He didn’t risk another drive-by. He drove back to his apartment, switched the license plates again, and thought. If it was a setup, then the cops wouldn’t let the bitch stay at her house. They would have her salted away somewhere they thought was safe. It would be impossible for him to locate her, much less get at her.
Or would they? The trap would look much more realistic if she appeared to be going about her normal routine.
There was only one way to check. He looked up the telephone number of the bank where she worked and punched in the numbers. It was answered on the first ring, by a bored-sounding young woman with a breathy voice.
“Marlie Keen, in accounting, please,” Janes said briskly.
“Just one moment.”
Another ring, and a click. “Accounting.” Another female voice.
“Marlie Keen, please.”
“Hold on.” He heard the woman say, in a more distant voice that indicated she had taken the receiver away from her mouth, “Marlie, line two.”
Janes hung up the phone. She was at work.
He laughed to himself as he went back out to his car. What simpletons they all were, if that was the best they could do! He would follow her when she left work, though of course, if she went to her house, he would break off contact rather than take the risk of driving down her street again.
His biggest problem, he told himself, was finding some shade to park in while waiting for her to leave the bank.
He picked her out when she went to lunch; he remembered that thick dark hair and slender build. His heart pounded with excitement, then he sternly brought himself under control. He couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake out of haste.
He snickered as he followed her. She wasn’t much of a psychic if she couldn’t tell that he was only two cars behind her. But she was still a danger to him, and that couldn’t be tolerated.
She picked up lunch at a drive-through fast-food window, and returned to the bank. He had no chance to get at her. So he patiently settled down to wait once more.
She left work at four. He had carefully watched the parking lot. There hadn’t been any suspicious lingerers—other than himself, of course. He hummed as he pulled out a few cars behind her, and kept about the same distance behind her.
She didn’t make any stops. She drove straight to a smallish house in an older neighborhood. He noted the address and kept on driving. He went to the library and looked up the address in the city directory; the house was listed as the residence of Dane Hollister. Janes’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. He knew that name; it had been in the papers quite a bit lately. Detective Dane Hollister was investigating the Slasher murders. Now, wasn’t that a coincidence?
The bank president hadn’t done it; not even the vice president had done it. But the head of accounting had been called into a meeting with them, and this was one of those occasions when Marlie didn’t need to be psychic to know what was happening. She wasn’t surprised when the department head returned, looking unhappy, and asked Marlie into her office. They regretted the necessity, but their first responsibility was to their depositors, et cetera, et cetera. The bottom line was that Friday was her last day. They felt magnanimous in allowing her to stay that long.
She thought about being magnanimous in turn and quitting right then, which was obviously what they wanted, but the impulse didn’t last long. She wasn’t in the best of moods.
She was still angry when she drove to Dane’s house, so angry that there wasn’t much room for anything else. She had been angry since the moment she had realized how Dane had betrayed her, and expected to be angry for the foreseeable future.
She had been home just long enough to change into comfortable clothes when she heard a car drive up. She looked out the window expecting to see Dane, but instead watched Trammell unfold his long form from his low-slung car. She went to the door to let him in.
“Hi, sweetie.” He twirled his sunglasses from one long finger and bent down to kiss her cheek.
She lifted a sardonic brow at the display of affection. “What’s with the sweet talk?”
He grinned and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed. I see you haven’t cooled down much.”
“Are you the symbolic hat through the door, to see if I attack?”
“Not exactly. Dane got delayed for a few minutes, and we don’t think you should be alone.”
“Thanks for the concern.”
“You don’t sound sincere,” he teased, but his lazy dark eyes were watchful.
“I was fired today,” she retorted. “I don’t feel like celebrating. Out of the goodness of their hearts, I’ll be allowed to finish out the week.”
He snorted. “I’d have walked out on them today.”
“So would I, if that hadn’t been exactly what they wanted. Do you want something cold to drink?”
“Only if it isn’t alcoholic.”
“I can manage that. Lemonade, fruit juice, tea, or soft drink?”
“Tea.”
“Coming up. Smart man, not to drink and drive.”
“I don’t drink much anyway. It upsets my system,” he drawled. He followed her into the kitchen. “Did you get settled in last night?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I got my things put away.” She took two glasses out of the cabinet, dropped ice cubes in them, and filled them up with the tea she had brewed that morning before going to work. “Lemon?”
“No, thanks. I drink my tea straight.”
She chuckled as they clinked glasses.
Trammell eyed her as he sipped the cold liquid. “Are you going to forgive him?”