Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

Ruth's name is Caroline Halliburton,” Christy said when Joe walked into the precinct three hours later. “She worked at a brokerage office downtown and her parents live up north in Blairsville. She has an apartment in Buckhead and she didn't show up for work last Monday. On Wednesday she was reported missing by a friend who worked with her.”

“Is that who identified the photo?” Joe asked.

“No, actually one of our clerks in the department remembered seeing the photo when they were processing the missing person report.”

Joe swore in exasperation. “We did the usual missing person check before I released the photo to the newspaper. We came up with nothing.”

“So what's new? Since the latest budget cuts we're a month behind in paperwork and at least four months behind at the DNA lab.” Christy glanced at the sketch Joe had tossed down on her desk and then gave a low whistle. “This is damn good, Joe. Is it accurate?”

“Absolutely.”

She grinned. “He's a real pretty boy. I'd let a con artist like him talk me into almost anything. It's no wonder Jane was impressed enough to remember him.”

“She didn't notice he was particularly good-looking. She just drew what she saw.”

“Yeah, sure. For God's sake, she's seventeen, Joe. Appearance is everything to teenagers. He's as sexy as a damn movie star.” She held up her hand as Joe opened his mouth. “Okay, she's above all that. She's not like my daughter Emily, or ninety-nine percent of her age group.” She made a rude sound of derision and stood up. “I'll get this scanned right away and sent to Scotland Yard.”

“Thanks, Christy.”

She grinned. “My pleasure. I'm not like Jane. I like looking at handsome devils like him.”

“He may well be a devil,” Joe said. “You call him a con man, but we don't know that he didn't do the killings himself.”

“No, we don't.” Christy's smile faded as she looked down at the sketch. “Pity.”

Joe watched her as she moved away through the row of desks before he flipped open the Caroline Halliburton file in front of him. He'd been prepared for the photo but it still gave him a shock. The photo made from Eve's construction had been true to life, but this was the picture of the woman herself. She'd been twenty-four at the time of her death, but this photo had been taken a few years before and the resemblance to Jane was very strong.

It scared the hell out of him.

“Joe.”

He looked up to see Christy standing before him. “That was fast. I wouldn't think you'd have time to—”

“We've got another one.” She turned off the cell phone on which she'd been talking. “Lake Lanier. Some scuba divers found a body, marked the location, and notified the authorities.”

Joe flipped the file shut and jumped to his feet. “You're sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “She had no damn face.”

It was her!

Aldo couldn't believe it. It was a miracle.

His heart was beating hard as he gazed at the photo.

She was staring out at the world with a boldness that dared all comers. Fresh, young, and impregnable.

No, not impregnable, Cira. Not from me.

He wrote down the name.

Jane MacGuire.

Not Jane.

Cira. Cira. Cira.

He quickly copied the address on the record.

He was shaking, he realized. Trembling with delight that the moment had come. The others had been close but she was exact, perfection. There could be no doubt that this was the face he'd seen all his life and in his nightmares. He was quivering with fear that something or someone would snatch her away from him.

No, that mustn't be allowed to happen. He'd traveled too long, devoted too much time to the search, purged too many Cira pretenders.

But Jane MacGuire wasn't a pretender. She was Cira.

And she deserved to die.

D arkness.

No air.

No time.

She wasn't going to make it.

The hell she wasn't. She wasn't going to die in this tunnel. Let those other cowards give up. She'd fight until she broke free.

She'd smashed all the chains that held her captive before and she wouldn't let death make her a final captive.

Was the ground shaking?

No air.

She fell to her knees.

No!

She struggled up and lunged forward. Which way? It was too dark to—

She turned right.

“No, that's a blind alley. This way.”

He was standing in the tunnel behind her. Tall, shadowy but she knew who it was, damn him. “Get out of my way. Do you think I'd trust you?”

“There's no time to do anything else.” He held out his hand. “Come with me. I'll show you the way.”

She'd never take his hand again. Never trust him to—

She staggered down the tunnel.

“Come back!”

“The hell I will.” Her voice was only a whisper from a throat that was painfully dry.

Run.

Hurry.

Live.

But how could she live when there was no air?

“Dammit, Jane, wake up!”

She was being shaken. Eve again, she realized sluggishly. Eve afraid. Eve trying to save her from the dream that was no dream. Didn't she know that she had to stay here? It was her duty to—

“Jane!”

The tone was demanding and Jane slowly opened her lids.

Eve's face was taut with alarm.

“Hi,” Jane murmured. “Sorry . . .”

“That's not good enough.” Eve's voice was as alarmed as her expression. “I've had my fill of this.” She stood up and headed for the door. “Get on your robe and come out on the porch. We need to talk.”

“It's only a nightmare, Eve. I'm okay.”

“I know about nightmares and there's nothing okay about them. Not when they happen every night. Come out on the porch.” She didn't wait for Jane to answer.

Jane slowly sat up and shook her head to clear it. She was still logy and half-dazed and the last thing she needed was to confront Eve with a fuzzy head. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water in her face.

That was better. . . .

Except for her lungs that were still tight and burning from the night with no air.

That would go away soon and so would the lingering panic.

She drew a deep breath, grabbed her robe from the bed, and shrugged into it as she walked down the hall toward the porch.

Eve was sitting on the swing. “At least you look awake now.” She handed her a cup of hot chocolate. “Drink it. It's chilly out here.”

“We could go inside.”

“I don't want to wake Joe. He'd think I'm exaggerating your problem. Hell, he might not even see it as a problem. He's all for patience and letting you work it out for yourself.”

“Maybe he's right.” She sipped her hot chocolate and then sat down on the top porch step. “I don't see it as a problem.”

“Well, I do. And it's up to you to convince me I'm wrong.” She lifted her cup to her lips. “By telling me what the devil you're dreaming about.”

She made a face. “Chill, Eve. It's not as if I'm suffering some deep psychological trauma that's connected with you or Joe or even the way I grew up.”

“How do I know that? How do you know that? Dreams aren't always clear and they can be interpreted in a number of different ways.”

“Yeah, by some shrink who gets paid a couple hundred dollars an hour to make dumb guesses.”

“I'm not that fond of psychoanalysis myself, but I want to know that I haven't failed you.”

Jane smiled. “For heaven's sake, you haven't failed me, Eve. You've been everything that's kind and understanding, and that wasn't easy with a hard nut like me.” She took another drink of hot chocolate. “But I should have known you'd blame yourself for something that has nothing to do with you.”