Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“Jane used that word too.” Trevor smiled. “It's a warm and heartening thing the way families pick up words and traits from each other.” He pretended to think. “You're right. I've told you nothing really. Theories are so difficult to substantiate. And you have all the time in the world to formulate your own and then investigate, don't you?” He didn't wait for a reply but turned and walked into the hotel.

Bastard.

Joe sat at the wheel, his gaze fixed on the door. Trevor would take a sly pleasure out of having him run after him. He'd be damned if he'd do it. Even if logic told him he should wring every bit of information Trevor possessed out of the mocking son of a bitch, he'd wait until he was certain that he couldn't get it any other way. Trevor was a force to be reckoned with and he didn't need a wild card spinning the investigation out of Joe's control.

He pressed the accelerator and glided back to the street.

Ashes from a volcano . . .

Weird. Maybe the scientists they had on this side of the Atlantic could come up with an answer. But if they did, they'd have to be damn quick. Trevor's last remark had hit the bull's-eye. They might be running out of time for Jane.

The thought sent a bolt of panic through him and tempted him to turn around and go back to Trevor. To hell with Anglo-American cooperation. There were other ways than persuasion to get information from the son of a bitch. Two could play that game. Trevor had violated his position by not informing him about the danger to—

His phone rang and he glanced at the ID. Eve.

“I've just dropped him off,” he said. “I'll be home in forty-five minutes. Everything okay?”

“No, I don't think it is.” Eve's words came hard and fast. “I was sitting here going over these files and something occurred to me. I think everything may be wrong as hell.”

Trevor watched Quinn's car disappear around the corner before he turned and moved toward the registration desk.

He'd done all he could. A few tantalizing tidbits and a subtle threat to someone Quinn loved. Either one might do the trick. God, he hoped it would be enough. Today hadn't been his most shining hour. He'd come here prepared to be clever and conquer on all fronts and he'd made a gigantic mistake that was impossible to cover. Maybe if Eve Duncan and Quinn had been less smart, less perceptive, he might have been able to smooth it over, but they were as formidable as Bartlett had told him. He was lucky to have gotten out of there with—

He stopped short in the marble foyer as the realization sank home.

Perhaps not so lucky.

They were both smart and very, very perceptive. He had the experience to recognize those qualities and he'd seldom met anyone who'd filled him with more wariness.

And that experience was sending out vibrations that were triggering every instinct he possessed. He reached for his phone and dialed Bartlett. “I'm in Atlanta. Are you at the flat?”

“Yes.”

“Get out of there. You may have company.” He glanced around the lobby and then headed for the restaurant. There was almost always a street entrance to a hotel restaurant. “I blew it.”

“I can't believe it.” Bartlett chuckled. “All that slickness and you were knocked for six? I would have liked to have been there to see it.”

“I'm sure you would,” he said dryly. Yes, there was a street door at the back of the restaurant. He headed straight for it. “And I'd deserve to have you give me a hard time. Jesus, I was stupid. I behaved like a stinking amateur. I never expected to have that reaction.”

Bartlett was silent a moment. “Jane MacGuire?”

“I'd been waiting too long. I got panicky even before she walked in the room.”

“Panic? I've never seen you panic in any situation, you icy son of a bitch.”

“Well, you would have seen it today. I was scared to death she'd be lost before I even got a chance at her. And then I saw her and I tried to mend my fences but it was too late.”

“Is it her?”

“God, yes. She took my breath away. Even Aldo would be satisfied.” He opened the street door and hailed a cab. “But you were right about Quinn and Eve Duncan. It's only a matter of time before they start asking the same questions I would.” He settled in the cab. “I'll call you back later. Don't leave anything there. Clean as a whistle.”

“You may have behaved like an ass, but I won't, and I value my efficiency. I'll do my job.” He hung up.

As he should have done his, Trevor thought in disgust as the cab pulled away from the curb. But who the hell would have expected him to fall apart like that? “Hartsfield Airport,” he told the driver.

He should have expected it. It had been too long and every day had seemed a century. He'd thought he was prepared but evidently you couldn't prepare yourself for something like this.

So pick up the pieces and start again.

No, not again. His clumsiness had only caused him to take a step back. Because Jane MacGuire was here, only minutes away. He'd seen her, touched her. He was ahead of the game.

He was ahead of Aldo.

So far.

FOUR

I'm sorry, Detective Quinn.” The desk clerk glanced up from the computer. “Mr. Trevor hasn't checked in yet.”

“Look again,” Joe said impatiently. “I know he's here. I dropped him off fifteen minutes ago.”

The clerk did another search and then shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “Maybe he stopped off in the bar. Or perhaps he was hungry and went to the restaurant.”

Or perhaps he'd flown the coop, Joe thought as he turned away and headed for the bar. He was going to find out in a hurry even if he had to question every employee in both places.

He went through the restaurant and hopped into a taxi,” Joe told Eve twenty minutes later. “I've called the taxi company and a cab dropped off a man of his description at the airport ten minutes ago. I'm on my way.”

“Can't you call and have him picked up by airport security?”

“Not without risking a lawsuit against the department or an international incident. No proof, Eve. As Trevor would say, pure theory.”

“I've heard enough of Trevor's theories,” Eve said. “Have you called the precinct?”

“I've asked Christy to do the work since she's the one who connected me with Trevor. I'll call you back when I know something.”

“Make it soon. I'll be waiting.”

You didn't get him,” Eve said as she saw Joe's face when he walked into the cottage three hours later. “How did he get away?”

“Well, he didn't get on a plane. I checked with all the taxi dispatchers and he didn't take a taxi from the airport.” Joe dropped down on the couch and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “My bet is that he hopped on MARTA and took the subway back into the city. A nice slick exit, hard to track and easy to lose.”

“Very smart.”

“What did you expect? He is smart. And he has damn good instincts. I don't think he had any intention of going on the lam when I dropped him off. He was playing me for all I was worth.”

“Did you get the report from Christy?”

“Thirty minutes ago. She called Scotland Yard directly and spoke to Inspector Falsworth. No Inspector Mark Trevor. But there's someone by that name who works in the evidence lab. Trevor wouldn't want to impersonate a real inspector. It could be an instant giveaway. But a title could possibly be confused and he'd want a bona fide name in case someone called the office instead of his cell number. They never sent that e-mail regarding our serial killer. They never suspected he was here in the States. They're still looking for him in the U.K.” He glanced at her. “Why did you think Trevor might be a phony?”