"One hundred and forty miles per hour! Are you trying to kill us?"
He turned to answer her, and she shrieked, "Don't look at me. Look at the road!"
He sighed, but kept his attention fixed on the road where it belonged. "No, I am not trying to kill us. I am trying to get us home in the shortest time possible."
"You can take longer. I don't mind." She risked another look at the speedometer. One hundred and fifty. She gripped
the dashboard, even though she knew it wouldn't help her if they got into an accident.
"But I do. Besides, you have nothing to worry about. Both the Lamborghini and I are perfectly capable of handling these speeds. And the roads are ideal driving conditions— well paved, straight, and empty."
She had to admit, he wasn't having any problems controlling the car. He handled a slight curve with ease, and she relaxed enough to let go of the dashboard. It didn't feel that fast. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they were only moving at sixty miles per hour.
Desmond's voice interrupted her thoughts. "If you're not going to be sleeping, and I assume you want me to keep both hands on the wheel at all times, could I trouble you to put a CD in?"
"Sure." She leaned down and pulled the case out from under her seat. They wouldn't be discussing the music, this time. The lighthearted mood of their earlier car trip had been destroyed. She had destroyed it. "What one do you want?"
"Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto in A Minor."
She found the disk he wanted and slipped it in. The melancholy notes of Grieg's music wafted out of the speakers, and she shivered. If Desmond was hoping to be cheered up by that music, he must be feeling as miserable as she was. And it was all her fault.
Leaning back in her seat, she closed her eyes again. At the rate he was driving, they'd be home in two hours. Recalling the twisting roads around the Hoover Dam, she adjusted her estimate up to two and a half hours. It would probably be the longest two and a half hours she'd ever spent.
She grimaced, and turned her face toward the door. That music wasn't helping her mood any, either.
Chapter 16
REBECCA AWOKE with the feeling that something was wrong. She glanced around her room and saw nothing out of place. The overhead light burned steadily, and yesterday's clothes lay neatly folded on a chair.
Yesterday! With a rush, memories of the beautiful wedding and its hideous aftermath filled her mind. She must have dozed off in the car, and Desmond put her to bed when they got home.
She tossed off her covers and got out of bed. Her bed. Not the bed she and Desmond were supposed to have shared. Just another indication of how badly she'd ruined everything between them. Shrugging into last night's shirt as a makeshift bathrobe, she took a moment to gather her courage before knocking on the connecting door to his room.
When he didn't answer to a second, louder knock, she pushed open the door and peeked inside. The room was dark, and the bed showed no signs of having been slept in.
She leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall of the bathroom. It was even worse than she'd thought. Not only couldn't Desmond stand to sleep in the same bed as her, he couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in the same apartment. She had to find him. They had to discuss what had happened last night, or it would fester between them, poisoning their marriage. That is, if they still had a marriage.
She scoured the silent apartment for any trace of her husband. Nothing. He wasn't only gone, but in a telling lack of consideration, he had left no note to indicate where he could be found or when he expected to come back.
Standing in the middle of the living room, she admitted the truth. He didn't want her to find him. She'd driven him away, just as her mother had driven away her father.
Rebecca stiffened her shoulders and set her jaw. She wouldn't let it happen again. She'd find Desmond, and force the issue. Yes, she'd behaved horrendously, but that didn't give him the right to leave her. She could get counseling, straighten herself out. Maybe even just understanding her motivations was enough to get rid of the problem. They could make their marriage work, if only Desmond stayed committed to it.
She could convince him when she saw him. But her first task was to find him. Perhaps he'd joined his daughter at Mrs. Waters's?
Remembering the Access program he'd shown her, as soon as she was dressed she went into the study and turned on the computer. When the locator prompted her for the name of the person she was searching for, she entered Desmond's name. A blue dot blinked into existence on the map, three levels down in the lab section of the Institute. After experimenting with different keys, she managed to enlarge the display of that section of the map, labeled "Administrative Offices." The room surrounding the blinking blue dot was labeled "Office of the Director."
He'd gone to his office. A sudden relief swept through her, leaving her limp. Faced with the terrible things that had happened last night, he'd turned to his work. It was a reaction she could understand, a reaction she sympathized with. He hadn't abandoned her.
A sharp knock on the apartment door startled her out of her musings. As she stood up and went to answer it, she wondered who it could be. Not Desmond. She'd just seen he was in his office. Gillian, back from her picnic? No, she would be with Mrs. Waters. What about Evan? Desmond might have sent him over to check on her, or to deliver an explanation for his absence.
Her steps speeded up and she reached for the door, only to stop short at the sight of the keycard reader.
"Wait a minute. I forgot my card," she called through the door.
"You don't need it," a muffled voice responded. "Press the authorized entry button, and my card will open it."
She studied the scanner, and found an unlabeled black button on the corner of the panel. She pressed it. The lock rewarded her with its customary buzz-click, and she opened the door. To Philippe.