Free Whistleblower by Tess Gerritsen Page B

his chair. "Victor, these people who are trying to kill me—who are they?"
    "I don't know."
    "You said it might involve people in high places."
    "It's just a guess. It's a case of federal money going to illegal research. Deadly research."
    "And federal money has to be doled out by someone in authority."
    He nodded. "This is someone who's bent the rules. Someone who could be hurt by a political scandal. He just might try to protect himself by manipulating the Bureau. Or even your local police. That's why I won't go to them. That's why I left the room to make my call."
    "When?"
    "While you were in the bathroom. I went to a pay phone and called the police. I didn't want it traced."
    "You just said you don't want them involved."
    "This call I had to make. There's a third Catherine Weaver in that phone book. Remember?"
    A third victim on the list. Suddenly weak, she sat down on the bed. "What did you say?" she asked softly.
    "That I had reason to think she might be in danger. That she wasn't answering her phone."
    "You tried it?"
    "Twice."
    "Did they listen to you?"
    "Not only did they listen, they demanded to know my name. That's when I picked up the cue that something must already have happened to her. At that point I hung up and hightailed it out of the booth. A call can be traced in seconds. They could've had me surrounded."
    "That makes three," she whispered. "Those two other women. And me."
    "They have no way of finding you. Not as long as you stay away from your apartment. Stay out of—"
    They both froze in panic.
    Someone was knocking on the door.
    They stared at each other, fear mirrored in their eyes. Then, after a moment's hesitation, Victor said: "Who is it?"
    "Domino's," called a thin voice.
    Cautiously, Victor eased open the door. A teenage boy stood outside, wielding a bag and a flat cardboard box.
    "Hi!" chirped the boy. "A large combo with the works, two Cokes and extra napkins. Right?"
    "Right." Victor handed the boy a few bills. "Keep the change," he said and closed the door. Turning, he gave Cathy a sheepish look. "Well," he admitted. "Just goes to show you. Sometimes a knock at the door really is just the pizza man."
    They both laughed, a sound not of humor but of frayed nerves. The release of tension seemed to transform his face, melted his wariness to warmth. Erase those haggard lines, she thought, and he could almost be called a handsome man.
    "I tell you what," he said. "Let's not think about this mess right now. Why don't we just get right down to the really important issue of the day. Food."
    Nodding, she reached out for the box. "Better hand it over. Before I eat the damn bedspread."
    While the ten o'clock news droned from the television set, they tore into the pizza like two ravenous animals. It was a greasy and utterly satisfying banquet on a motel bed. They scarcely bothered with conversation—their mouths were too busy devouring cheese and pepperoni. On the TV, a dapper anchorman announced a shakeup in the mayor's office, the resignation of the city manager, news that, given their current situation, seemed ridiculously trivial. Scarcely thirty seconds were devoted to that morning's killing of Catherine Weaver I; as yet, no suspects were in custody. No mention was made of any second victim by the same name.
    Victor frowned. "Looks like the other woman didn't make it to the news."
    "Or nothing's happened to her." She glanced at him questioningly. "What if the second Cathy Weaver is all right? When you called the police, they might've been asking you routine questions. When you're on edge, it's easy to—"
    "Imagine things?" The look he gave her almost made her bite her tongue.
    "No," she said quietly. "Misinterpret. The police can't respond to every anonymous call. It's natural they'd ask for your name."
    "It was more than a request, Cathy. They were champing at the bit to interrogate me."
    "I'm not doubting your word. I'm just playing devil's advocate. Trying to keep things level and sane in a