Her eyes widened. “Why would you do that? I could have someone here in a matter of hours if I had a phone.”
“I didn’t plant them that close. I’ll be able to take out Doane and be away before you can make your arrangements.”
She stared thoughtfully at him. “Would you have … difficulties if the authorities knew you were here? Venable evidently was working with you.”
“My arrangement with Venable was unusual. There are a number of agencies and governments who would like to talk to me. Difficulties? You could describe it that way.” He smiled. “So, yes, I’ll not be here when the police or state patrol come roaring to your rescue.”
Her gaze searched his face. “I … think you’re telling me the truth. And that makes you vulnerable.”
“It’s all manipulation. Though you’re denying it, I’m asking you to do something that might make you feel a little vulnerable. You’re more likely to give me what I want if you believe we’re on equal footing.”
“Equal footing?” She glanced down at her tied wrists. “Not at the moment.”
The smile never left his face as he gazed at her across the fire.
He was waiting.
She looked down into the flames.
He was wrong. Talking about her life would not make her vulnerable. She was far beyond anything in the past affecting what she was now. She had accepted the bad and the good and learned to work with them.
And lies or truth, the deal he had offered her was the only game in town. Or the only game in this wilderness, she amended ruefully. Take it and hope for truth. If it proved to be false, then worry about taking another step later.
She lifted her gaze to his face.
“Ask your questions.”
He nodded. “I’ll start off slowly and build. Though I’m tempted to go directly to Bonnie.”
“Why?”
“Because every time you’ve spoken of her, it’s been in the present tense.” His brows rose. “For a man as curious as I am, that was a red flag that was set waving.” He gestured. “But I’ll restrain myself for a while. Let’s talk about where you grew up.”
“Didn’t your dossier on me tell you?”
“Yes, but I want to hear it from you. I want to hear everything from you.”
She shrugged. “I grew up in the slums of Atlanta at Piedmont Housing Development.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It wasn’t any worse or any better than any other slum. Children adjust and try to find comfort and joy wherever they are. Sometimes I could do that. Sometimes I couldn’t.”
“When your mother was on dope?”
She tensed. “She was never abusive. She had a problem. Which meant that both of us had a problem.”
“You loved her?”
“Yes, most of the time.” She paused. “I’m not talking about my mother anymore. Ask another question.”
“Tell me about your apartment. What did it look like? Did you have friends?”
Eve relaxed a little more. She hadn’t been sure he would let her escape talking about her mother. “It was small, on the fourth floor, not terrible, just your usual development flat. When I was older, I tried to keep it clean, and I used a lot of bright linens. I hated drab colors.”
“Friends?”
“Kids in the neighborhood. After I started school, I didn’t have much time for play. Everyone told me that the only way to get out of the slums was to either get very smart in school or peddle dope or sex. I wanted to get out so I chose the only way I could tolerate. I knew about drugs, and they scared me.”
“Tell me about school.”
“Why? It’s just ordinary…” She stopped. Give him what he wanted. School was a subject that was boring, but it didn’t reveal any more of herself or her mother than more intimate subjects. She relaxed a little more. “Every wall in the school was tan, and there was graffiti in all the bathrooms. Most of the teachers were tired and scared and wanted out of the projects. There were a few teachers in the lower grades who still liked being with the kids and tried to make a difference. But once they had to deal with some of the older kids who were already in gangs and on their way to becoming juvenile delinquents, everything changed. The teachers had to fight to survive, and if you wanted to get an education, you had to fight, too. I fought.” She had a sudden memory. “But there was one teacher, Mrs. Garvy, when I was in the seventh grade who wasn’t beaten down. She’d joke and try to make everything fun.” She smiled. “I loved art but I was terrible at math and she’d come in early to sit down and work with me. It was … nice.” She had another memory, they seemed to be tumbling back to her. Strange, she hadn’t thought of the projects for years. But the past was always with you, waiting to be reborn. Now it was with her again, and she was scarcely aware of Zander. “And there was a Halloween party that she let us have that was fun, costumes and everything … Not that we could afford much. But a sheet makes a great ghost outfit…”
CHAPTER
9
Goldfork, Colorado
“WHAT THE HELL?” KENDRA murmured as she thrust her phone back in her pocket after talking to Jane. She slammed the door of the toolshed behind her and started for Doane’s house. “Well, that was different.”
“What was different?” Margaret said as she fell into step with her. “That was Jane, right? How is she?”
Kendra shook her head. “Damned if I know. I’d say, loopy from medication?”
“What?”
“No, maybe not. She sounded upset, not drugged. She wanted to tell me about a dream she’d had. She thought it might help find Eve. She said she was going to send me photos of a sketch she’d made, and I should be on the lookout for it.” She grimaced. “Dreams. I’d never have thought Jane would be one to go around the bend like that. She must really be desperate.”
“Maybe you should listen to her. Everyone dreams. So do animals. Some people think we’re closer to everything around us when we relax our minds. How do you know that—”
“Margaret, I don’t want to talk about dreams.” She quickened her pace toward Doane’s house. “I’ll look at Jane’s sketches because I respect her, but I—”
“What was the dream about?”
“She didn’t go into it. She was vague. She was probably embarrassed. Jane impressed me as usually being very sensible.”
“Then you should pay attention. It must have been important to her if she risked you thinking she was nuts.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. She should have called me. I’d have been more understanding.” She increased her pace to keep up with Kendra. “Why are we going back to the house? What did you see in the shed that—”
“Margaret, this is no time for explanations. I’m in a hurry.” Her gaze went to the house. “I’ll explain as we go along. Maybe.”
“I’d think you’d want to explain now so that I could be prepared to help,” Margaret said quietly. “There’s no reason to be impatient, Kendra.”
There was every reason, Kendra thought. Between the weird phone call from Jane and now her own guilt feelings about being short with Margaret, she was feeling infinitely frustrated. “Don’t lecture me. I’m trying to cope, but between your conversations with the dog next door and now Jane’s dream, I’m feeling as if I’m in some bizarre nightmare myself. This is not how investigations should be conducted.”
“Yes, Kendra,” Margaret said solemnly.
Kendra shot her a suspicious glance. Dammit, it was clear the girl was trying not to smile. And why not, she thought suddenly. Kendra had sounded like one of the straight-and-narrow FBI agents who had driven her crazy with their insistence on their proper procedures and their blindness to what was so evident to her. She had always been considered different, too.
Different, but she couldn’t embrace this degree of difference.
“It’s okay, Kendra,” Margaret said gently. “I understand. I’ve thrown you off-balance. You’re probably angry at yourself, too. You’re having
trouble figuring me into your world as you know it.” She smiled. “And you like me, which makes it harder.”
Kendra did like her. But she didn’t like her seeing that deeply into what she was feeling. “I don’t need you to understand me. You’re making me feel like that German shepherd you were chatting with. What’s her name? Kelly?”
“Carlie.” Margaret chuckled. “And I don’t chat. I told you that it’s only—” Her smile vanished. “Uh-oh.” She was looking toward the house, where she had just caught sight of the young police officer. “Trouble?”
“No,” Kendra said. “Don’t say anything. Let me handle it.”
“Whatever you say,” she murmured. “But he looks very nice and … malleable. I could probably—”
“No,” Kendra said firmly, as they stepped into the illumination of the outdoor lights. She smiled at Officer Rollins. “Margaret Douglas.” She gestured to Margaret. “She’s with me. We’re almost done here.”
The officer nodded. “ID, ma’am?”
“Sure.” Margaret reached into her pocket.
Don’t let her pull out Jane’s ID, Kendra prayed.
Margaret smiled as she handed the officer her passport. “That’s all I have. I’m new here in the U.S. The FBI brought me over here as a consultant.”
“How do you like it here?”
“Some parts are better than others. I love your Colorado.” Her smile widened. “I bet you do, too.”
He glanced down at her passport. “Greatest place in the world.” He handed it back to her. “Welcome to Goldfork.” He turned back to Kendra, his gaze going to the crowbar she had grabbed when she ran out of the shed. “Uh … anything I can help you with?”
“I’m not sure yet. If there is, I’ll call down to you.”
“You’re not going to—You’ll be careful not to disturb anything?”
“Forensics is through with the house, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But a crowbar is … I guess you know what you’re doing.”
“I do know. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful not to do any permanent damage.”
The officer nodded uncertainly and stood watching as Kendra and Margaret entered through the back door.
Margaret practically ran to keep up with Kendra’s purposeful strides as they made their way across the living room. “He’s wondering what you’re going to do with that crowbar.”
“He certainly was,” Kendra said.
“So … what are you doing with the crowbar?”
“I suspect I’ll be tearing apart a piece of this house.”
“Oh, okay.” Margaret looked around. “Any piece in particular?”
“Yes.” Kendra led Margaret up the staircase and stopped at the landing. She pointed to four decorative wood panels that lined the wall’s lower eighteen inches. “One of those.”
“They’re beautiful. Why?”
“Because Doane recently made at least one of those using that lathe we just saw. The Feds think he may have hidden something here, but they haven’t been able to find it. It would be tough to find if he’d made a hidden panel into the wall, wouldn’t it?”
Margaret crouched in front of the four panels. “They’re all the same.”
“You mean they look the same. The way things look is only part of the story.” Kendra gently ran her fingers over the panels, then stopped when she reached the third one. She moved on to the fourth for a moment, then retreated back. “It’s this one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The fresh varnish gives it a different texture. The others have hardened for years, but this one is slightly tacky.”
Margaret ran her fingers across the panels. “I can’t feel any difference.”
“Trust me, there is.” Kendra pushed on the various contours of the panel’s carved surface. “It seems a little medieval to think there may be a special catch that opens the secret panel, but Doane obviously had enough skill to pull it off.”
Margaret pressed on the panel. “It could be a combination of things.”
“You’re right. But I don’t want to spend all night here playing with this.”
“Which explains the crowbar.” Margaret smiled. “Would you mind if I took the first swing?”
Kendra studied her. Margaret seemed almost giddy with anticipation. “Uh, sure. Why?”
“Because you promised that nice police officer downstairs that you wouldn’t do any lasting damage with that crowbar. I didn’t promise anything.”
“I could be careful and not destroy it.”
“But that’s not what I want.” Margaret took the crowbar from Kendra’s hand. “I’ve learned what a terrible person Jim Doane must be. He took Eve, and he’s responsible for Jane’s being shot. And then there are all those children … There has to be justice. I want him punished. I want him to suffer.” She looked back at the panel. “And I know how hard he must have worked on this. It would be my pleasure to destroy it.”
“Have you heard of ‘It’s the art, not the artist’?”
“Of course. But I don’t believe it. Any art is an expression of the soul, and if the soul is ugly, I have no use for the art. No matter how beautiful it may appear.”
Kendra gazed at her for a long moment. Before she had only been aware of Margaret as the soft, glowing girl who seemed to radiate sunlight and humor. That was not this woman.
Tough. Very tough.
Kendra stood and gestured toward the wood panel. “In that case, knock yourself out.”
Margaret reared back with the crowbar and swung with all her might.
* * *
HE’D RATHER DIE THAN LIVE in this suburban nightmare, Blick thought.
He was parked down the street from Jim Doane’s home, and there had been an endless parade of minivans and SUVs, each packed with kids bathed in the glow of backseat video monitors. What kind of job would he have if he were one of those SUV-driving dads? Gun salesman? Construction foreman? Cop? All decidedly less lucrative than being a hit man. Yet he might have ended up in a place like this if he hadn’t met Kevin. Kevin had shown him how to live with power and independence. Kevin had taken him under his wing and given him the world to play with.
And they had killed him. Blick felt the tears sting his eyes as they always did when that sorrow and bitterness overcame him.
Forget it. He had a job to do. Though this job was not worthy of a man trained by Kevin. He felt like an overqualified errand boy at the moment. Doane could have called the kid next door to retrieve the package, for all the challenge this was going to present. There were no assault weapons, no attack dogs, no teams of federal agents swarming the place. Just one pathetic local cop passing the time on his mobile phone, probably catching up on Facebook or some moronic game.
Blick climbed out of the car and flipped the switch on the cigarette-pack-sized mobile jamming device tucked into his jacket pocket. He smiled at the cop as he approached the house. “Good evening, Officer.”
The officer glanced up from his phone. “May I help you?”
“I’m Gary Deacon, ATF.” He flashed a badge. “I was supposed to get here this morning, but I got held up. I’ll go inside for a quick look, then—”
“Wait.” The officer squinted at the badge. “Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms? You’re not on my list.”
“Like I said, I was supposed to be here this morning.” He glanced at the cop’s badge on his shirt. “Officer Rollins.”
“Makes no difference.” Rollins’s jaw set stubbornly. “If you’re not on the list, then I can’t—”
“It might have come through yesterday or the day before. Is there another list someplace?”
The officer opened his book and scanned the pages. “No. You’re actually the first ATF agent we’ve had.”
Blick cursed. “Look, it’s been a long day. How about I just go in, take a look around, and I’ll get on my way.”
“Hold on. I’ll make a call.” The cop opted out of his e-mail and punched a phone number. NO NETWO
RK CONNECTION appeared on the screen. “Weird. I’ve been getting four bars all day.”
“Here. Use mine.” Blick pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. “Damn. No signal for me either.” He sighed. “Come on, buddy. I have to be on a plane to Washington in the early AM. You can even come in with me if you want. I just need to tell my boss that I looked the place over and that there’s no evidence of a weapons stash.”
“Weapons stash?”
“Yeah, that was in one of the earliest reports about this guy. None of the other agents have seen anything like that, but I just need to take a look for myself so that we can close our file. If you can’t get your department on the phone, I’d appreciate it if you could just cut me a break. Ten minutes is all I need.”
The officer was obviously torn. Rollins stared at his phone screen for another long moment before looking up. “I wish I could help. I’m sorry.”
Blick nodded. “I know. Procedures.” He put his phone into his inside jacket pocket. “It doesn’t matter. It would only have bought you a few more minutes anyway.” He pulled out his gun. Before the cop could react, Blick jammed the barrel into his chest.
He pulled the trigger twice.
* * *
KENDRA LOOKED UP SHARPLY. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah.” Margaret was on her knees, pulling out the splintered chunks of wood that had been the carved landing panel. “I heard … something. Kind of a…” She thought about it. “Pop.”
“It came from out front.” Kendra didn’t want to tell her what she thought that sound might be. She had heard it before. She shined her phone light into the broken panel. “Quick. Is there anything in there?”
“A little to the left.” Margaret was peering into the opening. “I think—yes!” She reached in and pulled a small, tattered, cardboard box secured by rubber bands. “It looks fragile. I’ll hold it while you open it and see what—”
“No time. Let’s get downstairs and go out the back—” She stopped as a flashlight beam suddenly jutted through the large landing window, illuminating Kendra and Margaret.
And the tattered box in their hands.