Eight Days to Live

by Iris Johansen

  Had it gone well? She couldn’t be sure. She was as disturbed as she usually was after speaking to Caleb. “I suppose that it went as well as could be expected. He’s going to help me find Weismann.”

  “Promising. But I want to know a good deal more about your friend, Caleb. MacDuff will cross-examine me without mercy. If I’m to keep him at the Run acting as guardian, I’ll have to have answers.”

  “You’ll have them.” She entered the Inn. “But I’m warning you, he’ll still have problems with my using Caleb. That’s why I chose you and not MacDuff to come with me.”

  “YOU DIDN’T EAT VERY MUCH,” Jock said. “I know the bread tasted like cardboard but it—”

  “It was fine,” she interrupted. “I had enough.” She lifted the paper cup containing the hot coffee to her lips. “This is all I need.”

  “It’s good coffee.” Jock stretched out his legs in front of him. “Perhaps to make up for those atrocious sandwiches.” He looked around the room. “This is pleasant. I like all those purple and white flowers on the bedspread. Restful.”

  “It’s too pretty.” She glanced at the windows draped in sheer white chiffon. “It looks like something from a ten-year-old girl’s wish list.”

  “When you were ten, would it have been on your wish list, Jane?”

  “No, I was always suspicious of anything that was too pretty. I was a tough little kid.” She braced herself. “And now that you’ve tried to put me at ease, hadn’t you better start the interrogation?”

  “Interrogation? You make me sound like a cop.”

  No, he was nothing like a cop. His gentle persistence was much more insidious. He would just sit there, smiling that beautiful smile and waiting for her to speak.

  “You want to know about Seth Caleb.”

  He nodded. “Will it be easier if I ask you questions?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “The main thing I want to know is why you think Caleb can find Weismann when Venable is having trouble?”

  “It’s what Caleb does. He has a passion.”

  “For hunting. What kind of hunting, Jane?”

  “He finds people who can’t be found.”

  “For whom?”

  “He works principally for the Devanez family, who are his relations, but he takes other assignments if they interest him. I know he spent years hunting down a cult that was responsible for the death of his sister.”

  “Ah, vengeance. Good punishing evil?”

  “In a way. It’s not that simple. Yes, as far as I know, the people he hunts are slimeballs who deserve to be punished. But Caleb doesn’t pretend to be the sword of justice. He’s not that hypocritical.”

  “And by what means is your wonderful hunter able to find those people?”

  Dammit, she had known that question would come. “He’s . . . unusual.”

  “You said that before and in just that tone. I’m intrigued. Are you going to explain?”

  “Yes.” She might as well stop stumbling around and just come out with it. “Caleb has certain talents. One of them is an ability to change people’s perception.”

  “You mean he’s very persuasive.”

  “No.” She shrugged. “I mean that give him a few minutes alone with anyone, and he can convince them that they want to do anything he wants them to do. He can turn hatred into friendship. If he asks anyone questions, they’re going to answer him. Which would help enormously if you’re on the hunt for someone.”

  “I imagine it would,” Jock said absently, his gaze studying her face. “Let me understand you. You’re talking about a psychic ability?”

  “I know that it sounds weird.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You don’t have to believe me. That’s why I didn’t want MacDuff coming along. I knew I’d have trouble with him thinking I was off my rocker. I wouldn’t blame him. I’m not sure I believe it. I’m a realist, and what I ran across with Caleb was out of my comfort zone. But I saw him do it with the grandfather of my friend, Patty. He changed him from a bad-tempered bastard to someone almost pleasant. He didn’t promise that it would be permanent, but even Patty could see the difference in her grandfather.”

  “One case.”

  “I was skeptical, too.” She paused, then said reluctantly, “He gave me a personal demonstration.”

  “Personal?”

  “Don’t ask. I was ready to murder him.” She added, “But he can do it, Jock. If anyone can find Weismann, it will be Caleb. He’s spent most of his life hunting down people.”

  “And what does he do when he catches them?”

  Her grasp tightened on the paper cup. “I imagine his death count may be as high or higher than yours, Jock.”

  “Really?” He leaned back in his chair. “You do seem to draw us lost souls to you, don’t you, Jane?”

  “But he’s not like you,” she said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault. You were sick. You had no choice. He decided on the path he was going to travel.”

  “There’s always something that triggers that decision. What was his trigger, Jane?”

  “He had . . . other talents. His background is very dark. For hundreds of years those psychic gifts were passed down through his family. Back in the fourteenth century his family used their talents to inspire fear and dominate the small village in Italy where they lived.” She moistened her lips. “According to Caleb, they balanced on the edge of becoming monsters.”

  “What other talents?”

  “Blood. I didn’t see it, but Eve did. She watched him kill a man without touching him. Most of it has to do with the flow of blood through the body.”

  “Blood.” He chuckled. “Good God, he sounds like a vampire.”

  “No,” she said curtly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Is it ridiculous?” His smile faded. “Then what or who is he, Jane?”

  “I don’t know. I think he believes that he’s inherited that bad gene that’s been passed down through his family. He said he became a hunter to keep himself under control. Maybe he thought if he was going to kill anyway that he might channel it. The hunting provided a sort of release.” Jock was asking questions she had asked herself and still had few answers, she realized in frustration. “He said it helps him maintain his code.”

  “And what is his code?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to know that,” she said impatiently. “For all I know his so-called code could change with every shift of the wind.”

  “You appear to be saying that you don’t know quite a bit in this conversation. But it’s not like you to trust anyone without a substantial reason.”

  “Then this has to be an exception. Do you think I wanted to have to contact Caleb? I told you, I’m not comfortable with him. But I have to find Weismann.”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “You’re right, MacDuff would not have made it easy for you to pull Seth Caleb into the search. He’s a practical man, and he’d not appreciate the whimsy of your action. On the other hand, I have no difficulty with dealing with your psychic friend. I embrace whimsy. Reality can often be too cruel.”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  “Yet he’s coming to help you. There must be some connection.” Connection.

  Searing sexuality. Heat. Her naked body moving feverishly beneath Caleb’s.

  No, it hadn’t happened. That had been Caleb’s damn demonstration of how he could influence her perception. It had been just a second’s sensation that had shocked and angered her. She had wanted to murder him then, and the resentment was still white-hot. But so was the memory, and it wouldn’t leave her.

  “I don’t know why he’s doing it. He does what he wants to do. He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted in return.”

  “That’s always dangerous,” Jock added with hushed melodramatic theatricalism. “What if he wants to drink your blood, my beauty?”

  “I told you he wasn’t—” She stopped. Jock was joking, but she was having trouble responding with any kind of humor
. “Caleb isn’t dangerous to me.”

  “No, he won’t be a danger,” Jock said. “Your blood is safe. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to watch over me. You’ve given up enough to help me.” She grimaced. “And now I’m asking you to swallow something that there’s no way you can believe.”

  “It’s true that I have trouble with thinking anyone could possess those kinds of psychic abilities. My instinct is that it’s pure trickery.”

  “Me, too,” Jane said. “I understand perfectly.”

  “But when I was under medication and being brainwashed, I believed what I was being told without question. Could that be part of it?”

  “No medication.”

  “Then I’ll be interested in meeting Seth Caleb.” He smiled slightly. “Since we appear to be members in the same club.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll let you get to bed now. I’m right next door. Lock your door. Call me if you need me or if you just want to talk.”

  “Are you going to call MacDuff?”

  “Tomorrow. He won’t expect a call tonight.”

  “And are you going to tell him about Caleb?”

  He nodded. “The bare bones. No need to tell him that Caleb is a vampire. It would only upset him.”

  “I told you, Caleb is not—” She saw his indented lips and realized he was joking again. This time she smiled in return. “Tell him what you like. MacDuff will probably tell you to kidnap me so that he can find a pleasant little funny farm to stash me in.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Jock said. “He never even thought about putting me in an asylum when I was going through my patch of hell. He cared for me himself.”

  “I know,” Jane said gently. “So let’s not make him think he’s going to have to straighten my thinking out, too. Once is enough.”

  “Aye.” He nodded as he turned toward the door. “More than enough. I swore I’d never cause him trouble like that again. That’s why I think I’ll forget to mention any details about Seth Caleb.”

  SIX

  I KNEW THAT JOCK WOULD BE SKEPTICAL, Jane thought as she got to her feet after the door had closed behind him. She didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t have thought she was either crazy or enormously gullible. At least he had been kind and not openly scornful. But the skepticism had definitely been there.

  Oh, well, it didn’t matter as long as she had done what she thought was best.

  And what was best right now was for her to get in the shower and crawl beneath that too-pretty quilt and go to sleep. The adrenaline that had been driving her was rapidly seeping away, and exhaustion was taking its place.

  No wonder. She hadn’t really slept more than a few hours for two days.

  She locked the door and headed for the bathroom.

  “I’M AFRAID, Mother.”

  “Shh, you mustn’t be frightened, Kalim.” His mother was hurrying him down the long dark corridor. “You’re on your way to paradise.”

  “Will you be with me?”

  “Not for a while. You’re the only one who they think worthy.”

  “I don’t want to go alone.” The tears were pouring down his cheeks as he stumbled after her, blurring the sight of the glyphs on the walls. “Don’t make me, Mother.”

  “I do not make you. The angels summon you. Now stop weeping. You’ve reached your eleventh year. You will shame me. We are almost there.”

  He couldn’t stop the tears.

  They had rounded the corner.

  The stone altar was just ahead of him. He knew that altar. His cousin, Ali, had been chosen last year. Ali had not been afraid. He had been proud.

  Kalim wanted to be proud. He wanted the fear to go away.

  His mother had stopped and stepped aside. “Go,” she whispered. “Go to paradise, Kalim.”

  He stumbled forward. He was vaguely aware of the two priests who were coming toward him.

  Let me not scream. Let me not bring shame to my family.

  But the tears would not stop.

  As he was lifted on the altar, he saw the mosaic visage on the wall facing him.

  Burning dark eyes, a dark beard, and an expression of agonized torment.

  Help me, forgive me. His gaze clung to the mosaic face on the wall. Let me die well.

  But then he could no longer see the face on the wall as the priest stepped toward him with the knife raised.

  He screamed!

  JANE JERKED UPRIGHT IN BED, tears running down her cheeks.

  She was panting as she swung her legs to the floor.

  Just a dream. No, a nightmare.

  She moved toward the bathroom and threw water on her face.

  She was shaking. The dream had been too real, like the ones she’d had years ago. Like the ones she’d had while she was painting Guilt. But those dreams had not been about sacrifice and the killing of small children. There had been danger and pursuit and overpowering sadness but not this horror.

  Dammit, how long was she to be plagued with these periods when her dreams seemed more real than life itself?

  Get over it.

  It was natural that she’d been followed into sleep by nightmares. The last days had been horrible enough to spawn a thousand nightmares.

  And there was no question that the mosaic face on the wall had been the face in her painting Guilt.

  She had been obsessing about the painting, and it shouldn’t surprise her that it had popped up in a dream.

  But not in that way, not seen through the eyes of an innocent child about to be killed.

  But Celine and her sister had been innocent also. There had been no reason to take their lives. Jane could have made some kind of weird connection . . .

  Don’t think about it. She could analyze her reasons all night and not come up with anything that would mean a damn. Go back to bed and try to get back to sleep.

  Not yet. She’d sit down in that chair and try to pull herself together. There would be no going to sleep while that dream was so vivid in her mind. That poor little boy, Kalim, had been so afraid. He was still with her. She could feel his fear as if it were her own.

  The last thing she wanted was to go back into that dream, to that altar, and look up and see Guilt.

  “SHE’S GONE.” MILLET’S VOICE WAS shaking with rage when Alan Roland picked up the phone. “Gavin dropped MacDuff off at the airport and drove off with her. The bastard slipped away from us.”

  Shit.

  “You’re telling me that you’ve lost her?” Roland asked. “How? You’ve been telling me how closely you’ve been having her shadowed.”

  “I did. Monson’s usually a good man. But he said that Gavin was like one of those stunt movie drivers.”

  “You don’t usually accept excuses.”

  “I won’t this time either. Monson will be punished,” he said. “But this is your fault. She would have been dead if you hadn’t demanded we wait.”

  “You agreed that it would be more fitting for her to die on April 1. Her transgression has to be treated with due ceremony. Besides, you’re not a man anyone can persuade into doing something against his wishes.” He added a little flattery to pacify him. “You’re too strong. Everyone knows that, Millet.”

  “No one can beat me when I rely on myself. It’s only when I depend on fools and weaklings that I have problems.”

  The fools and weaklings were aimed at him as well as Millet’s inefficient underlings, Roland knew. He felt a surge of anger that he quickly subdued. Millet was only a tool even though he didn’t realize it. There would be enough time to rid himself of the bastard when he got what he wanted. He ignored the personal inference. “But you’ll punish Monson and can start out with a clean slate again.”

  “When I find the woman. You have to help me. You’re the big man. You have contacts everywhere. I found out that Weismann double-crossed me and is working for the CIA. I’ve put out a kill order on the son of a bitch. He was the one who brought Gavin to us, and that means Gavin is CIA. You’ve got money to
burn. Spend some of it bribing someone in the CIA to tell you where I can get Jock Gavin. If we find Gavin, we’ll find Jane MacGuire.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll start trying to tap my sources and get back to you. Don’t worry, Millet. It shouldn’t take too long to get a line on her.”

  Millet was silent a moment. “You’re treating me as if I were a child. All that soothing bullshit. You’re nothing without me, Roland. I’m the only one who can give you what you want. All that influence and money, and in the end you’re just another power-hungry son of a bitch without the right weapon to make it happen. I’m the weapon. Me. My men. The Sang Noir. Remember that.”

  Roland hadn’t expected Millet to be that perceptive. He had known that Millet had the cunning of a wild animal but had thought that he would be easier to manipulate.

  But that was before Jock Gavin and MacDuff had appeared on the scene to complicate matters. Jane MacGuire’s support group was becoming increasingly annoying. It was difficult enough keeping a schizo like Millet reined in and under control. But he could do it. The only goal Millet had in life was to keep the position he held as Guardian, with all its power and perks. If Roland could deal with top CEOs and presidents, he could handle this fanatic little bastard. He said harshly, “Listen to me, Millet. You know what would happen if anyone but me knew how careless you were with Hadar’s Tablet. They’d tear you apart. What good is a Guardian if he can’t hold on to our most precious relic? I’m giving you a chance to save your ass and cement your position. The trade is still as good as when we made it. I give you an offering that will send your stock soaring with the members. You get that tablet back and let me keep it a few days to get it translated.”

  “But you want your time with Jane MacGuire, too. She’s mine. You promised me. I don’t know if I want to let you have her first.”

  Roland tried to retain his patience. “She must know something. She painted Guilt. It’s not as if it’s going to take that long to get the information. I’ll try drugs first. Later, I may ask you to use your expertise on her if I don’t get what I want.” He knew that prospect was pleasing the bastard. “I’m sure you’d succeed if I didn’t. You’d get everything you want. What I’m asking in return is nothing in comparison.”