Countdown

  Sandra looked terrible, Jane thought when Joe, Eve, and Sandra walked into the waiting room. Haggard, pale, and twenty years older than when she’d seen her a month ago.

  “I don’t understand.” Sandra stared at Jane accusingly. “What happened?”

  “I told you what happened.” Eve’s hand closed supportingly on Sandra’s arm. “Jane doesn’t know any more than we do.”

  “She has to know more. She was there.” Her lips tightened. “And what the hell were you doing in that alley behind a bar with my son, Jane? You should have known that all kinds of drug addicts and criminals could be hanging—”

  “Easy, Sandra,” Eve said quietly. “I’m sure that she has an explanation. It’s not her fault that—”

  “I don’t care whose fault it is. I want answers.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “And she promised me that—”

  “I tried.” Jane’s hands clenched into fists at her side. “I didn’t know—I thought I was doing the right thing, Sandra.”

  “He’s only a boy,” Sandra said. “My boy. He came to me from that dreadful mother and he became mine. This shouldn’t have happened to him. It shouldn’t have happened to us.”

  “I know.” Jane’s voice was shaking. “I love him too. He’s always been like a little brother to me. I always tried to take care of him.”

  “You did take care of him,” Joe said. “Sandra’s upset or she’d remember all the times you pulled him out of scrapes and kept him on the right path.”

  “You talk as if he was a bad kid,” Sandra said. “Sometimes he didn’t think, but every boy has moments that—”

  “He is a great kid.” Jane took a step closer. She wanted to reach out and touch her, comfort her, but Sandra stiffened and Jane stopped. “He’s smart and sweet and he—”

  “Quinn?” Manning stood in the doorway. “The operation is over and Doctor Benjamin is on his way to talk to you all. Fox and I will get in touch with you later.”

  The detective was carefully looking at no one but Joe, avoiding everyone else’s eyes, Jane realized.

  Oh, God.

  “Mike?” Sandra whispered. “Mike?” She’d interpreted Manning’s action the same way Jane had, and her eyes were wide with terror.

  “The doctor will talk to you.” Manning quickly turned and left the room, passing the surgeon on his way out.

  Doctor Benjamin’s expression was grave and sympathetic—and sad.

  “No,” Jane whispered. “No. No. No.”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “I can’t tell you how—”

  Sandra screamed.

  He’s dead, Trevor,” Bartlett said. “The kid died on the operating table.”

  “Shit.” It was the worst-case scenario in an already bad situation. “When?”

  “Two hours ago. They just left the hospital. Jane looked like hell.”

  Trevor swore. “Are Quinn and Eve with her?”

  “Yes, they showed up at the hospital right before the kid died.”

  Then at least Jane had family support and protection. “Do you know when they’re having the funeral?”

  “Hey, it just happened. And you told me to watch her but not to contact her.”

  “Find out.”

  “Are you going to the funeral?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you want me to come back to the Run?”

  “Hell, no. Stay there and keep an eye on her. She’s more vulnerable now than ever.”

  “You think it was Grozak?”

  “Good chance. The coincidence is a little too pat for comfort. They wanted Jane and the kid got in the way.”

  “Sad.” Bartlett’s voice was heavy. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I failed her. I had no idea. It happened so fast. She disappeared with the kid into the alley and the next thing I knew the car was roaring out into the street.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. We weren’t even sure that Grozak was on the scene. You hadn’t seen any suspicious signs.”

  “Sad,” Bartlett repeated. “Life is precious and he was very young.”

  “So is Jane. And I don’t want Grozak to get his hands on her. Watch her.”

  “You know I will. But I’m not competent enough to handle types like Grozak if the situation becomes dicey. As you know, I have a brilliant mind but no lethal training. You’d better send Brenner or come yourself.”

  “Brenner is in Denver.”

  “Then you have no choice, do you?” Bartlett asked. “You’ll have to make contact with her and tell her.”

  “And let Grozak know his guess was on target? No way. He could have been playing a hunch when he sent men to Harvard. I don’t want to confirm anything that would indicate Jane may be important to Cira’s gold.”

  “Pretty rough play for a hunch. He killed Mike Fitzgerald.”

  “Not too rough for Grozak. I’ve seen him cut a man’s throat for accidentally stepping on his toes. He’s probably the most vicious son of a bitch I’ve ever run across. But this was too clumsy. Whoever shot the kid ran off his mouth and tipped his hand. It was probably Leonard, and I’d bet Grozak didn’t order the kill. It’s more likely Leonard screwed up.”

  “Then maybe he’ll back off now that Jane’s on guard and surrounded by family.”

  “Maybe.” He hoped Bartlett was right, but he couldn’t count on it. “Maybe not. Stay as close as her shadow.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Christ, he’d hoped the kid would pull through. Not only because innocent bystanders weren’t fair game, but because Jane didn’t need another scar. She’d suffered enough wounds growing up in the slums to last her for a lifetime. Not that she’d ever talked about her childhood. Their time together had been too wary for confidences. Too wary for any normal personal interchange. But then nothing about their interaction four years ago had been normal. It had been stimulating, terrifying, disturbing, and . . . sensual. Christ, yes, sensual. Memories he’d carefully suppressed were surfacing and his body was tensing, responding as if she were standing before him instead of being in that college town hundreds of miles away.

  Send those memories back where they came from. This was the worst possible time to let sex enter the picture. Not only for him but for Jane MacGuire.

  If he could keep her at a distance, it would increase her chances of survival.

  She’s sleeping now.” Eve came out of the hotel bedroom into the sitting room and carefully closed the door. “The doctor gave her a sedative strong enough to knock an elephant out.”

  “The only problem with that is she’ll have it all to face again when she wakes up,” Jane said. “I knew it would be bad for her, but I had no idea she’d completely fall apart. Ever since I was a kid, she seemed almost as strong as you are, Eve.”

  “She is strong. She kicked the drug habit, she helped me through that nightmare when my Bonnie was killed. She built a new life and a new marriage for herself and then survived a divorce from Ron.” Eve rubbed her temple. “But the loss of a child can destroy everything. It almost destroyed me.”

  “Where’s Joe?”

  “He’s making arrangements for the funeral. Sandra wants to take Mike home to Atlanta. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’ll go with you. You’re staying with her tonight?”

  Eve nodded. “I want to be here when she wakes up. She may not sleep as well as we hope.”

  “Or she might have nightmares.” Jane added wearily, “But it seems being awake is the nightmare. I can’t believe it happened. I can’t believe Mike is—” She had to stop as her voice broke. She started again a moment later. “Sometimes life doesn’t make sense. He had everything to live for. Why did it—” She stopped again. “Dammit, I lied to him. He was so scared. I told him to trust me, that I’d make sure he was okay. He believed me.”

  “And it gave him comfort. You didn’t know it was a lie. In a way it was more of a prayer.” Eve leaned back in the chair. “I’m glad you were there for him. When some of the pain fa
des for Sandra, she’ll be glad too. She knows how much Mike cared about you, how much you helped him.”

  “Maybe he didn’t really feel like— He said a few things last night when I came to get him that— Mike wasn’t the most secure kid in the world, and I was tough on him sometimes.”

  “And you were wonderful to him ninety percent of the time. So stop playing what-might-have-been. You can’t ever win that game. Think of the good times.”

  “It’s hard to do right now. All I can remember is that bastard shooting Mike. Perhaps it was my fault. I acted instinctively when he attacked. Maybe if I hadn’t resisted, he would have just robbed us. Mike asked me why I didn’t give him the money. He didn’t ask for money, but perhaps if I’d given him a chance to—”

  “You said that the other man said something about getting the girl. That doesn’t sound like robbery.”

  “No. You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly.” She wearily pushed back her chair and stood up. “Maybe it was going to be a rape or a kidnapping, like Manning said. Who the hell knows?” She headed for the door. “I’m going back to my dorm and pack. I’ll see you in the morning. Call me if you need me.”

  “What I need is for you to remember the good things about your years with Mike.”

  “I’ll try.” She paused and then looked back over her shoulder. “Do you know what I remember most? It was when we were kids together and Mike had left home and was hiding out in an alley a few blocks from his house. His mother was a prostitute, and you know how bad it was for Mike whenever his father came home. I’d bring him food and at night I’d slip out of the house and go to keep him company. He was only six and he was scared at night. He got scared a lot. But it was better when I was there. I’d tell him stories and he’d—” Jesus, she was choking up again. “He’d go to sleep.” She opened the door. “And now he’s never going to wake up again.”

  You can’t go, Trevor,” Venable said sharply. “You don’t even know that it was Grozak.”

  “It was Grozak.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “I’m not asking your permission, Venable. I told you what you had to do and gave you the courtesy of informing you that there’s a problem. If I decide it’s best, I’m gone.”

  “What you’re doing there is more essential. Why go off on the chance that Grozak was involved? Sometimes I think Sabot is right and Grozak isn’t going to be able to pull this off anyway. He’s vicious but definitely small potatoes.”

  “I told you that I believe Thomas Reilly may be involved. That changes the whole complexion of the situation.”

  “And you’re relying on pure deduction. There’s no proof. And she’s not important. You can’t risk endangering the—”

  “You do your job. I’ll decide what’s important.” He hung up.

  Christ, Venable could be difficult. Trevor would have preferred to just leave him in the dark about Jane. He couldn’t do that. In an operation this delicate, to have any player stumbling around in ignorance would be foolhardy, if not actually suicidal. Even if he hadn’t made a decision about whether to leave the work here at MacDuff’s Run, he had to have Venable cover his bases.

  He rose to his feet and moved down the hall to the studio Mario was using. Mario had already gone to the adjoining bedroom, and Trevor crossed the study to stand before the statue of Cira. The moonlight was pouring into the room and illuminating the features of the bust. He never got tired of looking at it. The high cheekbones, the winged brows that looked a little like Audrey Hepburn’s, the lovely curve and sensitivity of that mouth. A beautiful woman whose attraction lay more in the strength and personality of her spirit than in her features.

  Jane.

  He smiled as he thought how angry she would be to have him compare her to Cira. She’d been fighting it for too long. And it wasn’t really true. The resemblance was there, but since he’d met Jane he no longer saw Cira when he looked at the statue. It was Jane, alive, vibrant, intelligent, and very, very direct.

  His smile faded. And that directness could be her worst enemy right now. She only knew one way to go, and that was straight ahead, jumping over all obstacles. She wouldn’t be content to sit and wait for the police to find clues to Fitzgerald’s death.

  He touched the statue’s cheek and it felt smooth and cold beneath his finger. Right now he wished he still did think of the statue as Cira.

  Smooth and cold.

  Without life . . .

  His phone rang. Venable again?

  “Trevor, Thomas Reilly.”

  Trevor stiffened.

  “We haven’t met, but I believe you’ve probably heard of me. We have a common interest. We almost ran into each other several times in Herculaneum over the years when we were pursuing that common interest.”

  “What do you want, Reilly?”

  “What we both want. But I’ll be the one to get it, because I want it more than you or anyone else. I’ve been studying your background and you appear to have a streak of softness, a certain idealism I wouldn’t have attributed to you. You may even be willing to hand the gold over to me.”

  “Dream on.”

  “Of course, I’d be willing to let you have a percentage.”

  “How kind. And what about Grozak?”

  “Unfortunately, my friend Grozak is fumbling, and I feel the need for a backup.”

  “So you’re double-crossing him.”

  “That’s up to you. I’ll deal with whoever can supply what I want. I’ll probably even tell Grozak I’ve contacted you to stir up a little competition.”

  “You want the gold.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have it yet. I wouldn’t give it to you if I did.”

  “I’d judge you have an excellent chance of finding it. But the gold isn’t everything I want.”

  “The Cira statue. You can’t have it.”

  “Oh, I’ll have it. It belongs to me. You stole it away from me when I was trying to buy it from that dealer. I’ll have it all.”

  “All?”

  “I want something else. I’ll make you a proposition. . . .”

  That was Joe Quinn calling from the airport,” Manning said as he hung up the phone. “He wants protection for Jane MacGuire when she comes back to school after the funeral.”

  “Are you going to request it?” Fox asked as he leaned back in his office chair.

  “Of course I’m going to request it.” Manning shook his head. “But after that budget cut, the captain is going to go ballistic unless I can show definite cause. Can we tie anything into that case you said you read about on the Internet?”

  “Maybe. Let’s see. . . .” Fox leaned forward and typed an access code into his computer. “I pulled up this old newspaper article when we came back to the precinct from the hospital. It’s interesting, but I don’t believe we’re going to see a connection to anyone with homicidal tendencies. Unless we’re talking about ghosts.” He pressed a button to bring up the article and then swung the laptop around on his desk so that Manning could read it. “Evidently this serial killer, Aldo Manza, had a father who had an obsession with an actress who lived two thousand years ago, at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius that destroyed Herculaneum and Pompeii. The father was an archaeologist who wasn’t above peddling illegal artifacts, and he’d found a statue of the actress, Cira, in the ruins of Herculaneum.”

  “So?”

  “Aldo developed an obsession too. He couldn’t stand to let any woman live who bore a resemblance to the statue of Cira his father possessed. He’d go after them and slice off their face before he killed them.”

  “Gory bastard. And you said Jane MacGuire looks like this Cira?”

  Fox nodded. “The spitting image. That’s why she became a target.”

  “Stalked?”

  “Yes. But Eve Duncan and Quinn managed to turn the tables on him. They set a trap in the tunnels below Herculaneum. Duncan reconstructed the face of one of the skulls the scientists found in the marina at H
erculaneum, and they publicized it as being the skull of Cira. It wasn’t, of course. It was a deliberate phony done by Duncan. The real skull looked nothing like Cira. But the combination of the skull and the presence of Jane MacGuire drew Aldo close enough so that they could take him out.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “As a doornail. Like his father.”

  “Any relatives who might want revenge?”

  “Wouldn’t they have tried before this? It’s been four years.”

  Manning frowned. “Maybe.” He was reading the article. Everything checked out as Fox had described, but there was one line that puzzled him. “It mentions that Duncan, Quinn, the girl, and a Mark Trevor were at the scene. Who’s Mark Trevor?”

  Fox shook his head. “I accessed a couple of other articles, and some of them have a mention of him. None of the other people present in that tunnel would make a comment about him. He was clearly at the scene but he left before either the police or media could interview him. One article indicated there were hints he had a criminal background.”

  “And yet Quinn’s protecting him for some reason?”

  “I didn’t say that. He’s just not talking about him.”

  “But if Trevor was involved with Fitzgerald’s killing, I can’t see Quinn not serving him up to us. He’s too protective of the girl. Does Trevor have a record?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean? Either he does or he doesn’t.”

  “I can’t seem to get through to the right database. It bounces me out.”

  “That’s crazy. Keep trying.”

  Fox nodded as he turned the laptop back around to face him. “But you said you didn’t think Quinn would protect Trevor if he suspected him. Why waste the time?”

  “Because there’s always the possibility that Quinn might want to leave us out of it and cut Trevor’s throat himself.”

  “He’s a cop, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t do that.”