Blind Alley

FOUR

I'm sorry, Detective Quinn.” The desk clerk glanced up from the computer. “Mr. Trevor hasn't checked in yet.”

“Look again,” Joe said impatiently. “I know he's here. I dropped him off fifteen minutes ago.”

The clerk did another search and then shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “Maybe he stopped off in the bar. Or perhaps he was hungry and went to the restaurant.”

Or perhaps he'd flown the coop, Joe thought as he turned away and headed for the bar. He was going to find out in a hurry even if he had to question every employee in both places.

He went through the restaurant and hopped into a taxi,” Joe told Eve twenty minutes later. “I've called the taxi company and a cab dropped off a man of his description at the airport ten minutes ago. I'm on my way.”

“Can't you call and have him picked up by airport security?”

“Not without risking a lawsuit against the department or an international incident. No proof, Eve. As Trevor would say, pure theory.”

“I've heard enough of Trevor's theories,” Eve said. “Have you called the precinct?”

“I've asked Christy to do the work since she's the one who connected me with Trevor. I'll call you back when I know something.”

“Make it soon. I'll be waiting.”

You didn't get him,” Eve said as she saw Joe's face when he walked into the cottage three hours later. “How did he get away?”

“Well, he didn't get on a plane. I checked with all the taxi dispatchers and he didn't take a taxi from the airport.” Joe dropped down on the couch and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “My bet is that he hopped on MARTA and took the subway back into the city. A nice slick exit, hard to track and easy to lose.”

“Very smart.”

“What did you expect? He is smart. And he has damn good instincts. I don't think he had any intention of going on the lam when I dropped him off. He was playing me for all I was worth.”

“Did you get the report from Christy?”

“Thirty minutes ago. She called Scotland Yard directly and spoke to Inspector Falsworth. No Inspector Mark Trevor. But there's someone by that name who works in the evidence lab. Trevor wouldn't want to impersonate a real inspector. It could be an instant giveaway. But a title could possibly be confused and he'd want a bona fide name in case someone called the office instead of his cell number. They never sent that e-mail regarding our serial killer. They never suspected he was here in the States. They're still looking for him in the U.K.” He glanced at her. “Why did you think Trevor might be a phony?”

“I didn't think. It was pure guesswork. I got to wondering after you left how unusual Trevor's behavior was for a policeman. Proper procedure is drummed into all of you and he violated one of the cardinal rules.” Eve's lips tightened. “And then I started playing the what-if game. Could we be certain Trevor was who he said he was? What proof did we have? I'm sure he showed you his credentials, but they could be forged. And this e-mail could have been bogus too. It would have been difficult and nervy for him to infiltrate the Scotland Yard Web site and use it to send official e-mails, but not beyond the skills of an expert hacker. It was worth checking out.”

“Yes, it was. I only wish I'd been able to collar him before he slipped out.” His gaze went to the hall. “Did you tell Jane?”

“I told her we were checking on him. She didn't say much. She probably thinks I'm paranoid.” She headed for the kitchen. “I heated up a leftover steak for Jane when I knew you wouldn't be picking up Chinese. Do you want one?”

“I'm not hungry. But I'll take a glass of milk.” He got up and sat down at the bar. “Christy asked Scotland Yard to try to run a computer check on Trevor. She needs a good description.”

“They'll need more than that. Trevor's probably not his real name. I saved the coffee cup he used, to dust for fingerprints.” She set the glass of milk before him. “Jane might be able to help. She could give Christy a sketch of him.” She grimaced. “If she'll do it.”

“If she knows he's lied to us, she's not going to protect him.”

“Maybe. She was talking about how she used to do bad things for good reasons when she was a little girl. I don't like the way she was identifying with him.” She moistened her lips. “Do you think it's him? Do you think he's the one who killed Ruth?”

Joe didn't answer for a moment. “I was thinking about that all the way home. Pretending to be an investigator would be a smart way to get close to Jane.” He glanced at the file on the coffee table. “And he paved his way with very tempting bait.”

“Bastard.”

He nodded slowly. “It's safer to assume he's a danger to Jane until we know different.”

Her gaze narrowed on his face. “But you have your doubts.”

“I think he wanted to be part of the investigation.”

“It's not completely uncommon to have a serial killer trying to insinuate himself into the investigation. Look at Ted Bundy.”

“I know that.” He finished his milk. “I just think I would have spotted that kind of sick reaction. He pissed me off but not for one moment did I doubt that he wanted—” He shrugged. “Who the hell knows what he wanted? We'll find out when we find him. If he's still in the city.”

“Oh, he's still in the city,” Eve said jerkily. “Didn't you see his face when he was talking to Jane? There's no way he'd leave her.” She rinsed out the glass. “Did you get a report on Ruth?”

“Give it some time. Her photo will be in tomorrow's paper. Maybe someone will identify her.”

“I hope so. I wanted something good to come out of this.” She paused and then whispered, “I'm scared, Joe. What if that murderer was in this cottage, shaking Jane's hand?”

“Jane's safe, Eve.”

“Is she? God, I hope so.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Of course, she's safe. And we'll keep her that way.” She put the glass on the sink and came around the bar. “And now I'm going to see if Jane's still awake so I can talk to her about that sketch. Why don't you check and see if Christy has heard anything more?”

Aldo smiled as he studied the photo in the newspaper. It was an amazingly close likeness. The artist who had rendered the reconstruction was obviously very talented. Almost as talented as he'd been when he'd carefully removed those features with his surgical knife. He'd thought it would take much longer to put a face to the woman they were calling Ruth.

Her name wasn't Ruth. It was Caroline and someone would probably identify her soon. She wasn't a prostitute or vagrant this time. He'd seen her coming out of a downtown office building and he'd done his duty and removed the Cira possibility.

Jesus, he was getting weary of that duty. There was always an explosion of pleasure when he performed the act but he was tired of the searching. There was no doubt that her likeness must be banished from the face of the earth but he had to find the true Cira. Every night before he closed his eyes he murmured a prayer that he be given that one gift.

And he had the feeling that his prayer was to be answered soon. The excitement was too intense, the anticipation escalating with each passing day.

He pushed the newspaper away and scooted his desk chair back to the computer. He couldn't count on finding Cira by random chance. He'd decided long ago he wouldn't deserve that final pleasure if he just cruised the streets looking for her.

So type in the stolen password.

The monitor screen lit up.

He was in!

Now avoid all the security walls they had put up to protect Cira.

He settled down and began to flip through the pages. There were thousands but he was very patient. Even though his eyes grew blurry and his back ached from hours of leaning over the computer, he wouldn't give up.

It was the road that led to Cira.

Here it is.” Jane dropped the sketch on the table in front of Joe the next morning at breakfast. “It's as good a likeness as I can do.” She went to the refrigerator and got out the orange juice. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Send it to Scotland Yard and they'll probably send it to Interpol.” He studied the sketch. “This is very good. You've caught him perfectly.”

“He's easy. Very strong features.” She poured orange juice into her glass. “Besides, as I told Eve, he reminded me of someone. He felt . . . I don't know . . . familiar.” She sat down at the table. “Where's Eve?”

“Outside taking coffee to Mac and Brian, who are on the stakeout.” He looked up from the sketch. “Eve thought that you might object to doing this for us.”

“Why? I don't even know this Trevor. And my loyalty is to you and Eve.” She smiled. “Always, Joe.”

“That's good to know.”

“That being said, I don't think Trevor wants to hurt me. And I can't see him skinning any woman's face off.”

“Just because he has such a pretty face himself?”

“No, I told you I hardly noticed that he was good-looking. He's got a lot more going for him than what's on the surface.”

“How can you judge? As you said, you don't even know him.”

“You have to trust your instincts.” She sipped her orange juice. “You've always told me that, Joe. I'm just following your lead.”

“Now you blame it on me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Because your character was already formed by the time you came into our lives. If anything, you're the one who nudges us along.”

“Not true. I wouldn't presume. So when do you think you'll hear about Trevor?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“Good. I'm curious about him.” She finished her orange juice. “He's interesting. I'd have offered to do the sketch even if Eve hadn't asked me.”

“Now, that surprises me.”

“Why? He pushed into our lives and he deserves to have us push back a little.”

“Maybe a lot,” Joe said grimly.

“We'll see.” She scooted back her chair. “Now I'm going to find Eve and ask her to take me to school to get my assignments.” She smiled. “Of course, I could borrow your car and go by myself. I'm legal now.”

“I think we'd prefer you to have company for the next few days.”

“I thought you would.” She headed for the door. “So much for my brand-new license.”

Ruth's name is Caroline Halliburton,” Christy said when Joe walked into the precinct three hours later. “She worked at a brokerage office downtown and her parents live up north in Blairsville. She has an apartment in Buckhead and she didn't show up for work last Monday. On Wednesday she was reported missing by a friend who worked with her.”

“Is that who identified the photo?” Joe asked.

“No, actually one of our clerks in the department remembered seeing the photo when they were processing the missing person report.”

Joe swore in exasperation. “We did the usual missing person check before I released the photo to the newspaper. We came up with nothing.”

“So what's new? Since the latest budget cuts we're a month behind in paperwork and at least four months behind at the DNA lab.” Christy glanced at the sketch Joe had tossed down on her desk and then gave a low whistle. “This is damn good, Joe. Is it accurate?”

“Absolutely.”

She grinned. “He's a real pretty boy. I'd let a con artist like him talk me into almost anything. It's no wonder Jane was impressed enough to remember him.”

“She didn't notice he was particularly good-looking. She just drew what she saw.”

“Yeah, sure. For God's sake, she's seventeen, Joe. Appearance is everything to teenagers. He's as sexy as a damn movie star.” She held up her hand as Joe opened his mouth. “Okay, she's above all that. She's not like my daughter Emily, or ninety-nine percent of her age group.” She made a rude sound of derision and stood up. “I'll get this scanned right away and sent to Scotland Yard.”

“Thanks, Christy.”

She grinned. “My pleasure. I'm not like Jane. I like looking at handsome devils like him.”

“He may well be a devil,” Joe said. “You call him a con man, but we don't know that he didn't do the killings himself.”

“No, we don't.” Christy's smile faded as she looked down at the sketch. “Pity.”

Joe watched her as she moved away through the row of desks before he flipped open the Caroline Halliburton file in front of him. He'd been prepared for the photo but it still gave him a shock. The photo made from Eve's construction had been true to life, but this was the picture of the woman herself. She'd been twenty-four at the time of her death, but this photo had been taken a few years before and the resemblance to Jane was very strong.

It scared the hell out of him.

“Joe.”

He looked up to see Christy standing before him. “That was fast. I wouldn't think you'd have time to—”

“We've got another one.” She turned off the cell phone on which she'd been talking. “Lake Lanier. Some scuba divers found a body, marked the location, and notified the authorities.”

Joe flipped the file shut and jumped to his feet. “You're sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “She had no damn face.”

It was her!

Aldo couldn't believe it. It was a miracle.

His heart was beating hard as he gazed at the photo.

She was staring out at the world with a boldness that dared all comers. Fresh, young, and impregnable.

No, not impregnable, Cira. Not from me.

He wrote down the name.

Jane MacGuire.

Not Jane.

Cira. Cira. Cira.

He quickly copied the address on the record.

He was shaking, he realized. Trembling with delight that the moment had come. The others had been close but she was exact, perfection. There could be no doubt that this was the face he'd seen all his life and in his nightmares. He was quivering with fear that something or someone would snatch her away from him.

No, that mustn't be allowed to happen. He'd traveled too long, devoted too much time to the search, purged too many Cira pretenders.

But Jane MacGuire wasn't a pretender. She was Cira.

And she deserved to die.

Darkness.

No air.

No time.

She wasn't going to make it.

The hell she wasn't. She wasn't going to die in this tunnel. Let those other cowards give up. She'd fight until she broke free.

She'd smashed all the chains that held her captive before and she wouldn't let death make her a final captive.

Was the ground shaking?

No air.

She fell to her knees.

No!

She struggled up and lunged forward. Which way? It was too dark to—

She turned right.

“No, that's a blind alley. This way.”

He was standing in the tunnel behind her. Tall, shadowy but she knew who it was, damn him. “Get out of my way. Do you think I'd trust you?”

“There's no time to do anything else.” He held out his hand. “Come with me. I'll show you the way.”

She'd never take his hand again. Never trust him to—

She staggered down the tunnel.

“Come back!”

“The hell I will.” Her voice was only a whisper from a throat that was painfully dry.

Run.

Hurry.

Live.

But how could she live when there was no air?

“Dammit, Jane, wake up!”

She was being shaken. Eve again, she realized sluggishly. Eve afraid. Eve trying to save her from the dream that was no dream. Didn't she know that she had to stay here? It was her duty to—

“Jane!”

The tone was demanding and Jane slowly opened her lids.

Eve's face was taut with alarm.

“Hi,” Jane murmured. “Sorry . . .”

“That's not good enough.” Eve's voice was as alarmed as her expression. “I've had my fill of this.” She stood up and headed for the door. “Get on your robe and come out on the porch. We need to talk.”

“It's only a nightmare, Eve. I'm okay.”

“I know about nightmares and there's nothing okay about them. Not when they happen every night. Come out on the porch.” She didn't wait for Jane to answer.

Jane slowly sat up and shook her head to clear it. She was still logy and half-dazed and the last thing she needed was to confront Eve with a fuzzy head. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water in her face.

That was better. . . .

Except for her lungs that were still tight and burning from the night with no air.

That would go away soon and so would the lingering panic.

She drew a deep breath, grabbed her robe from the bed, and shrugged into it as she walked down the hall toward the porch.

Eve was sitting on the swing. “At least you look awake now.” She handed her a cup of hot chocolate. “Drink it. It's chilly out here.”

“We could go inside.”

“I don't want to wake Joe. He'd think I'm exaggerating your problem. Hell, he might not even see it as a problem. He's all for patience and letting you work it out for yourself.”

“Maybe he's right.” She sipped her hot chocolate and then sat down on the top porch step. “I don't see it as a problem.”

“Well, I do. And it's up to you to convince me I'm wrong.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “By telling me what the devil you're dreaming about.”

She made a face. “Chill, Eve. It's not as if I'm suffering some deep psychological trauma that's connected with you or Joe or even the way I grew up.”

“How do I know that? How do you know that? Dreams aren't always clear and they can be interpreted in a number of different ways.”

“Yeah, by some shrink who gets paid a couple hundred dollars an hour to make dumb guesses.”

“I'm not that fond of psychoanalysis myself, but I want to know that I haven't failed you.”

Jane smiled. “For heaven's sake, you haven't failed me, Eve. You've been everything that's kind and understanding, and that wasn't easy with a hard nut like me.” She took another drink of hot chocolate. “But I should have known you'd blame yourself for something that has nothing to do with you.”

“Then show me it has nothing to do with me. Tell me about that damn dream.”

“How do you know it's the same one every time?”

“Isn't it?”

Jane was silent. “Yes.”

“At last.” Eve leaned back in the swing. “More.”

“Well, it is and it isn't. It starts out the same way, but every dream seems to take a step forward.” She looked out at the lake. “And sometimes . . . it doesn't . . . I don't know if it's really a dream.” She moistened her lips. “I know it sounds crazy but I'm there, Eve.”

“Where?”

“I'm in a tunnel or a cave. Something like that. And I'm trying to find the end, the opening, but I don't know where it is. And there's not much time. There's no air and it's getting hotter and hotter. I keep running but I'm not sure I'm going to find the way out.”

“Hell?”

She shook her head. “That would fit the bill, wouldn't it? Hot and no air and an endless chase. But this is a real tunnel. And I'm not dead, I'm alive and fighting to stay that way.”

“That's no surprise. You've been a fighter all your life.”

“Yes, I have.” She kept her gaze on the lake. “But in the dream when I remember fighting . . . it's different. They're not my memories, my battles, they're hers.” She shook her head in confusion. “I mean mine, but they're not mine. Crazy . . .”

“You're not crazy. You just need help to understand all this.”

“Yeah, and the shrink would tell me I'm trying to escape reality by climbing into someone else's shoes. Bullshit. I like my reality.”

“But you don't like those nightmares.”

“They're not so bad. I can live with them.”

“Well, I can't. Maybe if you took a sedative, you'd be too deeply asleep to have—”

Jane's head swung around. “No!”

“I don't like drugs either but it might—”

“I'm not afraid of taking a sedative. I just can't— I have to finish it.”

“What?”

“I have to get to the end of the tunnel. She'll . . . I'll die if I don't get out of there.”

“Do you know how irrational that sounds?”

“I don't care. I have to do it.” She could see Eve was about to protest and hurried on. “Look, I don't know what's happening to me but I think . . . no, I know there's a reason for it. That's a hard thing for me to admit because I don't believe in much that I can't see or touch.” She tried to smile. “I believe in you and Joe and what we have together. That's good and real. But what's happening in that tunnel is real too. And if I don't keep on trying to help her, she may be lost.”

“You said ‘she' again.”

“Did I?” She hadn't realized it. “So what are you thinking, Eve?”

“I don't know what to think.” She frowned. “If it's not you, tell me who you think this woman is. Do you believe it's some telepathic connection with someone in distress? I've heard of things like that.”

“Not to people like me. I'm not psychic.”

“Anything is possible.”

Jane smiled. “I thought you'd try to find a way to believe in me, even if I sounded bonkers. That's why I told you.”

“After I pried it out of you.”

“I had to make you work a little.” Her smile faded. “I don't have any answers, Eve. I have a lot of questions and every one of them scares me.”

“When did you start having these nightmares?”

“Two months ago.”

“About the time Aldo appeared in the Southeast.”

“But I didn't know it. So he couldn't have triggered them.” She smiled again. “Go ahead. Tell me everything is possible again. I like that line.” She finished her hot chocolate. “Since I don't have any answers, it's very comforting.” She stood up. “Don't worry about this, Eve. Maybe it will just go away on its own.” She crossed the porch and gave her a quick hug. “And if it's any comfort to you, no serial killer is chasing me down that tunnel. That's not why I'm running.”

“Good. I'm glad you're alone. We're having enough trouble without that bastard following you into your dreams.”

She hesitated. “Well, I'm not exactly alone. There's someone behind me. A man. But I'm angry, not afraid of him.”

“Who is it?”

She shook her head. “Shadowy.” She shrugged and smiled. “Well, now you know everything I know. And it's probably all bunk and the result of my deprived childhood. But I'm not going to let any shrink tell me that. So let's forget it and go to bed.”

“I'm not going to forget it.”

“I know you won't.” Jane felt a surge of warmth as she looked at her. “All these years you've tried to bring home all those lost ones and you don't like the idea I might join the ranks even in a small way. I'm not lost, Eve. There's a way out of that tunnel. I just don't know where she—I'm going.”

“Then tell me when you have another one and we'll figure it out. Two heads are always better. I'm not about to scoff at anything you say to me. I've found that sometimes dreams are the only salvation.”

“I know you have.”

Eve suddenly stiffened as she caught an odd note in Jane's tone. “Jane?”

Lord, she hadn't meant to say that, Jane thought. She should back down and lie to her. No, she'd never lied to Eve and she wouldn't start now. “I . . . heard you.”

“What?”

“You were sitting out by the lake and you didn't know I was on the trail behind you.”

“And?”

“Bonnie. You were talking to Bonnie.”

Eve was silent for a long moment. “In my sleep?”

“I guess so. You were leaning against a tree. I don't know. I only know you were talking to someone who wasn't there.” She could see the shock on Eve's face and added quickly, “That was over three years ago. I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it so I never— I should have kept my mouth shut. Stop looking like that. It's okay. You have a right to— It's okay.”

“Three years.” She looked at her in wonder. “And you never mentioned it. . . .”

“What was there to say? You were hurting. So you talked to your dead daughter. It was your business.”

“And it never occurred to you that I might be a little . . . off center?”

“Not you.” She fell to her knees in front of her and laid her head in Eve's lap. She whispered, “And if you were, I wanted to be just like you. Everyone in the world should be so crazy.”

“Lord, I hope not.” Eve gently stroked Jane's hair. “No questions?”

“I told you, it's your business. I'm sorry I mentioned it. I didn't mean— Don't let it make a difference between us. I couldn't stand that.”

“It will make a difference.”

Jane swiftly lifted her head. “You'll feel awkward around me? Please don't do—”

“Shh.” Eve's fingers on her lips stopped the flow of words. “I don't feel awkward. If anything, I feel warmer and closer to you.”

“Why?”

She chuckled. “Because you think I'm a little bananas but you still love me. Because you didn't say a word to me for three years because you thought it might hurt me. I'd say that's pretty special, Jane.”

“No, it isn't,” Jane said unevenly. “You're special. You're good and you're kind and I'm lucky to be allowed in the same house with you. I've always known that.” She stood up. “So it's okay? You're not upset with me?”

“I'm not upset.” She grimaced. “When I get over the shock, I believe it will even be good to share Bonnie with someone.”

“Joe doesn't know?”

Eve shook her head. “It's . . . difficult.”

“I'll never tell anyone. Not even Joe.”

“I know you won't.”

She glanced away from her. “I do have one question. If you don't want to answer, that's okay.”

“Ask it.”

“Is Bonnie . . . is she a dream like the ones I'm having?”

“I like to think she's a dream. She tells me she's a bona fide ghost and that I'm in denial.” She smiled. “Sometimes I believe her. So I obviously have no right to question what you're experiencing, Jane.”

“You have the right to do anything you damn well please.” She moved toward the screen door. “And I'll fight anyone who says anything different. Good night, Eve.”

“Good night, Jane. Sleep well.”

“I'll try.” She smiled at her over her shoulder. “And if I don't, then I'll come running.”

“I'll always be here for you.”

Jane was still feeling the warmth engendered by those words when she reached her bedroom. Yes, Eve would always be there to comfort and support her. She had never had anyone to trust before Eve had come into her life, and after the confidences tonight, she felt closer to her than ever.

Now to go to bed and get to sleep and hope that she wouldn't be pulled back into that other place. Not yet. Each dream was becoming increasingly draining. It was like being on a treadmill whose speed kept escalating. She needed to recover strength before she faced it again.

“I'm coming,” she murmured as she pulled the covers up. “Just give me a little rest. I'm not abandoning you, Cira. . . .”