Page 119 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Do you take any references or ID before you lease your property?”

“Of course.” Sybil bristled.

“Can I see the records?”

“No problem. Again, they’re at the office.”

“I’ll drive you there, and, when we’re done, I’ll bring you back here.”

“I could just drive myself.”

“Just in case Detective

Lee or the FBI have any further questions.”

“The FBI?” she repeated and sucked on her cigarette until the ash reached the filter tip. “Oh, dear God.”

Paterno’s thoughts exactly.

“I need to see you,” Elyse said into the phone. On the other end, her lover was balking.

“I can’t. People will get suspicious. I’m being watched, you know.”

“We need to talk.” She was desperate, her heart pounding as she drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. Traffic was thick, people pouring out of the city in rush hour, and she could barely think. Her head pounded, and she told herself she just needed to get home, to see him again, to…to…

The car in front of her slammed on his brakes, and she did the same, nearly plowing into the trunk of the red Pontiac. Her tires skidded on the wet pavement. “You cretin!” she yelled, though she could only see the back of his head as the wipers slapped away the rain. The driver was a teenager on a cell phone, and of course he couldn’t hear her. The thrum of huge speakers and rap music pulsed through the night. And still he was on his cell.

“What?” her lover said breathlessly as if he’d been climbing stairs or running.

“Just meet me. Tonight.”

“I’m telling you it’s impossible.”

“You show,” she insisted as the stupid baby started crying again. The damned kid was driving her crazy. “I need some help, damn it, and we’re in this together. It was your idea.”

“Not all of it.”

“You were the one who said we could do this, now for God’s sake be a man.” She was irritated, biting the inside of her cheek nervously, her fingers so tight around the steering wheel they felt fused to the plastic and metal.

“You’re taking too many chances.”

“I don’t have a choice!”

“We need to cool it for a while.”

“Cool it?” she said, her voice increasing in pitch, rising to a near screech. “Are you crazy? We can’t cool it now.”

“You’re the one acting crazy!”

“Because I’m the one who’s taking all the damned risks. If you knew what I put up with, dealing with that bitch! Just get your ass to the house,” she insisted as her Taurus inched over the bridge.

“For Christ’s sake, get a grip.”

“I can’t!” she yelled and heard the anger, the panic, in her own voice. She caught her reflection in the mirror and was surprised to see that her hair was frazzled and unkempt, her makeup running, her eyes staring as if she were freaked. Holy God, what was wrong with her? Nothing. Not a damned thing. It was everyone else. Yes, she was a little wired and nervous, but who wouldn’t be? She was just under a tremendous amount of pressure, and he, the wimp, wasn’t helping. Where was the strong, intelligent, sexy man she’d fallen for? “Listen, lover boy,” she snarled sarcastically. “You damned well better meet me, or you’ll never see the boy again. End of story.” She clicked off, swore at the driver in front of her, and, when the phone rang and she saw it was Jack calling her back, she ignored it. Let him stew in his own juices.

Bastard!

So Cissy had changed her mind about the divorce.

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