Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,19

years ago, when she and Damon had passed a poster for a book called The Purpose Driven Life, Damon joked it must have been written by Robyn’s long-lost twin. She always had a purpose, a goal, a plan. Even on vacation, she never left without researching the locale and drawing up an itinerary. That didn’t mean she scheduled every moment, but she’d hate to later hear someone talking about some hidden gem she’d missed.

In high school, she’d taken a test to identify where her strengths lay, and the answer came as a surprise to no one. Logical reasoning, organization and planning. Public relations might not have seemed the ideal fit for her, but it was. No matter what scrape a client got herself into, Robyn could say, “Give me a minute,” and come up with a solution, usually two or three.

Now there was a citywide alert out for her, and here she was, wandering aimlessly, as if hoping someone would catch her and save her the trouble of taking action herself. When she heard a man call “Robyn,” she turned to embrace her fate.

It was a testament to her mental state that it wasn’t until the dark-haired man stopped three feet away from her that she recognized him.

“Karl?”

“It’s all right.” He moved forward slowly, hands outstretched, as if approaching a timid deer. “Hope sent me.”

She nodded.

He took a cell phone from his pocket and held it out. “I’m going to take you to her. Do you want to call her? Check first?”

Robyn shook her head and let him lead her away.

THEY DROVE IN SILENCE to a motel. Karl parked right in front, checking to make sure no one was watching, then hustled her to the door.

Hope was inside. She closed and relocked the door as Karl strode past, scanning the dark, cool room, shades drawn.

You’d almost think they were harboring a murder suspect.

Robyn tried to laugh, but couldn’t. Hope led her to the bed, where icy bottles of water, sandwiches and brownie bites waited. Robyn eyed the food, as if she could mentally will it into her hand. Hope handed her a bottle and told her to drink slowly. She did and it seemed to unstick her brain.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“We found out where that undercover officer lived,” Hope said. “Was he a friend of yours?”

Undercover officer? Judd? So now she was the main suspect in a cop killing?

When Robyn didn’t answer, Hope went on. Something about knowing Robyn wouldn’t have taken a taxi when she might be wanted for murder, so she couldn’t be more than a few miles from Judd’s place.

It was plausible, she supposed. But that was still a lot of area to cover. And why leave Hope behind when two sets of eyes and legs could have searched twice as fast?

“We need to talk about what happened,” Hope said.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“I know. But you need to tell us exactly what happened so we can figure out what to do.”

Well, at least someone was taking charge and making plans.

Robyn told them everything. As she talked and drank and nibbled on a sandwich, the deadening layer of shock lifted enough for her to look around and realize the situation was real, and she couldn’t take refuge in fantasies of madness.

“I should turn myself in,” she said finally.

“You will . . . just not right now. Karl talked to a friend. He’s a lawyer who specializes in this sort of problem.”

There was a specialty in this?

“He advised us,” Hope continued, “and, if we need him, he’ll come down. He’s in Oregon, but he’s licensed to practice in California. Anyway, the main thing now is to keep you in L.A., just away from your apartment or anyplace you could be recognized. That way, we can say you weren’t on the run, just in shock. But that excuse will only work for a day or two, so we have to work fast. We need to give the police another suspect—preferably the real killer.”

“You’re . . .” She looked from Hope to Karl. “You’re going to solve this yourselves?”

Hope smiled. “Hey, I’m True News’s weird tales girl, remember? Solving mysteries is my thing. Karl’s helped me before. He used to be in security.”

“I’m not sure . . .”

Karl spoke from across the room, his first words since they’d arrived. “You don’t have a lot of options right now, Robyn.”

Hope shushed him with a glare, but he was right, and his cold realism felt somehow more reassuring than Hope’s