Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

“That’s what I tell myself. Sometimes I believe it.” She drew a long, shaky breath and pushed Joe away. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I fell apart like that. Thank you.”

He leaned back on his heels. “You’re welcome.” He gazed searchingly at her face. “You’re pale, drained. I think you need to drink that coffee.”

“I agree.” She picked up her cup. “Or something stiffer.” She glanced at Eve. “He was particularly ugly tonight. He didn’t like me coming to you.”

“Tough. I don’t know how you kept from blowing up at him.”

“Think about it. He taught me well to hold my tongue. Every time I’d grow angry and say something he didn’t like he’d threaten Luke. That was one of the hardest things to bear.” She took a long drink of coffee. “And one he enjoys the most. He told me once that as long as he holds Luke, I’m his slave. He loves the control over me.”

“And he evidently embroiders his stories of Luke in detail,” Joe said. “A five-year-old familiar with guns. Unusual.”

“He meant that he’d threatened Luke with weapons.”

“Is that what he meant? Or was it something else?”

Catherine shook her head. “He lies. I can’t tell what’s true and what’s not.” Her grip tightened on the cup. “Except about Luke’s being dead. He’s not dead. Why would he worry if I found out what my son looked like? Why would he try to discourage me?” She added bitterly, “And, yes, I know there’s no telling why Rakovac would do anything. The son of a bitch is crazy.”

“According to the dossier I pulled on him, he may be a little unbalanced, but he’s clever,” Joe said. “And I think he had a purpose other than wanting to toy with you.”

“I do, too,” Eve said. “And I believe I’ll thumb my nose at him and finish that progression ASAP.” She finished her coffee and stood up. “I’ll start the dishwasher, then hit the computer.”

“I’ll go with you,” Catherine said quickly.

Eve shook her head as she moved toward the door. “Give yourself a few minutes. Your hands are shaking. I don’t want you touching Cindy yet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Catherine said.

Eve suddenly grinned as she paused at the door. “When was the last time you said that?”

“Never,” Catherine said. “I’m not very obedient, and I don’t know many women.”

“I thought so. It sounded a little awkward.” Eve went into the house.

“She’s right.” Joe was smiling with amusement. “You’re very articulate, but that did sound awkward.”

“This entire situation is awkward for me,” Catherine said. “I had to beg Eve to do this progression for me. I’ve never begged anyone for anything before.” Her lips twisted. “Except Rakovac. I begged him to return Luke. He laughed at me.”

“And Eve listened and helped you. Do you resent her having that kind of power over you?”

“No, of course-” She stopped. “Maybe. I don’t have a generous spirit. I want it all. I want to keep my pride and still get everything I want.”

“That’s understandable. I’d say everyone has that philosophy.”

“Do you?”

He thought about it. “I have almost everything I want. A job I like, my adopted daughter, Jane, Eve…”

“Almost,” she repeated. “What else, Joe?”

He didn’t answer.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe…an Eve with no obsession about finding her daughter’s killer?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because you’d never be disloyal to Eve in any way. Still, you might consider that a breach in the relationship if she closes you out. I can see how you might come to resent it. Obsession is a terrible and all-consuming thing.” She shrugged. “Who should know better? I’m just as obsessed as Eve. Though I’m lucky, I’m alone. I don’t have to worry about anyone else.”

“Really? Are you lucky, Catherine?”

She gazed at him standing there, leaning against the railing. Slim hips, broad shoulders, tea-colored eyes staring intently at her; mature, intelligent, with a quietness that could mask power and leashed recklessness.

“Are you lucky to be alone, Catherine?” he repeated.

She had a sudden memory of Joe holding her, warm, strong, absorbing all the pain that Rakovac had inflicted.

“No.” She jumped to her feet. “But I don’t know anything else, and at least I’m not hurting anyone.” She avoided his eyes as she headed for the door. “I’ve got to help Eve. Thanks for being there for me tonight. I’ll try not to fall apart again.”

“No problem.”

She had an inkling there was definitely a problem. Being with Joe Quinn was making her aware of what she was missing. Eve and Joe had a relationship that was like a deep, strong river and yet Catherine could see the exciting rapids that still ran through it. She had never known a relationship with that intensity. She had loved Terry, but it had been a comfortable affection comprised of gratitude and common likes and dislikes. They had both wanted a home and child and passion had not been that important.

Eve and Joe had passion. A passion for each other and a passion for their life together. They didn’t display it blatantly, but every glance revealed it.

She wanted that passion for living. She was tired of just surviving.

Good Lord, was she jealous?

No, that would mean she wanted to take something from them to keep for herself, and she would never do that. This emotion was a sort of poignant wistfulness all the more powerful for the unexpectedness of its appearance in her life.

She would not steal, but perhaps she could watch and learn.

Joe was no longer looking at her. He had moved to the steps and was starting down them. Wind was whipping his clothes to his body, and he was drenched in seconds.

“Where are you going?” she asked, startled.

“I thought I’d take a look around to see if I can locate Rakovac’s scout.”

“He said he pulled him once he reported.”

“Why should I believe he’s telling the truth any more than you do?” He smiled recklessly. “I think I’ll see if he lied about that, too. I’m probably going to bat zero, but I’ll at least be able to work off some stored energy. I don’t like the idea of someone out there on my property.”

Before she could respond, he had vanished into the heavy veil of rain.

2:35 A.M.

“You’re tired,” Eve said. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Not until you do.” Catherine looked up. “I have almost a quarter of this face done. I didn’t think I’d get this far so quickly. I’m very proud of myself.”

“That’s two of us. I’m proud of you, too. I wasn’t sure that you’d be able to do it. It’s one hell of a difficult job.”

Catherine nodded. “It takes concentration.” She smiled. “And study. I know more than I ever wanted to know about the bones of the human face.” Her smile faded. “You say Cindy was buried at least ten years ago. Does it take that long in the ground to turn a body into…this?”

“It depends on the circumstances and conditions. Sometimes shorter, sometimes longer.” She studied Catherine’s face. “You’re thinking of what Rakovac said about killing Luke and burying his body in the woods.”

“I try not to remember. But I do. How can I help it?”

“You can’t. It’s impossible.” Her lips tightened. “What a sadistic bastard. What other things has he taunted you with over the years?”

“Do you want a list? Sometimes it amused him to tell me how he tortured Luke. He made me listen as he described the most horrible atrocities imaginable.” She shuddered. “I nearly went crazy. The only way I could survive was to tell myself over and over that it was all lies. That he wouldn’t have dared to do anything to Luke while Venable knew he was holding him. It might have disturbed the status quo of their relationship.” She added hoarsely, “I had to believe that, or I would have slit my throat. I kept thinking if I were dead, there wouldn’t be any reason for him to hurt Luke. And then I would think if he was still alive, I had to live, or Rakovac would have him forever.” She shook her head and glanced back down at the bones in front of her. “But you don’t want to hear this. I’ve been moaning since I came into your life. I didn’t do it to make you feel sorry for me. Being who you are and what you’ve been through, that’s a given. That’s just my life right now.”