Assumed Identity

13

She obeyed, squinting ahead past the flapping windshield wipers, darting her gaze toward her rearview mirror, straining to see if the sirens belonged to police cars chasing her. But the headlights behind her remained steady, and no men appeared on the sidewalk to shoot at her, and the sirens came from farther away, less intimidating.

“What happened?” she asked in dismay.

As she turned right onto Massachusetts Avenue, steered a quarter of the way around Dupont Circle, and then headed south on Connecticut Avenue, Buchanan quickly explained, all the while remaining low on the backseat, out of sight. Even though their hunters knew what type of car Holly drove, they’d be looking for a man and a woman, not a woman alone.

Holly’s hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. “Are you hurt?”

“I pulled some stitches.” His voice was taut. “If that’s the worst, I’ll be fine.”

“Until the next time.”

“Thank God you just happened to be driving along that street.”

“There was nothing ‘just happened’ about it.”

“What do you-?”

“When you started down Twenty-first Street and they chased you, you ran from the sidewalk and darted between two passing cars.”

“Right, but how did you know about-?”

“The second car, the one that beeped at you, was mine. After the hotel’s parking attendant brought it to me, I decided to drive around the block to see if I was being followed.”

“Sounds like you’re learning.”

“And I also wanted to see if you got out of the hotel okay. I was driving toward you when I saw the fight, but you ran in front of me before I could get your attention. Then you disappeared along P Street. I was past that intersection, so I figured if I turned left onto O, I might get a glimpse of you coming from Hopkins or Twentieth Street.”

“But what if I’d stayed on P Street?”

“You don’t strike me as the type to run in a straight line.”

“You really are learning,” Buchanan said.

“Evasion and escape.” Holly exhaled. “I missed that course when I was in journalism school.”

“I didn’t mean to get you involved. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I’m sorry, Holly.”

“It’s done. But I helped make it happen. I didn’t need to agree to meet you. I could have kept my distance. I’m a big girl. I stopped letting people control me a long time ago. Do you want the truth? I thought you wanted to meet me to tell me something that would put me back on the story. I got foolish and greedy. Now I’m paying the price.”

“Then you understand.” Staying low in the backseat, Buchanan spoke reluctantly. “You realize that because they caught us together, they think we’re both a threat to them. It was a possibility before, but now your life really is in danger.”

Holly tried to control her breathing. “I had another reason for agreeing to meet you. An even more foolish reason. It had nothing to do with the story. Deep down, I wanted to see you again. Dumb, huh?”

Except for the flapping of the windshield wipers and the drone of the engine, the car became quiet.

Holly waited.

She finally said, “Don’t respond. Just let what I said hang there. Make me feel like a jerk.”

“No. I. .”

“What?”

“I’m flattered.”

“You’d better say something more positive than that, or so help me, I’ll stop this car and. .”

“What I’m trying to explain is, I’m not very good at this. I’m not used to anybody caring about me.” Buchanan’s disembodied voice came from the darkness of the backseat. “I’ve never been in one place long enough to establish a relationship.”

“Once.”

“Yes. With Juana. That’s right. Once.”

“And now I’m risking my life to help you find another woman. Wonderful. Great.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Buchanan said.

“I don’t see how. .”

“It’s not just that I was never in one place long enough to establish a relationship. I was never one person long enough. It isn’t me who wants to find Juana. It’s Peter Lang.”

“Peter Lang? Didn’t you say he was one of your pseudonyms?”

“Identities.”

“I think I’m going to scream.”

“Don’t. Later. Not now. Get us out of town.”

“In which direction?”

“North. Toward Manhattan.”

“And what’s in-?”

“Frederick Maltin. The ex-husband of Maria Tomez. There’s one other thing we have to do.”

“Get you a shrink.”

“Don’t make jokes.”

“That wasn’t a joke.”

“Stop at a pay phone.”

“I’m beginning to think I’m the one who needs a shrink.”