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While Blake looked on, Gabe rummaged through the contents of the large leather bag. What he found told him a great deal about the way Page had been living.
Apparently she’d adapted the Boy Scout motto: Be Prepared. She seemed to be prepared for just about anything.
Gabe found a sewing kit, a flashlight, a small first-aid kit, a lighter, and a Swiss army knife with half a dozen functional accessories. There was even another slender spray can like the one she’d used on him. He tossed that to Blake, who stowed it safely in his pocket. Two granola bars. A folding toothbrush and travel-size toothpaste. Travel-size soap and deodorant.
“How the hell did you haul this thing around?” he asked, glancing up at Page. “It must have weighed a ton.”
She didn’t answer.
Still digging, Gabe found a notepad with an attached ballpoint pen, a solar-powered calculator, a tube of lip balm, a folding comb-and-mirror set, sunglasses and a pair of thick reading glasses. He held those up to his eyes; the glass was clear. The glasses would serve no purpose other than to change her appearance.
He turned the purse inside out to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything of interest.
He found a wallet and a thick, zippered leather pouch concealed at the bottom of the bag. Her driver’s license had expired. The address was an apartment in Houston, where she’d lived before Austin. The photograph was more than four years old.
He studied it for a moment, and his throat tightened as the face of the woman he’d married smiled back at him. Clear blue eyes, honey-blond hair. Young and happy-looking.
He couldn’t resist glancing at the woman sitting near him now, her face sullen beneath the tousled cap of dark auburn hair, her brown eyes narrowed in resentment. And for only a moment, he allowed himself to grieve again for his lost bride.
He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the wallet. There were no credit cards or other ID, only two twenty-dollar bills and a handful of change.
And then he unzipped the leather pouch, and he choked. He quickly counted the stack of bills inside, then stared incredulously at Page. “Tell me you don’t carry this much money all the time.”
She only shrugged and looked away, and he had his answer. Every dollar she’d earned in the various jobs she’d held during the past couple of years apparently went directly into her purse. She hadn’t even been willing to commit to a bank account since she’d left him.
“Talk to me, Page,” he said again.
She looked down at her lap, where she held her hands in a white-knuckled grip.
He cursed in frustration and opened her suitcase. He found it crammed with clothing, underthings, shoes, sleepwear and toiletries. Nothing superfluous or frivolous—no books, no mementos, nothing that could in any way be construed as sentimental. If she’d had any of those things in her apartment in Des Moines, she’d left them behind.
He almost missed the small, tattered cardboard square stuck in one corner of the suitcase, trapped in the lining. He pulled the card out curiously, feeling as though he’d just made a significant discovery.
“‘James K. Pratt,’” he read out loud. “‘Detective. Richmond Virginia Police Department.’”
The strangled noise Page made in response to the name sounded very much like anguish.
Gabe brought his head up sharply to look at her. Her expression was still wooden, but her eyes were tortured.
“Who is he?” he demanded.
She turned her head away.
Gabe turned to Blake and held out the card. “Find out,” he ordered curtly.
Taking no offense, Blake nodded and slipped the card into his pocket. “Can you hold her here for a while?”
“I’ll hold her here if I have to tie her to that chair,” Gabe answered flatly. “I’m keeping the batteries charged for my cell phone. Call me when you’ve got something.”
Blake nodded again and pushed himself to his feet. He paused beside Page’s chair. “He’s not going to give up, you know,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But he only wants to help you. Aren’t you getting tired of trying to handle whatever it is by yourself?”
A quiver seemed to run through her, but she remained silent.
Blake sent Gabe a sympathetic look. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and then left them alone again.
Gabe was beginning to feel the effects of stress and exhaustion. He tried asking Page a few more questions, but it soon became obvious that she wasn’t talking. He decided to stop wasting his energy until Blake provided him with more information.
“I’ve got to get some sleep,” he said, nodding toward the cabin’s only bedroom. “Come on.”
