"Take my car," he told her. "Get away from here, fast. Find someone in authority and make him listen—just in case."
She nodded. "Webb, why are you going?"
"Because there isn't time to get anyone else," he told her roughly. "Because there's a story there...."
He stopped, startled at what he had said. "Yes," he said slowly, "a story. My story. Oh hell, why did you have to come along?"
He put his hands suddenly back of her head and tilted her face up, his fingers buried in the warm curls at the base of her neck.
"I was all set," he whispered savagely. "I knew all the answers. And then you showed up. If you hadn't, I'd be half-way to Miami by now. I'd still be sure of myself. I wouldn't be so damned confused, thinking one way and feeling another...."
She kissed him suddenly, warmly. "I'll make somebody listen," she said. "And then I'll wait—and pray."
Then she was gone. In a minute he heard the car start.
"Come on," he snarled at Bjarnsson. "I remember you said you fly."