"Whatever I can do, sure."
They passed a pretty brunette, late teens, on the sidewalk. Pell noted immediately her posture and visage--the determined walk, the angry, downcast face, the unbrushed hair--which suggested she'd fled after an argument. Perhaps from her parents, perhaps her boyfriend. So wonderfully vulnerable. A day's work, and Daniel Pell could have her on the road with him.
The Pied Piper . . .
But, of course, now wasn't the time and he left her behind, feeling the frustration of a hunter unable to stop by the roadside and take a perfect buck in a field nearby. Still, he wasn't upset; there'd be plenty of other young people like her in his future.
Besides, feeling the gun and knife in his waistband, Pell knew that in just a short period of time his hunt lust would be satisfied.
Chapter 33
Standing in the open doorway of the cabin at Point Lobos Inn, Rebecca Sheffield said to Dance, "Welcome back. We've been gossiping and spending your money on room service." She nodded toward a bottle of Jordan Cabernet, which only she was drinking.
Rebecca glanced at Samantha and, not recognizing her, said, "Hello." Probably thinking she was another officer involved in the case.
The women walked inside. Dance shut and double-locked the door.
Samantha looked from one woman to the other. It seemed as if she'd lost her voice, and for a moment Dance believed she'd turn and flee.
Rebecca did a double take and blinked. "Wait. Oh my God."
Linda didn't get it, her brows furrowed.
Rebecca said, "Don't you recognize her?"
"What do you--? Wait. It's you, Sam?"
"Hello." The slim woman was racked with uneasiness. She couldn't hold a gaze for more than a few seconds.
"Your face," Linda said. "You're so different. My."
Samantha shrugged, blushing.
"Uh-huh, prettier. And you've got some meat on your bones. Finally. You were a scrawny little thing." Rebecca walked forward and firmly hugged Samantha. Then, hands on her shoulders, she leaned back. "Great job . . . What'd they do?"
"Implants on my jaw and cheeks. Lips and eyes mostly. Nose, of course. And then . . ." She glanced at her round chest. A faint smile. "But I'd wanted to do that for years."
Linda, crying, said, "I can't believe it." Another hug.
"What's your new name?"
Not looking at either of them, she said, "I'd rather not say. And listen, both of you. Please. You can't tell anybody about me. If they catch Daniel and you want to talk to reporters, please don't mention me."
"No problem with that."
"Your husband doesn't know?" Linda asked, glancing at Samantha's engagement and wedding rings.
A shake of the head.
"How'd you pull that one off?" Rebecca asked.
Samantha swallowed. "I lie. That's how."
Dance knew that married couples lie to each other with some frequency, though less often than romantic partners who aren't married. But most lies are trivial; very few involve something as fundamental as Samantha's.
"That's gotta be a pain," Rebecca said. "Need a good memory."
"I don't have any choice," Samantha added. Dance recognized the kinesic attributes of defensiveness, body parts folding, stature shrinking, crossings, aversions. She was a volcano of stress.