by the window and shivered. Her eyes went back to the blue-lit Cathedral. She tried to envision how the day would end but couldn't, and this frightened her. Another chill, a different kind, ran down her spine. Once in, never out.
Somehow she knew Brian Flynn was close, and she knew he would not let her get away with this.
Terri O'Neal woke to the sound of early morning traffic coming through the second-story window. She sat up slowly in the bed. A streetlight outside the window partially illuminated the room. The man next to her-Dan, yes, Danturned his head and stared at her. She could see that his eyes were clear, unclouded by either drink or sleep. She suspected that he had been awake for some time, and this 58
CATHEDRAL
made her uneasy, but she didn't know why. "Maybe I should get going. Work today."
He sat up and held her arm. "No work today. You7re going to the parade.
Remember?"
I-Es voice, a light brogue, was not husky with sleep. He had been awake and how did he know she wasn't going to work to~day? She never told her pickups anything more than they had to know-in case it didn't go well. "Are you going to work today?"
"I am at work." He laughed as he took a cigarette from the night table.
She forced a smile, swung her legs out of bed, and stood. She felt his eyes taking in her figure as she walked to the big bay window and knelt in the window bench facing the street. She looked out. A lovely street.
Sixty-somethingoff Fifth, a street of brownstone and granite town houses.
She looked westward. A big police van was parked on the comer of Fifth, and across the street from it was a television truck. On the far side of the Avenue were the reviewing stands that had been assembled in front of the park.
She looked directly below her. A long line of police scooters were angle-parked on the street. Dozens of helmeted police officers were milling about, blowing into their hands or drinking coffee. Their proximity made her feel better.
She turned and sat facing the bed. She noticed that he had put on his jeans, but he was still sitting on the bed. She became apprehensive again, and her voice came out low and tremulous. "Who-who are you?"
He got off the bed and walked to her. "I'm your lover of last evening, Mrs.
O'Neal." He stood directly in front of her, and she had to crane her neck to look up into his face.
Terri O'Neal was frightened. This man did not act, look, or talk like a crazy-yet he was going to do something to her that she was not going to like. She was sure of that. She pulled free of his stare and turned her eyes slightly toward the side panel of the bay window. A loud scream would do it. She hoped to God it would do it.
59
NELSON DE MILLE
Dan Morgan didn't follow her eyes, but he knew what was out there. "Not a peep, lass. Not a peep . . ."
Reluctantly she swung her head back toward him and found herself staring into a big, black silencer at the end of a bigger black pistol. Her mouth went dry.
". . . or I'll put a bullet through your pretty, dimpled kneecap."
It was several seconds before she could form a thought or a word, then she said softly, "What do you want?"
"Just your company for a while."
"Company?" Her brain wasn't taking in any of this.
"You're kidnapped, darlin'. Kidnapped."
60
CHAPTER 7
Detective Lieutenant Patrick Burke sat huddled against the cold dawn on the top riser of the reviewing stands and looked down into the Avenue. The freshly painted green line glistened in the thin sunlight, and policemen stepped carefully over it as they crossed the street.
A bomb squad ambled through the risers picking up paper bags and bottles, none of them containing anything more lethal than the dregs of cheap wine.
A bum lay covered with newspaper on the riser below him, undisturbed by the indulgent cops.
Burke looked east into Sixty-fourth Street. Police motor scooters lined the street, and a VVTIX television van had taken up position on the north corner. A police mobile
Somehow she knew Brian Flynn was close, and she knew he would not let her get away with this.
Terri O'Neal woke to the sound of early morning traffic coming through the second-story window. She sat up slowly in the bed. A streetlight outside the window partially illuminated the room. The man next to her-Dan, yes, Danturned his head and stared at her. She could see that his eyes were clear, unclouded by either drink or sleep. She suspected that he had been awake for some time, and this 58
CATHEDRAL
made her uneasy, but she didn't know why. "Maybe I should get going. Work today."
He sat up and held her arm. "No work today. You7re going to the parade.
Remember?"
I-Es voice, a light brogue, was not husky with sleep. He had been awake and how did he know she wasn't going to work to~day? She never told her pickups anything more than they had to know-in case it didn't go well. "Are you going to work today?"
"I am at work." He laughed as he took a cigarette from the night table.
She forced a smile, swung her legs out of bed, and stood. She felt his eyes taking in her figure as she walked to the big bay window and knelt in the window bench facing the street. She looked out. A lovely street.
Sixty-somethingoff Fifth, a street of brownstone and granite town houses.
She looked westward. A big police van was parked on the comer of Fifth, and across the street from it was a television truck. On the far side of the Avenue were the reviewing stands that had been assembled in front of the park.
She looked directly below her. A long line of police scooters were angle-parked on the street. Dozens of helmeted police officers were milling about, blowing into their hands or drinking coffee. Their proximity made her feel better.
She turned and sat facing the bed. She noticed that he had put on his jeans, but he was still sitting on the bed. She became apprehensive again, and her voice came out low and tremulous. "Who-who are you?"
He got off the bed and walked to her. "I'm your lover of last evening, Mrs.
O'Neal." He stood directly in front of her, and she had to crane her neck to look up into his face.
Terri O'Neal was frightened. This man did not act, look, or talk like a crazy-yet he was going to do something to her that she was not going to like. She was sure of that. She pulled free of his stare and turned her eyes slightly toward the side panel of the bay window. A loud scream would do it. She hoped to God it would do it.
59
NELSON DE MILLE
Dan Morgan didn't follow her eyes, but he knew what was out there. "Not a peep, lass. Not a peep . . ."
Reluctantly she swung her head back toward him and found herself staring into a big, black silencer at the end of a bigger black pistol. Her mouth went dry.
". . . or I'll put a bullet through your pretty, dimpled kneecap."
It was several seconds before she could form a thought or a word, then she said softly, "What do you want?"
"Just your company for a while."
"Company?" Her brain wasn't taking in any of this.
"You're kidnapped, darlin'. Kidnapped."
60
CHAPTER 7
Detective Lieutenant Patrick Burke sat huddled against the cold dawn on the top riser of the reviewing stands and looked down into the Avenue. The freshly painted green line glistened in the thin sunlight, and policemen stepped carefully over it as they crossed the street.
A bomb squad ambled through the risers picking up paper bags and bottles, none of them containing anything more lethal than the dregs of cheap wine.
A bum lay covered with newspaper on the riser below him, undisturbed by the indulgent cops.
Burke looked east into Sixty-fourth Street. Police motor scooters lined the street, and a VVTIX television van had taken up position on the north corner. A police mobile
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