Assumed Identity

3

Tense. Buchanan waited for the doctor and the nurse to leave, then slowly turned his head and stared at Holly.

She smiled engagingly. “You want more water?”

“. . What’s going on?”

“You know, when I was a little girl, I couldn’t decide whether to be a nurse or a reporter. Now I’m getting to be both.”

Buchanan breathed with effort, his voice a gravelly whisper. “What happened? How did. .?”

“Save your strength. Last night, I followed you from the hotel.”

“How did you know where I was staying?”

“That’s confidential. Rest, I told you. I’ll do the talking. I figured you had to leave the hotel sometime, so I waited across the street. There’s no back exit, except for the service doors. But I didn’t think you’d draw attention to yourself by making the staff wonder why you’d use a service door, so it seemed to me the best bet was the front. Mind you, I did have Ted-you remember Ted, from the train-watching the back. He and I were linked by two-way radios. When you came out, I was just one of several people wearing costumes. Otherwise, this red hair would have been a giveaway. You didn’t notice when I followed you.”

Buchanan breathed. “Ought to dye it.”

“What?”

“Your hair. For following people. Change the color to something bland.”

“Never. But I guess you’ve changed the color of your hair often enough.”

He didn’t respond.

Holly gave him another sip of water. “By the way, was my answer right? When the doctor asked how you got the wound to your shoulder? A boating accident? When you were Victor Grant, isn’t that what you told the Mexican police?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

His eyelids felt heavy.

Where does she get her information? he thought.

“Confidential,” she said.

“What?”

“You asked where I got my information. That’s confidential.”

I did? I asked her that out loud?

He couldn’t keep his eyes open.