Part 4 (1/2)

If Marian recognized her it didn't show. ”I have a Library of Congress number for something I need,” she began hesitantly.

”The t.i.tle is good enough. Allow me to look up the shelf location for you, if we have it.” Marian took the proffered paper and tapped rapidly on her keyboard. ”We do, and I show it on the shelf. And this . . .” She wrote a number series neatly on the paper. ”This is your call number.”

Encouraged, Liddy refused the businesslike offer to help her find it, and hurried away after pleased thanks. She thumbed through the book quickly. Yes, it would be useful. Great bibliography on women and medical ethics, too. Her employer was bound to be interested in that topic.

Marian the Librarian smiled pleasantly when Liddy returned.

”Did you find everything you were interested in?”

25.

”Yes, thank you. I don't have a library card, though.”

”No problem. Do you have a valid driver's license?”

”Yes, but California.” She dug in her pocket.

”As long as it's current. You need a local address, even if it's temporary. Here's the form. Do you need a pen?”

”Nope.” She flipped open her little billfold that held her license and credit card.

Marian glanced at the license, then said, ”Actually, I'm not the one to show that to. When you've completed the form you can take it to the circulation desk and they'll give you the card and check out the book to you. That's when you'll need your ID.”

”How long can I have this book for, do you know?”

”Two renewals for four weeks can be completed online as long as it hasn't been reserved by someone else. And I'm pretty sure this one won't be in high demand. The total time, therefore, would be twelve weeks, including the initial checkout period.”

Liddy blinked, not used to such ready information so clearly provided. ”That will cover my stay here, thank you.” She felt awkward, for just a moment, as if she should acknowledge their earlier meeting. Finally, she gestured a wave with the book.

”Happy reading.” Marian looked behind Liddy. ”May I help you find a resource?”

”I'm still looking for a phone number in Dallas.”

As she walked toward the checkout area Liddy was aware of the measured, patient tone of Marian's voice, completely at odds with the rude edge of the woman she was helping.

There was not enough money on the planet to make her work with the public, Liddy thought. Swear to freakin' G.o.d.

She was out on the sidewalk before she identified a slight annoy-ance that Marian the Librarian had not shown any sign she'd recognized Liddy. She was tired of being ogled, true. But she was not used to being forgotten.

She didn't want to go home, not yet. Plus she was starving. She dropped the book at the Hummer and walked down the mall to 26 Prairie Lights Bookstore. They had great m.u.f.fins in the cafe and creative protein drinks, too. The boa constrictors seemed to prefer the Java House, so she was likely not going to be accosted at the bookstore. Like libraries, bookstores were places she could lose all track of time. She'd grab a m.u.f.fin and java, then browse.

To her dismay she hadn't even reached the top of the first flight of stairs when she heard, ”That's her.”

”G.o.d, Amy was right.”

f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k and f.u.c.k it, she was not going to be hit on. Not in a bookstore. The first and last time she'd let that happen had turned out badly. It was why she wasn't in California this summer.

She turned tail and went back out onto the darkening street, nearly knocking into a plump blonde. ”Sorry.”

”It's okay, no harm done.” At least the woman's smile wasn't predatory. Nothing like . . . ”Excuse me.”

Liddy realized she was blocking the doorway. ”Sorry.”

”Blessed be.” With a nod the blonde went into the store. Liddy let the door swing shut behind her.

When she heard the door reopen and then that woman Ellie's unmistakable Midwest tw.a.n.g, she accelerated toward the cover of the trees and shops. There had been a candle and perfume store marked in the online tourist map. It might still be open. She bolted the length of one block and skittered around the corner at the fountain.

She was in luck. Sandalwood wafted into the damp night from Soap Opera's open door. Liddy greeted the clerk and turned her attention to the vast array of candles. Something that smelled like the ocean would be perfect.

After a half-dozen sniffs of different varieties she could no longer tell one from another. She went with ”Landward Breeze” because it didn't make her nose itch, then a bottle of rosemary and ginger body wash seemed exactly what she needed. At the checkout counter, she snagged a bag of lavender potpourri.

27.

The pale teenager at the register abruptly came to life. ”We're having a special on our homemade musk. A free infusion if you spend twenty-five dollars. Would you like to test it?”

Liddy shrugged and leaned over the open vial for a sniff. It was too much. She recoiled and shook her head vehemently. ”No, not for me.”

The clerk gave her an odd look as she rung up the purchases. Not quickly enough Liddy escaped into the twilight.

That scent . . . She had never, ever wanted to smell it again. Not in her hair, her sheets, her pillows. Not in the closet, in a drawer, unexpectedly inside a jacket. That scent . . . Holy s.h.i.+t, she hated it.

To her horror, she felt a treacherous throb between her legs, and visions tortured her, reminded her of how she had been with that scent filling her head.

She realized she was nearly running, even though there were no demons here to pursue her. That was why she was two thousand f.u.c.king miles from home. Nothing here was supposed to remind her of . . . that lying, manipulative b.i.t.c.h.

Nearly blind with anger and heartbreak, she stumbled to a stop in the parking lot near the library. Shaking, she put one hand on a nearby wall. The brick surface was still warm to the touch.

The night was humid and sticky. Home was so far away.

She wanted to kill something. Someone.

She slapped the brick with her open palm, but it wasn't enough.

With a gasp, she leapt into self-defense stance, then without hesita-tion twirled into a roundhouse kick. The sole of her Teva made a satisfying thud against the wall. Again.