The Watcher

"Me."

He nods. "You."

This is like an echo of the conversation I had with Max. But it also triggers a memory, a bad memory. The incident that landed me in Palm Canyon to begin with. I blow out a breath. "Is that why you said what you did after the Guzman thing?"

He looks glum.

"You wanted me out of the way in case that guy came after you." I let a beat go by before asking, "You weren't really pla

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Jesus. I hitch my chair closer to the bed. It's time I replaced some of his guilt with a much healthier emotion—anger. "You are probably going to want to shoot me when you hear what I have to say."

He gives me an inquisitive half smile and gestures for me to go on.

"I've been getting calls, too."

The smile morphs into an incredulous frown.

"I know. I know. I should have told you. But I thought it was someone trying to trick me into leading him to Max. It wasn't until—" I stop myself. Do I want to get into the witch thing and Foley and Martinez and all that happened in Mexico?

No. I backtrack with a sharp intake of breath. "Anyway, I realized that wasn't the case. And when Max and I were talking about it, the same thing dawned on us that dawned on you. Whoever is doing this thought you were my boyfriend. It wasn't about Max at all."

He leans his head back against the headboard. "Anyone take a shot at you?"

I think back to what happened in the desert. Another subject best kept for later. "No."

David drums his fingers on the bedclothes. "What about that incident in Palm Canyon?"

So much for that. "You saw the paper." Not a question.

He nods and adds sharply, "Right before you disappeared. Called you a hero for going to the aid of that woman when her maniac husband attacked her. The big mystery, though, was who shot that maniac husband."

He pauses, waits for me to say something. When I don't, he continues, sounding peeved. "I must have called Williams a dozen times when I heard what you'd been involved in. All he would say was you were all right and needed a little time away. He made it sound like it was my fault."

He stops suddenly, inhales deeply, as if struck by a sharp pain.

I touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

He lets the breath out through his nose, inhales again. His right hand reaches for his shoulder.

"David?" I whisper it, realize my mistake, flinch. I glance around the room like an idiot. Who the hell could be eavesdropping on us here?

He shakes his head. "I'm all right. Chest gets tight when I get…"

He doesn't complete the thought. I can fill in any number of words: exasperated, angry, frustrated, confused. I know because I can see it all on his face.

I start to stand up. "Maybe I should go."

He grabs my hand. "Sit down."

I don't want to upset him any more than I already have so I do.

When his face clears of the pain, I ask, "Did forensics compare the bullets?"

He nods. And his next words confirm what I already suspect.

"The bullet that killed that guy in Palm Canyon is a match to the one they took out of me."

CHAPTER 58

IT WAS SO MUCH EASIER WHEN I THOUGHT MY stalker was Foley.

"Has Williams been any help?"

David nods. "He's been here every day. He has his men ru

The door opens and the same nurse who insisted Max use a wheelchair approaches the bed. "Time to rest, Mr. Smith." She turns that steely gaze on me. "Your visitor can come back tomorrow."

She says it in a tone that brooks no argument. She even holds out an arm as if to usher me from the room. I bend close. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, Dick."

He shakes his head, smiling.

The nurse follows me out. "You are Ms. Long?" she asks.

I almost say no until I remember. That was the name on the phony ID Williams gave me when he sent me to Beso de la Muerte. "Yes."

She walks back to her desk and picks up a piece of paper. "There's a message for you."

A message? For Anita Long? It can only be from one person.

Williams. He's booked me a room at the Kona Kai Resort on Shelter Island. He says he'll meet me there in an hour.

I glance at the time stamp on the message. It came in thirty minutes ago.

I thank the nurse and ask about Max. She tells me he's been admitted. The doctors want to keep him under observation. Make sure there are no complications from his untreated broken ankle. She offers to get his room number for me, but I think it best if I leave Max alone, at least for the night.

The Kona Kai. Obviously, Williams doesn't think it safe for me to go home. Frankly, I'm too tired to argue. I could jog to Shelter Island from here. It's downhill all the way. But again, fatigue, emotional and physical, is taking its toll. The last few days have been hell.

When I ask where I can get a cab, the nurse directs me to the concierge desk in the lobby downstairs.

Hospitals have concierge desks?

Who knew? A rack of pamphlets offering services for everything from theater tickets to maid service almost obscures the tiny, white-haired volunteer seated behind the desk. She's dressed in a candy-striper smock and her pink-tinted glasses make her look like a Kewpie doll. She's so cute, I can't help but smile.

She's as efficient as she is cute. But it's not until she's secured the cab and it's pulling up in front that I realize, I have no money to pay for it.

She seems to read something on my face because she turns the telephone on the counter to face me. "Feel free," she says.

I thank her and dial Williams cell. He picks up.

"I'll meet you in front of the hotel," he replies when I explain my predicament. His voice is tentative, as if he expected something different from me than a request for cash.

He has a right to be cautious. He has a lot to answer for.

Beso de la Muerte, and all that happened after.

CHAPTER 59

THE KONA KAI RESORT IS PRIVATE, PRICEY AND EXclusive. The compound consists of a yacht club, a restaurant, a nightclub and a hotel. Figures Williams would be a member.

He is standing under the portico in front of the hotel when we pull up. He's leaning against a raised flowerbed, smoking a cigar, dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue designer polo shirt. He has brown loafers on his feet that look like they might be Gucci. No uniform, no cop car in sight so he's here in an unofficial capacity. He looks like he fits right in with the yachting crowd. And he looks relaxed.

At least until he sees me getting out of the cab.

He tosses the cigar into the flowerbed and hurries to pay the driver. He doesn't say a thing to me until the car has pulled away.

Then Williams does something he's never done before.

He hugs me.

The gesture is unexpected. My body stiffens and my shoulders actually jump at the contact. He lets me go almost immediately and stands back.

"I am glad to see that you are well," he says.

I make it a point to look around. "Are you talking to me?"

He isn't letting me read his thoughts but I do get a flash that he doesn't appreciate the humor. He takes a card key out of his pocket. "Let's go up to your room. You must be tired."

I am, so I agree with a bob of my head. He leads the way through the lobby and directly to the elevators. Obviously he has taken care of registering. He uses the key to access the top floor of the hotel. The top floor.