The Face of Deception (24 page)

That damn skull again, tying his hands, keeping him from doing his job.

He leaned forward and opened the glove box. He had plenty of time to update his list. With one bold, satisfying stroke, he crossed out Gary Kessler's name.

8:35
A.M.

Eve jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped at her mother's cottage.

“Hold it.” Joe was beside her, pushing her to one side. “I go in first.”

He had gone in first at the motel and found Gary. “No. Mom!”

No answer.

Then Sandra called out, “It's okay, Eve. Pilton won't let me come out, but everything's fine.”

Relief almost made Eve ill. “We're coming in.”

Logan had pulled in behind Joe's car. “It's okay?”

“Apparently.” Joe was scanning the surrounding woods. “Maybe. Go in and make sure they're ready to go. I'll stay out here.”

Logan followed Eve toward the porch.

“Wait.” Joe asked, “Where's the skull, Logan?”

“Front passenger seat. Keep an eye on it.”

“I'll do that.” Joe's gaze never left the woods. “Hurry and get everyone into the cars.”

He was out there.

Christ, he could almost smell him, Joe thought.

Smell the blood. Smell the hunger.

His nerves were screaming Fiske's presence. It was as if he'd been catapulted back into his past of targets and sanctioned killings. Fiske would understand that world. He was out there now, primed, ready. To do what?

Throw a stick of dynamite into the cottage?

Launch a sniper attack as they came out on the porch?

If that were true, Joe would be the first target. The sentry was always the first put down.

But Fiske was acting at a disadvantage. His orders would not have been solely assassination.

The skull.

Joe smiled grimly. So let's end it now. Let's make the hunter the hunted.

Are you watching, Fiske?

He took off his jacket, reached into Logan's car, and pulled out the leather case containing the skull.

Bait, Fiske.

He deliberately held up the case above his head.

See it?

He started running, zigzagging through the brush toward the woods.

Come and get it, bastard.

Fiske's eyes opened wide in shock.

The son of a bitch was taunting him. And he was doing it with that leather case, which had to contain the skull.

He watched Quinn run across the rough terrain. He knew what he was doing and he was good. He'd be no easy target.

Pleasure and eagerness suddenly surged through him. The Chadbourne bitch had said to get the skull. First priority. He'd had no idea the priority would offer him such an interesting challenge.

He set off in a diagonal path to intercept Quinn.

Margaret, you go in the van with Pilton,” Logan said as he came down the steps. “We'll take Sandra with us.”

“I'm to go back to Sanibel?” Margaret asked. “When will you contact me?”

“When it's safe,” Logan said. “I'm going to let Quinn set up a meeting with that reporter with the—”

“Where's Joe?” Eve had stopped on the top step.

“He's got to be around here.” Logan swiftly scanned the area.

Eve's gaze went to the car.

No Joe.

Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. “Fiske.”

“I doubt if Fiske could surprise him,” Logan said. “Quinn's tough.”

“He surprised Gary.”

“Quinn's not Gary. He's not a victim. He'd be more likely to—” Logan strode over to his car. “Son of a
bitch
.”

“What?”

“The case. Quinn took the case.”

“Why?” Oh, Jesus, stupid question. She knew why. Joe wanted it over and, as usual, he'd taken the matter in his own hands. “He thinks Fiske is here.”

“And I'd bet on his instincts,” Logan said. He turned to Pilton. “You stay here. I'm going after him. If I'm not back in— Where the hell are you going, Eve?”

She was running toward the woods. “I'm not going to let Fiske hurt him. I won't let that happen.”

She heard Logan curse. He was following her, running right behind her. “What the hell do you think you're going to do? You're not some kind of commando.”

“Joe's out there because of me,” she said fiercely. “Do you think I'd let him go alone?”

“And how do you intend—”

She was no longer paying any attention to him. She had entered the woods and stopped, breathing hard. Don't call him, that would alert Fiske. Then how was she going to find Joe before Fiske found him?

Don't think of that. Walk softly. Look at the shadows.

Logan was beside her. “For God's sake, go back. I'll find him.”

“Be quiet. I'm listening. He has to be—”

Logan had a gun in his hand.

He followed her gaze. “You may be damned glad I have it.”

She was glad, she realized with shock. If that gun could save Joe, then she would use it herself. Gary had died because he was helpless.

Joe must not die.

The leaves of the bushes moved gently behind him and Joe darted to the left behind a gnarled tree.

“Are you here?” he asked softly. “Come and get me, Fiske.”

The bushes stirred like the breath of a whisper.

“You want the skull? It's right here.” He slipped deeper into the woods. God, it was all coming back. Hunt, find, kill. The only difference was the light. Most operations took place at night. “Take it from me.”

Fiske was close. Joe could smell the faintest odor of garlic and toothpaste.

Where was the scent coming from? Right and a little to the rear. Too little. Too close. Move faster.

Distance.

Silence.

Speed.

The scent was weaker now. He had a little time.

Come on, Fiske. Step into my parlor.

Where the hell was the bastard? Fiske wondered in irritation. It was like following a ghost.

He stopped behind some shrubs, listening, his gaze traveling around the circle of trees.

No sound.

Dammit, Quinn had made no sound since ten minutes before.

“Over here.”

Fiske's gaze flew to the left.

The leather skull case, sitting beneath an oak tree fifty feet away.

A trap.

Did Quinn think he was an idiot? The minute he showed himself, Quinn would put a bullet in him.

But where was Quinn? Fiske scanned the area around the case. Quinn's voice had sounded as if it had come from there, but Fiske couldn't be sure.

The faintest movement.

Shrubbery to the left.

Wait. Be sure. Move closer.

If he shot, he'd give away his own position.

The leaves
were
stirring.

He caught a glimpse of pale blue denim.

Then it was gone.

But the bushes were moving.

Quinn was coming nearer.

He moved another step closer. He raised his gun, waiting for the next rustle to the right.

But the next rustle came from the left, far to the left.

He whirled and pointed his gun.

Logan. And the Duncan woman.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

“
No
.” The yell came from above him. He looked up and saw that Quinn had catapulted himself from the branches of a tree.

Fiske swiveled and got off a shot even as Quinn landed on him and dropped him to the ground.

Another shot.

Bastard. Quinn had been waiting up there, lining him up for the kill. Christ, Quinn might have won if not for Logan and Duncan.

But he hadn't won. Fiske had won, as he always did. He could feel Quinn's warm blood on his chest and the body pinning him was limp.

Another name to cross off his list.

But first he had to get the body off him. Logan was running toward them and Fiske had to free the hand holding his gun.

Why couldn't he move?

Pain. Chest.

Not only Quinn's blood, but his own.

The second shot.

He had failed, he had failed, he had failed, he had failed.

Darkness coming. Horror coming.

He screamed.

Fiske was dead when Logan pulled him off Joe's body.

Mother of God.

Eve fell to her knees beside Joe. His chest . . . blood.

“Is he alive?” Logan asked.

She could see the faintest throbbing in his temple. “Yes. Call 911. Quick.”

She was barely aware of Logan reaching for his phone and moving away. Her gaze was fixed on Joe's face.

“Don't you dare die. Do you hear me, Joe? I won't have it.” She pulled up his T-shirt. Where was the denim shirt he'd been wearing? she wondered vaguely. Pressure. You were supposed to apply pressure.

His lids opened. “Fiske?”

“Dead.” She placed her hand on his chest above the wound and pressed hard. “You shouldn't have done it.”

“Had—to kill him.”

“I don't care that you killed him. You shouldn't have risked— Who asked you to do that? You're all the same. Gary and Logan and you. Think you can save— Don't close your eyes. You're not going anywhere.”

He tried to smile. “I . . . hope not.”

“How is he?” Logan was kneeling beside her. He handed her a blue shirt, Joe's shirt. “Can you use this? I found it over there in the bushes. Quinn must have tossed it there.”

She quickly tore the shirt and used a piece of it as a pressure bandage. “Did you call 911?”

“Yes, they should be here soon. We shouldn't be here when they do. I didn't mention this was a shooting, but the medics will notify the police the minute they see Quinn and Fiske.”

“Get out—” Joe stopped. “Can't help, Eve.”

“I'm not going to leave you.” She glared down at him. “And you don't have the strength to sock me this time.”

“Stay . . . background. Let Pilton . . .” He slumped sideways, unconscious.

“God in heaven.” She closed her eyes. “He's bad, Logan.”

“He's not dead yet.” He rose to his feet, turned, and knelt beside Fiske. “I'm going back to the cottage and tell Pilton to talk to the medics. When we hear the sirens I'll have Margaret come out here and stay with Quinn and get you out of sight. That's the best course.” Logan was going through Fiske's pockets.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I'm removing identification. The harder we make it for the authorities to identify Fiske, the longer we'll have before Lisa Chadbourne finds out she has to replace him.” He pulled out keys dangling from a National rental car key chain, and a wallet. He glanced at the driver's license and credit cards. “Though he's done a pretty good job himself. Roy Smythe . . .” He stuffed the wallet in his back pocket. “After we leave, I'll have Margaret and Pilton find his rental car and clean it out before they hit the road.”

She couldn't think about damage control just then. “I'm going with Joe to the hospital.”

“No, we'll follow him.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. “Don't argue. Unless you stay in the background, you'll be picked up and shoved in jail—if you're not shot on sight.” He rose to his feet, adding sarcastically, “Either way, you won't be able to hang over Quinn's bed and offer tea and sympathy.”

“He saved your life, you son of a bitch,” she said.

“Who asked him to save my life? I'm tired of the great Quinn dispensing—” He snatched up the skull case and strode back toward the cottage.

What was wrong with him? He had no right to be angry with Joe. He spoke as if he—

The wound was bleeding more heavily.

She pressed harder.

Don't you die, Joe.

Joe was taken to the emergency room at Gwinnett General Hospital, twenty miles from the lake. Logan, Sandra, and Eve followed the ambulance in Logan's car.

“I'll go in and check on him.” Sandra hopped out of the car. “Park in the lot somewhere out of sight. I'll come out when I have some news.”

“I can do—”

“Shut up, Eve,” Sandra said firmly. “I've allowed myself to be pushed and prodded and stashed for days. Joe's my friend too, and I'm worried about him. Besides, he wouldn't thank me if I let you go in and be recognized.” She strode quickly through the glass doors of the emergency room.

“That seems to be that.” Logan drove away and parked between two trucks that obscured any vision of the interior of the Taurus. “I guess we wait.”

Eve nodded wearily. “But I have to do one more thing.” She took out her phone and dialed Joe's home phone number. “Diane, this is Eve. I have to tell you something. Joe is—” The words stuck in her throat. Get it over with. “Joe's been hurt.”

“My God.”

“It's . . . bad. He's at Gwinnett General. You'd better come.”

“How bad?”

“I don't know. He's been shot. He's in the emergency room.”

“God damn you.” Diane slammed down the phone in Eve's ear.

She flinched.

“Telling bad news is never pleasant,” Logan said quietly.

“She sounded as if she hates me.” She moistened her lips. “And who can blame her? It's my fault. I should never have let Joe—”

“I've never noticed him asking permission. I doubt if you could have stopped him.”

“I
know
him. I saw his face before we went into the cottage. I should have realized that he thought something was wrong.”

“May I point out that you were a little upset?”

“No.” She leaned her head against the window. “He's dying, Logan.”

“We don't know that.”

“I know it.” She whispered, “I . . . love him, you know.”

He looked away from her. “Do you?”

“Yes. He's like the father and brother I never had. I don't know what life would be like without Joe. Funny, I never thought about it before. He was just always there and I thought he always would be.”

“He's not dead yet.”

If Joe died, would he be with Bonnie?

“Stop crying,” Logan said hoarsely. He pulled her into his arms. “Shh, it's going to be all right.” He was rocking her. “Let me help.”

He was helping. Comfort and warmth were flowing from him, surrounding her. He couldn't heal the wound, but he was touching her, keeping away the loneliness. For the moment that was enough.

TWENTY-ONE

Sandra was frowning when she came back to the car two hours later.

Eve tensed. “Joe?”

“Not good. They don't know if he'll make it.” Sandra got into the backseat. “They've operated and taken him to intensive care.”

“I want to see him.”

“No chance. Only close family members are allowed.”

“It's not fair. He'd want me there. I need to—” She drew a deep breath. It wasn't what she needed but what Joe needed that mattered. “Is Diane there?”

“She got here just as they were wheeling him out of the operating room.” Sandra made a face. “She was cold as ice to me. You'd think I'd shot him.”

“It's not you. She's really angry with me. You're my mother. She probably blames you for bringing me into the world.”

“I guess so. But I thought she liked me. I had coffee with her only a few weeks ago. I thought she liked both of us.”

“She's just upset. It'll be different when Joe gets better.” If he got better. If he didn't die. “When will they know?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Sandra hesitated. “But I can't go back in there, Eve. A policeman came into the ICU right before I left. He was checking on Joe.”

Of course. Joe was a cop, and cops took care of their own. The hospital would soon be crawling with officers.

Logan was already starting the car. “Then we've got to get out of here. Pronto.”

“And where are we going?” Sandra asked.

“I told Margaret and Pilton to meet us at that Hardee's near Emory where we met Quinn.” Logan drove out of the parking lot. “She'll take you to Sanibel and then arrange to get you out of the country.”

“No,” Sandra said.

Eve stiffened. “It's the only safe thing, Mom. You've got to do it.”

“I don't have to do anything.” Her lips thinned. “And who says it's the safest thing? You? Logan? Neither of you has done such a good job of keeping yourself safe, and Joe's lying in that hospital. Why should I believe you'd do any better at seeing that I don't get killed?”

Panic iced through Eve. “Mom, please. You have to do as I say.”

“Bullshit.” Sandra looked her in the eye. “I've done everything you and Margaret told me to do. You've all treated me as if I were some half-wit child. It's finished, Eve.”

“I want to keep you safe.”

“I intend to be safe.” She turned to Logan. “Drive me to the Peachtree Arms Apartments. It's right off Piedmont.”

Eve recognized the address. “You're going to Ron's place?”

“You bet I am. It's what I've wanted to do all along.”

“Do you really think he'll take you in and hide you?”

“I'll find out, won't I? Or maybe we'll discuss it and decide I should turn myself in as a material witness to Joe's shooting. I'll ask them to put me in jail for protective custody. Whatever I do, it will be my decision.” She looked back at Logan. “Drive or let me out of the car.”

Logan hesitated and then pressed on the accelerator. “This may be a mistake, Sandra.”

“If it is, it won't be my first. Hell, I've made every one in the book at one time or another.” She said to Eve, “I won't be able to go to the hospital, but I'll call them several times a day and let you know how Joe's doing.”

“Mom, don't take this chance. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

“Don't you dare say that. You're my daughter, not my mother. You take care of yourself, I'll take care of myself. No guilt, dammit. I won't be another Bonnie.”

Eve's eyes widened.

“Oh, shit, don't look at me like that.” Sandra leaned forward and squeezed Eve's shoulder. “Just let me go, Eve. Let
her
go.”

“We're not talking about Bonnie.”

“Oh, yes, she's here every minute of every day. She's behind your every word and gesture.”

“That's not true.”

Sandra shook her head. “You don't have to forget her to let her go, baby. Just let a little light come into your life. God, it's dark where you are.”

“I'm—fine. Everything will be okay once this is all over.”

“Will it?”

“Mom, I can't take this right now.”

“I'll be quiet. I know you're hurting. But don't try to run my life. Eve. It's taken me too long to learn how to do it myself.”

“Piedmont is right ahead,” Logan said.

“The Arms is around the corner.”

“What if Ron's not home?” Eve asked.

“I have a key.” Sandra smiled. “I've had it since our third date. That I never told you says something about the way you intimidated me, doesn't it?”

“I never tried to—”

“I know.” Logan had stopped before the apartment building and Sandra got out of the car and grabbed her suitcase. “I'll check every three hours with the hospital. If you don't hear from me, you'll know his condition hasn't changed.”

“Be careful. I
hate
your taking a chance like this.”

“And I'm relieved that I'm doing something on my own. I've felt like some kind of pawn, moved back and forth by you and Logan and even this Fiske person. It's time I took control.”

Stunned, Eve watched her mother walk into the apartment building.

“Phoenix rising from the flames?” Logan murmured.

“She's doing the wrong thing. I'm scared to death.”

“Maybe not. Ron could be a good guy who'll do everything he can to protect her.”

“Against Lisa Chadbourne? Against Timwick?”

“Well, Fiske is out of the picture. Our first lady will have to hire another hit man and that may take a little time. Particularly if she doesn't find out right away that Quinn put him down.”

“Not enough—”

“You can't do anything about it,” Logan said. “Your mother has made her choice, Eve. You can't protect her if she won't accept your protection.”

“She doesn't understand. Gary and Joe— She doesn't understand what can happen.”

“I believe she understands very well. She saw Joe taken away in that ambulance. She's not stupid.”

“I didn't say she was stupid.”

“Then why do you treat her as if she were?”

“I just want to protect her. I don't want to lose her.”

“Like you lost Bonnie?”

“Shut up, Logan.”

“I'll shut up. Sandra already said it all.” He got on the I-85 entrance ramp. “But I'd think about what she said. She's a smart lady. I had no idea how smart.”

“Where are we going?”

“To meet Margaret and tell her to get out of town. I don't suppose I could persuade you to go with her?”

Anger was suddenly replacing fear. “And will you go? How about you boarding that boat for Timbuktu, Logan? Why don't you forget about Gil?” The words were tumbling out, exploding with fury that was building every second. “Why don't you forget about Ben Chadbourne? Just run away and say screw the world.”

He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “You don't have to bite my head off. It was just a suggestion. I didn't think you'd—”

“It was a lousy suggestion. I won't leave Joe and Mom. I'm tired of running and hiding and being afraid. I'm tired of people I care about getting hurt and I'm tired of feeling helpless. I swore a long time ago I'd never be a victim again, and it's happening.
She's
making it happen.” Her voice was shaking with intensity. “I won't
tolerate
it any longer. Do you hear me? I'll never let her—”

“I hear you,” Logan said. “I get the picture loud and clear, but I'm fuzzy about how the hell we're going to stop her.”

So was Eve. Then she remembered her mother's last words to her, the words that had struck a deep chord and triggered her rage.

It's time I took control.

Lisa Chadbourne had been the one in control, the one on the attack. She had killed Gary. She might have killed Joe.

But her mother was alive. Eve was alive, so was Logan. And they were going to stay alive.

No more deaths, she had prayed.

She wasn't praying now.

She was taking control.

Margaret got out of the van, leaving Pilton in the passenger seat. “How's Quinn?”

“We don't know,” Logan said. “Intensive care.”

“I'm sorry,” Margaret told Eve. “You okay?”

Eve nodded.

“How's Sandra? She was pretty fond of him, wasn't she?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were stinging. Change the subject. Don't think about Joe. “She won't be going with you. She's staying here.”

Margaret frowned. “Do you think that's a good idea?”

“No, but she does. She won't listen to me.”

“Perhaps I could talk to—”

“She's through listening,” Logan said. “Now, you and Pilton take off.”

“Pilton deserves a bonus, you know,” Margaret pointed out. “He never figured he'd be a fugitive when he took the job. The police will be looking for him.”

“Then give him a bonus.”

“A big bonus. He's been a good—”

“Where's Fiske's car?” Eve asked suddenly. “Did you find it?”

“Pilton found it. It was parked in the driveway of an empty rental property about two miles from our cottage.”

“Did you clean it out?”

“Clean as a whistle. We dumped everything from the glove compartment and the trunk into garbage bags. Then I drove the car to the airport and left it in the long-term lot.”

“Where are the bags?”

“In the back of the van.”

Eve moved toward the van. “Let's get them, Logan.”

Margaret watched them toss the garbage bags into the backseat of their car. “You think he had something important?”

“I don't know,” Eve said. “Probably not, since he was a professional. But we don't have any other leads.”

“Be careful with that bigger bag. There was enough firepower in Fiske's trunk to start a small war,” Margaret said as she climbed back in the van. “A rifle, two handguns, shells, a few boxes that contained some kind of electronic bugging equipment. He didn't believe in traveling light.” She smiled grimly at them. “Good luck. Be sure you keep alive, John. The bonus I'm going to charge you for my part in this mess is going to make Pilton's look sick.”

Eve was already crawling into the backseat as Pilton's van left the parking lot. “I'll look through the bags. You drive.” She opened the bigger bag first. What did she know about weapons? That she didn't like them, that they frightened her, that to her they represented only violence and horror.

But they hadn't frightened Fiske. He had used these weapons. They wouldn't frighten Lisa Chadbourne. She had ordered their use.

Eve put her forefinger on the barrel of the rifle. The metal was warm, smooth, almost pleasing to the touch. Somehow she had expected it to be cold.

“Find anything?” Logan asked.

Nothing she had wanted to find. “Not yet.”

“I bet there won't be any way to trace those guns to Lisa Chadbourne.”

“I know.” Lisa would leave no trail that could lead back to her. Eve's search was probably hopeless.

To lose hope was to admit defeat. She'd be damned if she'd lose hope.

She pushed the first bag aside and started on the second. Rental car papers in a green folder, a first-class ticket to Washington on Delta Airlines, an airline schedule, a few receipts from restaurants, two in Atlanta, one in Bainbridge.

Bainbridge.

Don't think about Bainbridge. Don't think about the motel room where Gary had died.

A folded piece of paper. Another receipt?

She unfolded the paper.

She went rigid.

A list of several names. Some typewritten, some inked in.

Her own name, Logan's, Joe's, her mother's—

And two other names that caused her eyes to widen in shock.

My God.

She forced herself to continue down the list.

Gary Kessler. Neatly crossed off.

She stared down blindly at Gary's name.

Just another name on the list.

Gil had said Fiske was obsessed with neatness and efficiency. So kill a man and cross him off the list.

“What is it?” Logan was looking at her face in the rearview mirror.

“A list. Gary's name.” She folded the paper and stuffed it into her purse. She'd look at it again later and think about it harder. It hurt too much just then. She went through the other papers. Nothing else of interest. “Find us a place to stop.”

“A motel?”

“No, they'll be looking for us in this area. She'll wonder why she hasn't heard from Fiske and there will be discreet inquiries. They'll find out about Joe.”

Joe.

She quickly shied away from the thought of him. When she remembered Joe in that hospital, she couldn't focus on anything else.

“You know we should leave this vicinity.”

“No, Joe may need me.”

“You're not being reasonable. You can't even go to—”

“I don't care.” She couldn't leave Joe, not when she didn't know whether he was going to live or die. “Just find us a place to stop for a while. I need to think.”

“I've already been thinking. I believe we should contact Peter Brown, the reporter on that Atlanta newspaper.”

“Maybe.” She rubbed her aching temple. “But he's Joe's friend. We really need Joe to—”

Joe again. They needed Joe.
She
needed Joe.

The memories came flooding back. Joe stopping by her lab to nag her for working too hard. Joe joking with her, talking quietly and—

“Just relax,” Logan said. “We don't have to decide anything this minute. I'll drive for a while and see if I can find somewhere unobtrusive to park.”

Logan stopped at a McDonald's ten miles south of Gainesville and bought burgers and Cokes to go. He pulled off the highway and drove on a bumpy dirt road for another five miles, then stopped several yards from a large pond.

“This should be private enough.” Logan turned off the engine. “Though there's probably a farmhouse over that next hill. It's not easy finding a spot of wilderness in this day and age.”

“How far are we from the hospital?”

“Driving fast, forty minutes.” He got out of the car, grabbed Ben's case, and came around and opened her door. “Come on, let's walk down by that pond. I think we both need some exercise.”

Anything to release a little of this tension. She picked up her handbag and joined him.

The pond was muddy and the bank slippery. It must have rained recently. The sun was starting to go down, casting glittering bars of light on the water's surface.