Free Eleventh Hour by Catherine Coulter Page B

things here that look like what everyone else is wearing. Don’t give me any more trouble, Ms. Jones. I’m so tired I could sleep leaning against that taxi sign, and I know all the way to my wing tips that I need your help. Don’t think of it as a favor to the cops. Think of it as a favor to my brother, you know, the man you really liked and admired. I need you to help me catch his killer.”
    He knew then that, finally, he’d touched her. He’d made her feel guilty, made her feel beyond selfish if she ran away. She wanted to catch the monster who murdered his brother. Good, whatever worked. It had taken him long enough. Maybe it would help her get over the idea that she was responsible.
    What made it even better was that it was only the truth. He did need her.
    “All right. Let’s get some inexpensive things, then.”
    “And then some better things.”
    “I thought you said you were really tired.”
    “I am. But I’m staying at a good hotel, the Bennington, just off Union Square. I’d like to remain low profile. Having a bag lady on my arm would make everyone think I was some sort of pervert.”
    “They’d think you didn’t have much money, that’s for sure.”
    Dane didn’t know where it came from, but he smiled.
    Thirty minutes later, they walked out of The Rag Bag, a woman’s retread clothes store just off Taylor and Post, not far from the Bennington Hotel. Of course in San Francisco, nothing was very far from anything else. She was wearing a decent pair of jeans, a white blouse, and a dark blue pullover V-necked sweater. The cap was gone from her head, her hair ruthlessly brushed back and clipped at the back of her neck.
    They didn’t get a single look from any of the tourists or staff at the Bennington. Once they were in Dane’s room on the fourth floor, he said, “You still don’t look like you’re quite up to snuff. But better, much better. Would you like to shower and wash your hair or have an early dinner first?”
    No big surprise. She opted for dinner. When it arrived twenty minutes later, he waved her to the small circular table with its two chairs and the room-service dinner he’d ordered up for them.
    She said, “I look fine, really. No one noticed me at all. I’ll just wear these clothes until you can catch this guy.”
    “Oh? And then you’re going to trot back to the shelter? Or maybe panhandle on Union Square?”
    “Yes. Whatever.”
    “I threw away your homeless clothes.”
    She gave him a long, emotionless look. “I wish you hadn’t done that. They were all I had.”
    “When this is all over, you’re not going back to a homeless shelter.” He took a bite of his BLT, sat back, looked at her thoughtfully, and said, “No, you weren’t going to do that in any case, were you? You’re planning to hotfoot it out of town once this is over, aren’t you?”
    She didn’t raise her head, just slowly and steadily ate her way through the pile of french fries on her plate.
    They were well done, brown and crispy, just the way she liked them.
    She said, “You’re right, yes. When this is over, I’m gone. I’m thinking about the Southwest. It’s really warm there during the winter months.”

    “At least you’re telling me some of the truth now. Hey, you like french fries.”
    “It’s been a while since I’ve had any. They’re wonderful.”
    “Michael loved french fries, too, claimed they helped him concentrate better on the football field and made girls think he was wearing a really nice aftershave lotion. Who knows?”
    She raised her head. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom now?”
    He nodded, took another bite of his sandwich, watched her eat one more fry, sigh, and push the plate away. She looked like she wanted to cry. “They’re so good, but I just don’t have any more room. I didn
    ’t know Father Michael Joseph liked french fries. It never came up.”
    “No, it probably wouldn’t have. Do you want to go back to the shelter? Do you have anything there you