Eight Days to Live (20 page)

He stopped and turned back. “And what happens to Seth Caleb? We don’t know if Weismann picked up some help.”

She had been thinking the same thing. Anger and frustration and a deep underlying fear had been struggling within her. “It was Caleb’s choice. He closed us out. He clearly thinks he doesn’t need us.”

He studied her expression. “You’re sure?”

She nodded jerkily. “He made the choice. Lina is innocent. No one could ever call Caleb innocent. He’ll have to fend for himself.” She turned back toward the cottage. “We’ll just have to wait until he comes back.”

“He didn’t take the car.”

“We would have heard him leave. That’s not what he wanted. I imagine he functions very well on foot.” She could visualize him running over those hills, his dark eyes narrowed, his expression intent.

Darkness.

Power.

Blood.

She took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. “He’ll be fine. After all, he’s a hunter.”

JUST AHEAD.

In the trees on the hill overlooking the cottage.

Caleb’s pace lengthened, his gaze on the trees. Weismann had left the car he had parked a few hundred yards away and was moving up the hill. He was carrying an M-25. Otherwise known as a light sniper.

A sharpshooter weapon.

He was planning on picking them off as they left the cottage.

Caleb could feel the blood coursing through his veins as he began to run.

Exhilaration.

Heady joy.

Silence.

Wind.

The earth moving, giving, beneath his pounding feet.

His heart beating, beating, beating.

This was the way a hunt was meant to be. Not on city streets or a rolling sea. A hunt could take place anywhere, but this was the best, this was how it had been at the dawn of man.

Weismann had stopped and was lying down, positioning himself on a hillock.

Come in from behind?

No cover.

The trees. There was a huge oak tree near the spot where Weismann lay.

Four strides, and he was next to it. He shinnied up the oak tree and crawled out onto the branch.

Don’t rustle a leaf.

Slide smoothly, like a python, without a sound.

He was directly over Weismann.

And Weismann knew he wasn’t alone. Caleb could see it in the slight stiffening of his body. He knew he’d not made a mistake but there was no way to fight primitive instinct.

Then strike fast before instinct became thought.

He dove from the tree.

Weismann rolled away at the last moment and Caleb landed on his hands and knees beside him.

“Son of a bitch!” Weismann swung the barrel of the gun toward him.

Caleb rolled the few feet toward him, grabbing at the gun and jerking it away. In one motion he rose and swung the barrel at Weismann’s head.

Weismann grunted and fell to the ground. Unconscious but still alive.

Caleb stared down at him in disappointment, his heart still racing.

Too easy. He wanted more.

He wanted a kill.

He reached down and gently pushed back the hair from Weismann’s temple, where the blood was pouring from the cut made by the rifle barrel. What harm? Weismann was a murderer. Take what he wanted and walk away.

Not possible.

The realization caused a bolt of fury to sear through him.

Keep it under control. Anger was the enemy. It made every breach of the code seem valid.

But killing this scum wasn’t a breach of his code. That was why he was a hunter.

Excuses. This was more complicated. Jane needed information from the bastard. She wanted him alive.

He had to let him live . . . for a while.

He reached down, picked Weismann up, and slung him over his shoulder. He was a big man but Caleb didn’t mind the weight.

He needed to channel every bit of his mind and strength into trying to keep himself from making the kill.

“HE’S COMING.” JOCK TURNED AWAY
from the window. “And he looks like paintings I’ve seen of frontiersmen carrying home the carcasses from a buffalo hunt.”

“He’s here?” Jane ran to the door and flung it open.

Caleb was coming up the road, and the carcass on his back was no animal. He was carrying the burden without effort, striding quickly. His hair was rumpled and his shirt stained with blood.

She stepped out on the doorstep. “Caleb?”

He stopped before her and threw the man on his back to the ground. “Weismann. As promised.”

She gazed down at the man. Eyes closed, auburn hair now covered in blood. “Is he dead?”

“No. I hit him with a rifle butt. He’ll probably have a concussion, but the chances are fair that he’ll be able to talk. Let’s get it over with.”

The words were spoken with such leashed ferocity that her gaze flew to his face.

Caleb’s dark eyes were glittering in his taut face, and his lips were full and sensual and slightly drawn back from his teeth. He looked wild, barbaric. No, he looked . . . hungry.

“Get what over with, Caleb?” Jock said softly as he shut the door and moved to stand beside her.

Caleb’s glance at him was like a dagger thrust. “Don’t mess with me, Gavin. This isn’t the time.”

“No, I can see that.” Jock turned to Jane. “Why don’t you go in and—”

“No,” Caleb said sharply. “She wanted him. She’s got him. I have to have it finished.” He looked at Jane, and she unconsciously braced herself. She felt . . . scorched. “Do you want me to wake him so that you can talk to him?”

“He’s unconscious. How can you—”

“If you want it, I can do it.” He knelt beside Weismann and added recklessly, “What the hell. I’ll do it anyway. It’s just a question of adjusting the blood flow . . .”

“I’m not sure that—”

Weismann screamed in agony, and his lids flew open.

“What happened?” Jane asked, startled.

“I told you, blood flow. I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt.”

Weismann was cursing venomously, his eyes fixed balefully on Caleb.

Caleb bent closer to Weismann, and said softly, “Be polite. I’m holding on by a thread. The lady wants answers, give them to her.” He looked at Jane. “Ask your questions.”

“I will. Just don’t hurt him again.”

“Do you hear that, Weismann? She’s feeling sorry for you. That weapon I took away from him was an M-25, very good for sharps-hooting up to 980 yards, and he was getting set to pick us all off as we came out of the cottage.”

“And I would have gotten you.” Weismann’s gaze went to Jock. “Stop him. You’re not going to do anything to me. You’re in Venable’s pocket. The CIA needs the information I have. He’s willing to pay.”

“You killed Adah Ziller, and God knows what other deals
you’ve been making on the side,” Jock said. “Venable may not have any use for you any longer.”

“You don’t believe that. What’s the death of one greedy bitch matter? Tell him to let me go. Who is he anyway?”

“Seth Caleb,” Caleb said. “And no one tells me anything, Weismann. They ask politely. Or, in your case, they beg.”

“Stop this,” Jane said as she took a step nearer. She wanted to be done both with Weismann’s ugliness and the wild recklessness she could sense in Caleb. “All I want is for you to tell me what you know about why I’ve been targeted, Weismann.”

Weismann’s lips curled. “Then tell Venable to pay me. Or you can spend the next few days trying to dodge Millet and hope he doesn’t find you. Let me go, and we can negotiate.”

“I think not,” Caleb said. “I’ve lost patience. Talk.”

“Caleb,” Jane said.

He smiled. “I won’t touch him.”

That brilliant smile was terrifying. “Just persuade him to change his mind. I don’t care if he thinks you’re his brother.”

“I care.” He leaned still closer to Weismann, and whispered, “You’re not worth the extra effort I’d have to make. So tell Jane what she wants to know.”

“Screw you.”

“Screw. Interesting word. Painful word.”

Weismann shrieked, his body convulsing, his spine trying to curve.

“Talk to Jane,” Caleb said. “Don’t be impolite. She asked you a question.”

“Son of a bitch.” Tears were running down Weismann’s cheeks. “What’s happening?”

“Caleb,” Jane said sharply.

“Too late.” Caleb said. “A little hemorrhage . . .”

Blood was pouring from Weismann’s nose.

“Convulsion.”

Weismann howled and bent double in agony.

“Dammit, Caleb,” Jane said.

“He can stop it. All he has to do is talk to you.”

And Caleb wouldn’t stop. He was enjoying it too much.

“Do it, Weismann,” Jane said curtly. “For God’s sake, answer.”

Weismann was scrambling, desperately trying to scoot backward. “Get him away from me.” He gazed frantically at Jock. “Gavin, do something.”

“Why? I’m finding this very interesting. I’d guess you’re the only who can end it.”

“Cramps,” Caleb said.

Weismann flinched back, his legs twitching. “Monster,” he gasped. “You’re—a—monster.”

“Yes, tell her what she wants to know.”

More pain.

Weismann howled.

“Why did they target her, Weismann?”

“Damn you.” He could barely talk because of the blood running down into his mouth. “Stop it. How can I talk when you keep—”

“Two minutes. Then it starts again if you don’t tell her everything that she needs to know. Why?”

He was silent. “It’s that painting of the man. The one she called
Guilt
.”

“That painting?” Jane repeated. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Weismann is going to make sense out of it for you,” Caleb said. “Go on, Weismann.”

“I don’t know everything,” Weismann said sulkily. “Millet
doesn’t trust me as far as he could throw me. But I managed to slip around and listen to him rant to some of the others after I saw how angry he was when he received that clipping.”

“You thought it would prove valuable,” Gavin said.

Weismann ignored him. “It wasn’t the painting as much as the title that bothered Millet and the others. He said by naming it
Guilt
, you’d committed blasphemy.”

Blasphemy. That word again. “How could I do that when that painting was born purely from imagination?” Jane asked, in frustration.

Weismann shook his head. “That’s not what Millet said. He said you must have seen it in the temple. He said that even if you weren’t a blasphemer, they’d have to stop you before you could tell anyone about the temple.”

“What temple?”

“I don’t know.” He groaned, twisted in a ball. “Stop him. Stop—Caleb. I don’t
know
.”

Jane whirled on Caleb.

He shrugged. “Just a little nudge.” His gaze shifted to Weismann. “The name of the man who sent Millet the photo?”

He didn’t answer.

Then he screamed. “Alan—Roland.”

“Ah, the man pulling strings behind the scenes,” Gavin said. “What do you know about Hadar’s Tablet?”

“I know that bitch Adah had it. I know Millet wanted it.”

“But what is it?” Jane asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe some artifact Millet thought was valuable. He grew up in Syria and did a little smuggling before he formed the Sang Noir.” He looked in panic at Caleb. “That’s the truth. I swear that’s the truth. Millet sent me to Adah and told me to pretend that I was a wealthy businessman and try to find out
where she was keeping it. No problem. I’m good with women. She was easy. It was in the safe-deposit box, right?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “But I can’t believe she didn’t realize what scum you were.”

“I
had
her. The bitch was going to take me to get the tablet, and she thought we were going to go away together.”

“And you were going to give the tablet to Millet.”

“Maybe. I hadn’t decided.”

“Are you through with him?” Caleb asked.

“Don’t be impatient,” Gavin said. “I can understand your dislike for him, but I don’t believe Jane is going to let you have your way.”

“You don’t understand anything about me,” Caleb said curtly. “Neither does she. It’s my nature to be impatient. He’s no use to us.”

“Back off. I can’t let you murder him in cold blood,” Jane said.

“Not cold blood, hot blood,” Caleb said. “That’s the problem.”

“He’s a freak.” Weismann moistened his lips. “Don’t let him near me.”

“We’ll do our best. Alan Roland,” Jock said. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much. I overheard Millet talking to him on the phone a couple times. I got the impression they’ve known each other for a long time. I think he lives in London.”

“More,” Jane said.

“There isn’t any more. Just something about an Offering.” He shrugged. “They don’t like each other. But I think Roland had something on him.”

“And Jane was part of the deal?” Gavin asked.

Weismann nodded. “Roland threw her to Millet as a kind of appetizer, but she wasn’t the main course.”

“How humiliating,” Jane said ironically. “My life isn’t even
that important in the scheme of things. Well, it’s important to me, dammit.”

“It’s important to me, too,” Caleb said roughly. “Or I wouldn’t have brought this bastard here gift-wrapped. But he’s told you all he can.”

“How do you know?” Gavin asked.

“I don’t. The only way to make sure is to go inside and take a look. But if I did that, I couldn’t promise you that he’d come out of it intact. He’d probably be a vegetable. I don’t have much control right now. Any resistance, and I’d burn him away.” He glanced at Jane. “But I don’t mind, if you don’t.”