No sign of either of them,” Christy said. “We've scoured every acre of your property and the APB is coming up zero so far.”
“Dammit.”
“It's only been two days. How's Jane doing?”
“Cool as a cucumber.”
“Toby?”
“He had to have stitches, but he'll be fine. He's fine now. He's lying on his dog bed in Jane's room getting belly rubs and eating turkey.”
“Has Jane finished the sketch of Aldo yet?”
“I'll go in and ask her. She's been working on it long enough.”
“If she only saw him in poor light, it must be difficult to remember every feature.”
“Everything about this is difficult. Jane has a memory that would make an elephant look bad.”
“You think she's stalling?”
“I can't figure out why she'd stall. But what do I know? She's done some things lately that have boggled my mind. And don't tell me about teenagers again. 'Bye, Christy.” He pressed the disconnect.
“I'm not stalling,” Jane said from behind him.
He turned to see her standing in the doorway with the sketchbook in her hand. “It took you a hell of a long time,” he said curtly.
She crossed the porch and sat down beside him on the top step. “I had to be careful. It was funny. . . . When I was drawing him, it was too clear. I saw every feature as if he were standing before me. But I'd only seen him for a few seconds and I didn't see how I could be that sure.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was afraid that I could get it wrong. So I let myself have plenty of time for second guesses.”
“And you're sure now?”
She flipped open the sketchbook. “Aldo.”
A square face, high forehead and a roman nose. His hair was long but slightly receding. His eyes were deep- set and dark and were glaring out of the sketch with an expression of boundless animosity.
“I know you prefer for the portrayals to be expressionless because no one goes around looking like Jack the Ripper. I tried. I really tried. I redid the sketch three times, but it kept coming out the same. I think it's because I know that whenever we're together, he's going to look like this.”
He kept his eyes on the sketch. “And does it frighten you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then why the hell did you go traipsing off after him when you should have come to me?” He lifted his head and his gaze was as hard as his tone. “And why did you lie to me about Trevor?”
“It seemed the right thing to do at the time.” She smiled ruefully. “And it didn't do any good. You saw right through me.”
“I've known you and Eve long enough to read you. But it was damn hard to believe you'd gang up on me like that.”
“And it hurt you.”
“Damn straight.”
She laid her hand tentatively on his arm. “We didn't gang up on you. It wasn't Eve's fault.”
“You don't have to defend her. Silence is a statement of its own.”
“She didn't want you to have to make a choice.”
“I'm used to making choices. It's a hell of a lot better than not being given one.” He looked back at the sketch. “I know you and Eve are so close you're practically joined at the hip, but I thought we had a relationship too.”
“We do.” Her voice was uneven. “When I came to you, it was hard for me to get used to having— I never knew my father. I had no brother. I'd never trusted anyone in my life. Not really. Eve was easy. She was like me. You were different. It took time, but I came to . . . like you. I knew you'd never let me down.”
“Then why didn't you come to me when you knew what that bastard was doing to Toby?”
“He was my responsibility. I had to make the decision.”
“You're seventeen years old.”
She nodded. “But don't you think some people are born old?”
“You mean old souls?”
She shrugged. “I don't know about that. That sounds a little wacky. I just never remember feeling like a kid.”
And he couldn't remember a time when she'd acted like a kid. The closest she'd come was when she was tearing across the hills with Toby. “That's pretty sad.”
“No, it's not. It's just the way things are. I bet Eve feels the same way.”
He smiled slightly. “Ah, your role model.”
“I couldn't have a better one.”
His smile faded. “No, you couldn't.” He covered her hand that still lay on his arm. “But both of you could be a little more trusting.”
“I'll work on it.” She squeezed his hand. “But you're on your own with Eve. It should help that you know she's in your corner.”
“With a hell of a lot of reservations.”
She shook her head. “Did you ever wonder why you stayed with Eve all these years?”
“No, I love her.”
“But it must have been very difficult to love someone like Eve. She'll tell you herself how scarred she is.”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “What are you getting at?”
“I just think you hate anything easy. It bores you silly.”
“You're crazy.”
“You love Eve. You like me. I rest my case.” She stood up. “I'm sorry I lied to you. I'll try not to do it again. Good night, Joe.”
“Good night.”
She stopped at the door. “Have you heard anything about Trevor?”
“I don't know if I should discuss him with you. I'm still pissed.” He scowled. “No word about his apprehension. Christy told me this morning that there may be a report coming in soon from Johannesburg. Something popped up on their computer database.”
“Will you let me see it?”
“Maybe.”
“Ignorance is dangerous, Joe. Isn't that what you've always told me?”
“You should have thought about that when you kept us in the dark.”
“Joe.”
He was silent a moment. “Okay.” He got up and moved down the stairs. “I'm going for a walk. I need to release some nervous energy. Tell Eve I won't be long.”
Her gaze went to the woods. “Be careful.”
“I'm not the one who has to be careful. That's the pot calling the kettle black.” He paused. “The woods are crawling with officers, Jane. No one is going to try to get to you right now.”
“You're probably right.” She pulled her gaze from the line of trees. But as she turned and opened the screen door she repeated, “Be careful.”
SEVEN
Jackpot,” Christy said when Joe answered the phone the next morning. “We've got a fix on Trevor.”
“Talk to me.”
“He was born in Johannesburg thirty years ago and his name is Trevor Montel, not Mark Trevor. His parents were planters who were killed by guerrillas when he was ten. He was placed in an orphanage and was in and out of
