Тесс Герритсен - Whistleblower стр 18.

Too noisy. We have to jump!

But-

To her astonishment, he scrambled over the railing and dropped to the ground. Come on! he hissed from below. Its not that far. Ill catch you.

Murmuring a prayer, she lowered herself over the side and let go.

To her surprise he did catch her-but held on only for a second. The bullet wound had left his injured shoulder too weak to hold on. They both tumbled to the ground. She landed smack on top of him, her legs astride his hips, their faces inches apart. They stared at each other, so stunned they could scarcely breathe.

Upstairs, a window slid open and someone yelled, Hey, you bums! If you dont clear out this instant, Im calling the cops!

Instantly Cathy rolled off Victor, only to stagger into a trash can. The lid fell off and slammed like a cymbal against the sidewalk.

Thats it for rest stops, Victor grunted and scrambled to his feet. Move it.

They took off at a wild dash down the street, turned up an alley, and kept running. It was a good five blocks before they finally stopped to catch their breath. They glanced back.

The street was deserted.

They were safe!

Nicholas Savitch stood beside the neatly made bed and surveyed the room. It was every inch a womans room, from the closet hung with a half-dozen simple but elegant dresses, to the sweetly scented powders and lotions lined up on the vanity table. It took only a single circuit around the room to tell him about the woman whose bedroom this was. She was slim, a size seven dress, size six-and-a-half shoe. The hairs on the brush were brown and shoulder-length. She owned only a few pieces of jewelry, and she favored natural scents, rosewater and lavender. Her favorite color was green.

Back in the living room, he continued to gather information. The woman subscribed to the Hollywood trade journals. Her taste in music, like her taste in books, was eclectic. He noticed a scrap of newspaper lying on the floor. He picked it up and glanced at the article. Now this was interesting. The death of Catherine Weaver I had not gone unnoticed by Catherine Weaver III.

He pocketed the article. Then he saw the purse, lying on the floor near the shattered window.

Bingo.

He emptied the contents on the coffee table. Out tumbled a wallet, checkbook, pens, loose change, andan address book. He opened it to the B s. There he found the name he was looking for: Sarah Boylan.

He now knew this was the Catherine Weaver hed been seeking. What a shame hed wasted his time hunting down the other two.

He flipped through the address book and spotted a half dozen or so San Francisco listings. The woman may have been clever enough to slip away from him this time. But staying out of sight was a more difficult matter. And this little book, with its names of friends and relatives and colleagues, could lead him straight to her.

Somewhere in the distance, a police siren was wailing.

It was time to leave.

Savitch took the address book and the womans wallet and headed out the door. Outside, his breath misted in the cold air as he walked at a leisurely pace down the street,

He could afford to take his time.

But for Catherine Weaver and Victor Holland, time was running out.

CHAPTER FOUR

There was no time to rest. They jogged for the next six blocks, miles and miles, it seemed to Cathy. Victor moved tirelessly, leading her down side streets, avoiding busy intersections. She let him do the thinking and navigating. Her terror slowly gave way to numbness and a disorienting sense of unreality. The city itself seemed little more than a dreamscape, asphalt and streetlights and endless twists and turns of concrete. The only reality was the man striding close beside her, his gaze alert, his movements swift and sure. She knew he too must be afraid, but she couldnt see his fear.

He took her hand; the warmth of that grasp, the strength of those fingers, seemed to flow into her cold, exhausted limbs.

She quickened her pace. I think theres a police substation down that street, she said. If we go a block or two further-

Were not going to the police.

What? She stopped dead, staring at him.

Not yet. Not until Ive had a chance to think this through.

Victor, she said slowly. Someone is trying to kill us. Trying to kill me. What do you mean, you need time to think this through?

Look, we cant stand around talking about it. We have to get off the streets. He grabbed her hand again. Come on.

Where?

I have a room. Its only a few blocks away.

She let him drag her only a few yards before she mustered the will to pull free. Wait a minute. Just wait.

She let him drag her only a few yards before she mustered the will to pull free. Wait a minute. Just wait.

He turned, his face a mask of frustration, and confronted her. Wait for what? For that maniac to catch up? For the bullets to start flying again?

For an explanation!

Ill explain it all. When were safe.

She backed away. Why are you afraid of the police?

I cant be sure of them.

Do you have a reason to be afraid? What have you done?

With two steps he closed the gap between them and grabbed her hard by the shoulders. I just pulled you out of a death trap, remember? The bullets were going through your window, not mine!