As I have been doing, she thought. Evidently, they were both being ambushed by memories. “Then I think it’s best to think before you act.” She had to be honest. “This is strange for me, too.” She changed the subject. “Why do you want me to stay?”
“Because I set you up. And I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Set me … What the hell are you talking about?”
“I told you once that you couldn’t trust me. Not if it was something I really wanted.” He smiled crookedly. “I really want to get Paul Black.”
“Well, so do I. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I was trying to be so damn noble and all that crap. I was going to keep you from being hurt. I was going to try to make up for all I did to you.” He shrugged. “But I’m not noble. I’m worse than the kid who screwed you and left you alone and pregnant. You were right to tell me to keep to the plan and get out of your life.”
“You’re making me sound like a victim. I wasn’t one then, and I’m certainly not one now. I made sure I was in control of keeping myself from getting pregnant and I blew it. Now will you stop reminiscing and tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Reminiscing? That sounds almost sentimental. Neither one of us was ever that,” he said. “And I’m talking about the reason I gave in and brought you here. Insurance. It was clear for whatever reason that Black wasn’t eager to confront me. I needed a goad. He figured he’d hurt me before by killing Bonnie. Now he’s coming back to revisit the situation, and, lo and behold, you’re back in my life.” He paused. “As I arranged.”
“You’re saying I’m bait?” She shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t be that passive. If you’d said that was what you intended, do you think that I wouldn’t have come? The only difference would have been that we might have gotten together a plan that was mutually agreeable.”
He stared at her and smiled slowly. “I thought I remembered everything about you, but some details must have slipped away.”
She looked at the door. “You think that Queen or Black will know I’m in Room 1502? No one knows you’re here?”
“I made sure that they wouldn’t. I bribed the clerk to give you 1502 and set up a signal alarm so that I’d know if anyone entered the room. I went in earlier and mussed up the bed and made it look occupied.” He paused. “And I set up a camera to record any visitors.”
Her brows rose. “My, you were thorough.”
“I’m a good hunter,” he said simply. “I’ve been well trained. Ask Queen.”
“I don’t want to ask him anything. From what I’ve heard of him, I’d just as soon not make his acquaintance.” She added grimly, “Unless it was to try to throw him into jail.” She turned away from the door. “It appears that I stay here.” She took her carry-on case and threw it on the bed. “How fast do you think Black will move?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. But Queen will be pushing hard.”
She opened the case and pulled out her toiletries and a change of clothes. She headed for the bathroom. “Then we’ll be ready to move, too.”
His question stopped her at the bathroom door. “Did you tell Quinn you were coming?”
She didn’t look at him. “I wouldn’t have left without letting him know what I was doing. Did I give him details? No.”
“So we’re in this alone.”
“Yes.” She closed the door behind her.
Alone.
She did feel poignantly alone and vulnerable at that moment. She was used to Joe being there, a presence that was both exciting and comforting. But she was dealing with John Gallo, who was not at all comforting. Exciting? As exciting as falling off a cliff into the darkness. She didn’t know what he was going to do next or even whether he was telling her the truth. She was going on instinct and memory, and the latter could have been twisted by the passage of time. And obeying instinct would be skipping through landmines.
She stripped and stepped under the spray.
I wish you were here, Joe.
* * *
“MILWAUKEE,” JOE TOLD CATHERINE when he called her from the airport. “Eve took the two forty flight on Delta.”
“And you’re on your way.”
“I will be in another hour. It’s the first flight out. But finding out where she was going is going to be a hell of a lot easier than tracing her once she gets off the plane. What did you find out?”
“Hanks may be in Denver,” she said. “He owns a condo there. I’ve called the number, but there’s no answer.”
“And Judy Clark?”
“Judy has a mother, Stella Kamski, in St. Louis. It’s a possibility. Judy lived with her until she was married. And after Judy’s divorce, she moved back in with her until she went to work for Gallo. Her mother even took care of her kid for a while. I spoke to the mother, and she said she hadn’t heard from her daughter in months. She seemed … stiff.”
“You think she was lying?”
“As I said, I think she’s a possibility. Judy Clark may be with her, or she might know where she is. I’m on my way there now. She lives in a subdivision in Webster Groves. It’s about a four-hour drive from where I am now.”
“Call me if you can get anything out of her.”
“You know it.” Catherine hung up.
But even if Judy Clark was with her mother, Catherine might not be able to get her to talk. She had been close-mouthed and obstinately loyal in her encounter with her. Hell, she might not even know where he was. It was clear that Gallo was very careful about confiding anything to anyone.
But there was always a chance, and it was all Catherine could think to do. The chances were pretty slim.
She just hoped Joe would be able to trace Eve when he reached Milwaukee.
* * *
“WHY DOESN’T SOMEONE COME?” Eve’s hand clenched on the gray drapes as she gazed from the window down at the lights of the traffic spearing the darkness. “I can’t say much for your trap, John.”
“I’ve never seen any bait more eager to spring the teeth shut.” He smiled across at her from where he was lying on the bed. “You’ve not been here more than five or six hours. Are you always this impatient?”
“We’re close. I want it over.”
“It’s like the watched kettle that never boils. Come to bed, and that alarm in 1502 will probably go off in five minutes.”
She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on the street.
“Come to bed, Eve,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to jump you. If you like, I’ll curl up on the floor. I’ve learned to sleep anywhere.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” She turned to look at him. “I can take care of myself. That’s one of the first things that Joe taught me.”
“Good for him. Though, as I remember, you were pretty effective when I knew you.”
She nodded. “But Joe says technique always carries the day. I learned that the night you saved little Manuel … and me.”
“How is Manuel?”
“Well, I hope. I lost track of Rosa and her son. She married and left for San Diego a year after I moved out of the housing development.” She shook her head. “It’s sad that it’s so easy to lose touch with people. They come in and out of your life, then they’re gone. A lot of it is my fault. I’m so busy most of the time that I don’t make the effort.”
“What about your mother?”
She shrugged. “We were fine while Bonnie was alive, but afterward we gradually drew apart. Bonnie was the magic that held us together. But even after Bonnie was taken some of the magic lingered. Sandra never went back on drugs. Just the fact that Bonnie came into our lives and stayed for a little while made an impression that never went away.” She gazed at him inquiringly. “Any more questions?”
“There will probably be a few as they occur to me. That curiosity…” He reached over and turned out the lamp on the nightstand. The room was plunged into darkness. “You’re tired. Come and lie down. I won’t touch you. You’ve co
nvinced me I’d be putty in your hands.”
She hesitated, then left the window and moved toward the bed. “I have to admit I do know a lot about putty.” She lay down on the far side of the bed and tried to relax. It was difficult. Even though there were several inches between them, it felt strange to be in a bed with a man other than Joe. How many years had it been?
“I know you do. You told me about the forensic process at dinner. Your hands aren’t quite the same as they were when you were younger. They were always shaped well, but now they look stronger, knowing.” He was silent a few moments. “Are you going to tell Joe about this?”
“Yes. Why not? Nothing is going to happen.”
“I have a vivid imagination. I think I’d want you to lie to me.”
“Joe would not. Which shows how different you are from him. And how similar Joe and I are.”
“Two straight arrows. He doesn’t bore you?”
“Joe? Not likely. And he wouldn’t bore you either, John. There’s a razor-sharp edge to that straight arrow.”
“I gathered so from talking to Hanks after their encounter the other night. He told me that Quinn wanted me very badly and to be careful. Should I be careful, Eve?”
“Yes, Joe doesn’t trust anything you’ve told me. He might act before I could stop him.”
“Would you protect me from him? I’m touched.”
“I’d protect him from himself. He has a conscience, and guilt can be a terrible thing.”
He was silent. “I know.”
The only sound in the dark room was the resonance of their breathing against the backdrop of the traffic down in the street.
“What are we going to do, Eve?”
“We’re going to find Bonnie’s murderer.”
“No, what about us?”
“There is no us. We put a period to that a long time ago.”
“You can’t put a period to anything between us,” he said quietly. “It might have been possible if you hadn’t had Bonnie. But the moment she appeared in our lives, she changed the dynamics. You have to accept and admit that to yourself and to me. Otherwise, we’re not going to be able to fight our way through this.”
“She was my daughter, John.”
“That may have been the way you wanted it, but Bonnie evidently didn’t agree with you. She came looking for me, Eve. She came into that hot box of filth and pain, and she found me. And I thank God for it every day of my life.”
She could feel the tears rise to her eyes as she had when he had first told her that story.
She came looking for me.
That simple sentence was enough to break her heart. The miracle of Bonnie, who had come into both their lives and changed them beyond belief.
“Don’t fight me, Eve. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’m just saying that we have to come to terms with a way of handling it that will make both of us content. Not happy. I don’t know if we can get to that level. But content would be good.”
“I can’t … you’re out of my life. I have Joe now. He’s all I want.”
“And my first reaction is to try to change your mind. We were so damn good together that sex seems a natural part of any relationship that we could have.” He added before she could speak, “But that’s the kid, John Gallo, thinking. I know we can’t go back. We’ve both moved on. Well, you’ve moved on. I’m still struggling.”
She was struggling, too. It seemed so right to have him in the bed next to her. It wasn’t right. She loved Joe. But there was that strong bond that wouldn’t be banished.
“Okay,” he said. “So I can’t have sex with you. What’s left? We were never friends, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work on it. I admire the person you’ve become. You can’t say the same about me, but I might provide amusement value. Friendships can be based on a lot of weird things.”
“There are things about you I admire,” she said jerkily. “You’re a survivor, and what you’ve endured would have broken almost anyone else. You thought you were being tortured to protect your country. I admire your patriotism. Most of the time, I think you’re honest with me. That’s important, too.”
He chuckled. “You had to really dig for that list.”
“What do you expect? I don’t know you.”
“I believe we’re going to have to rectify that.” He suddenly reached over and touched her cheek. “Don’t stiffen up on me. I’m not making a move on you. I just want to show you I can touch you with affection that has nothing to do with sex.” He stroked the line of her cheekbone. “Because the affection will always be there. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because you gave me Bonnie,” he said simply. “Because together we created something more wonderful than anything I could accomplish by myself if I live to be a hundred.” He felt the moisture of her tears on his fingers. “Hey, I don’t want this. I just want you to know that no matter what we have to overcome, it’s going to be worth it. I think we have to be together some way, somehow.” He added awkwardly, “I think maybe … she wants it.”
“Bonnie?” Eve whispered.
“I’ve thought a lot about why she came to me in that prison. She was a part of both of us, Eve. The three of us are bound together. I’ll never be able to look at you without feeling that closeness with her. Will you be able to look at me without feeling her love?”
She had been trying to shut out every facet of feeling toward him, but his words were tearing down the walls and revealing the truth. He was right. This wasn’t going to go away because it was all about Bonnie. For her, Bonnie had been the center of her being. She was beginning to think that Bonnie had been equally important to John. If that was true, then they had no option but to accept and try to find a way to live with it. She said unevenly, “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Good.” He bent down and kissed her forehead, then was gone again. “I just had to get that much established. I was feeling very much alone. I’ve always been the outsider.”
Alone. Outsider.
Yes, John had always been the outsider as far as Bonnie was concerned. Eve had seen to that. She had never told him, never wanted him to know he had a child. She had chosen to bear the responsibility, but she had also garnered the joy. John Gallo had not been permitted either.
“Go to sleep,” John said. “If we have an intruder in Room 1502, the alarm will wake us.”
Outsider.
“I’m not sleepy. I wonder if you…” She started again. “I wonder if you’d like me to tell you about Bonnie?”
She could feel his sudden stillness. “You don’t have to do that. I know it might be painful.”
“Some of it, but most of it is pure joy. I think … I want to share her with you, John. If that’s what you want, too.”
“Oh, my God.”
She didn’t speak for a moment, trying to put her thoughts, her memories together. He had missed so much. Where to start on the story of Bonnie?
The beginning.
“The first time the nurse brought me Bonnie, she said she was magic…”
CHAPTER
16
WEBSTER GROVES WAS A PLEASANT suburb that consisted of a mixture of older homes built in the early nineteenth century and newer homes that appeared sleek but lacked character.
Catherine glanced at her GPS. She should be arriving at Judy Clark’s mother’s home in a few moments. It was close to eleven at night. She might have gone to bed. Should Catherine ring the bell or phone again? Maybe if she told Mrs. Kamski she was outside, she might agree to let her in and talk to her.
Or maybe she would tell Catherine to go take a flying leap.
She’d ring the bell.
The GPS instructed her to turn left at the next street.
She turned on San Cecilia.
Number 230 was halfway down the block, an older two-story clapboard house. Catherine might not have to worry about waking anyone. Lights were still streaming from one of the windows on the first floor.
She
pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.
She stopped two feet before she reached the front door.
Oh, shit. She knew that sound.
Moaning. Muffled but still audible.
TV?
She rang the bell.
No answer but that muffled cry of pain.
That was no TV.
She tried the knob. The door swung open.
She froze, her gaze on the staircase facing the door.
A gray-haired woman in a pink, flowered robe was lying on her back, wrists and ankles spread wide and tied to the pickets on either side of that staircase. Her mouth was gagged, her eyes wide open.
Blood everywhere. Her throat had been cut. Dead.
Catherine dove to the side, reaching for her gun. She hit the wall switch and plunged the foyer into darkness before rolling to one side.
She listened.
Nothing.
No, the moaning again.
Coming from the dining room across the foyer.
She waited.
A trap?
But a trap for whom?
She waited a minute more.
No sound but the moaning.
She crawled across the foyer, past the obscenely spread body on the stairs.
A woman was lying on the cherry dining-room table.
Her gaze wandered quickly around the room. Two chairs turned over. Nowhere to hide.
She crawled to the right side of the door and took a chance.
She flipped on the dining-room light.
Judy Clark.
Blue robe she had worn when she had first met her. One fuzzy blue slipper still on her foot, the other lying on the floor beside the table.
She had probably lost it while struggling with the monster who had thrown her on the table and pinned her there with a huge butcher knife through her stomach.
Catherine drew a deep breath and slowly stood up.
“It’s okay, Judy,” she whispered. “I’ll get you help. Is whoever did this still in the house?”
Judy was also gagged, but she shook her head. Then the cords of her throat strained as she tried to talk.
“Wait.” Catherine quickly called 911 and gave them the address and the situation. She cut the questions short and hung up. “Judy, I can’t move you or take out the knife. We’ll have to wait for the EMTs.” She just hoped the ambulance came in time. The blood on the table wasn’t as much as on the stairs, but Catherine couldn’t judge the loss or the trauma of the wound. “They’ll be here soon.”
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