Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“Very little,” Jane said. But she was relieved to see that they were passing through the stone-framed gates at the entrance of the subdivision. “And it was my fault we cut it so close, so will you both please stop comforting me and get us back to the inn?” She had a sudden thought. “Is the inn still safe?”

“It should be. But we’ll move tomorrow,” Jock said. “I’ll call Venable and see if he can do anything to smooth over what happened tonight. I don’t have much hope. It won’t be easy for him to come into an ongoing investigation.”

An ongoing investigation. He sounded like Joe with that phrase. She was suddenly so homesick for Joe and Eve that she ached with it. She didn’t want to be here in this foreign country, where death seemed to be around every corner.

“You could go to Joe and Eve,” Caleb said softly. “I can find Weismann for you.”

Her gaze flew to his face. How had he known what she was feeling?

He shook his head as he realized what she was thinking. “Just common ordinary insight. I’ve always been attuned to you. Now I’ve begun to know you. It’s not exactly comfortable for me.” He added simply, “I don’t like to see you hurting.”

She studied his expression. He was telling the truth.

And that truth was having an impact on her that was very disturbing. She tore her gaze away from his. “I’m not going to run back to Joe and Eve. This isn’t their fight.”

He shrugged. “Well, I tried. It wasn’t the way I wanted it anyway. As I said, it made me uncomfortable.” He turned to Jock. “You’re being very quiet.”

“I was hoping you’d convince her to go to the Run,” Jock said. “It’s what I want, and it doesn’t matter to me how it’s done. I’ll fade into the background and let you do it.”

Caleb was silent a moment. “I don’t think you’d ever fade into the background, Gavin.”

“I’m not going to the Run,” Jane said. “Not yet. Did you find anything in the office, Caleb?”

“A couple possibilities. You?”

“I’ve no idea. A book. A pouch.” She leaned wearily back in the seat. She was suddenly feeling exhausted, and the memories of Adah Ziller lying back in that house, memories that she had tried to push away, were here with her again. She had been full of hope and determination earlier that night, and now everything was in confusion and shambles. “They could be worth absolutely nothing. I’ll have to go through them when we get to the inn. I don’t want to think about it now.”

“Or you could come up with a bonanza,” Caleb said. “I’d bet on you. I’ve always said you have great instincts.”

Why did those words give her such a sense of pride? In just a few sentences, he’d been able to lighten the depression that was starting to blanket her. It shouldn’t have meant that much to her. It indicated a power she didn’t want to give him.

“But on the other hand, no one has ever said I’m a particularly good gambler. So you’d better disregard any opinion I might have.”

Clever. He’d sensed her rejection of his words and immediately set out to dissipate any damage. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

He smiled. “I didn’t think so.” He looked out the window. “Then you might as well ignore me entirely until we get back to the inn. Try to rest.”

WHEN THEY REACHED THE INN, they went directly to Jane’s room.

Jock handed Jane her key after unlocking her door. “I’ll go to my room and call Venable. I should be back in five or ten minutes.”

Jane nodded. “Whatever it takes.” She wearily rubbed the back of her neck. “I think we’re going to need him. And ask him if he can trace any Syrian connection between Adah Ziller and Millet. Dammit, I was hoping that we’d get Weismann tonight.”

“Almost,” Jock said. “Next time.”

After he left, Jane went to the window and looked down into the hotel grounds. “It’s getting light.” She glanced at Caleb, who was sitting in a chair across the room watching her. “Dawn.” It seemed a long time ago that they’d talked about dawn and how darkness could be a weapon.

A weapon he hadn’t used. Weismann had been the one using weapons and dispensing ugliness and death. “Before tonight I wasn’t really thinking about Weismann in the same terms as those other monsters in the group. He was an informer, it seemed to make him better somehow. I wasn’t thinking straight. He’s a killer. He’s just as bad. Maybe worse.”

“Certainly as ruthless. Perhaps not quite as bloody.”

“Blood.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “You know all about blood, don’t you?”

“Enough.” He met her eyes. “I know how to take it. I know how to use it to kill. Do you really want to delve into my murky past? If you do, I’ll oblige you. But it’s not a confidence I’d make lightly. There would be a price to pay. Are you prepared to pay it?”

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Why had she started this? She was tired and on an emotional edge, and the words had just tumbled out. Her curiosity and fascination with Seth Caleb had always been just been beneath the surface, ready to break free whenever she was with him.

“Are you?” he repeated softly.

Heat. That undercurrent of breathless recklessness. The exhilaration of walking too close to the precipice and wanting to plunge off into the unknown.

Yes. Any price. Just make it worth the cost.

Don’t say those words. She would regret it.

Or would she?

She forced herself to look away. Clear your head. It was only because she was disappointed and depressed because they’d not intercepted Weismann that she’d felt this compulsion. She wasn’t the type of person to indulge in recklessness. “I’m not that interested.”

“Liar,” he murmured. “You’re as curious about knowing everything about me as I am about you.” He smiled. “I almost had you, didn’t I?”

“No.” It wasn’t the truth. She had been very close, but to admit it would be a step nearer to that precipice. She changed the subject. “What did you find in the office?”

He reached in his jacket pocket. “Two first-class airline tickets to Syria, for Adah Ziller and a Harry Norbert.”

“Norbert?”

“Weismann wouldn’t have booked under his own name. He probably has a few other phony passports.” He threw the tickets on the table. “The reservations are for tomorrow. But he won’t be using them after what happened tonight.”

“Anything else?”

“A couple keys. They were in an envelope with the tickets. They both are to a safety-deposit box at a bank in Zurich, together with account access information for Adah Ziller.”

“She had a Swiss account?”

“She had a number of important lovers. Maybe she kept track of letters and valuable memorabilia that might come in handy later.”

“Blackmail?”

“Possibly. Or maybe she put something in her deposit box for safekeeping for Weismann. But at least we have a place to start. A Swiss bank. Syria.”

“That’s a pretty lame start. There are too many holes to fill in.”

“Not so many. Maybe whatever you turned up might help to fill them.”

“That would be too lucky.” She pulled out the leather book she’d stuffed in her pocket. “This was tucked in a pocket in her suitcase. It looks like a daytimer or a journal.” She flipped open the pages. “Dammit, it’s not in English.”

“She was a Syrian.” He stood up and took the leather book and glanced at it. “Arabic.”

“Can you read it?”

“No, but I know someone who can. It’s not the first time I’ve had to have her interpret for me. She speaks twelve languages and is very discreet.”

“But is she close by?”

“She lives across the border in Switzerland. We’ll stop on our way to Zurich.”