Free The Perfect Witness by Iris Johansen

it wasn’t working. I didn’t know … you were doing it.”
    “Until it happened. That’s the ideal procedure.” He grimaced. “But removing memory trauma isn’t always that simple. That particular memory was a long time ago, before your father brought you in to do his dirty work. Were you aware of any memories while I was doing it?”
    “No. Just the release.”
    “Good. But it won’t always be that way. If it gets nasty, it will be like being pulled through a chain saw.” He paused. “I’ll try to wait until we get toward the end before I put you through that.”
    “Because you’re afraid I won’t let you do it any longer.”
    He nodded. “And because I need to get as far as I can so that you’ll recognize the pain is worth it.”
    “Easy to say when I’m the one with the pain,” she said dryly. “Maybe it won’t happen. The only thing I was aware of this time was sadness, a little anger, then the release.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happening in my head. But you could be wrong.”
    “Not likely,” he said. “Because I do know what’s going on in that mind of yours.” He leaned back in the chair. “Are you ready to try again?”
    “Yes.” She closed her eyes again, and added flippantly, “Go ahead. Vacuum me out.”
    “I’m not taking anything away. Every memory is still there. I’m just taking out the poison and making you acknowledge them.”
    “Go ahead.” She felt the tension coming again. “What are you waiting for? How many times do we have to go through this again tonight?”
    “Only a few more. It won’t be bad. And you’re beginning to like it.”
    He was right. The release had felt cleansing and deeply satisfying. “But you just said it won’t last.”
    “For tonight it will. Believe me. Nothing bad will happen tonight.”
    She wanted to believe him, she realized. Close. She was feeling strangely joined, close to him. That could be dangerous when she couldn’t remember feeling close to anyone before. “Prove it.”
    He chuckled. “I will. Now relax and let me work…”
    *   *   *
    “HIS NAME IS WILLIAM MONTGOMERY,” Navarro said to Camano. “He paid by credit card, and I’m faxing you the slip and the copy of his driver’s license.”
    “Has he turned in the car yet?” Camano asked as he went into his office to wait for the fax.
    “Not yet.”
    “Then he still has her with him, and they’re on the road.”
    “Yeah, maybe.”
    Camano pulled off the fax. “Brown hair. Blue eyes. He looks like the guy next door. Did you question the clerk? Is this what he really looked like?”
    “He said it was probably close.”
    And no one really glanced at ID if it was in the least close, Camano thought in disgust. The man would have had to have two heads for him to catch that clerk’s attention. “I’ll send the photos to our man at the precinct and see if they can pull anything up on the database on him.”
    “The name won’t help?”
    Stupid. “Would you use your own name?”
    “I guess not.”
    “Stay close to that clerk. He’s your best friend. Line his pockets. I want to know the exact moment when he hears that car has been turned in.” He hung up the phone.
    Four Weeks Later
    “You again?” Allie opened her eyes to see Mandak’s shadowy form sitting in his usual chair beside her bed. “You missed last night. I was beginning to feel neglected.”
    “I thought I’d give you a rest from me. Do you want me to turn on the lamp?”
    “Not particularly. I know what you look like.” That was an understatement. In the past weeks, she’d practically memorized his features. He’d become the center of her life here at the lodge. In the morning, she got up, exercised on her own for an hour, then met him for breakfast. After breakfast, he disappeared and let her go back to the gym. But a few hours later, he appeared again, and the karate lessons started. Then lunch and gun practice in the woods back of the lodge. More karate,