“Abby, I heard Sister Helen on the intercom. She said there was a woman and a teenage girl seeking sanctuary. This is a small town, and I don’t believe in coincidence. Besides that, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here every day.”
“But you’d like it to, wouldn’t you?” she said testily. “Shake things up a bit in this boring little bubble. Isn’t that what you called Carmel? A bubble?”
“I didn’t say it was boring,” Ben snapped, his voice rising. “And please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act as if I’d tell the FBI about your work here for no other reason but a personal desire to stir up some action.”
She stared at him as disbelief filled every pore. “You told them? Everything?”
Ben was one of the few people she’d told about Paseo. She had sworn him to secrecy—and tonight, he had told the FBI. Just like that, he had betrayed the trust that women were promised when they came here for sanctuary.
“I trusted you,” she said softly. “You swore never to—” She broke off as her voice failed.
“This is different,” Ben argued, looking decidedly awkward. Nevertheless, his voice was firm. “If these women are killers, you aren’t safe, Abby. No one is safe while they’re here.”
She suddenly couldn’t think straight. Was what he said true? Had Alicia, someone she’d known for years as one of the nicest people in the world, actually murdered someone? Was she in fact running from the FBI?
One thing she’d learned over the years was that people you think you know well can change. And given extenuating circumstances, they don’t always change for the better.
The other thing she’d learned, though, was that the police and federal agencies—given their own extenuating circumstances—can’t always be trusted to know what the hell they’re doing.
“Well,” she said to Agent Lessing, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but the women who were here are gone.”
Ben stared at her. “C’mon, Abby. This is no time for games.”
Agent Lessing’s voice was even harsher. “If you’re harboring criminals—”
“I could be arrested as an accessory to the crime,” Abby said calmly. “I know. You made that quite clear.”
“Or as a coconspirator,” he said. “Either way, you’ll go to jail.”
“Abby—” Ben began.
“Ben,” she interrupted, “if you had called me before rushing out here with your merry little band of Men in Black, I could have told you not to bother. The women you’re looking for are most definitely not the ones who came here earlier. And they are not here now.”
“I know you, Ab,” he said irritably. “And I don’t believe you. Dammit, I’m worried about you, and I’m getting tired of you hiding things when you know I’d worry even more!”
“And I’m getting tired of you worrying about me as if I were a child. I can take care of myself!”
“Yeah? Well, I can remember a time when you couldn’t,” he said just as angrily. “You wouldn’t even be alive now if—”
Before he could finish, footsteps sounded from the hallway stairs. Startled, Abby turned to see a blond woman of about thirty, dressed in a trim black pantsuit and white blouse, accompanied by three men.
“We’ve checked out every floor,” she said to Agent Lessing. “No sign of them. Quite a few upset nuns, though.”
“How did you get up there?” Abby said, furious now. “You had no right—
“This says I do,” the woman answered, producing a folded court paper from the inside pocket of her suit jacket. “Kris Kelley, special agent.”
Abby opened and scanned it.
“It’s a search warrant,” Ben said.
“I can see that,” she replied shortly.
There was a buzz, and Agent Lessing pulled a two-way radio out of his pocket. “Lessing,” he said, and listened.
After a few moments he murmured, “Right,” and hung up. Turning to Ben, he said, “They haven’t found anyone on the grounds, either.”
“You’ve actually been searching my property?” Abby said, feeling more than ever violated.
“The warrant covers that, too, Ms. Northrup,” he said. “What you have in your hand there is a copy. You may keep it and check with your lawyer about it, if you like.”
“You seem to have come prepared,” she said, striving to sound calm again. “This must be a very big case—with a very important corpse. Mind telling me who it is?”
“Sorry,” Agent Lessing said, shaking his head.
“Why not? It’ll be all over the news by morning.”
“So you’ll find out then,” he answered.
“Look,” Ben said to Lessing, “we aren’t getting anywhere here. I suggest we go back to the station.”
“Just one more question,” Lessing replied. He turned to Abby. “Where did those women go from here?”
“I have no idea. But as I told Ben, the women who were here aren’t who you’re looking for.”
“Oh?” Lessing smiled. “And how would you know that?”
“Because they were old friends,” she answered coolly. “One is a teacher, a woman in her fifties. She’d brought her niece with her, on a field trip. They were driving through town and stopped to say hello, and I gave them some hot soup and cocoa. We talked a bit, and they went on their way.”
“Old friends, huh? And they just dropped by—all the way out here in Carmel Valley—to say hello in the middle of the night?”
Abby shrugged. “They were tired. They’ve been touring the old missions and needed a pit stop on the way to I-5. As you probably know, there’s not much open in Carmel at night. Besides, everyone who knows me knows that I’m up half the night.”
Ben stared at her for a long moment, as if by doing so she might break and give herself up. But then he said to Lessing, “That’s true. Abby’s a freelance writer. She does her best work at night.”
The agent gave Ben a weary look. “We’re getting nowhere here. Let’s all go back to the station.”
Ben turned to Abby, and for the first time his voice was soft. “Ab? You’ll be all right?”
Too little, too late, she thought bitterly. He’d betrayed her, and he wasn’t getting off that easily. “Of course I’ll be all right,” she said irritably, “once all of you people get out of here and I can get to bed.”
“I…I’ll see you in a little while,” he said.
“No. It’s almost three in the morning. I’ll call you. Later.”
He looked taken aback. Shaking his head, he led the way out of the foyer and onto the front drive. The female agent lagged behind. Just before she went through the doorway, she said to Abby, “I’ve heard about you. A couple of years ago, wasn’t it? You must be pretty tough, to have gone through all that and come out unscathed.”
Unscathed? Abby thought. Hardly.
But that was the point, she realized suddenly. The woman somehow knows there are things about me that haven’t healed, and that I don’t always act wisely, but out of leftover emotions—good and bad.
“What