|• Main||• Contacts|
that if he tried to get serious with her - marriage serious - she'd
bounce him fast. But hell, it was impossible to think of things like
that with her, besides he was having too much fun. If, he thought later,
you can call it fun when you're so weak you can't move.
"I have to go, lover," she said finally. "Beth might come up, and I
think she would be apt to get a little put out if she caught us in bed."
"That's putting it mildly," he grinned. "Besides, I have to start trying
to find out about myself."
"Do me a favor and don't." She pecked him lightly on the lips. "I like
the new Nick Danson a hell of a lot better. C'mon. Snap my bra."
They climbed out of bed and he helped her into her shorts and halter.
She kissed him lightly again, said; "Good-by, lover," and bounced out
into the hall, leaving him standing there, naked in the bedroom.
What a world, he thought for the hundredth time and began to gather his
clothes. When he started to put his pants on, his wallet dropped from
the hip pocket and flopped open on the floor. He picked it up, his eyes
absently noticing the card that was exposed in the clear, plastic
window. It was a Selective Service Registration Certificate and someone
had written "small scar on right forearm" under the column for general
markings. Absently he glanced at his right forearm, then his eyes
widened in shock.
There was no scar!
A man cannot lose a scar, he told himself. He checked the card again. It
was his, made out to Nicholas Howard Danson; but the scar was missing.
He searched his arm and it wasn't there. The full realization of the
whole thing struck him suddenly like a punch in the mouth. He was _not_
Nicholas Howard Danson!
Who was he? What the hell was going on? Had he killed the real Danson
because they were obviously look alikes, and stolen the guy's I.D. Why?
Was he escaping from some kind of crime? Was he a criminal, and what did
the strange dreams have to do with it?
Numbly he climbed into the rest of his clothes and made damned sure the
.44 magnum was loaded when he strapped it on. His hands shook
uncontrollably and he felt trapped. It would only be a matter of time
before those people at the wreck figured out the whole story and came
howling after him. He had to get out.
The screech of car brakes startled him and he leaped to the window. A
police car was in the lane and a single, plainclothes cop was getting
out. It could only be Nolan. He watched as Brice pulled his Police
Positive from the speed rig and headed toward the house. Then Nick
Page 6 from 9: Back 1 2 3 4 5  7 8 9 Forward