Blind Alley

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.”

“Should I be flattered you're paying more attention to my warning than the odds?”

“No, I'm paying attention to keeping Jane safe and to hell with the percentages.” He looked him in the eye. “So tell me what you can do that makes it worth my while to keep you close to Jane.”

Trevor's smile faded. “For one thing just my presence here is a minor deterrent. Aldo knows me and he'll be a little more cautious about moving on her.”

“Only a little cautious?”

“Take what you can get. Sometimes a hesitation can save a life. You should know that.” He added crisply, “And I gather you've arranged other protection for Jane. You could let me handle the day-to-day coordination of the security team. I know something about reconnaissance and sentry detail.”

“So I've heard.”

“It would keep me from under your feet and out of your hair. And that would free you to work more closely with your department to track Aldo.” His voice was soft but emphatic. “And I guarantee no one would sleep on their watch if I was in charge. When are they supposed to get here?”

“In a couple hours.”

“Then I'm just in time to break them in right, aren't I?”

Joe studied him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “But remember these are private citizens, not mercenaries. No rough stuff.”

“I'll be gentle with them.” Trevor smiled. “As gentle as you'd be if you found them slacking. You SEALs are always prone to discuss and persuade rather than take violent action.”

“You son of a bitch.” But Jane could see his lips twitching. “That was a long time ago.”

“Not that long.” He turned and started for the door. “Oh, by the way. I'm posting someone of my own out front to guard the cottage. His name is John Bartlett and he'll try to be unobtrusive.”

“You said Bartlett was on the case before. But why the hell should I just accept him on your say-so?” Joe asked.

“You shouldn't. Check on him with Scotland Yard. But you'll find he has a motivation that's a recommendation in itself.”

“What motivation?”

“His ex-wife was Ellen Carter. She was one of the first women killed by Aldo in London. He couldn't stand living with her, but he still loved her. Having her burned to death made him very upset. So upset he was willing to put up with me to have a chance at finding Aldo.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Jane. “He's the one who found your photo in the paper. He's had a vested interest in you since he brought that clipping to me. He found out everything he could about you and Quinn and Eve. He's not exactly bodyguard material, but I wouldn't let him close to you if I didn't think he'd be the best man for the job. He won't let anything suspicious get past him. But if you don't want him, send him back to me.”

“I will.”

But he didn't hear. He'd already left the cottage and was going down the steps.

“He was doing everything he could to try to control the situation, wasn't he?” Jane asked. “You'll have to watch him.”

Eve looked at her in surprise. “I thought you wanted us to bring him in.”

“I did. I still think it's a good idea.” How could she explain the dichotomy of her feelings for Trevor? While part of her had been amused and admiring as she had watched Trevor insinuating himself into the fray, she'd still had the impulse to step between him and Joe and Eve. She had never lost the awareness of the volatility and danger that had struck her from the first moment she had met him. “Just watch him, Joe.”

Ms. MacGuire?” The man who had knocked on the door smiled. “I'm John Bartlett. I was the one who did the background research on you and your family. And later I had the honor of watching you myself to make sure you were safe. I feel as if I know you already.”

“I imagine you do.” Bartlett definitely wasn't what she had expected. He was plump, no more than five foot seven, with rosy cheeks, thinning brown hair, and huge blue eyes that were looking at her with a sort of troubled innocence that reminded her of . . . someone.

His expression clouded at the dryness of her tone. “I know I violated your privacy. I only meant to help. And I don't mean to be intrusive now. I'll try not to bother you. But Trevor thinks I can help in guarding you—” He made a face. “Well, not really guarding you. That denotes a certain talent for violence I don't possess. That's Trevor's forte and he does it well. But there are other ways I can help.”

“And what are they?”

“I've got great skills of observation.” He added earnestly, “I promise nothing and no one will get past without my noticing.”

Winnie-the-Pooh, she realized suddenly. He reminded her of Winnie-the-Pooh. That same wide-eyed, cuddly frankness. “That's very comforting.”

He nodded. “It's one of my better qualities. It's not very exciting but being comforting isn't bad. I've got three ex-wives who'll give testimony to that.” His expression was suddenly shadowed. “Two ex-wives. Ellen isn't around to give anyone recommendations anymore.” He started to turn away. “I just wanted to let you know I'd be on the job.”

“Wait.”

He turned to look at her.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” His smile lit his plump face with a kind of boyish radiance. “You're very kind but I've got to go on duty now.”

She was smiling too as she watched him go down the steps.

“Was that Bartlett?” Eve came to stand beside her.

“I think so.” She shook her head. “Or maybe it was Peter Pan or Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“What?”

“Why don't you go see for yourself? Take him a cup of coffee.” She added solemnly, “He was on duty and wouldn't come in.”

Eve watched as Bartlett picked up a pebble and sent it skimming across the lake. “Maybe I will.” She turned and headed for the kitchen.

For the rest of the day Jane didn't see Trevor except at a distance. He seemed very busy and intent as he talked to Singer and his men. In spite of Joe's cautioning, she couldn't see any signs that Trevor was being overbearing with any of the security team. There was no question that he was in charge but he appeared to be handling them with respect and humor.

It was fully dark when he drove up to the cottage. He spoke for a moment to Bartlett before he got out of the SUV, his arms loaded with catalogues and packages. “I brought your mail,” he said as he climbed the porch steps. “I checked for it earlier. Does it come late in the afternoon every day?”

She nodded. “About four.” She set her computer aside and held out her hand for the bundle. “Thank you. But you didn't have to pick it up.”

“Yes, I did. Your mailbox is three miles away on the main road. I wanted to make sure that there weren't any surprises. Since Aldo was camped out in the woods he probably checked out your mailbox occasionally. It's what I would have done. You never can tell what will come in handy when you're on the hunt.” He sat down beside her on the swing. “But there didn't seem to be anything to worry about. Most of it's for Eve.”

“It's usually that way. Eve's very famous and she has a lot of requests for her services. And she wouldn't like you going through her mail.”

“Like I said, I didn't want any surprises.”

“What did you expect? A cobra in the mailbox?”

“No, that wouldn't fit Aldo's pattern. But Julia Brandon was killed by poison gas. There are ways of making an envelope deadly.”

Her mind jumped immediately to the aftermath of 9/11. “Anthrax?”

“Or something else. I didn't think it likely he'd want to rob himself of the pleasure of a close-up kill, but he's not always predictable.”

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job so far. Poison gas . . . That's the only one who died like that, isn't it? Drownings, incineration, smothering. For a serial killer he doesn't seem to be consistent in his methods. They usually have a weapon of preference, don't they?”

“He's consistent. Each one of those deaths occurred to the citizens of Herculaneum during the eruption. He's killing Cira over and over in every conceivable way she could have died that night.”

“My God.”

No air. Hot. Hot. Hot.

“Are you okay?” Trevor's gaze was narrowed on her face.

“Of course I am.” She looked out at the lake. “How did Cira die?”

“I don't know. Every scroll in the library concerned Cira's life, not her death.”

“Then maybe she didn't die at Herculaneum. There were survivors, weren't there?”

“Yes.”

“Then she could have been one of them.”

“I'd think a woman like Cira would have been heard from in the years after the disaster if she'd lived. She was no shrinking violet.”

“Maybe she had a reason to disappear.”

He was silent a moment. “That had a note of desperation. You really want her to have survived, don't you? Why?”

“Don't be silly. I'm not desperate about anything. She just didn't deserve to die in that tunnel.”

“Tunnel?” He was gazing at her oddly. “Why should she have died in a tunnel? She had a fine home in Herculaneum.”

“Did she? I must have been thinking about the gold in the tunnel.” She changed the subject. “I just remembered that Joe wanted to know if you'd figured out how Aldo found all those women with Cira's face. You said one woman's photo was in the newspaper and I guess he could have stumbled on one or two of them, but not all. And he was moving so fast in the past few weeks that he couldn't have just gotten lucky.”

He shook his head. “I've been concentrating more on getting Aldo, not the whys and wherefores. But tell Quinn I'll work on it.”

“Good. You won't be alone. Joe may figure it out before you do. He doesn't like to ask for help.”

“He didn't. You did it for him. Did Bartlett come by and introduce himself?”

“Yes, he's very unusual. How did you get together with him?”

“I was backtracking after I saw that photo of Peggy Knowles and questioned all the families of the victims I ran across. Bartlett was on Ellen Carter's list. I was pretending to be from Scotland Yard at the time. I'm pretty good and no one else was suspicious. But Bartlett is a hell of a lot smarter than he looks. He followed me back to my hotel and pulled a gun on me.”

“Bartlett?”

He smiled. “He surprised me, too. He was scared to death but he was determined. His hand was shaking so badly that I thought I'd better talk fast or he'd shoot one of us by accident.”

“Why didn't he call the police on you?”

“Because he wasn't happy with the way the investigation had been going. He loved Ellen Carter.”

“He said he had three ex-wives.”

“She was number two. Bartlett stays close to his wives even after they divorce him.”

“Why would they divorce him? He seems . . . sweet.”

“He has a talent for choosing the wrong partners. Some men marry the same type of woman over and over. He has no problem acquiring wives. Women seem to melt and want to take him home. Didn't you?”

She nodded. “And Eve's taken him lunch and coffee today. And she had to leave a reconstruction she's working on to do it.”

“See?”

“Well, evidently you weren't immune either.”

“You're right.” His lips twisted ruefully. “He's stubborn as hell and he wouldn't leave me alone after he knew that I was trying to find Aldo. He quit his job as an accountant and he's been with me ever since.”

“I like him.”

“All women—dammit, I like him, too.” His gaze went to Bartlett. “But he drives me crazy. I'll probably have to rope, tie, and drag him away or he'd stay out there all night. He was happy as hell he could do something constructive to help you.”

“Sweet.”

“And you're melting, too.” He sighed as he got to his feet. “I'll take the mail into the house.”

“I can do it.”

He glanced at the computer. “You're busy. What are you doing?”

“Homework. I like to work out here on the porch.”

He made a face. “Homework. I keep forgetting how young you are. Maybe it's Freudian.” He headed for the door. “Make sure no one picks up the mail every day but me.”

“Tell that to Joe.”

“Quinn is willing to let me do the donkey work. He knows I'm not dumb enough to step on his toes. We're gradually coming to an understanding.” He opened the screen door. “It's Eve I'm worrying about.”

“Because she doesn't melt around you like she does Bartlett?”

“Because she's a mother protecting her cub. Talk about unpredictable.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me why you want so badly for Cira to have survived that volcano?”

He obviously hadn't been deceived and wasn't about to let it go. Well, she wasn't about to confide in him. “Since everyone seems to be equating the two of us maybe I just want her to have come out on top. It would be a good sign.”

“Yes, it would.” He studied her expression and then shook his head. “But I don't think that's it. . . .”

“Think what you like.”

“I always do.” He paused. “But I need to know. I need to know everything about you. It's safer for both of us.”

“Why?”

“He'll use any secret, any memory, any feeling that will draw you to him. He's done it already once with Toby.”

“I made a mistake. I won't do it again. And I'm not about to bare my soul to you. You've taken it upon yourself to learn entirely too much about me on your own.”

“Yes.” A sudden smile lit his face. “And it was my pleasure. It's still my pleasure.” He went into the cottage.

She had to force herself to look away from that door. Sweet Jesus, he was handsome. Most of the time when she was with him she was only aware of that magnetic personality and the sense of wariness it brought her. But in that last moment it had hit home what a beautiful man Trevor really was.

Beautiful? Trevor would not have been pleased. Where had that word come from?

Beautiful as a god.

Cira had been thinking of Antonio when those words had sprung to her mind. Antonio, intelligent, cynical, and totally charismatic. Antonio, who had seduced and dazzled and betrayed her. But in the end had he also tried to save her, or was that another deception?

What difference did it make? She was treating a dream as reality. And if this was some kind of psychic connection she'd made with Aldo, she'd evidently embroidered and enhanced it on her own. She was rooting for Cira every step of the way and Aldo certainly saw her as a villainess.

And what about Antonio?

Maybe she had to have a hero to save Cira. Though he was more of an antihero.

Like Trevor.

She stiffened. Cira's view of Antonio was remarkably like Jane's opinion of Trevor. And from that first moment she had felt a strange familiarity with him. She'd even told Eve he reminded her of someone.

Antonio?

She couldn't even remember what Antonio looked like. Cira was seeing him, not her. Cira was feeling the tempest of resentment, bitterness, hope, and love.

Love? Did Cira still love Antonio?

Oh, to the devil with it. What difference did it make? There was a chance she'd never have another dream about Cira. It had been several nights since she'd had that nightmare in which the ground had cracked beneath Cira's feet and she stared into molten fire.

Lava. When she'd known about the tunnel at Herculaneum and the woman who'd lived and died there.

But Trevor had already told her that the ashes were from Vesuvius and her imagination might have made a mental leap to an active volcano. How did she know what tricks a mind could play? These blasted dreams of Cira had completely shaken her confidence. At first, as she'd told Eve, she'd been able to view Cira and her struggles with curiosity and excitement as if she were reading a novel. It had been interesting and she'd looked forward to the next installment and trying to figure out exactly what was happening to her. That was no longer the case. After what Trevor had told her, she was flailing in the dark, trying to find her way. She was caught, held captive, and she was dreading going back into that tunnel.

“Stay away, Cira,” she whispered. “I have enough on my plate. Don't come back.”