Mister X

72

Lisa Bolt crossed the street toward her hotel, where she'd left her luggage after checking out. Surely they must have held it while she was in the hospital. She'd registered under another name, so they wouldn't connect her with the Lisa Bolt in the news. But had the fact that she'd not returned for so long attracted suspicion? Would the hotel contact Homeland Security and have the suitcase treated as a possible bomb?

Lisa doubted it. The last thing a down-and-out hotel like hers would want is a posse of authorities searching the place with everything from metal detectors to dogs.

If anything, hotel personnel might have opened the suitcase to see what was inside-maybe to find out if there was something valuable. If that had happened, they had been disappointed. They'd have found nothing but Lisa's limited and well-worn travel wardrobe.

She was about to enter the lobby when a hand gripped her arm just above the elbow, squeezing hard enough to hurt.

"Quiet and you won't be harmed," a man's voice said.

She turned to look at who had her. A medium-height man, middle aged but trim, wearing dark dress pants, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes were barely visible behind darkly tinted glasses. They were steady and serious and made her a believer.

"I have a knife," he said. "Start a fuss and I'll use it."

The way she was bent at the waist from the pain was attracting attention. A woman came close and asked in a concerned voice if she was all right.

"She's fine now," the man said. "I won't let her fall again."

He led her away, toward a narrow walkway that ran alongside the hotel. Shaded as it was by brick and stone walls that seemed to converge above them, it was dim as evening in the confined space. There were a few plastic trash bags piled there, and a Dumpster squatted in the light near the opposite end of the passageway. She knew there was a fire door somewhere along the hotel's wall, but she didn't think they were going inside. That didn't seem to be what the man had in mind.

Though badly frightened, she tried to gather her courage.

"Listen," she said, when he'd loosened his grip on her arm. "Don't think you-"

His fist hit her ribs like a hammer, and she sagged against the wall.

"Don't have any doubts about who's in charge here," he said. He leaned in close to her, supporting his weight with one hand against the bricks, his face inches from hers. As if they were lovers.

That was what anyone glancing in the walkway would see, a lovers' tryst, away from crowded streets and prying eyes. Two people who wanted to be left alone by the rest of the world.

They stood that way for what seemed a long time while she managed to catch her breath. His breath smelled like a combination of onions and mint-flavored mouthwash.

"What the shit do you want?" she finally managed to gasp.

"That's easy," he said.

Quinn parked the Lincoln illegally in the same loading zone where he'd been parked when he'd seen Addie and called her over. His mind was still working on their conversation in the restaurant. Parsing words, reading meanings and messages that probably hadn't existed. Trying to figure out how he felt.

He entered the office and caught a glimpse of Addie over by the coffee brewer, but he didn't look directly at her. Fedderman was at his desk, going over something in a file folder. Pearl was seated at her computer, staring past it at Quinn. There was a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. Pearl sensing that something had shifted in some subtle way, but she didn't yet know what, how, or why.

"Anything?" Quinn asked. His standard question.

"Nobody else has been murdered and had her nipples cut off," Fedderman said. "That's the good news."

"And the bad news?"

"Everything else."

Both women were silent.

"I had Sellers wait till tomorrow morning's edition before planting the info about Keller's presence in the city, and at the Belington," Quinn said. "She promised to do it subtly enough that it won't seem an obvious trap."

"Can she bring that off?" Addie asked.

"She's an artist at that kind of thing," Quinn said. "She-"

He was interrupted by the door flying open and banging against the wall.

Lisa Bolt staggered in. Her left eye was swollen, and she was limping with one foot cocked out at an odd angle.

Fedderman jumped up and kept her from falling. He led her to his desk chair and sat her down.

Quinn had picked up the phone and was about to peck out 911. Lisa shook her head violently from side to side and held up a hand in a signal for him to stop.

He placed the receiver back in its cradle.

"I'm not hurt that bad," she said. "Nothing's broken. Not like the accident."

But the way she was wincing and holding herself, it obviously pained her to talk.

"You've been beaten," Quinn said.

She nodded and then whispered something no one understood.

Quinn moved closer and bent low so he could hear. She turned her head so her lips were close to his ear.

"Archer."