Iris Johansen - Eve

“And you’ve never regretted having her even after all the pain you’ve experienced?”

“Regret? She lived. She lit up my world.”

He looked down into the coffee in his cup. “And then she was taken away from you.”

“Was it you, John?”

He lifted his gaze. “No.”

She was believing him, she realized incredulously. No, she mustn’t trust him. “Then you know who did it?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t tell me that.” Her voice was shaking. “You have to know something. You have to tell me.”

“I’ll think about it.” He sat up straight in the chair. “Though it would probably be better if I just sent you back to your police detective. Did you tell him about me?”

“Of course.”

He gave her a shrewd glance. “Not everything.”

“Details? No, he wouldn’t be interested.”

“I bet he would.”

“How did you know about Joe?”

“I know everything about you, Eve.” He finished his coffee. “One of Nate Queen’s principal duties was to compile and update dossiers on you. I know about your lover, your work, and your adopted daughter, Jane MacGuire.” He smiled. “She’s a very good artist. You’ll recognize one of her paintings on the wall as you go down the hall.”

She tried to hide her shock. She had naturally assumed Jane was not involved at all with John Gallo. “Why would you want to go to a gallery to buy her painting?”

“Curiosity? I’m very inquisitive. It’s my nature, and while I was in prison, it was developed into a fine art form. She’s very beautiful. She resembles you. I found that odd since you’re not related.”

“Coincidence. But you didn’t talk to her? Ask her questions?”

He shook his head. “I just stayed in the background and watched and listened.” He paused. “Just as I did with you.”

“Why?” Her voice vibrated with intensity. “Were you ashamed? Was it guilt?”

“There’s always guilt.” He stood up. “We’re all flawed, some more than others.” He smiled down at her. “And I’m the most flawed man you’ll probably ever run across. I was starting down that path when we came together, and I went into overdrive after I left you.” He headed for the door. “Bill Hanks will take you to your room. I’ve confiscated your phone, and you’ll find the house phones won’t work without a code inserted.”

“I want my phone. I need to call Joe Quinn. I won’t have him worried. You can monitor the call if you like.”

“Oh, yes, Joe Quinn.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m very interested in that relationship. I think I need to explore it.”

“And does that mean I can’t call him?”

“It might complicate things. You can join me for dinner in an hour, and we’ll talk some more. Or you can stay in your room, and I’ll come to you.”

Another stone wall.

“Who is this Bill Hanks?”

“He’s my head of security, companion, chess partner, whatever. His job description is ‘as designated.’” He stopped at the door. “But he’s very loyal. You’ll not be able to convince him to help you leave until I give the order to let you go.”

“I’ll find a way when I’m ready.” She stared him in the eye. “And that’s not yet. You haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“I answered the important one. You’re just not sure you believe me.”

“The only way I can start to do that is to know more about you. I didn’t have spies, peering behind bushes and invading my daughter’s gallery shows. We have to be even.”

“You always insisted on that.” He opened the door. “I’ll answer everything I can. Feel free to ask Bill anything you like. I’ll tell him that he’s not to feel he has to protect me. It goes with the territory with him. He’s been with me a long time.”

She hesitated. “In Korea?”

“Only the last part of my stay in that fine hotel. That’s why I trust him. He avoided the final indignity.” He smiled. “He’s not crazy like me.”

She stared at the door as it closed behind him. She was as confused and frustrated as she’d been when wakened a little while ago. She had to know more, dammit. He was holding out bits of information like carrots before a donkey.

But he had said that it had not been he who had killed her Bonnie. It might be foolish to follow her instincts and believe him, but it was happening.

And she was profoundly grateful. That would have been the ultimate horror.

But he might still have been involved in some way. She had to find out. She had to know what he knew.

“Ms. Duncan?” A short, stocky man was standing in the doorway. He was fiftyish, with short sandy hair and pale blue eyes. “I’m Bill Hanks.” His smile was warm and broad. “May I take you to your room? John said you’d like to freshen up.”

Eve got to her feet. No dizziness. No aftereffects from the sedative. John had spoken the truth. “Thank you. How courteous of him. After a kidnapping, it’s always nice to have TLC.”

Hanks chuckled. “I imagine it’s difficult to compare kidnappings, but this one is top-grade. John insisted that we do it right. It wasn’t easy. We knew from Queen’s reports that you were expecting the FedEx skull, but FedEx is a very efficient company. It was dicey stealing that truck from the lot when John decided he wanted to move quickly.”

“Queen was monitoring my activities that closely?”

“If he hadn’t been, John wouldn’t have been pleased. Queen doesn’t like to displease John.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him into the hall. “It usually has repercussions.”

“What kind of repercussions?”

“Unpleasant,” Hanks said vaguely.

So Hanks wasn’t going to be entirely frank with her after all. She’d have to push until she hit a wall, then keep on pushing.

Hanks indicated a painting on the wall. “John said you’d want to see the painting. It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

And it was definitely one of Jane’s. Though she recognized the brushstrokes and technique, it wasn’t a painting with which Eve was familiar. It was a forest wreathed thickly in mists, and it was both mysterious and terribly lonely. “Very good.”

“She called it Lost, ” Hanks said. “John said that she got it right.” He was leading her down the shining cherrywood-paneled hall. “I think he would have bought it even if it hadn’t been painted by your daughter. He said you adopted her when she was ten?”

“Or she adopted me. We’ve never been entirely sure how it came about.”

“She’s very young to be so successful.”

“Yes.” She added deliberately, “But it’s not Jane I want to talk about.” She glanced around the hall. “This is quite a place. Luxurious. John Gallo has money now?”

Hanks nodded. “He always says that money has more power than an AK-47. He made sure that he was stocked with that particular ammunition.”

“And how did he get it?”

“He made the U.S. government pay generously for his six years in prison. Then he took the money and did a tour of gambling casinos around the world and ran up his cash reserve into the stratosphere by counting cards.”

She frowned. “How did he do that?”

“Card counting? He taught himself in prison. He was always smart, and he had a lot of time on his hands. It kept his brain sharp. It was real bad there.” He paused. “And it was one of the ways he kept himself from hanging himself in that cell.”

She could picture his desperation, the searching for anything to occupy the mind and replace the horror surrounding him. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Hanks said baldly. “You can’t. I was only in that place for five months before John took me with him when he escaped. I’ll never forget it. The smell, the heat, the pain. I still wake up in a sweat. And John was in there six years.”