Iris Johansen - Stalemate

"He would have been too scared to betray me."

"He wasn't too scared to bury the skeleton instead of turning it over to you."

His lips set. "It's Nalia."

"Because you want it to be?"

"God, no. I want her to be the crook her father thinks her and basking on a beach somewhere in Australia. I want her alive ." He started to turn away. "But it was Nalia in that grave."

"We'll find out."

"When? How long?"

"A few days." She paused. "You don't have to come in here while I'm working. I don't need you."

"But I need to know what's happening." He stopped, gazing at her. "Why shouldn't I come? Will I bother you?"

"No, once I end the preliminary measuring I won't even know you're in the room. But it will bother you. Her skull is going to look like a voodoo doll while I'm working on it."

"Christ, you're talking to a man who tore her skull from her skeleton tonight," he said harshly.

"I'm talking to a man who hasn't looked once at his wife's reconstruction since he walked into the room," she said quietly. "And I'm telling you that you don't have to see it again until I've finished. You don't have to go through that pain."

He stood looking at her for a moment. "Is that why you were in such a hurry to clean her up?"

"Maybe." She glanced back at the skull. "And maybe I thought she wouldn't like to be such a mess. I gather she was a very special woman."

"Yes, she was. Beautiful." He cleared his throat. "And very fastidious. What are you calling her? I know you never assume your reconstruction's identity."

"I'll call her Nalia."

"Because you believe me?"

"No, because it seems right to me. If I don't have any photos or descriptions, a name isn't going to throw me off." She wiped her hands on the towel on the workbench. "She'll be what she will be."

"But you do believe me or you wouldn't have started the reconstruction."

"I believe what my eyes saw tonight. You could have embroidered the background story."

"You don't think that."

She wearily shook her head. "No, I don't believe that you told me fairy tales. I hope I'm not wrong."

"I know you won't trust any pat assurances on my part. I guess time will tell." He left the library.

She stood there for a moment, gazing at the skull. "We're beginning, Nalia," she whispered. "He wants to bring you home. I want to bring you home. What happened to you was terrible but I hope there's peace for you now. There's no peace for him…"

No peace. No end to the anger. No end to the hurt. She knew that chaos of feeling.

But he might have reached the end of his search in this skull before her. She hoped it was true.

"I'll see you in a few hours, Nalia. I have to get some sleep." She started toward the door and then impulsively turned and went back to the dais, grabbed a drop cloth, and tossed it over the reconstruction. "This is his library, Nalia. He'll probably have to be in here for some reason or other. You wouldn't want him to see you until you're at your best."

She moved across the room and turned out the light before closing the door.

Exhaustion hit her like a club. It was always like that once the day's work was completed. The weariness that had been held at bay was released.

Divine intervention.

Strange how Montalvo had used those words that had struck that note and had reminded her of Bonnie, she thought as she started to climb the stairs. Perhaps not so strange. Montalvo and she, who were so different, were on the same plane in some ways. She had felt very close to him in the library.

Mistake.

She was identifying too much with him and it could cloud her judgment. His personality was too strong to ignore and she felt as if she knew him. She was beginning to hurt when she thought of his loss.

She'd reached the top of the stairs, and hesitated. She hadn't meant to go to Joe. She didn't want to wake him because she was feeling disturbed.

Oh, what the devil. She needed him. She'd make sure that her presence didn't bother him. She strode toward the bedroom door and quietly turned the knob. A moment later she was at the bed, crawling in beside him.

"Eve?" he said drowsily.

"Shh." Her arms slid around him. "Go back to sleep. I just wanted to hold you for a while. I won't be here long. Okay?"

"Better than okay…"

Yes, it was better than okay, she thought. It was good and solid and treasure-bright.

Her arms tightened around him. "Yes, it is, Joe."

She was gone. It was as if Eve had never been in this bed with him.

Joe gazed at the indented pillow next to him that was the only evidence that she'd been here. But the memory of her was very clear even through that haze of heavy medications.

And there was something else. A familiar scent drifting to him from that pillow. Not perfume. Almost acrid and-

"Good morning." Galen came into the room, carrying a tray. "You're awake, I see. I brought your breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. Lots of protein and enough caffeine to make you get up and walk out of-"

"Where's Eve?"

"Still in bed, I think." He set the tray on the bedside table. "How do you feel?"

"Hazy. No more drugs."

"The doctor says there may still be considerable pain."

"Screw it." He took the coffee Galen handed him. "I want to see Eve."

"I'm not going to wake her up. I'm sure she'll drop in to see you."

"She dropped in to see me twice last night. Both times I was so drugged out I barely knew she was here."

"Did she? How disappointing for you. Eat your breakfast."

Joe's gaze narrowed on the indentation in the pillow next to him. That maddeningly familiar scent was still drifting up to him.

Then he recognized it.

"Shit." His cup crashed down in the saucer. "She's doing the reconstruction."

"You almost broke the cup." Galen rescued the cup and saucer and put them on the tray. "And such fine china."

"She's doing the reconstruction, isn't she?"

"What makes you think that?"

"The smell of that alcohol on the hand towels she uses. When she's working, it clings to her like a second skin. I've smelled it a thousand times when she's working on a reconstruction. Her pillow is still smelling of it." He picked the pillow up and hurled it violently at Galen. "Now stop bullshitting me and tell me what's happening."

"I didn't bullshit you." He tossed the pillow back on the bed. "I was merely being evasive."

Joe tried to control his temper. "Galen, you're going to either tell me why she smells of-or I'll get up and go ask her myself."

"She wouldn't like that." He dropped down in the chair beside the bed. "And she wouldn't like me to confide in you either. But she deserves it since she tipped her hand by coming to see you and giving away the show."

"What show?"

Galen poured himself a cup of coffee. "Actually, it went off quite successfully. I didn't mean to go along, but it was an interesting…"

The skull was gone.

Diaz started to curse as he stared down at the skeleton.

"It seems Montalvo is on the move," Nekmon said as he shone the flashlight into the grave. "You think the forensic sculptor is still alive?"

"Montalvo wouldn't have come after the skull if he hadn't been sure he had someone to do the reconstruction."

"He took a big risk."

"Evidently not so big," Diaz said sarcastically. "When he invaded my territory and managed to steal this skull in the shadow of my mother's tomb."

Nekmon gazed down at the skeleton. "It's the Armandariz woman?"

"How do I know? She's just a pile of bones. But Montalvo must think she's Nalia Armandariz or he wouldn't have gone to the risk of claiming her skull."

"Can you get DNA from a skull that's been in the swamp for years?"

"I'd bet on it. They're doing all kinds of recovery with DNA lately." He turned away. "But that's not why he wanted the skull. He knows how difficult I could make it for any lab that ran the tests. No, her father is an emotional son of a bitch and Montalvo wants to stir him up against me."