Hunting Eve (6 page)

Joe moved toward Jane. “I asked her to come here.”

Jane’s eyes met Kendra’s with a hint of a challenge. She said softly, “Maybe there are too many cooks in the kitchen already.”

“Jane, don’t be—” Joe stopped and smiled slightly. “What the hell, go ahead.”

Kendra nodded. “Oh, we intend to, Quinn. It’s okay, I understand where she’s going. Believe me, I’ve been involved in enough investigations and seen too many crime scenes spoiled by investigators stepping all over each other. You’ve already had more than your share. You’ve had what, nineteen different law-enforcement officers here in the last day and a half? Eleven FBI, six local police, two CIA, give or take. Fourteen men and five women in all.”

Jane wrinkled her brow and glanced at Joe. “Is that correct?”

“Hell if I know, but it sounds about right.”

Kendra jammed her hands into her pockets and walked slowly around Jane.

“I know you were born here in Georgia, or at least lived here before you can remember. You’ve spent a lot of time in Europe, especially Paris, and probably lived there for a while. But you’ve been living in London for at least the past several months.”

Jane glanced at Joe. “Did you or Eve tell her that?”

“Possible. But I don’t think so.”

Kendra shook her head. “In London, you lived in an older building, in a second-floor walk-up apartment. Or maybe even higher.”

“Third floor,” Jane said. “And now you definitely have my attention.”

“You used to have a very nice pair of Gucci sunglasses, but you misplaced them. You must have liked them. You’re still hoping they’ll turn up before you take the plunge and have to buy them again. But it’s been what, three months?”

Jane thought for a moment. “Two.”

“In the meantime you’ve been wearing an inexpensive pair that are a little uncomfortable for you. They look similar to the ones you lost, but they’re not the same, are they?”

“No.” Jane smiled. “So now are you going to tell me where I can find my Guccis?”

“Under the sofa in your sitting room, probably on the left side.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Nah, just kidding about that one. Who do you think I am?”

Jane shook her head. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“But I can tell you that your favorite bracelet was made in the twenties or thirties, possibly made of silver and Czech glass. Your second favorite is very colorful, maybe amber, blue-and-white stardust patterns all around, with intricate gold settings.”

Jane instinctively gripped her own bare left wrist. “You’re right. But I didn’t bring either of them with me.”

“I’m sure you had more important things on your mind. You use an iPhone, and you don’t own a car. Not that you really need one in London. Eve already told me that you’re an artist, but she didn’t say that you’ve recently been doing microscopic detail work, possibly photorealism?”

Jane was gazing at her in amazement. “Yes, I’ve been experimenting just in the past few weeks. I haven’t shown anyone my work yet.”

“I’ve always admired artists who weren’t afraid to branch out and try new forms.”

Jane didn’t speak for a moment, then slowly nodded. “The admiration is mutual, Dr. Michaels.”

Kendra inclined her head. “Kendra.”

Joe smiled. “Didn’t I tell you, Jane?”

“Yes,” Jane said. She turned back to Kendra. “But are you sure that someone didn’t tell you all this? Joe wasn’t entirely certain. Not Eve or Joe?”

“I was told, but not by them.”

“Then who?”

“By you.” Kendra leaned back against the porch rail. “All those years I was blind, I used everything I had to make my way in the world. Everything I heard, smelled, felt, and tasted was crucial. I was like a voracious sponge absorbing everything. You just don’t unlearn that. And now that I can see, I want to pay attention to everything. Vision is such a wonderful gift that I don’t take anything for granted.”

“Clearly you don’t,” Jane said. “So how did I tell you all that?”

“Your clothes tell me quite a bit. You’re wearing a three-year-old pair of Feiyue sneakers and a pair of slacks from Maje that are about the same age. You could have bought them in many cities or even online, but each of those items is most popular in France. Odds are that you were living there at the time of purchase.”

Jane nodded. “I was. But you knew I moved later to England.”

“You replaced your shoelaces within the last few months, and those are different from any that Feiyues come with. Those are polyester flat-woven, five-sixteenth-inch-wide laces. Clearly from the UK, not France. Your shoes are scuffed with tiny marks of gray paint on the fronts and backs, some fresher than others. You picked them up by several months of banging your toes and heels against painted staircase risers, probably unavoidable because the treads are so narrow. That wouldn’t be the case in a newer building. And you now obviously go to a hair salon in England, not France.”

Jane flipped back her shoulder-length red-brown hair. “Obviously? I didn’t know I had a British hairstyle.”

“You don’t, but you use a British shampoo. Indian Mulberry by Molton Brown.”

Jane’s mouth fell open. “How in the hell—”

“A very distinctive scent.” Kendra tapped her nose. “When you’re blind, shampoos and soap odors are fairly reliable indicators as to who is standing nearby. And sometimes where people come from.”

“Well, you’re dead right. About my hair and my clothes. You’re quite the fashionista.”

“Me?” Kendra tugged at the collar of her shirt. “Old Navy. But I’m good at recognizing designs. And dialects. Even if I hadn’t seen you, I would have known about the Georgia upbringing, the time spent in Paris, and your most recent time in London. I could pick it up in some of your pronunciations. I knew it from the moment you said that ‘maybe there are too many cooks in the kitchen already.’ The rest just confirmed it.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “I hope you’re happy. You’ve just made me incredibly self-conscious about the way I speak. What about the sunglasses?”

Kendra stepped closer and used her forefinger to trace an outline around Jane’s eyes. “You wore your Guccis for a long time before you lost them. Those years made a slight tan line on your skin. It’s very, very faint but defined enough for me to see that you had a very nice pair of Gucci double-bridged aviators.”

Jane gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

“And I see a ruddier, more recent outline of another pair of aviators with almost the same shape. But your skin is red and irritated on your nose and also behind both ears. Injuries inflicted by your replacement sunglasses. I’m surprised you stuck with them this long.”

“Me, too. I was busy and didn’t want to go to the bother of finding another pair.”

“And once you find something you like, you stay with it. Your clothes are good-quality, but I’ll bet you wear them for years and years.”

“Yes.” Jane raised her arm and gazed at her wrist. “My skin … Is that how you knew about my bracelets?”

“Yes, you should really use sunscreen more often. It’s just the faintest color … It looks like cut glass separated by alternating patterns … Maybe a flower design?”

“Butterfly.”

“In any case, very Eastern European, very art deco.”

“But you described the other one in such detail.” She frowned. “There was no way my wrist could have told you that, dammit.”

“Not entirely.” Her lips turned up at the corners. “But I could just barely make out a pattern I remember seeing on one of Eve’s bracelets. I complimented her on it and she told me you’d made it for her. Given what I was seeing there, it wasn’t a leap to think you’d also made one for yourself. Since the shape of the beads and settings were the same, it was pretty safe to assume that the colors were also the same as hers.”

“I made mine first.”

“There’s a slight wear mark on your slacks that tells me you usually keep your iPhone in the front-left pocket, which also tells me you don’t often carry a purse. But I don’t see a wear mark for a bigger keychain, which is usually more abrasive. It makes me think you don’t own a car.”

“Not in London, but I’ve started looking for one here.” Jane leaned against the rail next to Kendra. “Okay, now how in the hell did you know I was experimenting with a new painting style?”

“You’ve recently started using a monocle of some kind over your right eye. You squint to hold it in place, which has left faint, callus lines above and below your eyelids. The lines are fairly fresh, meaning you haven’t been doing it for long. That suggests you’ve been doing intricate detail work unlike that in most of your other paintings.”

Jane nodded. “I can see why Eve was so impressed.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “What I want to know is how you knew about all of our law-enforcement visitors.”

“That was the easiest of all,” Kendra pointed down, where hundreds of muddy footprints crisscrossed the porch. “Each agency has its own favorite shoe. Police have their uniform shoes, FBI favors dress shoes with rubber soles, and, when they’re not on a mission, CIA types usually go for leather soles. Each set of footprints tells a story. It’s just a matter of learning to read.”

Joe studied the footprints. “I guess I’m just illiterate.”

Kendra turned to Jane and tilted her head. “Enough? I could probably pull up some other details if I concentrated. But it’s such a waste of time.”

“Enough,” Jane said quietly. “I hope you’re as good at pulling up information about Doane.”

“So do I.” Kendra turned to Joe. “Where can I be helpful? What do we know? Where do we start?”

“What do we know? Damn little. I’d like you to take a look at the safe house in Goldfork, Colorado, where Doane lived, and see if you can come up with something. Venable’s agents have come up with zero leads.”

“Then Doane is definitely not holding Eve at that safe house?”

“No way. But we don’t know where he is holding her. Eve managed to make a call to me, but it was broken off before it made the final connection. Venable is trying to trace the tower now.” He added grimly, “Trying isn’t an option. He has to do it.”

“You mentioned a grave where one of Venable’s agents was buried?”

“You can check it out, but forensics has already gone over it pretty thoroughly.” He looked out at the lake. “But I really want you to get a look at that car when they bring it up. I want to know why Doane drove it into the lake.”

“You said that there might be a corpse in it. Isn’t that what your informant told you?”

“Informant?” Jane repeated. “Oh, Margaret.”

“Who’s Margaret?” Kendra asked. “And how did she know that—”

“She didn’t,” Joe said. “Not definitely. But a body is a hell of a lot easier to dispose of than a car. Why get rid of the car?”

“Who’s Margaret?” Kendra asked again.

“A friend.” Joe stiffened as his gaze narrowed on the crane at the bank. “They’re getting ready to lift. Come on, Kendra. Let’s go and watch them bring it up.” He started down the stairs. “Jane, you stay here. You’ve been doing too much today. You don’t need to be walking halfway around the lake.”

“The hell I will,” Jane said.

Kendra shook her head as she started down the steps after Joe. “You can’t help. All you could do is watch. Save your strength for the big push. Eve told me you were smart. Now prove it.”

Jane hesitated. “Dammit, I wish you were wrong.” She wearily dropped down on the porch swing. “I’ll wait here. You come back and tell me what’s happening.”

“I will.” Kendra hurried down the steps after Joe. A moment later, they were yards from the cottage. She stopped as they reached the shadow of a huge pine. “Go back to her, Quinn.”

“What?”

“She’s not good. She wanted to come with us. There has to be a good reason why she stayed behind.”

“She was shot a couple days ago. Naturally, she’s not a hundred percent.”

“I’d say she’s way under fifty percent. She’s in a lot of pain.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Would she?”

Joe cursed. “Probably not. She left the hospital before she was due to be released, and she won’t rest. She must be pretty bad if you noticed—what am I saying? You’d know before anyone else.”

“It’s pretty obvious. She was trying not to show it, but I could hear it in her breathing and see it in her footsteps. When she was leaning against the porch rail, she needed that support.” She paused. “And I could smell it.”

“Smell it?”

“The infection. It has its own scent. Ask any nurse. That wound is festering. I’d bet she’s burning with fever. Go back to her. Take her to the hospital and get her some help.”

“I’m going.” He turned on his heel. “Stubborn. So damn stubborn. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“It’s probably your fault. You and Eve raised her. You’d probably behave in the same way.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“No, I’m a stranger. Jane wouldn’t like me to see her when she’s weak. I’ll go down and take a look at that car they’re raising from the lake.” She started down the path around the lake. “I’ll call you if I find out anything.”

“You’d better,” he said grimly as he took the porch steps two at a time. “Venable’s down there running the operation. Tell him I sent you.”

“I’d rather not have a CIA man hovering over me.”

“Too bad. We’re all in this together.” His voice was harsh with frustration. “I keep going down blind alleys. I’ve got to find a way to get to Eve.”

Vancouver

ZANDER SHRUGGED OUT
of his jacket as he let himself back into the library after spending two hours working out at the gym. He should be feeling tired, but he was not. He was alert, revved, every sense alive.

He didn’t turn on the lights as he crossed the room to the desk. There was moonlight, and that was usually enough for him. He had trained his eyes to crystal sharpness over the years, and he kept them that way through constant practice. The gadgets and infrared glasses were all very well, but there was always that time when you didn’t have them. Then natural weapons always prevailed.

He dropped down in the executive chair and stared down at the Duncan dossier.

Are you still alive, Eve Duncan?

And why should I care? I gave up the luxury of emotion years ago. Or it could be that it gave me up.