Chapter One
Aberdeen, Scotland
Find the key.
The hotel room was dark but he didn’t dare turn on a light.
Leonard had told him that Trevor and Bartlett were usually
in the restaurant for an hour, but he couldn’t count on
it. Grozak had experience with that son of a bitch over
the years and he knew Trevor’s instincts were still as
keen as they had been when he was a mercenary in Colombia.
So he’d give himself ten minutes tops and get out of here.
His penlight flashed around the room. As sterile and
impersonal as most hotel rooms. Take the bureau drawers
first. He moved quickly across to the bureau and started
going through them.
Nothing.
He went to the closet and dragged out the duffel and
searched through it hurriedly.
Nothing.
Five minutes to go.
He went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. A
notepad and pen.
Find the key, the Achilles’ heel. Everyone had one.
Try the bathroom.
Nothing in the drawers.
The grooming kit.
Pay dirt!
Maybe.
Yes. At the bottom of the kit was a small, worn leather
folder.
Photos of a woman. Notes. Newspaper clippings with photos
of the same woman. Disappointment surged through him.
Nothing about MacDuff’s Run. Nothing about the gold.
Nothing here to really help him. Hell, he’d hoped it was–
Wait. The woman’s face was damn familiar. . . .
No time to read them.
He pulled out his digital camera and began to take the
pictures.
Send the prints to Reilly and show him that he might have
the ammunition that he needed to control Trevor.
But this might notbe enough for him. One more search of
the bedroom and that duffel . . .
The worn, dog-eared sketchbook was under the protective
board at the bottom of the duffel.
Probably nothing of value. He quickly flipped through the
pages.
Faces. Nothing but faces. He shouldn’t have taken the
extra time.
Trevor would be here any minute. Nothing but a bunch of
sketches of kids and old people and that bastard–
My God.
Jackpot!
He tucked the sketchbook under his arm and headed for the
door, filled with heady exultation. He almost wished that
he’d run into Trevor in the hall so that he’d have the
chance to kill the son of a bitch. No, that would spoil
everything.
I’ve got you, Trevor.
* * *
The alarm in Trevor’s pocket was vibrating.
Trevor tensed. “Son of a bitch.”
“What’s wrong?” Bartlett asked.
“Maybe nothing. There’s someone in my hotel room.” He
threw some money down on the table and stood up. “It could
be the maid turning down my bed.”
“But you don’t think so.” Bartlett followed him from the
room to the elevator. “Grozak?”
“We’ll see.”
“A trap?”
“Not likely. He wants me dead but he wants the gold more.
He’s probably trying to find a map or any other info he
can get his hands on.”
“But you’d never leave anything of value there.”
“He can’t be sure of that.” He stopped outside the door
and drew his gun. “Stay here.”
“No problem. If you get killed, someone has to yell for
the police, and I’ll accept that duty. But if it is the
maid, we may be asked to leave this domicile.”
“It’s not the maid. The room’s dark.”
“Then perhaps I should–”
Trevor kicked the door open, darted to one side, and hit
the floor.
No shot. No movement.
He crawled behind the couch and waited for his eyes to
become accustomed to the darkness.
Nothing.
He reached up and turned on the lamp on the end table by
the couch.
The room was empty.
“May I join you?” Bartlett called from the hall. “I’m a
bit lonely out here.”
“Stay there for a minute. I want to make sure . . .” He
checked the closet and then the bathroom. “Come in.”
“Good. It was interesting watching you tear through that
door like Clint Eastwood in a Dirty Harry movie.” Bartlett
cautiously entered the room. “But I really don’t know why
I risk my valuable neck with you when I could be safe in
London.” He looked around. “Everything looks fine to me.
Are you becoming paranoid, Trevor? Perhaps that gadget you
carry has a short circuit.”
“Perhaps.” He glanced through the drawers. “No, some of
the clothes have been moved.”
“How can you tell? It looks neat to me.”
“I can tell.” He moved toward the bathroom. The grooming
kit was in almost the same position as he’d left it.
Almost.
Shit.
He unzipped the kit. The leather case was still there. It
was the same black as the bottom of the kit and might not
have been noticed.
“Trevor?”
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” He slowly opened the case
and looked down at the articles and then the photo. She
was looking up at him from the photo with the challenging
stare he knew so well. Perhaps Grozak hadn’t seen it.
Perhaps he wouldn’t think it important even if he had.
But could he afford to risk her life on that chance?
He moved quickly to the closet and jerked out the duffel
and tore up the support board.
It was gone.
Shit!
* * *
Harvard University
Hey, I thought you were going to study for that final.”
Jane glanced up from her sketchbook to see her roommate,
Pat Hershey, bounding into the room. “I had to take a
break. I was getting too intense to keep a clear head.
Sketching relaxes me.”
“So would sleep.” Pat smiled. “And you wouldn’t have had
to study so hard if you hadn’t been out half of last night
playing nursemaid.”
“Mike needed someone to talk to.” Jane made a face. “He’s
scared to death that he’s going to flunk out and
disappoint everyone.”
“Then he should be studying instead of crying on your
shoulder.”
Jane knew Pat was right, and she’d had moments of
exasperation and impatience last night. “He’s used to
coming to me with problems.
We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“And you’re too soft to send him away now.”
“I’m not soft.”
“Except about people you care about. Look at me. You’ve
gotten me out of quite a few jams since we started to room
together.”
“Nothing serious.”
“They were serious to me.” She strolled over and glanced
at the sketch. “Good God, you’re drawing him again.”
Jane ignored the comment. “Did you have a good run?”
“Upped my distance a mile.” Pat flopped down in the chair
and began untying her running shoes. “You should have come
with me. It’s no fun for me running alone. I wanted the
satisfaction of leaving you in the dust.”
“No time.” Jane finished the sketch in three bold
strokes. “I told you, I had to study for my chemistry
final.”
“Yeah, that’s what you told me.” Pat grinned as she kicked
off her shoes. “But here you are drawing Mr. Wonderful
again.”
“Believe me, he’s not wonderful.” She snapped the
sketchbook shut. “And he’s definitely not the type of man
you’d take home to meet your mom and dad.”
“A black sheep? Exciting.”
“Only on soap operas. In real life they’re big trouble.”
Pat made a face. “You sound like a jaded woman of the
world.
You’re twenty-one, for God’s sake.”
“I’m not jaded. Jaded is for people who don’t have enough
imagination to keep life interesting. But I’ve learned to
tell the difference between intriguing and troublesome.”
“I could learn to live with that kind of trouble when it’s
packaged so nicely. He’s gorgeous. Sort of a cross between
Brad Pitt and Russell Crowe. You must think so too or you
wouldn’t keep drawing his face.”
Jane shrugged. “He’s interesting. I find something new in
his face
every time I draw it. That’s why I use him as a
distraction.”
“You know, I really like those sketches. I don’t know why
you haven’t done a full portrait of him. It would be much
better than the one you did of the old lady that won that
prize.”
Jane smiled. “I don’t believe the judges would have agreed
with you.”
“Oh, I’m not knocking you. The other portrait was
brilliant. But then, you’re always brilliant. You’ll be
famous someday.”
Jane made a rude sound. “Maybe if I live to be as old as
Grandma
Moses. I’m far too practical. I have no artistic
temperament.”
“You always make fun of yourself, but I’ve seen you when
you’re working. You get lost. . . .” She tilted her
head. “I’ve been wondering why you won’t admit you have a
fantastic future in store for you. It took me a while but
I finally figured it out.”
“Indeed? I can’t wait to hear your take on this.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I can be perceptive on occasion. I’ve
decided for some reason you’re afraid to reach out and
grab the brass ring. Maybe you don’t think you deserve it.”
“What?”
“I’m not saying you’re not confident. I just think you’re
not as sure of your talent as you should be. Good God, you
won one of the most prestigious competitions in the
country. That should tell you something.”
“It told me the judges liked my style. Art is subjective.
If there had been another set of judges, I might not have
fared so well.” She shrugged. “And that would have been
okay. I paint what and who I want. It gives me pleasure. I
don’t have to be first with anyone else.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t, Miss Freud. So back off.”
“Whatever you say.” Pat was still staring at the
sketch. “You said he was an old friend?”
Friend? No way. Their relationship had been too volatile
to involve friendship. “No, I said I knew him years ago.
Hadn’t you better take your shower?”
Pat chuckled. “Am I treading on private ground again?
Sorry, it’s my busybody nature. It comes from living in a
small town all my life.” She got to her feet and
stretched. “You have to admit I restrain myself most of
the time.”
Jane smiled as she shook her head. “When you’re sleeping.”
“Well, you must not mind too much. You’ve roomed with me
for two years and you’ve never put arsenic in my coffee.”
“It could still happen.”
“Nah, you’re used to me now. Actually, we complement each
other. You’re guarded, hardworking, responsible, and
intense. I’m open, lazy, spoiled, and a social butterfly.”
“That’s why you have a 4.0 average.”
“Well, I’m also competitive and you spur me on. That’s why
I don’t find a roommate who’s a party girl like me.” She
pulled her T-shirt over her head. “Besides, I’m hoping Mr.
Wonderful is going to show up so that I can seduce him.”
“You’ll be disappointed. He’s not going to show up. He
probably doesn’t remember I’m alive, and now he’s just an
interesting face to me.”
“I’d make sure he remembered me. What did you say his name
was?”
Jane smiled teasingly. “Mr. Wonderful. What else?”
“No, really. I know you told me but I–”
“Trevor. Mark Trevor.”
“That’s right.” Pat headed for the bathroom. “Trevor . . .”
Jane glanced down at the sketch pad. It was curious that
Pat had suddenly zeroed in on Trevor again. In spite of
what she’d said, she generally respected Jane’s privacy,
and she’d backed off before when she’d seen Jane withdraw
after she’d questioned her about him.
“Stop analyzing.” Pat stuck her head out of the
bathroom. “I can hear the wheels turning even over the
sound of the shower. I’ve just decided I need to take you
in hand and find a hunk to screw you and release all that
pent-up tension you’re storing. You’ve been living like a
nun lately. This Trevor seems a good candidate.”
Jane shook her head.
Pat made a face. “Stubborn. Well, then I’ll skip him and
go on to the local talent.” She disappeared back into the
bathroom.
Skip Trevor? Not likely, Jane thought. She’d been trying
to ignore him for the past four years, and succeeded at
times. Yet he was always in the background, waiting to
push into her consciousness. That was the reason she’d
started sketching his face three years ago. Once the
sketch was finished she could forget him again for a while
and get on with her life.
And it was a good life, full and busy and definitely not
empty. She didn’t need him. She was accomplishing her
goals, and the only reason his memory still lingered was
that their time together had taken place under such
dramatic circumstances. Black sheep might be intriguing to
Pat, but she’d led a sheltered life and didn’t realize how
much–
Her cell phone rang.
She was being followed.
Jane glanced over her shoulder.
No one.
At least, no one suspicious. A couple college guys out for
a good time were strolling across the street and eyeing a
girl who had just gotten off the bus. No one else. No one
interested in her. She must be getting paranoid.
The hell she was. She still had her street kid’s instincts
and she trusted them. Someone had been following her.
Okay, it could be anyone. This neighborhood had bars on
every block catering to college kids who streamed in from
the surrounding campuses. Maybe someone had noticed that
she was alone, zeroed in on her for a few minutes as a
prospective lay, and then lost interest and ducked into a
bar.
As she was going to do.
She glanced up at the neon light on the building ahead.
The Red
Rooster? Oh, for God’s sake, Mike. If he was going to get
soused, he could have at least picked a bar whose owner
had a little originality.
That was too much to expect. Even when Mike wasn’t in a
panic, he was neither selective nor critical. Tonight he
evidently wouldn’t care if the place was called Dew Drop
Inn if they’d serve him enough beer. Ordinarily, she would
have opted to let him make his own mistakes and learn from
them, but she’d promised Sandra she’d help him settle in.
And the kid was only eighteen, dammit. So get him out, get
him back to his dorm, and get him sober enough to talk
sense into him.
She opened the door and was immediately assaulted by
noise, the smell of beer, and a crush of people. Her gaze
searched the room and she finally spotted Mike and his
roommate, Paul Donnell, at a table across the bar. She
moved quickly toward them. From this distance Paul seemed
sober, but Mike was obviously royally smashed. He could
hardly sit up in his chair.
“Jane.” Paul rose to his feet. “This is a surprise. I
didn’t think you hit the bars.”
“I don’t.” And it wasn’t a surprise to Paul. He’d phoned
her thirty minutes ago to tell her Mike was depressed and
in the process of getting plastered. But if he wanted to
protect his relationship with Mike by pretending he hadn’t
let her know, that was okay with her. She’d never cared
much for Paul. He was too slick, too cool for her taste,
but he evidently was worried about Mike. “Except when Mike
is making an idiot of himself. Come on, Mike, we’re
getting out of here.”
Mike looked blearily up at her. “Can’t. I’m still sober
enough to think.”
“Barely.” She glanced at Paul. “You pay the tab and I’ll
meet you at the door.”
“Not going,” Mike said. “Happy here. If I get one more
beer down, Paul promised to crow like a rooster. A red
rooster . . .”
Paul raised his brows and shook his head at Jane. “Sorry
to put you through this. Since we’ve only been rooming
together for a few months, he wouldn’t listen to me. But
he’s always talking about you; I didn’t think you’d mind
if–”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. We grew up together and I’ve
been taking care of him since he was six years old.”
“You’re not related?”
She shook her head. “He was adopted by the mother of the
woman who took me in and raised me. He’s a sweet kid when
he’s not being so damn insecure, but there are times when
I want to shake him.”
“Go easy on him. He’s got a major case of nerves.” He
headed for the bar. “I’ll pay the tab.”
Go easy on him? If Ron and Sandra Fitzgerald hadn’t been
so easy on Mike, he wouldn’t have forgotten what he’d
learned on Luther Street and would be better able to cope
in the real world, she thought in exasperation.
“Are you mad at me?” Mike asked morosely. “Don’t be mad at
me,
Jane.”
“Of course I’m mad at–” He was looking up at her like a
kicked puppy and she couldn’t finish. “Mike, why are you
doing this to yourself?”
“Mad at me. Disappointed.”
“Listen to me. I’m not disappointed. Because I know you’re
going to do fine once you work your way through this. Come
on, we’ll get out of here and go someplace where we can
talk.”
“Talk here. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Mike. I don’t want–” It was no use. Persuasion was
striking out.
Just get him out of here any way she could. “On your
feet.” Jane took a step closer to the table. “Now. Or I’ll
carry you in a fireman’s lift and tote you out of here on
my shoulder. You know I can do it, Mike.”
Mike gazed up at her in horror. “You wouldn’t do that.
Everyone would laugh at me.”
“I don’t care if these losers laugh at you. They should be
studying for their exams instead of pickling their brains.
And so should you.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head mournfully. “I’ll
flunk it anyway.
I should never have come here. Ron and Sandra were wrong.
I can never make it in an Ivy League school.”
“The school would never have accepted you if they didn’t
think you could make it. You did fine in high school. This
is no different if you work hard enough.” She sighed as
she realized she wasn’t getting to him through that haze
of alcohol. “We’ll talk later. On your feet.”
“No.”
“Mike.” She bent so that she could stare him directly in
the eyes.
“I promised Sandra that I’d take care of you. That means
not letting you start off your first year like a drunken
sot or get thrown in jail for underage drinking. Do I keep
my promises?”
He nodded. “But you shouldn’t have promised–I’m not a kid
anymore.”
“Then act like it. You have two more minutes before I make
you look like the asshole you’re being.”
His eyes widened in alarm and he jerked to his feet. “Damn
you,
Jane. I’m not–”
“Shut up.” She took his arm and propelled him toward the
door.
“I’m not feeling very warm toward you right now. I have a
final tomorrow and I’ll have to stay up till dawn to make
up for this trip to town.”
“Why?” he asked gloomily. “You’d ace it anyway. Some
people have it. Some people don’t.”
“That’s bull. And a pretty pitiful excuse for being lazy.”
He shook his head. “Paul and I talked about it. It’s not
fair. You’ve got it all. In a few months you’ll graduate
with honors and make Eve and Joe proud. I’ll be lucky to
make it through at the bottom of my class.”
“Stop blubbering.” She opened the door and pushed him out
of the bar. “You won’t even make it through the first term
if you don’t shape up.”
“That’s what Paul said.”
“Then you should have paid more attention.” She saw Paul
standing on the sidewalk and asked, “Where’s his car
parked?”
“Around the corner in the alley. All the parking spots
were filled when we got here. Do you need help with him?”
“Not if he can walk,” she said grimly. “I hope you took
his car keys away from him.”
“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” He reached
in his pocket and handed her the keys. “Do you want me to
drive your car back to school?”
She nodded, took her keys out of her purse, and gave them
to him.
“It’s two blocks down. A tan Toyota Corolla.”
“She worked two jobs and bought it herself.” Mike shook
his head. “Amazing, brilliant Jane. She’s the star. Did I
tell you that, Paul? Everyone’s proud of Jane. . . .”
“Come on.” She grabbed his arm. “I’ll show you amazing.
You’ll be lucky if I don’t deck you before I get you back
to the dorm. I’ll see you back at your room, Paul.”
“Right.” He turned on his heel and set off down the street.
“Wonderful Jane . . .”
“Be quiet. I’m not going to let you blame your lack of
purpose on me. I’ll help you, but you’re responsible for
your life, just as I am for mine.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t know zilch right now. Listen, Mike, we both
grew up on the streets, but we were lucky. We’ve been
given a chance to climb out.”
“Not smart enough. Paul’s right. . . .”
“You’re all muddled.” The alley was yawning just ahead.
Her hand tightened on the key as she pressed the unlock
button and pushed him toward his Saturn. “You can’t even
remember what–”
Shadow. Leaping forward. Arm raised.
She instinctively pushed Mike aside and ducked.
Pain!
In her shoulder, not her head, where the blow was aimed.
She whirled and kicked him in the belly.
He grunted and bent double.
She kicked him in the groin and listened with fierce
satisfaction as he howled in agony. “Bastard.” She took a
step toward him.
“Can’t you–”
A bullet whistled by her ear.
Mike cried out.
Dear God. She hadn’t seen any gun.
No, her attacker was still doubled over, groaning in pain.
Someone else was in the alley.
And Mike was falling to his knees.
Get him out of here.
She opened the door of the Saturn and pushed him onto the
passenger seat.
Another shadow running toward her from the end of the
alley as she ran around to the driver’s seat.
Another shot.
“Don’t kill her, you fool. She’s no good to us dead.”
“The kid may already be dead. I’m not leaving a witness.”
The voice came from right in front of her.
Blind him.
She turned the lights on high as she started the car.
And ducked as a bullet shattered the windshield.
The tires screeched as she stomped on the accelerator and
backed out of the alley.
“Jane . . .”
She looked down at Mike and her heart sank. His
chest . . .Blood. So much blood.
“It’s okay, Mike. You’re going to be fine.”
“I . . . don’t want to die.”
“I’m taking you to the emergency room right now. You’re
not going to die.”
“Scared.”
“I’m not.” Christ, she was lying. She was terrified, but
she couldn’t let him see it. “Because there’s no reason to
be. You’re going to get through this.”
“Why?” he whispered. “Why did they– Money? You should have
given it to them. I don’t want to die.”
“They didn’t ask me for money.” She swallowed. Don’t cry
now.
Pull over and try to stop that bleeding and then get him
to the emergency room. “Just hold on, Mike. Trust me.
You’re going to be all right.”
“Promise . . . me.” He was slumping forward in the
seat. “Don’t want to . . .”
Ms. MacGuire?”
A doctor?
Jane looked up quickly at the tall, fortyish man standing
in the doorway of the waiting room. “How is he?”
“Sorry. I’m not a doctor. I’m Detective Lee Manning. I
need to ask you a few questions.”
“Later,” she said curtly. She wished she could stop
shaking. Dear
God, she was scared. “I’m waiting for–”
“The doctors are working on your friend. It’s a difficult
operation. They won’t be out to talk to you for a while.”
“That’s what they told me, but it’s been over four hours,
dammit.
No one’s said a word to me since they took him away.”
“Operating rooms are busy places.” He came toward her. “And
I’m afraid we have to get a statement from you. You showed
up here with a victim suffering a gunshot wound and we
have to find out what happened. The longer we wait, the
greater chance we have of losing the perpetrator.”
“I told them what happened when I checked Mike in to the
hospital.”
“Tell me again. You say robbery didn’t appear to be the
motive?”
“They didn’t ask for money. They wanted–I don’t know what
they wanted. They said something about the girl not being
any good to them dead. That’s me, I guess.”
“Rape?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s possible. A kidnapping? Do your parents have a good
deal of money?”
“I’m an orphan, but I’ve lived with Eve Duncan and Joe
Quinn since I was a kid. Joe’s a cop like you but he has
private money. Eve is a forensic sculptor and she does
more charity work than professional.”
“Eve Duncan . . . I’ve heard of her.” He turned as another
man came into the room carrying a Styrofoam cup filled
with steaming coffee.
“This is Sergeant Ken Fox. He thought you’d need a pick-me
up.”
“I’m glad to meet you, ma’am.” Fox offered her the cup
with a polite smile. “It’s black, but I’ll be glad to get
you another one with cream if you like.”
“Are you playing good cop, bad cop with me? It won’t
work.” But she took the cup of coffee. She needed
it. “Like I said, I was brought up by a cop.”
“That must have come in handy tonight,” Manning
said. “It’s hard to believe you were able to fight your
way out of that alley.”
“Believe what you like.” She sipped the coffee. “But find
out from the doctors if Mike’s going to live. Those nurses
gave me all kinds of soothing noncommittal assurances, but
I don’t know whether to believe them. They’ll talk to you.”
“They think he has a good chance.”
“Just a chance?”
“He was shot in the chest and he lost a good deal of
blood.”
“I know.” She moistened her lips. “I tried to stop it.”
“You did a good job. The doctors say you may have saved
his life.
How did you know what to do?”
“I took EMT training three years ago. It comes in handy. I
sometimes go to disaster sites with my friend Sarah Logan,
who does canine rescue work.”
“You seem to have all kinds of talents.”
She stiffened. “Are you being sarcastic? I don’t need that
kind of hassle right now. I know you have a job to do, but
back off.”
“I wasn’t trying to intimidate you.” Manning
grimaced. “Lord, you’re defensive.”
“My friend has just been shot. I think I have a right to
be defensive.”
“Hey, we’re the good guys.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.” She gave him a cool
glance. “And you haven’t shown me your ID yet. Let’s see
it.”
“Sorry.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his
badge. “My error. Show her your ID, Fox.”
She examined both IDs closely before handing them back.
“Okay. Let’s get this over quickly. I’ll make a formal
statement later but here’s what you need to know right
now. It was too dark in that alley for me to be able to ID
the first man who attacked us. But when I turned on the
headlights I got a glimpse of the man who shot Mike.”
“You’ll be able to recognize him?”
“Oh, yes.” Her lips twisted. “No problem. I’m not going to
forget him. Not ever. Give me a few hours after I get
through this hell and I’ll give you a sketch of him.”
“You’re an artist?”
“It’s my major. And I’ve got a knack for portraiture. I’ve
done sketches for the Atlanta PD before and they haven’t
complained.”
She took another sip of coffee. “Check with them if you
don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” Fox said. “That will be a great help. But
you only saw him for a moment. It would be hard to
remember enough to–”
“I’ll remember.” She leaned wearily back in the
chair. “Look, I’ll do everything I can to help. I want to
get this bastard. I don’t know what the hell this is all
about, but Mike didn’t deserve this to happen to him. I’ve
met a few people who did deserve to be shot.” She
shivered. “But not Mike. Will you go check and see if
there’s any–”
“No news.” Joe Quinn’s face was grim as he came into the
waiting room. “I checked as soon as I got here.”
“Joe.” She jumped to her feet and ran across the room
toward him. “Thank God you’re here. Those nurses were
practically patting my head. They won’t tell me anything.
They’re treating me like a kid.”
“Heaven forbid. Don’t they know you’re twenty-one going on
a hundred?” He hugged her and then turned to the two
detectives. “Detective Joe Quinn. The head nurse tells me
you’re local police?”
Manning nodded. “Manning, and this is Sergeant Fox.
Naturally, we have a few questions to ask the young lady.
You understand.”
“I understand that you’re to leave her alone right now.
She’s not under suspicion, is she?”
Manning shook his head. “If she shot him, then she did a
hell of a lot to keep him alive afterward.”
“She’s protected him all her life. There’s no way she
would have shot him. Give her a chance to get herself
together and she’ll cooperate later.”
“So she told us,” Manning said. “I was just about to leave
when you came. Just doing our job.”
Jane was tired of dealing with them. “Where’s Eve, Joe?
And how did you get here so quickly?”
“I hired a jet as soon as you called, and Eve and I came
ahead.
Sandra is flying in from New Orleans, where she was
vacationing.
Eve stayed at the airport to meet her flight and bring her
here. Sandra’s almost falling apart.”
“I promised her I’d take care of him.” She could feel the
tears sting her eyes. “I didn’t do it, Joe. I don’t know
what happened. Everything went wrong.”
“You did your best.”
“Don’t tell me that. I didn’t do it.”
“Okay, but Sandra had no right to saddle you with that
kind of responsibility.”
“She’s Eve’s mother. She loves Mike. Hell, I love Mike.
I’d have done it anyway.”
“We’ll wait in the hall,” Sergeant Fox said. “Whenever
you’re ready to make a statement, Ms. MacGuire.”
“Wait a minute. I’ll go with you,” Joe said. “I want to
talk to you about the investigation.” He turned to
Jane. “I’ll be right back. I want an update and then I’ll
go back to the nurse’s desk and see if I can get more info
about Mike.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “You’re upset and it shows. They’ll be
walking on eggshells around you. Let me do it. I’ll get
right back to you.”
“I don’t want to sit–” She stopped. He was right. She
wiped her wet cheeks on the back of her hand. She couldn’t
stop crying, dammit. “Hurry, Joe.”
“I’ll hurry.” He brushed his lips on her forehead. “You
did nothing wrong, Jane.”
“That’s not true,” she said shakily. “I didn’t save him.
Nothing could be more wrong than that.”