Iris Johansen - Eve

She could feel the tears rise to her eyes as she had when he had first told her that story.

She came looking for me.

That simple sentence was enough to break her heart. The miracle of Bonnie, who had come into both their lives and changed them beyond belief.

“Don’t fight me, Eve. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’m just saying that we have to come to terms with a way of handling it that will make both of us content. Not happy. I don’t know if we can get to that level. But content would be good.”

“I can’t… you’re out of my life. I have Joe now. He’s all I want.”

“And my first reaction is to try to change your mind. We were so damn good together that sex seems a natural part of any relationship that we could have.” He added before she could speak, “But that’s the kid, John Gallo, thinking. I know we can’t go back. We’ve both moved on. Well, you’ve moved on. I’m still struggling.”

She was struggling, too. It seemed so right to have him in the bed next to her. It wasn’t right. She loved Joe. But there was that strong bond that wouldn’t be banished.

“Okay,” he said. “So I can’t have sex with you. What’s left? We were never friends, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work on it. I admire the person you’ve become. You can’t say the same about me, but I might provide amusement value. Friendships can be based on a lot of weird things.”

“There are things about you I admire,” she said jerkily. “You’re a survivor, and what you’ve endured would have broken almost anyone else. You thought you were being tortured to protect your country. I admire your patriotism. Most of the time, I think you’re honest with me. That’s important, too.”

He chuckled. “You had to really dig for that list.”

“What do you expect? I don’t know you.”

“I believe we’re going to have to rectify that.” He suddenly reached over and touched her cheek. “Don’t stiffen up on me. I’m not making a move on you. I just want to show you I can touch you with affection that has nothing to do with sex.” He stroked the line of her cheekbone. “Because the affection will always be there. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“Because you gave me Bonnie,” he said simply. “Because together we created something more wonderful than anything I could accomplish by myself if I live to be a hundred.” He felt the moisture of her tears on his fingers. “Hey, I don’t want this. I just want you to know that no matter what we have to overcome, it’s going to be worth it. I think we have to be together some way, somehow.” He added awkwardly, “I think maybe… she wants it.”

“Bonnie?” Eve whispered.

“I’ve thought a lot about why she came to me in that prison. She was a part of both of us, Eve. The three of us are bound together. I’ll never be able to look at you without feeling that closeness with her. Will you be able to look at me without feeling her love?”

She had been trying to shut out every facet of feeling toward him, but his words were tearing down the walls and revealing the truth. He was right. This wasn’t going to go away because it was all about Bonnie. For her, Bonnie had been the center of her being. She was beginning to think that Bonnie had been equally important to John. If that was true, then they had no option but to accept and try to find a way to live with it. She said unevenly, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Good.” He bent down and kissed her forehead, then was gone again. “I just had to get that much established. I was feeling very much alone. I’ve always been the outsider.”

Alone. Outsider.

Yes, John had always been the outsider as far as Bonnie was concerned. Eve had seen to that. She had never told him, never wanted him to know he had a child. She had chosen to bear the responsibility, but she had also garnered the joy. John Gallo had not been permitted either.

“Go to sleep,” John said. “If we have an intruder in Room 1502, the alarm will wake us.”

Outsider.

“I’m not sleepy. I wonder if you…” She started again. “I wonder if you’d like me to tell you about Bonnie?”

She could feel his sudden stillness. “You don’t have to do that. I know it might be painful.”

“Some of it, but most of it is pure joy. I think… I want to share her with you, John. If that’s what you want, too.”

“Oh, my God.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, trying to put her thoughts, her memories together. He had missed so much. Where to start on the story of Bonnie?

The beginning.

“The first time the nurse brought me Bonnie, she said she was magic…”

WEBSTER GROVES WAS A PLEASANT suburb that consisted of a mixture of older homes built in the early nineteenth century and newer homes that appeared sleek but lacked character.

Catherine glanced at her GPS. She should be arriving at Judy Clark’s mother’s home in a few moments. It was close to eleven at night. She might have gone to bed. Should Catherine ring the bell or phone again? Maybe if she told Mrs. Kamski she was outside, she might agree to let her in and talk to her.

Or maybe she would tell Catherine to go take a flying leap.

She’d ring the bell.

The GPS instructed her to turn left at the next street.

She turned on San Cecilia.

Number 230 was halfway down the block, an older two-story clapboard house. Catherine might not have to worry about waking anyone. Lights were still streaming from one of the windows on the first floor.

She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.

She stopped two feet before she reached the front door.

Oh, shit. She knew that sound.

Moaning. Muffled but still audible.

TV?

She rang the bell.

No answer but that muffled cry of pain.

That was no TV.

She tried the knob. The door swung open.

She froze, her gaze on the staircase facing the door.

A gray-haired woman in a pink, flowered robe was lying on her back, wrists and ankles spread wide and tied to the pickets on either side of that staircase. Her mouth was gagged, her eyes wide open.

Blood everywhere. Her throat had been cut. Dead.

Catherine dove to the side, reaching for her gun. She hit the wall switch and plunged the foyer into darkness before rolling to one side.

She listened.

Nothing.

No, the moaning again.

Coming from the dining room across the foyer.

She waited.

A trap?

But a trap for whom?

She waited a minute more.

No sound but the moaning.

She crawled across the foyer, past the obscenely spread body on the stairs.

A woman was lying on the cherry dining-room table.

Her gaze wandered quickly around the room. Two chairs turned over. Nowhere to hide.

She crawled to the right side of the door and took a chance.

She flipped on the dining-room light.

Judy Clark.

Blue robe she had worn when she had first met her. One fuzzy blue slipper still on her foot, the other lying on the floor beside the table.

She had probably lost it while struggling with the monster who had thrown her on the table and pinned her there with a huge butcher knife through her stomach.

Catherine drew a deep breath and slowly stood up.

“It’s okay, Judy,” she whispered. “I’ll get you help. Is whoever did this still in the house?”

Judy was also gagged, but she shook her head. Then the cords of her throat strained as she tried to talk.

“Wait.” Catherine quickly called 911 and gave them the address and the situation. She cut the questions short and hung up. “Judy, I can’t move you or take out the knife. We’ll have to wait for the EMTs.” She just hoped the ambulance came in time. The blood on the table wasn’t as much as on the stairs, but Catherine couldn’t judge the loss or the trauma of the wound. “They’ll be here soon.”