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She ran down the passage and hurtled through the open doorway, her gloved hand reaching in her pocket for her car keys. She passed the sedan parked in front and ran flat-out away from Stormfield, and reached her car. She drove pell-mell to the main road, turned left, and gunned the motor. When she got to a highway Clarisse finally slowed down. She drove to the car rental place, where she dropped off the vehicle and left the keys in the overnight box.
She had recognized the man. Clarisse had just pepper-sprayed Wilson Sullivan!
It was three in the morning and she wasn’t quite sure what to do.
Then something occurred to her. Something that, for her, was truly outlandish.
Clarisse made the call, desperate to hear the other woman’s voice for some reason. She was breathing so fast her body temperature had cooled, making her teeth chatter.
“Hello?” the voice said sleepily.
“Mickey, it’s me.”
“I know it’s you since it’s the phone you left me. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Can…can I come to see you? Right now? Something’s happened.”
Gibson said nothing for several long and, to Clarisse, disquieting moments.
“Mickey?”
“I’m…I’m here. You…want to come and seeme?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I…I was at Stormfield tonight.”
“Why?”
“I was looking for the treasure.”
“Did you find anything?”
“I…can’t we do this in person?”
“What else happened?”
“Someone else showed up while I was there. He grabbed me.”
“Who grabbed you!”
“Wilson Sullivan.”
Gibson did not say anything for several seconds. Then: “Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“Did he identify himself to you?”
“No. But I knew it was him.”
“How do you even know what he looks like?”
“It’s in my best interests to know as much as possible about things that could affect me. It was him. He grabbed me and got a face full of pepper spray for his troubles.”
“You pepper-sprayed a cop?”
