Predator by Patricia Cornwell Page B

his bold striped shirt, straightens his bold silk tie, puts on his tailored silk jacket. He arranges his paperwork inside his crocodile briefcase.
         “Rumor has it you’re looking into the Johnny Swift case,” he then says, snapping shut the silver clasps.
         Scarpetta is caught for a minute. She can’t imagine how Dave could know this.
         What she says is, “It’s been my practice to pay little attention to rumors, Dave.”
         “His brother owns one of my favorite restaurants in South Beach. Called Rumors, ironically,” he says. “You know, Laurel’s had some problems.”
         “I don’t know anything about him.”
         “Someone who works there is passing around the story that Laurel killed Johnny for money, for whatever Johnny might have left him in his will. Says Laurel’s got habits he can’t afford.”
         “Sounds like hearsay. Or maybe someone who has a grudge.”
         Dave walks to the door.
         “I haven’t talked to her. Every time I try, she’s not there. I personally think Laurel’s a really nice guy, by the way. I just find it a bit coincidental that I start hearing stories and then Johnny’s case is reopened.”
         “I’m not aware it was ever closed,” Scarpetta says.
         Snowflakes are icy and sharp, the sidewalks and streets frosted white. Few people are out.
         Lucy walks briskly, sipping from a steaming hot latte, heading to the Anchor Inn, where she checked in several days ago under a fictitious name so she could hide her rented Hummer. She hasn’t parked it at the cottage once, never interested in strangers knowing what she drives. She veers off on a narrow drive that winds around to the small parking lot on the water where the Hummer is covered with snow. She unlocks the doors, starts the engine and turns on the defrost, and the white-blanketed windows give her the cool, shady sensation of being inside an igloo.
         She is calling one of her pilots when a gloved hand suddenly begins wiping snow off her side window and a black-hooded face fills the glass. Lucy aborts the call and drops the phone on the seat.
         She stares at Stevie for a long moment, then lowers the window as her mind races through possibilities. It isn’t a good thing that she was followed here. It is a very bad thing that she didn’t notice she was being followed.
         “What are you doing?” Lucy asks.
         “I just wanted to tell you something.”
         Stevie’s face has an expression that is hard to read. Maybe she is near tears and extremely upset and hurt, or it could be the cold, sharp wind blowing in from the bay that is making her eyes so bright.
         “You’re the most awesome person I’ve ever met,” Stevie says. “I think you’re my hero. My new hero.”
         Lucy isn’t sure if Stevie is mocking her. Maybe she isn’t.
         “Stevie, I’ve got to get to the airport.”
         “They haven’t started canceling flights yet. But it’s supposed to be terrible the rest of the week.”
         “Thanks for the weather update,” Lucy says, and the look in Stevie’s eyes is fierce and unnerving. “Look, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings.”
         “You didn’t,” Stevie says, as if this is the first she’s heard of it. “Not at all. I didn’t think I’d like you so much. I wanted to find you to tell you that. Tuck it away in some part of that clever head of yours, maybe remember it on a rainy day. I just never thought I would like you so much.”
         “You keep saying that.”
         “It’s intriguing. You come across so sure of yourself, arrogant really. Hard and distant. But I realize it’s not who you are inside. Funny how things turn out so differently from what you expect.”
         Snow is blowing inside the Hummer, dusting the interior.
         “How did you find me?” Lucy asks.
         “I went back to your