Iris Johansen - Blind Alley

“Then I'm dismissed?”

“For now.”

“And am I going to be allowed to know what the hell you're planning on doing with it?”

She glanced up. “Oh, yes. I'm going to need you.”

“I'll take comfort in that.” He turned to leave. “I don't imagine you admit you need many people.”

“No.”

“Can you give me a time estimate?”

She shook her head. “I have to think about it and do some research.”

“And you have to recover a little from Aldo's verbal assault.”

“I'm already recovering.” It was the truth, thank heavens. The distraction had diluted the emotional impact of Aldo's venom. “It was stupid to become upset. After all, his call was actually a victory. And it clarified his attitude and intentions.”

“And I'd judge it also clarified your attitude and reinforced your determination to move at light-speed.”

“It didn't take much reinforcement.”

“No, you're at full throttle.” He lifted his brows. “I can't wait to see where you're going with it.”

“Neither can I,” she said dryly. “I just hope it's not a blind alley.”

“Then there's usually a way to backtrack and find your way out.”

Heat. Night without air.

Run. Falling rocks. Pain.

“I don't want to backtrack.” Her lips tightened. “I need to go straight ahead and run over that bastard if he gets in my way.”

He gave a low whistle. “I'll vote for that.” He started down the steps. “And I'll furnish the bulldozer to do it. Just say the word.”

She didn't answer, her gaze once more on the list.

Trevor shook his head ruefully as he moved down the path toward Bartlett. She was so intent, she'd closed out the call from Aldo and she'd probably already forgotten Trevor. Not good for a man's ego.

What the hell. He couldn't apply any of the usual man-woman rules to his relationship with Jane.

He'd better not.

“She's excited.” Bartlett's gaze was fixed on Jane. “She looks like you gave her a present.”

“In a manner of speaking. Not a box of chocolates or a bouquet. A list of Aldo's Web sites.”

“I see.” Bartlett nodded gravely. “Much more valuable than a box of chocolates and she's not one to appreciate sweetness.”

“Maybe she's not had the opportunity to really sample it.”

Her head was bent over the list and he could see the tenseness, the taut, slim elegance of her body as she reached for her computer. She did everything with a natural grace that was as unconscious as it was a delight to watch. There was youth without the awkwardness of youth. Grace and fire. She burned like a candle in the—

“No, Trevor.”

He glanced at Bartlett. “What?”

Bartlett was shaking his head, his expression troubled. “She's too young.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” He tried to pull his gaze away from her. God, it was hard. “It doesn't hurt to look.”

“It might. She's not a statue and she's not Cira.”

“No?” His lips twisted. “Tell that to Aldo.”

“I'm telling you.” Barlett frowned. “And I shouldn't have to tell you. You could hurt her.”

He smiled recklessly. “She'd deny it. She'd say she was far more likely to hurt me.”

“But you know that's not true. Experience counts, and she's seventeen.”

He turned away. “Why are we even talking about it? I told you I wasn't going to do anything but look.”

“I hope not.”

“Count on it.” He went down the path. “I'll come back and relieve you in an hour. She spent all afternoon taunting Aldo and he's mad as hell. I want to be around if he decides to pounce.”

THIRTEEN

You've been watching me all evening. I feel like a bug under a microscope.” Eve turned away from the reconstruction on the pedestal before her to look at Jane. “Is something wrong? Are you still upset about that call from Aldo?”

“A little.” She made a face. “You can understand it would stick in my mind.”

“That goes without saying. It's been worrying me since you told me about it.”

“But you'll be able to forget it once you get deep enough into your work. That's a blessing, isn't it?”

“Work is always a great healer.” She frowned. “Have you been concerned that you're interfering with my work on this reconstruction?”

Jane shook her head. “I was just wondering if you were almost finished.”

“Tomorrow. I might have finished tonight if you hadn't decided on dragging me out this afternoon.”

“You didn't object.”

“And I wouldn't again. Keeping you alive is more important than identifying this poor dead girl.”

“What are you calling her?”

“Lucy.” Her hands moved over the skull, carefully measuring the space between the eyes. “The Chicago police think she may be a child that's been missing for over fifteen years. Her parents must be going through hell.”

“Like you.”

Eve didn't deny it. “At least I can give other parents back their children. I suppose that's a form of closure.”

“Bull. Very noble but it doesn't keep you from hurting.”

“No.” Eve smiled faintly. “May I ask why you're so interested in my work tonight?”

“I'm always interested. It's kind of creepy but it's part of you.”

“The creepy part.”

“You said it.” Jane grinned. “I wouldn't dare. So Lucy is winging her way back to Chicago tomorrow?”

“Probably.” Eve lifted her brows. “Is it important that she be finished quickly?”

“Maybe. I've been sitting here and thinking. . . .” Her gaze focused musingly on the skull. “How does she . . . feel?”

“Touching her face?” She was silent, thinking about it. “Not creepy. I've done it so long that it's difficult to describe.”

“Pity?”

“Yes, and anger and sadness.” She gently touched Lucy's cheek. “And a deep, deep urgency to bring her home. Home has always been so important to me. There are so many lost ones out there.”

“I've heard you say that before. Do you really think that her soul is somewhere wandering around and that she cares about being brought home?”

“I don't know. Maybe. But I do know I care.” Eve smoothed the clay at Lucy's forehead. “Now go to bed and let me work or I'll never get her finished.”

“Okay.” Jane stood up. “I was just curious.”

“Jane.”

Jane glanced back over her shoulder.

“Why now?” Eve asked. “You've never been this curious about my work before.”

Jane turned back to face her. “I've never been brought this close to the possibility of my own death before. It's bound to make you wonder what's out there for us.”

“Right now, the only thing out there for you is a long and happy life.”

“Don't worry. I'm not being gloomy and pessimistic. I don't know why all this came tumbling out of left field. I was sitting here watching you and thinking about something completely different when it occurred to me . . .” She paused. “Cira is one of those lost ones. Nobody seems to know what happened to her. She probably died in that eruption.”

“Two thousand years ago, Jane.”

“Does time make a difference? Lost is lost.”

“No, I guess not. It's just that it takes away the personal, familiar factor.”

“No, I don't agree.” She reached up and touched her own cheekbone and traced the line to her temple. “I'm taking this very personally. She had my face.”

“And it bothers you that she's one of the lost ones?”

“I don't know. Maybe she wasn't lost at all. Maybe she wasn't killed. Maybe she lived to be a hundred with her great-great-grandchildren all around her.”

“It's possible.”

“Yeah, but I've been asking myself, what if you're right and lost souls have a passion to come home? What if these dreams I've been having have been her way of telling me that she needs to be found and brought to a final resting place?”