Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

Catherine’s face lit. “You’d do that?” She grimaced. “Not that I’ll be able to get her to stay. She seems pretty determined. Still, thanks for the option.” She sat down in the chair. “Go on to bed. I’ll wait until Kelly gets out of the shower and tuck her in.”

“Good.” Eve yawned and started down the hall. “I’m ready for bed, and I still have to explain Kelly to Joe before I go to sleep. Try to get a few hours’ sleep before morning.”

“I will.”

“And don’t lecture the girl. She’s been through enough tonight.”

“Whatever you say.”

Eve glanced back at her over her shoulder. No, Catherine wouldn’t be giving that child a hard time. She was a strange combination of toughness and vulnerability, and Eve wasn’t sure which was stronger. But Kelly seemed to tap into that same reservoir of emotion that Catherine reserved for her Luke.

It wasn’t something that she should be worrying about, Eve thought impatiently. Both Catherine and Kelly had been catapulted into her life, and she would do the best she could for them, but after tomorrow her involvement would probably be over.

Why didn’t she believe that?

And why wasn’t she relieved?

The bitch had been frightened, Rakovac thought, as he stared thoughtfully at the photo on his desk. He had felt the jolt of familiar satisfaction at Catherine’s panic and shock. It was always like that when he twisted the knife. He tried to ration the extreme cruelties so that she would not become calloused, but there was no doubt that this time she had needed the flick of the whip.

Her use of Eve Duncan was not to be tolerated. She must stay groveling at his feet until it suited him to step forward and crush her.

“You just received a call from Ali Dabala.” Nicholas Russo came into the office. “He wants to know when he can set a date.”

“Let him wait. I’ve given him a tentative. The fool has no grasp of the importance of details. He doesn’t realize that one false step and his men will end up in Guantanamo.”

“He has a grasp on the huge amount of money he’s paid you,” Russo said. “He’s being pressured by Al-Qaeda.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Russo.”

“Then why are you still playing games with Catherine Ling?” Russo frowned. “You have no time for this.”

“There is always time for the pleasures of life.” Be patient. He still had use for Russo. As usual, Russo was dressed in an immaculate suit made by his favorite London tailor, and he was beautifully groomed from the top of his brown hair to his polished shoes. He was a good front man. Yet it was difficult to be patient. Lately, Russo had been very critical and overbearing, and Rakovac was well aware that Russo had always been slightly contemptuous of Rakovac’s lack of proper schooling and rough background. He added softly, “What I don’t have time for is a man who questions my authority. You’re acting like a frightened rabbit. Dabala is no more a threat than a hundred others I’ve dealt with over the years. The only difference is the money. I’m charging him enough to set up my own little kingdom on an island off the Brazilian coast. If you’re efficient and do everything I tell you, then you’ll have a place there.” He shrugged. “If you’re not, I’ll toss you to Dabala and let him deal with someone who is a possible informer.”

“You know I won’t inform. I’ve been with you too long.”

“And become rich. But we’ve never reached that level in the stratosphere where money can buy anything. But it’s only one more step, Russo.”

“A huge step. This is different. They’ll never stop searching for us.”

“And never find us. That’s why the money is so important. It can buy plastic surgeons, documents, politicians who turn blind eyes. All of those little luxuries that make a man feel safe and content.”

“They won’t turn a blind eye. Not to this. They’d be too afraid.”

“Russo.”

“All right, I’ll be quiet. But you may be sorry that you didn’t listen to me.” He turned on his heel. “Dabala said that if you didn’t call him, he’d come to see you. You don’t want him to lead the CIA to you.”

“I’ll call him.” He watched Russo leave the room. The CIA might be aware something was going on but couldn’t be permitted to know anything concrete about his deal with Dabala until he was ready to leave. Washington might accept nearly any corruption from him as long as he was a constant source of information, but even a hint of this business would cause them to bolt in panic. They were extremely sensitive to any Middle Eastern activity, and Rakovac had been careful to keep away from that contingent during their partnership.

But the Middle East was where the real money lay, and fanatics cared nothing how much it cost to grease the way to paradise. Naturally, he’d had to turn to them to find a way to his own paradise.

But paradise had its own restrictions, he thought regretfully. He wouldn’t be able to make those delightful calls to Catherine after he made his exit. It would be too dangerous not to break all ties to the outside world. The delicious game he had played all these years must be brought to an end. He reached out and touched Catherine’s throat in the photo. She had a lovely throat and many times when the anger had come to the surface, he’d wanted to slit it. Passing fancy. The mental torture he inflicted was much more enjoyable.

Oh, well, if he was going to end the charade, he would do it with style and ferocity. He had to have a plan that would be the crowning blow to his revenge on Catherine. It couldn’t terminate with just a final burst of agony from a sniper bullet. He’d bring her close to him so that he could watch every nuance of her pain.

And not only Catherine. That wouldn’t be in keeping with the grand finale.

“Who first?” he murmured. “Maybe a warning to punish you and show you what’s to come?” His finger moved to caressingly touch the lips of the woman in the photo. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea, Catherine. Let’s start with Eve Duncan.”

Eve’s eyes flew open.

What had she heard?

It had been a small sound, but enough to disturb her restless slumber. She checked the bedside clock-5:42 A.M.

Probably nothing. The sound hadn’t been loud enough to wake Joe. She wasn’t accustomed to having guests in the house. She and Joe led an intensely solitary life.

She lay there, listening.

Movement? The creak of the couch in the living room? Kelly was only a young girl to have gone through so much. Perhaps she was having trouble sleeping in a strange place.

Eve obviously wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep until she checked on her. She carefully moved away from Joe and slid out of bed.

“Eve?” Joe asked sleepily.

“Shh, I’ll be right back.” She glided toward the door. “I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“I know a therapy for that.”

She chuckled. “I’ll discuss that with you when I come back.”

“Do that…”

He was dozing off as she quietly closed the door behind her.

The hall was dark, but there was a light in the living room. Bright light.

She moved quickly down the hall.

No Kelly.

The couch was vacant, the covers tossed to one side.

Where the hell was-

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Kelly was perched on the high stool at the desk usually occupied by Catherine. She was dressed in loose blue-striped pajamas, and her bare feet dangled above the floor. Her blue eyes were wide in her pale face, and she looked even younger than she had earlier in the evening. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I had trouble, too.” Eve stiffened as she saw the sliver of bone in Kelly’s hand. “Put that down.”