.
Samantha closes her book and places it on the bedside table. She can feel the heat from the lamp that has been glowing for hours. She knows better than to read in bed, but last night she couldnât stop thinking about Frank after their conversation, about Catherine.
Her body feels weary, in part from yesterdayâs workout, but mostly from months of sleeplessness and nightmares. She hadhoped that working longer hours, not eating after 6:00 P.M ., and using her bed exclusively for sleep would help. But she canât stop mulling over her problems and getting so anxious that her eyes wonât shut. She still worries about her fatherâs health, about her clients at the legal clinic, about Frankâs move to Washington. And the man who attacked her over two years ago seems to linger at the edge of every dream. Watching. Waiting to strike again.
Sometimes she wonders if loneliness is to blame. If she never stops being lonely, then what?
She opens the door.
âHi, Sam. Sorry to come by so early. I just got a call from the San Francisco PD. They found Catherineâs rental car in a parking lot along the Presidio. And a body.â
âIs it hers?â she asks without being sure if she really wants the answer.
âNo, itâs someone elseâsâa manâs. Iâm on my way there now.â He pauses, looking down at his black leather shoes. âCan you come?â
Nothing at first, then disbelief. âWhy would I want to do that?â
âYou might be right about herâthat sheâs alive somewhere in the city. This is our best chance of finding her, Sam. We can go over there, take a quick look at the sceneâ¦. You might see something Iâd miss.â
âI doubt it.â Another pause. Her head falls to the right, and she folds her arms in front of her chest. âBesides, I have an appointment this morning. I canât miss it.â
âIâll get you there. I promise.â His voice softens, and he looks directly into her eyes. âLook, this is the first physical evidence in the case, and I could really use some help.â He runs his right hand through his pale hair, then looks away. âIâve never done this before.â
She watches his body. The fine hair on his forearms, the thick wrists. She remembers the contours of his chest, hidden now beneath a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but once suspended above her in the dark. Solid and strong. She searched for his face with her hands. A groanâthe sound of pleasure without wordsâguided her lips to his.
No.
She wants to say no. She wants to say, You canât just pick and choose when you want me in your life . She wants to shut him outâtreat him as he has treated her for the last six months. But she isnât ready for that, not yet. She can still see Catherineâs face watching from the photos.
âIâll grab my coat.â
Â
Catherineâs rental car, a black Pontiac Sunfire, was left at the edge of a parking lot with the passenger door facing the rough waters of the bay. Pairs of joggers run along the coast toward Fort Point, and a handful of fishermen stand on a short L-shaped pier. They mostly concentrate on the fishing lines that tug and sway against the current, but every few minutes, one looks at the gathering of police. Only fragments of the Golden Gate Bridge are visible through the fog. Its peaks jut above the clouds like shark fins.
The thick, moist air dampens Samanthaâs face as soon as she steps out of the car. She can see a few officers working closely on the Sunfire, taking photographs and spreading dust to lift fingerprints. As she and Frank move closer, a man with dark skin and gapped front teeth orders the others to get back to work. They have been standing around a body a few feet from the car. The body is a uniformed officer.
âWhat happened?â Frank asks.
The dark-skinned man turns. âOh, him. Thatâs
Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake