The conflict inside her played out in her features. Purviance was angry and hurt. And jumpy as hell. A bad combination.
“Who are we to lip the boss? We’re just the secretary. The maid. The chick who irons his shorts. Prick probably treated you like a field hand.”
“That’s not how it was.”
I pushed.
“That Ferris was one stone-cold bastard.”
“Avram was a good man.”
“Yeah. And Hitler liked dogs.”
“Avram loved me.” Blurted.
Something else clicked for me.
Purviance lived alone. All those calls from the Mirabel warehouse to her home. Ferris and Purviance weren’t just coworkers. They were lovers.
“He had it coming. Bastard was running a game on you. Probably fed you the old saw about leaving his old lady.”
“Avram loved me.” Repeated. “He knew I was ten times smarter than that cow of a wife.”
“That why he snuck south with ole Miriam? You’re not dumb. You figured out he was never leaving her.”
“She didn’t love him.” Bitter. “He was just too weak to deal with it.”
“Strike one. Miriam’s doing Coppertone while you’re stuck in your cold-weather flat. You’re his favorite squeeze, but who’s left behind to answer the phones? And the cheap son of a bitch won’t even cut you in on the skeleton.”
Purviance wiped her nose on the back of the gun hand.
“Then, strike two. Kaplan screwed you over. First your lover, then your hit man. You were having a bad run.”
Purviance jerked the gun so the muzzle was now on my face. Easy. Don’t antagonize her.
“Ferris owed you. Kaplan owed you. You knew that skeleton would put you bucks up. Why not take it?”
“Why not.” Defiant.
“Then the bones disappeared. Strike three. Screwed again.”
“Shut up.”
“You come all the way to Israel to steal them back. No bones found. Strike four. Screwed again.”
“Screwed? I think this will do.”
Purviance tapped her bag. I heard the hollow thunk of a plastic container.
“Gutsy. You already capped the boss. Why not Blotnik?”
“Blotnik was a thief.”
“Saved you all that nuisance of breaking and entering.”
A smile crawled Purviance’s face. “I hadn’t a clue about these bones until Blotnik blabbed. Old fool hadn’t had them two hours.”
“How did he know about them?”
“Some old bat found fragments while scoping the shroud they’d been in. What the hell.” Purviance again tapped the bag. “This could be crap. Or it could be the Holy Grail. This time I’m taking no chances.”
“What did you offer Blotnik? Did he think you had the Masada skeleton?”
Again the cold smile. “Just conning the con man.”
She’d killed Blotnik, snatched the shroud bones, and gotten away. What was she doing back here?
“You were moving under the radar. Why double back?”
“We both know a relic’s worth zip without paper.”
We heard it at the same instant. The soft squeak of a rubber sole.
Purviance’s trigger finger twitched. She hesitated, undecided.
“Move!” she hissed.
I stepped back into the closet, eyes focused on Purviance’s gun.
The closet door slammed. A bolt clicked.
Hurried footsteps, then silence.
I put my ear to the wood.
A sound like surf, overridden by the drone of a radio commentator.
Stay quiet? Draw attention?
What the hell.
I pounded.
I called out.
Seconds later the office door slammed inward against a wall.
Heart plowing, I shrank deeper back toward the ell.
A strip of light under the closet door.
Rubber soles.
The bolt clicked open.
The door swung in.
39
I’D NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO SEE ANYONE IN MY LIFE.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jake’s tone was all shock.
“Did you see her?”
“Who?”
“Purviance.”
“Who’s Purviance?”
“Never mind.” I pushed past him and grabbed an arm. “We’ve got to stop her.”
I tugged. We both ran.
“She’s got no more than a three-minute lead.”
Out the office. Down the hall.
“Who’s Purviance?”
“The lady with your shroud bones.”
Gripping the rail, I took three stairs at a time. Jake stayed with me.
“You drove?” I threw over my shoulder.
“I’ve got the crew truck. Tempe-”
“Where?” I was breathing hard.
“In the drive.”
As we flew out the door, a car blew past, driver’s head barely clearing the wheel.
“That’s her,” I panted.
The car shot the gate.
“Move!”
Yanking the doors, Jake and I threw ourselves into the truck.
Jake turned the key and flooded the engine. It roared in neutral. Jake threw the gearshift, then tacked a triangle of short turns.
As we came about, Purviance’s car was disappearing from the foot of the drive.
“She’s turned left onto Sultan Suleiman.”
Jake jammed the gas. Our tires spit gravel and we rocketed forward.
“What’s she driving?”
“Citroen C-3, I think. I only got a quick look.”
We plunged downhill. Across the way, the Old City was swallowed in mist.
Barely braking, Jake jerked the wheel hard left. I lurched right and my shoulder slammed the window.
