket as he strode toward the telephone directory in the hall desk drawer.