Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“But you wouldn’t like it,” Jock said. “You always have to run things. It’s your nature. It would bother you.” He smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t want to bother the Laird. It’s not my place.”

“You bastard,” MacDuff said. “It wasn’t your place to pull us all into this mire, either.”

“No, it was my duty.” Jock’s smile faded. “I think a lot about duty these days. It gives me a kind of structure to hold on to. I have a duty to you, a duty to my friends, and a duty to my country.”

And Jock needs structure after all he went through, MacDuff thought. “Duty is a hell of a reason to hit one of Venable’s targets for him.”

“It’s as good a reason as any.” He looked back at the door. “It was all about Jane. Try to take her home with you.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll be hovering over her and doing God knows what.”

“Yes,” Jock said. “And so will you. Neither of us wants to see Jane nailed to a door like that poor woman.”

MacDuff was silent a moment. “This Jack Millet who’s head of the Sang Noir. You said that you only knew what Venable had told you about him. But you were with the group long enough to take a measure of the man. What was your impression?”

“Ugly,” Jock said. “He’s smart. Or maybe cunning is the word. He’s definitely into power. He handpicked the men in the group, and he keeps them under his thumb. They’re afraid to step out of line.” He nodded. “And dirty. You can’t imagine how dirty. Or maybe you can after what I told you about that kid in the brothel. And a little crazy. You can tell, he burns with it. We have to keep that filth from touching Jane.” He turned away. “Now I’m going outside and take a stroll around and make sure that the area is secure.”

“It’s not necessary. The police will probably still be outside.”

“I know. But I can’t trust them.” He got on the elevator. “Duty…”

Even MacDuff couldn’t understand why he was being so over-careful, Jock thought, as the elevator doors closed. The Laird knew him better than anyone in the world, but he hadn’t been in that room years ago when Jane had risked her life to pull him out of almost catatonic darkness into the light. Thomas Reilly had kidnapped and brainwashed him to become the assassin he could use to do his killings. When he had broken free, the posthypnotic suicide suggestion had kicked in and almost destroyed him. He had disobeyed and, therefore, had to put an end to himself. Jane had not been able to fight the suggestion with sympathy and understanding, so she had circled and gone at it with an aggression that could have been fatal.

At that moment, he’d been swirling down, locked in silence, trying to fight against that bastard Reilly’s mental conditioning, but he’d probably never been more volatile or lethal. Before Jane had left the room that night his hands had tightened on her throat, and he’d come close to choking her before he’d realized what he was doing. She’d had to cover her neck for days to hide the bruises so that no one could see what he’d done to her.

Later, when he’d fought back to normalcy, he’d realized that Jane might have been his savior, but she was no saint. She was honest and passionately caring, but she was mule-stubborn. She was smart, but she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Because of her street upbringing, she was cynical and had trouble trusting in any relationship.

But none of that mattered.

She was his friend.

And no one was ever going to hurt her.

“COME HOME,” EVE URGED JANE. “Get on the next plane. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“I’m leaving here, but I’m going back to New York.” Jane paused. “It will be okay, Eve. Stop worrying.”

“I will worry. So will Joe. Come home so that we can take care of you,” Eve said. “This is incredibly ugly. We’ll get through it together.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“That’s not good enough.” Eve didn’t speak for a minute. “I’m feeling helpless. I don’t like to feel helpless. If you don’t come to us, I’m going to come to you.”

“No,” Jane said sharply. All she needed was to have Eve involved in this nightmare. “I’ll work it out.”

Eve hesitated. “You say MacDuff is there?”

“And Jock. Venable is giving me protection. I don’t need you, Eve.”

“You mean you don’t want me involved. I believe I’ve said that to you on occasion. It didn’t do me any good, did it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “At least, you’re safe while MacDuff and Jock are with you. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She was silent a moment. “I’m sorry about your friend, Celine. You told me you liked her very much.”

“I did,” Jane said. “You would have liked her, too, Eve.”

“Does she have a family?”

“Only a sister, Yvette, who lives in Lyon. I had to call her a few hours ago and tell her about Celine. She was almost hysterical. She’s coming to Paris tomorrow morning. I have to stay until tomorrow night and see if I can help her deal with things at the gallery. There are all those paintings of mine that Celine sold tonight. At least, I know where she keeps the records. She has a part-time assistant, Marie, who may be able to help Yvette with the rest of the final details.”

Final. When several hours before Celine had all her life before her and had thought death was somewhere far in the distant future.

That realization had returned and was hitting hard. She had to get off the phone before she broke down. “I’m going to bed now, Eve. I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if there are any problems.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Eve repeated. “Good night, Jane.”

That last sentence had sounded very firm and held all the determination she was familiar with in Eve, Jane thought as she hung up. She had known that would be Eve’s reaction. Their relationship had been more as best friends than mother and daughter all these years, but Eve could display a tigerish maternal protectiveness when the people she cared about were threatened.

Jane had tried to downplay that threat, but how could she do that when Celine’s ugly death loomed over her like a poised guillotine?

She would have to think of something to keep Eve away from her. That guillotine must never threaten Eve. But right now, her mind wasn’t functioning very well. She turned toward the bathroom. Take a shower. Get to bed and try to sleep. Heaven knows, she was exhausted. Maybe when she woke, everything would become clear to her.

Or at least a little less clouded.

SHE MIGHT BE EXHAUSTED but there was no way that she was going to sleep, Jane realized.

She had been lying here in this bed for fifteen minutes, and neither her muscles nor her mind would release their tension.

The darkness is overpowering, Jane thought, as she stared up at the ceiling. This guest room had seemed friendly, soothing, all the other nights she had spent in Celine’s apartment.

Or maybe it was the memory of what had happened downstairs that was overpowering. She couldn’t get away from the picture of Celine on that door.

Hideous.

She closed her eyes and tried to block it out, once more remember Celine as she had been earlier in the evening. So full of vitality. So full of joy.

The tears were suddenly running down her cheeks. She had felt numb before, unable to comprehend anything beyond the horror. But now the horror was fading, and the sheer tragedy of that vibrant woman whose life had been taken was with her.

Damn that bastard.

And if MacDuff and Jock were right, then Celine had died because she had been connected to Jane. Why? It didn’t make any more sense to her now than it had when MacDuff had first told her.

She huddled down in the bed and closed her eyes as sobs shook her body. Celine…