Again, Tara waited in the truck while Blake rented a room. He wore his black cowboy hat again, and strolled through the rain with the same lanky-cowboy walk he’d feigned before. Tara wondered what name he’d given this time.
An odd feeling rippled through her when it occurred to her that she had just spent the night with a man whose real last name she didn’t even know. She was going to have to find out more about Blake before she trusted him much further with her life, she decided with a frown.
They managed to get inside without getting thoroughly drenched. Then they sat cross-legged on separate beds to eat.
“Where did you meet that Spider guy?” Tara asked as she unwrapped her sandwich.
“Around,” Blake answered vaguely, lifting a soda can to his lips. He took a drink, then asked wryly, “He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
“To say the least.” She shook her head, remembering the bizarre encounter. “Why didn’t he want us to see him?”
Blake shrugged. “It’s just a little quirk he has. He’s, er, shy.”
“Yeah. Right.”
She ate a french fry, then said, “I have to admit, I didn’t understand half of what you guys were talking about. Did you learn anything useful from him?”
“Maybe.” Blake seemed to drift into his own thoughts.
Tara cleared her throat, determined to be brought up to date. “And...?”
“What? Oh.” He gave her a faintly apologetic smile. “Spider has what you might call an inside track on tracing stolen merchandise. Even if he can’t lead me right to it, he can generally point me in the right direction.”
“But he couldn’t even do that in this case.”
“Right. He hasn’t heard a word, and that’s
odd, considering how much was taken and how much publicity the robbery got.”
“He seemed to be implying that people are actually afraid to talk about the robbery.”
“That’s exactly what he was implying,” Blake said with a nod.
“If only we knew what the man at the gallery wanted to tell you about the robbery,” Tara said wistfully.
“We’ll just have to find out on our own,” Blake said bracingly. Then added with a bit less confidence, “Somehow.”
He tossed his trash in a wastebasket and reached for the telephone.
“Who are you calling?”
“I know someone in the insurance company who might have something useful for us.”
“But will you be able to reach him on a Saturday?”
“Good question.” He turned his attention to the telephone.
Deciding to give him at least a semblance of privacy, Tara busied herself clearing up the rest of the trash from their lunch.
She wondered if she should call her parents after Blake finished with the phone. She didn’t know what she’d tell them, but she certainly wouldn’t want them calling her apartment and having a strange man answer, assuming the jerk was still haunting her home, waiting for her to return. She shuddered at the very thought.
She didn’t expect them to call, since she’d led them to believe she would be out of reach for several weeks. She’d told herself she’d needed that time to pull herself together, to get on with things after the disaster at Carpathy, Dillon and Delacroix. Still, maybe it would be best to make sure.
Blake slammed the telephone down with a muttered curse. “Answering machine,” he said in response to Tara’s questioning look.
“I suppose you don’t want to leave this number.”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice, no.”