Eight Days to Live

by Iris Johansen

  There was another nail piercing her chest.

  Jane screamed.

  TWO

  “EASY.” JOCK TURNED JANE around, and his hand pressed her head to his shoulder. “You were going to see her anyway, and I wanted you to get it over with before the police got here. Now don’t look at her again.”

  “He . . . killed . . . her.” She still couldn’t understand it. “But she was in the taxi. I ran down from the apartment to distract him. He wouldn’t have had time to—” She buried her head in Jock’s shoulder. “She was in the taxi.”

  “No. It was a trick to get you down here. There were two of them. Someone else was driving the taxi. I saw him pulling away after I killed Folard.”

  She couldn’t comprehend it. “It was a trick?”

  “What he did to her had to take a while. He had to have her keys and the alarm code. He probably grabbed her earlier in the evening. If he hadn’t been able to lure you down, he would have run the risk of going upstairs after you.”

  She had a memory of Celine going out the door with her red silk cape flying behind her. “He was waiting for her, stalking her?”

  “Yes, it’s likely. You were the big game, but they wanted you to see what they had done to her before they took you. I’d bet he’d been given his orders not to kill you tonight. But when you fought him, you were just an irresistible temptation.” He tilted his head, listening. “I think that’s the police just down the block. They should be here any minute.”

  “Venable,” she said suddenly. “You mentioned Venable. He’s CIA.” She’d dealt with Venable and the CIA years ago when she’d been trying to keep him from taking Jock into custody after he’d been hospitalized. The experience had not given her any overwhelming sense of trust in the agency. But his appearance in her life at this time and place made everything even more bizarre. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “I’m working for him right now.”

  “The CIA? You? Why would you be—”

  “Later.”

  Yes, later. She couldn’t think through this veil of horror surrounding her anyway.

  Celine was dead. Celine had been butchered.

  She dazedly tried to fight her way through the fog. “Why did this happen? I don’t understand any of this, Jock.”

  “I know you don’t. It’s going to be okay, Jane.” He turned her to face the police car that was pulling up to the curb across the street. “I’ll give Venable a call and see if he can pull strings to make it any easier for you. But it should be pretty clear to the local gendarmes that this was self-defense. Folard even has the spike he was thinking of using on you in his hand.”

  She had noticed something dark and pointed, but in the dimness she hadn’t recognized it as a spike. She felt sick as she remembered the spike in Celine’s chest. Was Foulard going to drive the one clutched in his hand into Jane’s heart? “She was such a good person. I liked her, Jock. We were friends.”

  He nodded. “I know it’s difficult for you. I’ll try to get you through this as quickly as possible.”

  Get her through it? He was worried about Jane. What about Celine, who had been full of joy and life only hours before?

  Don’t look at her. Think of her as she’d been before she’d walked out of the gallery, laughing, joking.

  Not the brilliant, helpless butterfly pinned to that door.

  DAMMIT to hell.

  Millet’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of the taxi as fury tore through him. He should have grabbed the bitch himself instead of relying on Folard. He hadn’t thought there would be a problem, and it was smart to let his men have a small part in this taking.

  But Folard had failed. He had let her triumph. He had let Jock Gavin triumph. That son of a bitch had appeared out of nowhere.

  Jock Gavin. Millet had last seen him yesterday in Rome, but here he was in Paris, interfering, putting himself between Millet and Jane MacGuire. He should have known better than to think that Gavin could be trusted when he’d accepted him into the Sang Noir. Betrayal.

  He drew a deep breath and tried to control himself. It would still go well. He would continue with the grand plan and find a way to take Jane MacGuire as soon as possible. She was not only his revenge, she was to be his salvation.

  But his stomach was clenching at the thought of the delay. Celine Denarve’s agony had only whetted his appetite.

  He wanted Jane MacGuire.

  He needed her now.

  VENABLE ANSWERED JOCK GAVIN’S call on the fourth ring.

  “You screwed up, Venable,” Jock said. “You promised me that you’d have someone near the gallery to protect Jane until I could get here.”

  “I did my best. Presnell was supposed to be there. What happened?”

  “Celine Denarve was murdered, and Millet almost got his hands on Jane. Your best sucks.”

  “Shit. Is she okay?”

  “No, but she’s alive. I had to kill Folard, one of Millet’s errand boys. Get busy and pull strings to keep the police from taking us in for questioning. Jane’s been through enough tonight.”

  “It may take a while.”

  “It had better not,” Jock said softly. “I’m very angry with you, Venable.”

  Venable felt a chill go through him. He shook it off. It was difficult not to feel a little intimidated by Jock Gavin. His history alone was enough to make a man think twice. He had been an assassin without equal, and that lethal coldness lingered like a shadow that refused to leave him. But Venable had been a CIA agent for too many years to let the intimidation be more than temporary. It was his job to deal with men like Gavin, and he’d do his job and do it well. “I’ll call you back if I have any trouble.” He hung up.

  Trouble? There was nothing but trouble popping up all over the place. Dammit, everything was going to hell.

  Presnell, the agent he’d sent to protect Jane MacGuire, was almost certainly dead. He was too good a man to screw up like this.

  Find out. Then send another man to watch Jane MacGuire. Though with Jock Gavin on the scene, it would probably be extreme excess.

  His phone rang, and he glanced down at the ID.

  John MacDuff.

  Oh, shit. He should have known MacDuff would be hovering over Jock Gavin like a protective hawk. He considered Gavin his responsibility since Gavin had grown up on his estate, MacDuff’s Run, in Scotland. Though, God knows, Venable had hoped that the two might have lost contact since Gavin had moved to the U.S. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with MacDuff.

  He punched the cell. “I was just going to call you.”

  “The hell you were.” MacDuff’s voice was silky. “What are you trying to do, Venable?”

  “Gavin called you?”

  “Yes, he didn’t want to involve me, but he thought Jane MacGuire might need help since you’re screwing up. You son of a bitch, you’re trying to drag Jock back into that same hellhole he pulled himself out of.”

  “I needed him.” He paused. “I’d do it again, MacDuff. There was a leak among my team. I needed someone good who had no connection with the Company. It’s not as if Gavin was an innocent. He was lucky I didn’t lock him up and throw away the key. After all, he was probably one of the most accomplished assassins either one of us have ever seen.”

  “We made a deal. I helped you get your hands on that bastard, Thomas Reilly, who had brainwashed Jock and all those other kids he’d kidnapped, and you gave me custody of him.”

  “I needed him to do a job for me. Don’t expect me to feel guilty for using Gavin.” He repeated, “He was an assassin.”

  “He was a young kid who was medicated and brainwashed. Do you know how many times he tried to kill himself after he started to come off that medication?” His voice turned savage. “I should turn him loose on you, Venable.”

  “Go ahead. But that wouldn’t keep him from going right back to Jane MacGuire afterward. I’d just be a minor bump in the road. And you might need me. This is a very ugly business.”

&n
bsp; “And you used Jane to draw Jock into doing your damn job.”

  “She was in the middle of it anyway. She just didn’t know it. But, yes, I gambled that he’d do anything to keep her safe.”

  “Since Jane was the one who brought Jock back to the land of the living. Sure, why not send him out to kill a few scumbags to show how grateful he is?”

  “What do you want me to say? I did it. I’d do it again. Dammit, I may have lost a man tonight while he was protecting Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “And the situation in Paris may be awkward. It’s too late for me to do a cleanup. We need damage control.”

  “If Jock is roped into your damage control, I’ll come after you myself.”

  And he’d do it, Venable thought sourly. MacDuff was a throwback to the Lairds who first ruled MacDuff’s Run. He was possessive of every person on his property and protected them with passion and ferocity. Jock Gavin had not only grown up in the village at MacDuff’s Run, but MacDuff treated him as a younger brother. “Actually, I was going to rope you into doing that for all of us. They love you in Paris. You’re a big hero to them. As I recall, one of the medals you won was a Croix de Guerre. Do you know the prime minister?”

  “I’ve met him several times.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be difficult to convince him that it would serve no purpose to victimize a young woman who has suffered enough already. The media doesn’t need to know anything about Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “Or Jock Gavin. They’re both obviously innocent of the crime that took the life of an outstanding French citizen, Celine Denarve. And that scum that Gavin put down was clearly no loss. Can you convince the prime minister that for you to remove both Gavin and Jane from the public eye would permit the police to focus on what’s important in the case?”

  MacDuff was silent. “It’s possible I can get him to go along.”

  “More than possible. I’ll do my part behind the scenes to help it along.”

  “Very well. Hang up, and I’ll call him. I’ll have to work fast. He won’t like being roused at this hour of the night.”

  But Venable had seen MacDuff when he was moving toward a goal with a confidence and charisma that was truly awe-inspiring. He was as good at negotiating his way through social and diplomatic circles as he had been searching out the enemies in the jungle as a commando. Hell, maybe there was something to all that Laird bullshit. “I knew you’d be willing to cooperate when you realized that we all have to do what we can to make sure that—”

  “Listen, Venable. I’m not willing to cooperate with you on any level. I’m pissed off, and I can’t see that changing in the foreseeable future. I’ll call the prime minister because I don’t want to have to run the gauntlet when I get to Paris. I should be there within two hours. I have a plane standing by.” His voice lowered to velvet softness. “And after I finish the call, I’m going to phone you back, and you’re going to tell me everything you know or guess or even vaguely speculate. Is that understood?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Venable,” MacDuff said. “I don’t like the idea of your manipulating one of my people. It’s not going to happen again.” He hung up.

  “I MADE YOU COFFEE.” Jock crossed to where Jane was sitting on the brocade Louis XV couch and handed her the tiny flowered cup and saucer. “But this is all I could find to put it in. It’s hardly worth bothering.”

  “Celine loved dainty cups. She said she felt like a princess when she—” Jane drew a deep, shaky breath. “I argued with her. I was used to cups that were more like pitchers. Eve never liked to run to the kitchen for a refill while she was working on her reconstructions, and she always started out with a big cup. When I’m painting, I do the same thing. But Celine said that coffee should be an experience and should be savored and—I’m babbling, aren’t I?” She took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks, Jock. Thanks for everything.” The hot coffee tasted good and some of the chill that she was feeling ebbed away. It would be back, she knew. Every time she thought of Celine, it attacked like an enemy in hiding.

  But for this moment Jock had managed to lessen that terrible hollowness. He was smiling gently at her, and it warmed her. Gentleness, strength, and yet that sense of underlying loneliness.

  Strength. Yes, she always thought of him as the boy she had first met, but he was older now, in his early twenties. Just as stunningly handsome, with those silver-gray eyes and wonderful features, just as quietly contained, but the years had taken away that almost breakable quality and replaced it with a sort of subtle power.

  “I’m sorry your friend was killed.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “How could you tell?” She shivered. “That expression was—”

  “Entirely natural considering the circumstances,” he said gently. “But I could still tell she had a flair for living.”

  “Yes.” She moistened her lips. “I’m sorry that you—I didn’t want you to kill again, Jock. Particularly not for me.”

  He smiled. “You’re suffering more than I am. You and MacDuff are always worrying about my immortal soul. Since I’m virtually sure that it’s lost already, I don’t let it trouble me.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You were sick. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

  “Shh.” He lifted his cup. “Drink your coffee. It’s not important right now.”

  “It’s important. You’re important.” She rubbed her temple. “What happened, Jock? Why was she killed? Celine didn’t have an enemy in the world. Was he crazy?”

  “In a way, I suppose.”

  “And why were you here?” Though heaven knows she had been grateful to have him. Not only because he had probably saved her life but for staying with her during those two excruciating hours of police questioning. The inspector had at first been brusque, then had turned amazingly kind and respectful. He had not even made them go down to the police station to give their statements.

  But perhaps leaving the gallery would have been better. She would not have been so aware of what the police forensic team had been doing to Celine. She quickly veered away from that memory.

  Now that the first shock was over, she had to fight her way through the horror and try to make some kind of sense out of that act, which had no resemblance to reason. “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you for a long time, Jock. You didn’t just drop in out of the blue and—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “My timing’s not that good. I thought there might be a problem.”

  She sat up straighter on the sofa. “What kind of problem? Venable. You mentioned Venable. You said you were working for him? The CIA? That doesn’t make any sense. We were all walking a tightrope just to keep Venable from taking you into custody. If MacDuff hadn’t been able to make a deal with him, he’d have thrown you into prison.”

  “But it seems he had something else in mind.” His lips twisted. “A man of my talents can be a valuable commodity in Venable’s line of work.”

  “He’s using you?” Anger flared through her. “Dammit, get him on the phone. I want to talk to him.”

  He smiled faintly. “Only you would want to jump in and take on Venable when you’ve just had a knockout punch of your own. You don’t need to protect me. I’m not a kid any longer, Jane.”

  She knew that with her mind but she couldn’t stop seeing him as that beautiful, broken boy he had been. “I still want to talk to Venable. Yes, I’ll give him hell, but maybe I can squeeze some information out of him.”

  “You won’t have to squeeze. Not him. Not me. But give yourself a little time. Drink your coffee.” He leaned back in the chair. “You’d only get upset if I dove in and tried to explain now. You’re very protective, Jane.” He smiled. “No one should know that better than I do.”

  “Dammit, I am upset. My friend was murdered and nailed to a door. I wasn’t very protective of her, was I?” She leaned forward. “Now you tell me what’s happening, Jock.”

  “Wait for MacDuff,” he said quietly. “
He should be here anytime now.”

  “MacDuff? He’s coming, too? I don’t want to wait for MacDuff. I want you to—”

  “Leave the lad alone, Jane.” MacDuff was standing in the open elevator. “I know you’ve been through a great deal, but so has Jock.” He smiled. “You mustn’t intimidate the poor boy.”

  She stiffened as MacDuff stepped out of the elevator. Presence. Charisma. Force. She was always aware of those three aspects of MacDuff’s personality when he came into a room.

  “Intimidate?” She shook her head. “I’ve never been able to intimidate Jock.”

  “That’s not true,” Jock said. “You’re a truly fearsome woman, Jane. From the first time you sketched me in the garden at the castle, I knew that I’d never be free of you.” He got to his feet. “So I’ll leave and let MacDuff handle you. He likes to think he can call the birds from the trees.”

  “Then you should have given me the chance to talk you out of letting Venable use you,” MacDuff said curtly. “I’m not pleased with you, Jock.”

  “I quake. I quiver.” Jock moved toward the kitchen. “I have to make decisions for myself now, MacDuff. Venable used me because I made the choice.”

  “Stop it,” Jane said. “I won’t have this.”

  MacDuff turned back to her. “You’re right. Jock and I are both a little on edge, but we should contain it. You have a right to be upset with us.” He smiled. “But then we wouldn’t be so frank in front of you if we didn’t regard you as family.”

  “Is that supposed to flatter me? I’ve no desire to be a part of you or that crumbling estate. Go to hell.”

  Jock glanced back over his shoulder. “Now it’s time for you to quake and quiver, MacDuff.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Is that what you want?” MacDuff asked her quietly. “I’ll work on it if it will please you.”

  “Bullshit.”