Hunting Eve (7 page)

Perhaps he didn’t care. He had dealt with death since he was a young man and knew to become involved was to open himself to defeat. At times he believed that defeat would be welcome, but he still had a keen sense of self-preservation and enjoyed some aspects of the life he’d carved out for himself. If he died, it would be his choice and not that of Doane.

Maybe what he was feeling was distaste at the idea of Doane’s entering his space, not rejection at the possibility of his killing Eve Duncan.

Whatever it was that was moving him, he didn’t like it.

Then face it and get rid of it. The worse thing that could happen was to sit around and think about Doane. He wasn’t worth it.

He reached for his phone and quickly dialed Donald Weiner, his telecommunications expert. “Do you have it?”

“Zander?” Then the sleepiness left Weiner’s voice. “Yeah, I think so. I wasn’t sure that you still wanted it when you didn’t call me back.”

“I wasn’t sure either. I’m sure now. Have you traced Doane’s call or not?”

“It wasn’t that easy. He didn’t stay on the line that long and he had it bouncing off satellites and—”

“He stayed on longer than he should have to be safe. I thought at the time that he might have wanted to lure me to wherever he is. Besides, you’re a genius. If I’d wanted excuses and easy, I’d have hired someone from a Geek desk at BestBuy to bug my phone.”

“I wish you had.”

“Don’t worry. You didn’t hear anything incriminating that would make me nervous in that conversation.” That call when Doane had phoned, spitting venom and threats and put Eve Duncan on the phone, had been more incriminating to Doane than to him, and Weiner was too afraid of him to be a threat. When Venable had told Zander that Doane was on the move, Zander had known that Doane might call him and taken precautions.

“I didn’t really listen to it,” Weiner said. “I just started tracking the signal.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, maybe a little. But I’m not stupid, I hear lots of stuff in my business, and I destroy the records as soon as I finish with them. You can trust me.”

“I don’t have to trust you. All I have to do is pay you; and then you give me the information. Where is Doane?”

“Somewhere in southern Colorado. Wild mountain area. I couldn’t zero in on the exact location, but I’ve got the tower.”

“Map it and send it to my cell phone. Now.” He hung up and leaned back in the chair.

Colorado. Mountain area.

Even if he had a start, it wouldn’t be an easy hunt.

He had done his own research on Doane and his son five years ago, when Venable had snatched Doane away and stuffed him in that safe house. Doane was a hunter and very good at it. Zander couldn’t see him exposing Eve to wild conditions when she was doing the reconstruction on Kevin, but it was possible. First, he’d check out houses and businesses in the area, then start doing some tracking himself.

He flipped open the dossier and looked down at the photo of Eve. The moonlight only revealed a dark shimmer of an image, but he found he didn’t need any more. He knew her face by now. He had looked at it, studied it, thought about it for the last few days. Maybe, for the last five years. Why? Who the hell knew? He had thought he knew himself very well, but he couldn’t deny he’d been drawn, fascinated, by the idea of Eve Duncan.

“It’s not for you,” he whispered. “I have my own reasons for going after Doane. I wouldn’t do it for you.”

His phone pinged, and he accessed the map Weiner had sent him.

The tower encompassed a hell of a large area. Google it for any likely buildings? No, he could do that on the way. Time to start moving.

He got to his feet and called Stang. “I’m heading for Colorado. Call the airport and tell them to get the plane ready for takeoff.”

Stang was silent. “You’re going after her,” he said softly. “You’re going after Eve, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going after Doane.” He headed for the door. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Lake Cottage

KENDRA COULD SEE THE CAR’S
headlights jerkily emerge from the lake surface as the crane lifted it. The bank was swarming with people, and it was daylight bright from the floods. A tall, older man appeared to be giving the orders. That must be Venable, she thought; he breathed authority.

She stopped some distance away to avoid getting in the way and watched the crane do its work.

“Hi, you must be Kendra. Joe Quinn told me you were coming.”

Kendra turned to see a young girl step out of the trees. Slim, medium height, light brown hair, probably not over nineteen or twenty. She was tan and glowing with the sheen of sheer vitality. She wore jeans and a shirt, and her bare feet were in thongs. She was smiling, and Kendra instinctively smiled back. “Yes, and you are?”

“Margaret Douglas.”

“Oh, the friend of the family?”

“Is that what they called me?” Margaret’s smile broadened to delighted brilliance. “That’s nice. What else did they say?”

“Not much. Except that you were an informant.” No one could appear less likely in that role than this young, vibrant girl. “Is that true?”

“Well, sort of … more of an interpreter.” She giggled. “Informants hang out in dark parking garages like that Watergate story about Deep Throat, don’t they?”

“I’m not sure. I guess there are informants and informants. Where do you hang out?” She looked down at Margaret’s semibare feet. “The beach?”

“Sometimes. I just came from an island in the Caribbean, and I’m used to my flip-flops. Where’s Joe? Why didn’t he come with you?”

“He had something else to do.” She took a step closer to the bank as the blue car was lifted high by the crane. “Jane MacGuire wasn’t doing too well. I told him to take her to the hospital.”

“Dammit. I thought she looked bad earlier tonight.” Margaret was looking back at the cottage. “And it looks like Joe’s going to do as you suggested. I see the headlights of his car.” She was frowning. “I should be with her.”

“No one can take better care of her than Quinn,” Kendra said. “And they’re family. It’s his job.”

“You’re wrong. It’s
my
job. She saved my life and took that bullet for me. When Doane’s partner, Blick, was targeting Jane, she pushed me aside. I owe her.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“I owe her,” Margaret repeated. “You have to pay your debts.”

“You must be doing your best to do that if you’re involving yourself to the extent of delving and acting as an informant to—”

“Wait.” Margaret held up her hand. “I can see why Joe was casting around for a way to explain my presence without going into awkward details. He didn’t want to have to defend me. According to what he told me, you’re all high-powered brainpower and logical deductions. You’re going to have problems with me. But I can’t go along with it. I’ve found it easier to be honest with people if I can. Then they can take me or leave me.”

“I don’t have to do either,” Kendra said. “I can’t see that we’ll do much interacting. I work alone.”

“Do you?” Margaret beamed. “So do I. It’s easier, isn’t it? We may be more alike than I thought.” She tilted her head. “Nah, not likely.” She glanced at the suspended car, which was being tilted forward as it was being brought closer to the bank. “They’ll have it down soon and you can get to work. I hope your magic works.”

“It’s not magic, it’s observation.”

“Whatever.” Margaret was looking absently over her shoulder at the receding taillights of Joe’s car going down the drive. “I should be with her. I’m not doing any good here. I’ve told Joe and Venable all I know about this car. It’s up to you now.”

“You told him that there would be a body in that car, the farmer from whom Doane stole the truck.”

“That’s right.”

“You were wrong.” Kendra could see the entire interior of the car because of the tilting of the crane. “No body.”

“It’s in the trunk,” Margaret said with certainty. “Doane wrapped the body in a tarp and stuffed it in the trunk.”

“Who told you that? Did you see it?”

“No, I didn’t see it.” She frowned as she glanced back at Kendra. Joe’s taillights had disappeared from view and with them a little of her patience. “Look, I have to round up one of the officers to give me a lift to go after Jane. Go tell Venable to be careful when he opens the trunk. If there is any evidence left after that dunking, it will probably be there.”

“If you didn’t see it happen, who told you the body was in the trunk?”

“It’s a bullet wound to the head, so I doubt if Venable will be able to get any forensic material after his being under water all that time.” Margaret was already walking away from the bank and back toward the cottage. “But maybe I’m wrong. I’m not like you. I don’t know much about all that scientific stuff.”

“You’re not answering me. Who told you that there was a body in that trunk?”

“A feral.” Margaret’s pace increased. “But he’s pretty reliable.”

“Dammit, what’s that supposed to mean?” Kendra called after her. “Feral? Is that a gang member? Maybe some kind of private-detective organization?”

“No.” Margaret was almost out of sight in the darkness beneath the trees. “Just a cat. I’ll see you later.”

“A cat?” Kendra was standing, riveted, staring after her. “What in hell do you—” Kendra broke off in frustration as she realized Margaret was out of range and couldn’t hear her. The exchange with Margaret had been thoroughly aggravating and bewildering. The girl had a sunny appeal that reached out and enfolded you, but that didn’t keep you from feeling as if you’d been caught up in a gentle whirlwind that left you far from the solid ground where you needed to be. It had been a little like talking to Peter Pan.

Venable. He was no Peter Pan, and she could count on concrete logical answers from a CIA agent.

She turned away and moved toward the agent in a brown leather jacket who was now motioning the crane to lower the blue car on the bank. “Agent Venable?”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s clear. I won’t bother you. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Kendra Michaels. Joe Quinn thought I might be of service.”

“Yeah, he told me.” The blue car was safely on the bank, and he motioned the crane crew to take off the chains. “Though I don’t know what you’re going to be able to tell from this baby.”

“Neither do I. But at least it’s not salt water. That could seriously damage any remaining evidence.” Her gaze went to the interior of the car, which was still a quarter filled with water that was pouring out of the closed doors. “We’ll just have to see. Quinn said to call him if you learned anything. He was going to take Jane to the hospital to have her checked out.”

Venable frowned. “Shit. I was afraid that would happen. She’s been running on sheer will alone for the last couple days. Quinn didn’t need this. He must feel as if he’s been drawn and quartered.”

“He’ll survive. It’s Jane who is fighting the infection.” She walked around the rear of the car. “I ran into Margaret Douglas when I first got here. Interesting.”

“You could say that,” Venable said dryly.

“She said to give you a message. You’re supposed to be careful of damaging evidence when you open the trunk. She said that’s where the farmer’s body has been stuffed. He’s wrapped in a tarp.” She met his gaze. “Though she doubts that you’ll be able to get very much trace evidence. There was no struggle, and he was shot in the head.”

“Shot? My agent Dukes had his throat cut.”

She shrugged. “She said shot.” Her eyes were still narrowed on his face. “You’re taking this very calmly. You actually believe her?”

“Hell, no. But Joe Quinn believes her. And I believe in Quinn. So I’ll go along with him until she’s proved wrong.” His gaze shifted to the trunk. “She says there’s a body in the trunk. Let’s see if she’s right.” He motioned to a man who was standing a few feet away, with
BABCOCK’S LOCKSMITH
stamped on the front pocket of his shirt. “Unlock that trunk. Carefully.”

Kendra took a step closer to Venable. “Did it occur to you that Margaret Douglas could be an accomplice? She said that Jane saved her life by taking a bullet for her. Now she has a reason for staying close to her.”

“It occurred to me. But she was already on Summer Island when Jane MacGuire arrived there with her sick dog.” His lips twisted. “A plant? Maybe. Or maybe everything she says is true. Even some of the things that are a bit of a stretch.”

“Did she tell you who told her about this car in the lake?”

“No.” He looked at her. “But judging from your expression, I’d bet that she told you the same story she told Quinn.”

“She didn’t tell me anything that made sense. Just some babble about a feral cat.”

“That’s what she told Quinn.”

She stared at him incredulously. “What?”

“Jane MacGuire says she’s some kind of dog whisperer or animal whisperer or nature girl or something like that. She swore Margaret saved her dog’s life by finding out that he was poisoned.”

“He told her?” Kendra asked sarcastically.

“You’d have to ask Jane about that. I didn’t discuss the details with Quinn.”

“And this feral cat told Margaret not only where the car was driven into the water but where the body was put into the trunk.”

“And that the farmer was shot and not stabbed,” Venable said. “I know where you’re coming from, and I’m a hundred times more cynical than you are. If she’s in Doane’s pocket, why would she tell us any of that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just too bizarre.”

“But Margaret is very plausible. She makes you want to believe her.” He smiled. “Maybe she’s just crazy and not criminal.”

He was right, there was something about Margaret that lifted the heart. Which was probably reason to be particularly wary of her and a sad commentary on life. “And maybe she’s both.” She was gazing at the locksmith carefully trying to jimmy the trunk with a long-needled picklock gun. The crew dragged over a pair of high-wattage work lights and trained them on the vehicle. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t he be—” She stopped short. “It appears Margaret hit the nail on the head. There is a corpse in there.”

Venable raised his eyebrows. “Really? And did a fish just tell you that?”