Silence dominated the next half minute. Then, “It’s not like you to get cold feet.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself, but something just doesn’t feel right. If we do have the wrong woman, we’ll be in trouble.”
“I thought you had it arranged so that no one would know.”
“I do. It’s foolproof.”
“So what’s the problem? If it’s really Susan, she’ll be getting her due. If it’s not Susan, but someone she set up to take the fall for her, let her take the fall. That’ll get Susan to shaking all the more.”
“And if it’s simply a case of mistaken identity?”
“I can’t believe that. The resemblance is too strong.”
“But we’ll never know. That’s the problem. Once this one’s dead, we’ll never know for sure whether we’ve taken care of Susan or not.”
“Damn it, what do you suggest?”
“I suggest … that we let this one escape and then continue to follow her for a while. If she suddenly runs from Boston and tries to change her looks again and sets herself up somewhere else, we’ll know for sure that she’s Susan. She won’t have a head start on us this time. We’ll be watching her constantly.”
“I don’t like this. I want Susan dead.”
“So do I. But I want to make sure itisSusan who’s dead.”
“I thought this was all clear-cut. You’d found her. You’d been tormenting her. You’ve got her set to fry. It’s all very neat. I don’t like waffling.”
“It’s your decision, Boss.”
The silence this time was the lengthiest yet. It ended with a low growl of frustration. “Ah, hell. Let the girl go. Then follow her. Do you understand?Follow her.If you lose her, so help me, you’ll die right along with her!”
“Right.”
“And let me know what’s happening.”
“Right.”
Lauren was amazed by the simplicity of her escape, although she assumed anything would have seemed simple in comparison to what she’d been through and the fate she’d so vividly been made to envision. After a lengthy search of the room, she’d found old planks sealing up a shaft. She’d pried them off—most had crumbled in her hands—and discovered a door leading to what was a cross between a dumbwaiter and a freight elevator. After climbing onto the platform, she’d pulled and tugged on a fraying cord of rope until she’d lowered the platform to its base. Then she’d shouldered her way through the rotting wood of the door and burst into a run along the street floor of the warehouse. Moments later, she was in the summer night’s air.
Smelling vaguely of dead fish and other refuse, the air was the sweetest she’d ever breathed. But she didn’t pause to savor it. She continued running out to Atlantic Avenue, veered left around the corner and didn’t stop until she’d reached the first of the waterfront restaurants. She barged inside and made her way to the maître d’s desk.
“I need a phone,” she gasped, hunching her shoulders against the pain in her chest.
The maître d’ smiled politely and gestured. “Right over there, in front of the rest rooms.”
“No! I don’t dare!” She shot a glance at the phone by his hand. “You’ve got one here. I’m being followed, and if I go back there, they’re apt to catch … me again and I can’t risk it … because they want to kill me and I … have to make this call. Please?” Her breath was coming in agonizing gulps, but she was beyond caring.
“This phone is reserved for—”
“Please!” she whispered. “It’s critical!”
“I could call the police for you.”
“Let me … please?”
Whether he acquiesced because, in her disheveled state, she didn’t look like a troublemaker, or because he had a hidden streak of protectiveness in him, Lauren would never know. As soon as he reached to turn the phone her way, she snatched up the receiver and began to punch out the number of the shop. It was the closest place Matt might be, unless he was out searching. She had to try three times before her shaking fingers hit the right buttons.
“Lauren! My God, whereareyou?” Beth exclaimed. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Matt’s half out of his mind, and the police won’t do anything about a missing person for at least twenty-four—”
“Where is he? I need him, Beth. Where is he?”
