Assumed Identity (1993) (42 page)

Pay attention. What are you going to do?

Hell, who am I going to be?

Holly. He still had to deal with.

He looked in a closet and found a brown sport coat that Ted had left. Although Ted had broader shoulders, the garment fit Buchanan better than he expected. He shoved the passport into one of its pockets and the gun behind his belt at the spine, making sure that the jacket covered it. When he left the room, no one noticed.

Now for Holly's room.

It was two doors down, and as Buchanan approached it, he kept thinking about the man in the seersucker suit in the lobby. If they staked out the hotel, isn't it logical that they'd put someone in Holly's room to grab her when she came in? Maybe I ought to stay out of this. Maybe the smart thing to do is keep walking toward the elevator. Let Holly check herself out of the hotel, or let Ted do it for her. Now that I've got the gun and the passport, why should I care about.?

Buchanan slowed, thinking, The longer Holly waits, the greater the odds that someone will be in her room when she comes back.

So what? That still isn't your concern. If something happened to her, it'd be one less thing for you to worry about. One less.

He pivoted, knocked on her door, announced, 'Hotel housekeeping,' knocked again, and unlocked the door.

The room was empty. It took him even less time to pack her things than it had for him to find the gun and the passport in Ted's room. He took care only when he put her underwear into her suitcase. What Holly had said was true. It was expensive, and it did have lace. He liked the feel of it.

She would have been required to leave a credit card number when she checked in. He found an early-check-out form on the counter beside the television, filled it out, and left it on the bed, pleased that she hadn't brought much luggage as he carried the two bags down the fire stairs and out a service exit, all the while thinking of the lace on the underwear he'd packed. It had been a long time since he'd felt intimate with a woman. Not had sex with but felt intimate with. As long as six years ago. And Juana.

Chapter 8.

Exertion, combined with the glaring sun, squeezed sweat from him. The stitches in his right side, the tenderness of his wound, required him to carry one bag in his left hand, the other wedged under his left arm. Exhaust fumes from passing cars aggravated his headache and made him nauseous.

At least, the taxi was waiting as promised. When the driver saw that Buchanan was having trouble with the bags, he got out. 'Here, let me help, suh.'

'Thanks.' Buchanan gave him ten dollars, then turned his attention toward Holly and someone else sitting in the back seat.

He frowned.

While the driver carried the bags toward the trunk, Buchanan got in the back seat next to a square-faced man who was built like a college football player gone to seed. 'Well, Ted, long time no see.'

From the opposite side, Holly leaned forward. 'I figured he might as well travel with us instead of keep following in another taxi. We picked him up while you were gone.'

'Ted, I appreciate the help with the bags.'

'What help?'

'My point exactly.'

'You should have asked.'

'I shouldn't have needed to.'

'Just like you didn't feel you needed to ask my permission to go into my room. I don't like the idea of someone rummaging through my stuff. And that's my jacket you're wearing.'

'Very observant. So what do you think, Ted? Doesn't fit me too bad, huh? Here's your key back.'

Holly tried to distract them. 'Did you find what you were looking for?'

'Right away. Ted isn't very good at this.'

'Hey,' Ted said.

'All right, I can understand why you're angry,' Holly said. 'When I saw you coming, I should have helped with the bags. I knew you'd just been released from the hospital. I'd have gotten out to help a friend.'

'Well, this guy isn't a friend,' Ted said.

'Ted,' Holly said in warning. She turned to Buchanan. 'Look, I'm sorry. Remember, it was your idea to check me out of that hotel. If you want to go in for melodramatic gestures to try to scare me, you can't expect me to cooperate in the tactic.'

'Then maybe we ought to go back so I can introduce you to the fellow waiting for you in the lobby.'

Holly's eyes narrowed. 'That's a joke, right?'

'He didn't look like he had a sense of humor.'

'This is all bullshit,' Ted said.

'Right, Ted. Bullshit,' Buchanan said. 'I don't care what happens to you, but until Holly and I get some issues settled, I'd just as soon she stayed in good health.'

'Quit trying to scare me,' Holly said.

'Where to, suh?' The driver had gotten back into the taxi and was waiting.

'That errand wore me out.' Buchanan rubbed his sweaty forehead. 'I came here to enjoy the sights. I think a river cruise would relax me. Why don't you take us over to Toulouse Street Wharf? It's almost two-thirty. Maybe we've still got time to get on the Natchez.'

As the taxi pulled into traffic, Holly said, 'For a man who claims he was never in New Orleans before, you certainly know a lot about the tourist attractions.'

'I studied them in a guide book.'

'Right. When was that? When you were unconscious?'

Chapter 9.

As its calliope whistled 'Way Down South in Dixie,' the colorfully trimmed paddlewheeler eased away from the wharf and began its tour along the Mississippi. Hundreds of passengers crowded the railings on the three decks, enjoying the breeze off the river, studying the docks they passed, warehouses, a refinery, a War-of-1812 battlefield, and a pre-Civil-War plantation mansion.

While the passengers seemed to enjoy the strength of the sun, Buchanan's eyes were still sufficiently sensitive that he stayed in the shadow of a canopy at the stern. Holly sat next to him. Since most passengers were at the railing, there was little chance that their conversation would be overheard.

Holly shook her head. 'I don't understand. Why a steamboat cruise?'

'Process of elimination.' Buchanan sipped from one of the Cokes that he'd bought for Holly and himself when they came aboard. 'I need time to think, a place to think.' After swallowing two more Tylenol, he shut his eyes and tilted his head back.

'You should have stayed in the hospital longer.'

'Too much to do,' Buchanan said.

'Yeah, like watching the muddy Mississippi. Ted didn't like it when you made him stay behind with my bags.'

'You said you wanted to talk. The thing is, I don't want company while we're doing it. This way, he can't follow. And pretty soon we'll be far enough that those two-way radios you mentioned won't be able to communicate with each other. By the way, where are you hiding yours? In your purse? Or maybe.?' Buchanan gestured toward the open neckline of her dress.

'Okay.' Sounding discouraged, she reached inside her dress, unhooked a tiny microphone and miniature transmitter from her bra strap, and handed it to him. 'You win.'

'Too easy.' Buchanan shut the transmitter off, feeling her body heat on the metal. 'How do I know there aren't others?'

'There's only one way to be sure. But if I wouldn't let you search me in your train compartment, I'm certainly not.'

'What did you want to talk about?'

'For starters, who do you think tried to kill you? And please, don't give me that guff about a walk-by, random stabbing.'

'Who? Yes, that's the big question, isn't it?'

'One of them.'

The issue had been preoccupying Buchanan since he'd wakened in the hospital. If he addressed it out loud, he'd also be distracting Holly from his role in Scotch and Soda. 'Open your purse.'

She did.

He didn't find a tape recorder.

'Okay, I'll tell you this much. I wasn't lying when I said I came to New Orleans to see a friend.' He debated whether to continue. 'A woman.' He thought about it. 'None of this is classified. I don't see any reason not to. It's been six years since I heard from her, but recently she sent me a message that she needed help. My friend is very independent. She's definitely not the type to ask for help unless the problem's serious.'

'This friend, was she your lover?'

'Are you a reporter or a gossip columnist? I ought to tell you that's none of your business.'

Holly waited.

Buchanan bit his lower lip. 'Could have been my lover. Maybe should have been. Maybe we'd have gotten married.'

'But.?'

'Well, let's just say I was having some problems figuring out who I was.' Past tense? Buchanan asked himself. At the moment. 'Anyway, I was supposed to meet her last night, eleven o'clock, at Caf, du Monde. She didn't show up. But that guy did with his knife.' Leaning back in the deck chair, feeling his handgun behind his belt and against his spine, Buchanan suddenly realized that the only reason his wound hadn't been more serious was that the gun had deflected the blade. As he appreciated how close he'd come to dying, he started sweating again.

In contrast, his mouth became dry. Disturbed, he swallowed more Coke. 'Is it a coincidence that the man happened to show up and pick me as a victim while I was looking for my friend, who happened not to show up? I try to keep an open mind. I do my best to have healthy skepticism. But the coincidence is too hard to ignore. I have to believe that my friend and the man with the knife are connected.'

'And he was trying to stop you from helping your friend?'

'Unless you can think of a better explanation.'

'Well, one part of your logic troubles me. Since she didn't show up, you wouldn't have been able to know what she wanted, so it wouldn't have been necessary for you to be stopped.'

'Or maybe-'

Buchanan's heartbeat matched the thump-thump-thump of the paddlewheeler's engine.

'Maybe someone was afraid that when she didn't show up, I'd become so upset that I wouldn't stop until I found out where she was and why she needed me.' Buchanan's voice hardened. 'If so, they were right to be afraid. Because that's exactly what's going to happen.'

Chapter 10.

The steamboat rounded a bend.

'At the hospital, you said you had something for me to look at.' Holly straightened. 'Yes. But you wouldn't give me a chance.'

'Because I wanted my belongings back. Now I've got them.' Despite his headache, Buchanan mustered strength. He had to keep playing the game. 'I'll look at whatever it is you want me to see. Anything it takes to settle your suspicions. I need to help my friend. But I can't do it if you keep interfering. Ask the rest of your questions. I want to be done with this.'

Holly opened her purse, studied him as if doubtful about something, then pulled three folded newspaper clippings from an envelope.

Puzzled, Buchanan took them and glanced at the date at the top of the first one. 'Six days ago.' He frowned.

He frowned harder when he saw that the story was datelined Fort Lauderdale.

EXPLOSION KILLS THREE

FT LAUDERDALE - A powerful explosion shortly before midnight last night destroyed a car in the parking lot of Paul's-on-

the-River restaurant, killing its occupant, identified by a remnant of his driver's license as Robert Bailey, 48, a native of Oklahoma. The explosion also killed two customers leaving the restaurant. Numerous other cars were destroyed or damaged. Charred fragments of a substantial amount of money found at the scene prompted authorities to theorize that the explosion may have been the consequence of a recent, escalating war among drug smugglers.

His heart now pounding faster than the thump-thump-thump of the paddlewheeler's engine, Buchanan lowered the clipping and turned to Holly. No matter what, he couldn't let her detect his reaction. His head ached even more fiercely. 'All those people killed. A terrible thing. But what does this have to do with me? Why did you show it to-?'

'Are you denying that you knew Robert Bailey?'

'I don't know anything about this.'

And that was certainly the truth, Buchanan thought.

He strained to look calm as dismay flooded through him.

Holly squinted. 'Mostly he called himself "Big Bob" Bailey. Maybe that refreshes your memory.'

'Never heard of him.'

'Jesus, Buchanan, you are making me impatient. You and I both know he bumped into you in Cancun. I was there.'

Buchanan felt as if he'd been jolted by electricity.

'I was watching from a corner of the restaurant,' Holly said. 'Club Internacional. I saw it happen. That's when all your trouble started. When Bailey stumbled into one of your lives.'

Buchanan came close to revealing his shock.

'Those two drug dealers became suspicious when Bailey called you "Crawford" instead of "Potter". They took you down to the beach. Bailey went after you. He told me later that he interrupted a fight. You shot the two drug dealers and their bodyguard. Then you ran along the beach into the night, and the police arrested Bailey, thinking he was responsible.'

'You're not a reporter. You're a fiction writer. When was this supposed to have happened? I've never been to Cancun. I've never.'

'Not as Brendan Buchanan you haven't, but you sure as hell were there as Ed Potter. I told you I was in the restaurant. I saw it happen!'