“I did, too,” Becca said, wondering why she’d bothered at all.

“At least Martha was young and had blondish hair. Did you buy it off a street kid in New York?”

“Yes. I had to try six of them before I could find an ID that looked anything remotely like me. I liked the name. When did you get here to Riptide?”

“Two days ago. I went immediately to the only bed-and-breakfast in town and of course you had stayed there for one night. Scottie told me you’d taken the old Marley place.” He splayed his fingers. “Nothing to it.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me right away?”

“I wanted to get the lay of the land, watch you awhile, see what was happening, who you spoke to, things like that. It’s an approach I’ve always used. I’ve never believed in rushing into things, if I have a choice.”

“It was so easy for you.” She sighed, her arms still crossed over her chest. “That means that the FBI should be ringing the doorbell at any minute.”

“Nah, they’re not as smart as I am.”

She threw her empty coffee cup at him.

He snagged the cup out of the air and set it back on the table. His reflexes were good. He was very fast. She said, “I’m awfully glad I didn’t come any nearer to you. You could have nailed me in a flash, couldn’t you?”

“Probably, but that’s not the point. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”

“My guardian angel.”

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you think the cops and FBI will be here any moment?”

“They have to follow all sorts of legal procedures to get to the goodies. Also, they tend to use a shovel when a scalpel would work best.” He paused a moment, grinning at her. “And I also sent them on a wild-goose chase. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“All right. Let’s cut to the chase. If you’re not a cop, then who are you and who hired you to help me?”

He shook his head. “For the time being I’m not at liberty to tell you that. But someone wants me to clean up this mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I didn’t do anything at all. It was that demented man stalking me who’s responsible. Oh, maybe like the cops in New York and Albany, you don’t believe me, either?”

“I believe you. Would you like to know why the cops in New York and Albany didn’t believe you? Thought you were a screwed-up fruitcake?”

She nearly fell out of her chair. “I don’t believe this. You know something the cops don’t? They thought I was crazy or malicious or infatuated with the governor. Come on, what do you know?”

“They believed you were a fake because someone close to the governor told them that it was all a sick sexual fantasy. When the cops called from New York, that’s what the Albany police told them. However, the threat to the governor was quite real, no question about that, since someone shot him. They had to refocus, think things over again.”

“Who in the governor’s office said that about me? Don’t you dare just sit there staring at me. Damn you, I deserve to know who betrayed me.”

“Of course you do. I’m sorry, Becca. It was Dick McCallum, the governor’s senior aide.”

She nearly fell over in shock. “Oh, no, not Dick McCallum. Oh, no, it doesn’t make any sense. Not Dick.” She looked stricken and he was sorry for it.

She was shaking her head at him, not wanting to believe him but afraid not to. “But why? Dick has never said anything mean to me or acted like he had it in for me. He never asked me out, so there wouldn’t be any sort of rejection involved. I didn’t threaten him in any way. I was sure he liked me. I wrote most of the governor’s speeches, for God’s sake. I didn’t head up strategy sessions or conduct policy meetings or have anything to do with spin or scheduling or anything that would be in his bailiwick. Why would he do it?”

“That I don’t know yet. But to be realistic about it, it will probably come down to money. Someone paid him a lot of money to do it. Now, one of the cops in Albany told me he’d come to them, supposedly feeling all sorts of guilty, but swearing he had no choice because he was afraid you’d go after the governor. I promise you I will find out why he did it. He’s got to be the key to this.” Actually, he thought, Thomas Matlock was going over everything in McCallum’s background, including where he got the small knife tattoo on the back of his right shoulder blade.

She said slowly, thinking aloud really, “If Dick McCallum said those things about me, then he must know about the stalker, maybe even who he is and why he picked me to terrorize. Maybe Dick even knows who is trying to kill the governor.”