laugh was bitter. “How can you call it seduction? I was just another one of your whores. Bought and paid for.”
“I never thought of you as a whore,” he said. “But is that why you’re here, to pick the scabs off old sores? What’s done is done. We can’t change the past.”
“I came here to tell you that if you’re responsible for Patrick’s death, even indirectly, I’ll see to it that you pay for it. One way or another.”
The colour drained from his face. “I don’t think that’s why you’re here at all,” he said, voice brittle. “You’re here because with Patrick gone there’s no one left to take care of you. And you need someone to take care of you, don’t you? You always have.” He reached out to touch her. She drew back. “I will take care of you, you know.”
Biting down on her sudden nausea, she stood. “I’d live on the street first,” she said, and walked out of his office.
Muriel stood and came around her desk. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Victoria took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“God, you’re trembling like a leaf.”
“I’m fine, Mu. Really.” She took Muriel’s hand and squeezed gently. “Thank you,” she said. Muriel walked her to the elevators. “I’ll call you,” Victoria said.
She was still shaking when she got down to the parking level, so she sat in her car, breathing deeply through her nose, until the tremors subsided. When she finally turned the key in the ignition, the car wouldn’t start. The engine turned over and over and over, as if to mock her. She laid her forehead on the top of the steering wheel and closed her eyes.
Just what she needed, she thought wearily, eyes burning with tears of frustration. Goddamn Patrick and his fucking BMWs. She felt an immediate stab of guilt. She’d loved this car from the moment Patrick had given it to her. Right now, though, she’d have gladly traded it for her old Toyota. Until she’d wrecked it, the Toyota had never given her a bit of trouble. Of course, it had barely made it up the hills on the Sea to Sky Highway to Whistler. She twisted the key and tried again, but the car still refused to start. Despite the night course in auto mechanics Patrick had insisted she take, she didn’t have a clue what might be wrong.
She almost jumped out of her skin when someone rapped at the driver’s side window.
“Is everything all right?” a man asked.
She stabbed at the door lock button on her door. The electromechanical deadbolts thudded down.
“It’s all right,” the man said, voice muffled. “It’s Del Tilley. You—I work for Mr. Hammond.”
She tried again. “C’mon, you bitch,” she hissed through her teeth. She cranked the engine for longer than was recommended, but it did not start.
“Be careful,” Del Tilley said. “You might flood it.”
She turned the ignition key to “On” and powered the window down an inch. “It’s fuel-injected,” she said coldly, hoping she remembered correctly that fuel-injected engines did not flood.
“Would you like me to try?” he asked.
“I’m quite capable of starting a car, Mr. Tilley,” she said.
“Yes, yes, of course you are. I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help.”
She followed the recommended procedure, cranking for five or six seconds, then letting the battery rest for ten seconds, then cranking again. She repeated the process five times, to no avail. She raised the window, removed the key from the ignition, and opened the door. Tilley stepped back as she got out of the car. In her half heels she looked straight into his yellow eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tilley. I didn’t mean to be snappish. I—it’s been a trying day.”
“I understand,” he said.
“Do you have a phone?” she said. “I want to call the CAA.”
He took a tiny cellphone out of his pocket, but he did not hand it to her.
“I’ll take you home,” he said. “And if you’ll give me your keys, I’ll have one of my staff arrange for the CAA to take care of the car.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Please, Victoria,” he said. “Pardon me. Mrs. O’Neill. If Mr. Hammond was to learn I left you stranded down here, it would be my job.”
“Mr. Tilley,” Victoria said firmly, “I don’t want to be rude. Either let me use your phone to call the CAA or let me pass.”
He stared at her blankly for a second or two, then flipped the cellphone open. He pressed a button with his thumb. The phone beeped. He shook his head. “There’s no signal down here. You’ll have to call from the security office.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll use the payphone in the lobby.”
“You’ll have to meet the CAA truck down here,” he said reasonably. “It would make more sense for you to call from the security office.”
She shook her head.
“It’s this way.” He took a step toward her, reaching out to take her arm.
Victoria backed up a step. Her rump hit the side of the car. Tilley stared at her for a long moment, blinking slowly, lizard-like. He opened his mouth to saying something but was cut off by the sound of an approaching car. Mumbling unintelligibly, he turned abruptly on his heel and stalked away.
As Shoe drove slowly along the row of parking spaces reserved for Hammond Industries’ employees, he saw Del Tilley striding toward him. As he drove past him, Tilley stopped and watched the car go by, head swivelling, eyes shadowed and unreadable. There was no mistaking the hostility he radiated. It had an almost visible aura. What’s eating him? Shoe wondered.
When he pulled into his parking space, Victoria was standing beside her red BMW convertible, parked in Patrick’s spot. She had a brown leather knapsack slung over her shoulder. Her face was pale in the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent lights.
“My car won’t start,” she said as he got out of his car.
“Do you want me to try?” he offered.
“If you like,” she said. “But, as I told Del Tilley, I’m quite capable of starting a car.”
“I’ll take your word for it then,” Shoe said.
“Can I trouble you for a ride home? I’ll call the CAA from there.”
“Of course,” Shoe said.
In the car, Victoria said, “You haven’t asked me what I was doing there.”
“No,” Shoe said.
“I went to see Bill. I know you’ll probably think I’m being irrational, but I’m convinced he knows why Patrick
