Blind Alley

Sleep well? Fat chance, she thought as she hung up the phone. Her head was spinning with the overload he'd given her to digest that filled her with fear, panic, and defiance. Then don't try to absorb it. Let it sink in and don't force it. One step at a time.

Antonio had said that, she remembered. He'd held out his hand and told Cira to trust him. But Cira hadn't taken his hand. She hadn't had time before the earth had opened and she'd seen the molten—

Forget the dream. Remember reality. If it was reality that Trevor had told her and not lies. He wanted the gold.

No, Antonio had wanted the gold. Once more, dream and reality had blended, becoming one for the moment. It mustn't happen again.

Toby sighed and rubbed his head on her lap.

“Okay, we're going inside.” Jane got to her feet. “What a nag you are.” She paused, gazing out at the forest. Was Trevor out there watching her? It was an odd coincidence that he'd called her as soon as she'd come out on the porch. He'd asked her if she was alone, but he might not want her to know how closely he was watching her. She was feeling a little claustrophobic from all the restrictions and scrutiny, and he was very perceptive.

He was there.

She lifted her hand in a mocking salute and went into the house.

TEN

Trevor smiled ruefully as he watched the door close behind Jane.

He should have known she'd know he was watching her. They were on the same wavelength and had been since that first moment she'd walked into the cottage.

Or maybe before. At least, as far as he was concerned. He'd studied everything about her since the moment Bartlett had brought him that photo in the newspaper. It was natural that he'd feel this sense of empathy.

Or was it?

His smile faded. Of course it was natural. He was no psycho like Aldo. He'd been fascinated and intrigued by Cira, but it had no connection with what he was feeling for Jane. She was little more than a child and he was no cradle robber.

But Cira had been only seventeen when Herculaneum had been destroyed. She'd been the mistress of at least three important men of the town and carved a career that shone like a star in the darkness of that age. She'd packed decades of living into her short life.

Jesus, Cira wasn't Jane MacGuire. It was a different culture and a different time. So stop making comparisons and close out the thought of Jane as anything but a possible victim.

“How did she take it?”

He turned to see Bartlett standing behind him. “As well as could be expected. She'll be better once she has a chance to mull everything over and come to terms with it. She's already halfway there.”

“And then what?”

“Then we do what we've been doing since you found that photograph of her.” He gazed at the cottage, remembering how she'd looked sitting on that step with the dog beside her. Young, slim, vulnerable, but, strangely, radiating strength. “We wait.”

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

His latex gloves were bloody.

Aldo looked down at his hands with distaste. He hated using gloves, but it was better than touching these unworthy ones. When he had the time to make a true selection he never covered his hands. He enjoyed the feel of warm blood on his skin. But, again, time was short and this woman bore only a slight resemblance to Cira.

These kills provided no pleasure, he thought in frustration.

He bundled the woman up in a blanket and watched the blood seep through the wool. Good. The blood would attract instant attention when he dumped her body behind the Red Lobster restaurant where he'd picked her up. Otherwise he would have used a tarp to wrap her.

He could feel the joy tear through him as he lifted her and put her in the van. The last one. The trail was far enough away from Jane MacGuire to throw off suspicion. The police were always eager to wash their hands of their failures. Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan would probably not be fooled, but they'd be alone.

He could go back to Cira now.

Joe turned away from the phone. “Lea Elmore. A waitress at the Red Lobster in Pittsburgh. Found this morning behind the restaurant. No face. Ashes in the blanket in which she was wrapped.”

“A Jane look-alike?” Eve asked.

He nodded. “According to her photo ID she's a little closer than the ones he killed in Richmond and Charlotte.”

She shook her head in bewilderment. “How is he finding them when he's moving so fast? I could understand if there was a reasonable length of time between the kills, but they've barely been forty-eight hours apart. He can't just stumble on these women.” She glanced at Jane. “Did Trevor say—”

“No,” Jane answered. “I told you everything he told me. But he seems to have done a lot of guesswork and putting together the pieces. Maybe he did figure it out. Do you want me to phone him? He said to let him know if Joe had questions.”

“Joe?” Eve asked.

“Go ahead. I'll take any help I can get.” Joe's tone was absent as he moved across the living room to stare out the window. “Though that's not high on the priority list at the moment.”

“What are you looking at?” Eve followed him to the window.

“Nothing.” His lips tightened. “Not a damn thing.”

“What do—” Her gaze had followed his. “The patrol car is gone.”

“Right.” His cell phone rang. “And I'd bet that's Mac Gunther to tell me why.” He listened for a moment. “I understand. No, I can't let you do that. It's okay, Mac.” He hung up. “The captain pulled Mac and Brian off surveillance. He apologized and said he'd be glad to come back on his own time and work a double shift if we needed him.”

“The department is doing exactly what Trevor said Aldo would try to make them do,” Eve said numbly. “He wants us alone and unprotected.”

“Then he screwed up,” Jane said fiercely. “We're not alone. We've got each other. Stop looking like that, Eve. He's not going to win.” She turned to Joe. “The department thinks Aldo has forgotten me?”

Joe nodded. “This last kill cinched it for them.” He looked at Eve. “But Jane's right, we don't have to be alone. I'll call a private security agency and get men out here. It just means the department is out of it.”

“Then do it,” Eve said. “Now.”

“I will.” His gaze went to the window again. “It's time we called in all the help we can get.” He was silent a moment before turning away from the window and starting to dial his phone. “I'll get Matt Singer's security team. They're good. Jane, you call Trevor and tell him to get up here. He says he wants to protect you? Well, let him put his ass on the line instead of hovering out there in the woods like a damn chipmunk.”

Chipmunk?” Trevor repeated when he walked into the cottage an hour later. “Really, Quinn. You could have at least compared me to a more interesting and lethal animal. A cougar or wolf would have been nice.”

“Or skunk,” Jane murmured. “Skunks are interesting.”

Trevor gave her a reproachful glance. “I'm here to lay myself open to murder and mayhem and all I get is abuse.” He turned back to Joe. “From what Jane said, I understand your fellow law-enforcement associates have jerked the rug from beneath your feet?”

“It's no more than I expected,” Joe said. “They play the percentages and, if Aldo follows the usual serial killer profile, the odds are against him coming back once he's moved on.”