“She’s gone?” Melton’s tone was controlled, but Jules could detect the anger beneath the smoothness. “With the skull?”
“Yes. But don’t worry, I’ll find her.”
“You should never have lost her, Hebert. Your orders were to see that she finished the skull, and then get rid of her. Where the hell were you tonight? Why weren’t you watching her?”
“I had to be in Boca Raton to check on the progress. I thought it was safe. She didn’t appear to suspect anything, and I knew she wanted to finish the skull. It seemed a good time to—” He stopped in disgust. He was babbling, making excuses like a fucking amateur to this asshole. “I made a mistake. I’ll rectify it.”
“You certainly will. If it’s not too late. What if she takes the skull to the police?”
“I don’t believe she’ll do that yet, but I’ll have to move fast. My men saw Joe Quinn enter her house earlier tonight. Either he or Galen must have convinced her to run. But she can’t know anything for certain. If she took the skull, it’s probably because she wants to finish it. We both know how intense she is about her work. That may give me a little time. I’ll need your help.”
“As long as I’m not compromised.”
“She won’t go home. If she suspects something, then she’ll be hiding out. I need you to tap your sources and find out where Galen may have taken her. Fast.”
“It’s a big country.”
Jules tried to hold onto his temper and spaced each word with precision. “Can you do this?”
“I permitted you to pursue this line with Duncan when you blundered with Etienne, but we can’t risk it anymore. It’s too dangerous for us. You get that skull and then dispose of her and everyone around her quickly. I don’t want even a ripple of publicity. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Can you find her?”
“I’ll try.” He hung up.
And he’d try very hard, Jules thought. Melton might try to lay the entire blame on Jules, but he was responsible for Boca Raton and wanted this Bently problem wrapped up before he had to answer awkward questions.
So did Jules. He was having trouble keeping all the balls in the air. Ever since that night when he had killed Etienne, he had been forced to lie and cheat and make compromises. If he wasn’t careful, everything would come crashing down on him.
No, he wouldn’t permit it. He had given up too much to be defeated now. He couldn’t sit here and trust Melton to find Eve Duncan.
He would take matters into his own hands.
Chapter 10
Christ, she wanted dinner to be over.
The meal seemed to go on forever. Nathan’s surly attitude had not improved with his shower. Joe had been almost silent, and Eve had been so aware of him sitting across the table that she had only been able to respond stiltedly to Galen’s questions and comments.
Galen was the only one who seemed to be unaffected by the atmosphere. He was charged, wired, a one-man show. He alternated between running to the kitchen for a variety of delicious dishes, telling stories, and occasionally jabbing verbally at Joe or Nathan.
“You’re all a great disappointment to me.” Galen leaned back in his chair after he had served coffee. “If I weren’t so socially adept, this meal would have been a disaster. Your performance has been abysmal.”
“This isn’t a circus, Galen,” Joe said. “And you’re not the ringmaster.”
“Very good comparison, Quinn. Evidently you’re not totally lacking in the conversational arts.”
“Galen,” Eve said.
“She obviously wants to smooth the troubled waters around here.” Galen turned to Joe. “Is she afraid for me or you? What do you think?”
“I think I’ve had a bellyful.”
“Crude. Very crude.”
Joe turned to Eve. “I did some phoning before dinner. I called a few of my contacts with the FBI, and they all agreed that Bart Jennings is probably our man. He’s smart and dedicated, and he’s been with the Bureau for the last twenty years.”
“Do you know him personally?”
Joe shook his head. “But I heard about him when I was with the Bureau.”
“What’s happening here?” Nathan asked.
“Eve’s decided to turn over the skull.”
“Without finishing it?”
Eve nodded.
“Thank God. Smart move. Though you’d have done better to leave the skull and just run for it.”
“I’m not giving the skull to Jules Hebert and his crew.” She met his gaze. “I don’t know how much of your story is true and how much is speculative bullshit, but I don’t want to have to deal with it. I’m turning it over to the authorities.”
“You can’t trust the authorities,” Nathan said. “You can’t trust anyone.”
“You sound like a character in a bad movie,” Joe told him. “Eve, I talked to Jennings and he’s promised to keep the problem absolutely confidential. But he’d like to come and see you at ten tomorrow morning.”
Eve frowned. “You told him where we were?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that without checking with you. I told him I’d call him back.”
She thought about it. “Tell him I’ll see him. Then maybe Victor will be off my hands when Jennings leaves here.”
Galen smiled. “You’ll be sorry to see him go.”
That was an understatement. She was always sorry when she failed to bring a subject home, and Victor had become close to an obsession with her. But she mustn’t think about that now. She had fought the battle on the trip here.
“Did you tell him that you got the information about the Cabal from me, Quinn?” Nathan asked.
“No, I thought you’d prefer I didn’t. Though he was pushing pretty hard. As you reporters term it, I quoted a confidential source.”
“Good. Because you may be making a big mistake.” Nathan stood and threw down his napkin. “I’m not going to be there when you meet Jennings. I’ve kept my neck intact so far by not letting anyone know I’m involved. I intend to keep on doing that.”
Galen watched Nathan leave the room before he turned back to Eve. “By the way, I did some checking on Bill Nathan. He’s a freelance columnist on the
Times Picayune,
and pretty well known for advocating various environmental reforms.” He took a fax out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “The picture in the newspaper isn’t great, but it’s definitely him.”
She glanced at the fax. Galen was right; the photo was bad but recognizable. “Then maybe you should get off his back.”
Galen looked at her in surprise. “Why? It’s so much fun.”
“I’ve had enough.” Joe turned to Eve. “I want to talk to you.”
She stiffened.
“Yes, you two run along.” Galen stood and started stacking the dishes. “I have to get these in the dishwasher. A housekeeper’s job is never done—”
“I don’t need your permission, Galen,” Joe said.
“It’s that ringmaster syndrome I have.” Galen started carrying the dishes into the kitchen. “And I believe you can use any help you can get.”
Joe watched the door swing closed behind him. “He’s pushing it. I wonder if he knows how close I am to—” He turned and moved toward the French doors that led to the veranda. “Let’s get out of here.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t say no to me, Eve. I’m too close to exploding, thanks to that son of a bitch.”
“Galen’s been very kind to me.”
“Yeah, he told me. Are you coming?”
The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Joe, but she wasn’t going to be able to bear any more of this tension. Get it over with. She stood up. “I’m coming.”
The autumn night was cold; the breeze from the lake sent a shiver through her.
“Even the weather’s against me.” Joe took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
The jacket was warm from his body and smelled of his favorite cologne. “I don’t want this.”
“And I don’t want to give you an excuse to run inside and away from me.” He leaned against the stone balustrade and looked out at the lake. “I like our lake better. This is too . . . pretty.”
She knew what he meant. This place had none of the wildness and rough earthy beauty of the lake cottage terrain. “It doesn’t look like Galen’s scene either, but he said—”
“We’re not talking about Galen,” he cut in. “We’re talking about us and our life together. Galen doesn’t belong in it.”
“Joe, this is too soon. I can’t—”
“Don’t you think I know it’s too soon? I was going to give you time. It was killing me, but I would have done it. Then everything blew up. You could get yourself killed. I can’t
not
be with you now.” He drew a ragged breath. “And I can’t stand you flinching away from me. So we have to come to terms.”
“What kind of terms?”
“You let me stay with you, protect you, and I won’t ask anything else. I won’t bother you. I won’t back you into a corner. I won’t remind you of how damn good we were together.” He paused and then said through gritted teeth, “I’ll even stand by and let you sleep with Galen if that’s what you want.”
“What?”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “You’re not sleeping with Galen?”
“Are you nuts? After all these years of knowing me, do you believe I could just jump into someone else’s bed without a second thought?”
Joe slowly let his breath out. “I’m definitely going to kill him.”
“He told you I was sleeping with him?”
“Not exactly.” He changed the subject. “Will you go along with me on this? After all this is over, I’ll step out of the picture and let you go back to pondering my sins. Since you’ve called in Jennings, it shouldn’t be that long. I just can’t leave you now.”
Eve didn’t answer.
“You listen to me.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “I deserve this. You may think I’m a bastard, but after all the years and all we’ve gone through together, you can’t close me out. How would you feel if it were me? You care about me. You can’t turn it off and on just because you think I did something unforgivable.”
“It
was
terrible.” And standing here close to him being bombarded by his intensity and her own feelings was terrible, too. “And you’re tearing me apart, dammit.”
“Answer me. How would you feel if I was the one who might get knifed in the gullet by some scumball?”
A world without Joe? Pain. Agonizing loss. Emptiness.
“You see? Now give me what I want. Be fair to me. Let me stay and help you.”
Eve was silent a moment before nodding jerkily. “Okay. But it may only make everything worse.”
“I’m prepared for that.” Joe’s lips twisted. “Though God knows how they could be any worse than they are.” His hands moved yearningly on her shoulders before he slowly released her. “Do you know I haven’t touched you in days? It hurts. . . .” He turned on his heel. “But I’m not supposed to talk about that. It’s against the damn rules.” He disappeared inside the house.
Jesus, she was going crazy. She could still feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders although they were no longer there. She was surrounded by his scent and the warmth of his jacket and the sound of his voice, and his words lingered.
What if it was me?
It was the one question that would have broken through any wall she could erect. She remembered how devastated she’d been when Joe had been shot a few years ago; they had grown still closer since then. Don’t think about it. Try to run on automatic when you’re around him. She had given in because she had recognized she was being unfair, but to dwell on Joe and their life together would be masochistic.
She took off Joe’s jacket. Cold and loneliness immediately assaulted her. It was only a coat, dammit. She carried it inside and laid it on a dining room chair. Let him get it later. She couldn’t face him again right now. He had said he would stay out of her way, but just by being in the same house he disturbed her. She would go upstairs and go to bed. She glanced longingly at the scullery door as she passed it. She was too disturbed to sleep well tonight. If she had Victor to work on, it would give her both distraction and release. She could go find the skull and . . .
No, she mustn’t fall into that temptation. The decision had been made. Tomorrow that FBI man would be here and both the threat and the emotional upheaval would be over.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Bart Jennings smiled at Eve. “Logan explained that your attitude toward government agencies isn’t entirely cordial.” He grimaced. “I have a few problems with bureaucracies myself.”
“A man of judgment,” Galen murmured. “I think I like him, Eve.”
She knew what he meant. From the moment Jennings had appeared at the front door a short time ago, she had been impressed. Jennings was a man in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair that had an unruly cowlick. His manner was straightforward, his demeanor frank and open. “Logan told you that we didn’t want Senator Melton involved in this?”
“I’ve no problem with that. The senator has some pretty heavy connections in Washington, but I’ve seen power figures come and go in my years with the Bureau. From now on, he’s out of the loop.”
“Really?” Joe’s gaze narrowed on Jennings’s face. “You sound very definite about that.”
“Let’s say, I don’t trust him. He may be a stooge, or he may be up to his neck. Either way, we need to be careful.”
“You believe this grand conspiracy theory?”
“I can’t dismiss it until I prove it’s not true.” Jennings paused. “I’ve heard scraps of information that suggest there’s some substance to the story. Some of it’s pretty hard to believe, but it could be damn serious if even a tenth of the things we’ve been told are true. You say this Etienne thought something big was happening in Boca Raton?”
Eve nodded. “At first, he thought it might be a meeting of the Cabal, but there was no event taking place that would give the members an excuse to come. It had to be something else.”
“I need the name of your informant.”
Joe shook his head. “I told you, I promised to keep it confidential.”
“You’re making my job harder.” Jennings turned to Eve. “Which leads me to you. When do you expect to complete the reconstruction?”
“Three, maybe four more days would finish it.” She stiffened. “But I’m not going to finish it. That’s why you’re here. You’re going to take him off my hands. I want out.”
He nodded sympathetically. “I understand perfectly. I’d feel the same way. And if I were you I’d want to throw the request I’m going to make back in my face. But I’ve got to make it anyway: Give us those four days. Finish the reconstruction.”
“The hell she will,” Joe said.
“No way,” Eve said.
“Just listen. Hebert and Melton are obviously desperate to have that skull finished, and they must have a reason. Why?”
“Bently?”
“But why do they need to know he’s dead? And what connection does it have to whatever is going to happen in Boca Raton?” He paused. “We need to know, too. We were involved in the investigation of Bently’s disappearance, and we uncovered a few intriguing little morsels of information. Bently had some hush-hush dealings with a bank in Grand Cayman right before he disappeared.”
“Money laundering?” Galen asked.
Jennings shrugged. “Why? Bently’s personal fortune was enormous. His grandfather was in oil—that was one of the reasons Bently became an environmentalist. Payback. But huge transfers were going on in that bank in Grand Cayman. It was a joint account with a Thomas Simmons, who was allowed to withdraw any amount he chose. Then the account was closed, and the money disappeared.”
“Who was Thomas Simmons?”
“We questioned Bently’s wife and business associates and came up with a blank. No one knew anything about Simmons.” He paused. “But another lead surfaced that guided us down a possible path. We ran a nationwide computer search on think tanks and university personnel, and came up with a Professor Thomas Randall Simmons at Cal Tech. He took a sabbatical about the time Bently disappeared. We couldn’t find any other link until we checked with Grand Cayman and got a sample of his handwriting. It was a match.”
“A con game?” Joe suggested. “Maybe you should look a little harder for the elusive Mr. Simmons. It could be that Bently found out he was being taken, and Simmons decided to get rid of him.”
“We have been looking for him, dammit,” Jennings said. “We came up with zilch. But Bently was very intelligent. It would have taken someone pretty sharp to put anything over on him.”
“Then we go back to whether Bently was a crook himself. Some people never have enough money.”
Jennings shook his head. “We don’t think so. Bently was an idealist and squeaky clean, but there were signs he might have been channeling his money into a secret project.”
“What project?”
“Something he believed in enough to stake his personal fortune on it. That was the lead that sent us scurrying to every think tank in the country to find Simmons. He was up to his eyebrows in some very interesting research.” He paused. “What do you know about fuel cells?”