Iris Johansen: Blood Game

The ninth book in the Eve Duncan series, 2009

THE WOMAN WAS FRUITFUL.

She had given to him, and he must give back.

Kevin Jelak arranged her naked body carefully on the grass. He brushed her long blond hair back from her face and closed her blue eyes, which were staring straight up at the sky. But he could do nothing about the twisted horror that was frozen on her face. She hadn’t understood the honor he was doing her. Well, what could you expect? Nancy Jo Norris was only nineteen, and she didn’t know what nightmares could attack a woman, the nightmares from which he’d saved her. He preferred to honor older, more experienced women, but the fever had been upon him, and he’d had to compromise.

The fever. You didn’t realize how fortunate you were, Nancy Jo. I might have driven right past you if the torment hadn’t been so intense and if I hadn’t been forced to confine myself to such a small corner of the world.

The corner of the world that contained Eve Duncan. Wonderful, strong, tortured Eve Duncan. Eve knew about the nightmares. She had lived through them. She might pretend that she wanted life, but deep in her heart of hearts she only wanted the release he could give her. The release he must give her. He had known that she would be his final move in the game. But she had destroyed his prime source, and it was his duty to take the time and effort to single her out for attention right away .

He looked up at the crescent moon, sharp as a scythe in the night sky. “Eve, do you hear me?” he whispered. “Do you feel me?” Then he closed his eyes and tried to form a picture of Eve in his mind. Short red-brown hair, thin, strong body, intelligent face brimming with character. “You’re not going to be easy. But I promise I will persevere.”

In the meantime, he had this lesser woman, this Nancy Jo Norris, to do final honor.

He took the golden goblet that he had cupped between her folded hands on her breasts. “You’re released, Nancy Jo. Take flight.” He bent and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. She was already turning cool as her soul departed. “Have you forgiven me yet? Do you realize the gift I’ve given you?”

They were the questions he asked every time but to no avail. He must be patient. Someday, one of them would give him that reassurance.

Perhaps Eve Duncan…

One final duty that was always pure pleasure.

“Nancy Jo Norris.” He lifted the goblet to his lips, his gaze once more on the night sky and the cold, sharp sliver of moon. “Gift to Gift.”

He drained the goblet.

THE CRESCENT MOON WASbright and cold, tossing its icy glitter over the sleeping fields that bordered the highway leading toward the Atlanta airport.

Cold? Why had that word suddenly occurred to her, Eve wondered. She was on her way to pick up her adopted daughter, Jane, arriving from Paris, and until a few minutes ago she had been filled with warmth and excitement.

She was being foolish. She was still filled with that same love and excitement. This chill was only because it was the middle of the night and probably a carryover from the last few days Joe and she had spent in the swamp tracking down that monster, Henry Kistle. It had been a nightmare period when the serial killer had taken a little girl hostage to lure Eve to come after him. She could do nothing else when he had lied to her and told her that he was the one who had killed her little girl, Bonnie, all those years ago. The nightmare had taken on gigantic proportions when they discovered the island on which dozens of murdered children had been buried. Yes, that was enough to chill anyone to the bone.

Together with the realization that Joe Quinn was growing farther and farther away from her every minute she continued to search for the body of her murdered daughter, Bonnie. All the years of love and living together that might be coming to an end because she couldn’t bear not to continue to try to bring her Bonnie home. Years ago, her child had been kidnapped and presumed murdered. When they later discovered that Ralph Fraser, who had confessed and been executed for multiple murders, was not the killer, she had started on the search to find the man who had taken her daughter.

And Joe had been with her through it all, giving her support and love. First as an FBI agent, then with the ATLPD, but always right beside her. He’d been there to pull her out of the depths of depression, give her encouragement when she’d decided to go back to school and become a forensic sculptor to help bring closure to other parents of children who had been lost. He had been her lover, her friend, her protector.

Until this last year, when he had grown weary and frustrated at the constant threat to Eve. That last danger from Henry Kistle might have been the final straw.

Don’t think about it. Think about seeing Jane and the fact that Joe had not walked away from her yet. He’d been fine when she’d left home this morning. Maybe she could work out the-

Her cell phone rang. Jane.

“I’m on my way,” she said when she picked up. “Was your flight early? I thought I had another thirty minutes.”

“You probably have a hell of a lot more time than that,” Jane said. “I’m in Charlotte, North Carolina. My plane had a mechanical problem and landed here. They’re trying to put us on another flight. It looks like a two- or three-hour delay.”

“Damn. Well, I’ll come out and wait anyway.”

“You will not. Go back home. I’ll call you when I’m ready to board the flight.”

Eve thought about it. “You’re probably right. I should be able to get back in plenty of time to meet you at baggage claim.”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to put you to this trouble. I know how exhausted you must be. Not a very good start for my visit.”

“Any way I can get you is a good start.”

“Is Joe with you?”

“No, I left him in bed. He was even more exhausted than I was. He was at the precinct last night trying to put names to those dead children we found in the swamp.”

She was silent a moment. “But your Bonnie wasn’t one of them?”

“No.” She couldn’t speak for a moment as she remembered the agony of that realization. “Lord, I was praying that I’d find her, Jane.”

“I know. That’s why I hopped on that plane to come home. I know you have Joe, but I want to be there for you.”

“Yes, I have Joe.” She had to get off the phone until she could regain full control. Jane could always read her. “And I’m going to be happy as a clam to have you home. Call me.” She hung up.

She hoped she had Joe. Dear God, life without Joe would be empty and without texture or substance, as cold as that moon shining above her.

Coldness, again. She couldn’t shake it off.

She got off the exit and turned around. She would go home to the lake cottage and Joe. She would hold him and let his strength pour into her. Then maybe, after a little while, the chill would go away.

THE LIGHTS WERE ON IN THEkitchen, Eve noticed as she drove up to the cottage. Joe must not have been able to go back to sleep after she’d left. He was probably having coffee and waiting for her to bring Jane home.

But he wasn’t in the kitchen, although the coffeemaker was on. Cups, saucers, and creamer had been set on the table in readiness. He wasn’t in the bedroom either.

What the hell?

Then she heard him coming up the porch steps.

A moment later he came into the house. He was wearing his brown robe and slippers, and his hair was rumpled. She had bought the robe last Christmas because she always loved him in brown. It made his dark hair appear almost caramel-colored and his eyes a shimmering tea color. Everyone was usually only aware of the toughness that he radiated, and that was still there, but the hardness seemed to be softened by the rich color.