The Face of Deception (8 page)

How fast?

And in what direction?

The house phone on the desk buzzed.

“Ms. Duncan left the house three minutes ago,” Mark said.

“Is she heading for the front gate?”

“No, she's going up the hill.”

“I'll be right there.”

Logan came into the carriage house a few minutes later.

“She's at the graveyard,” Mark said.

Logan walked over to the bank of monitors. “What's she doing?”

“It's dark and she's in the shadow of that tree. She's not doing anything as far as I can tell. Just standing there.”

Standing just outside a graveyard in the middle of the night.

“Zero in closer.”

Mark made an adjustment on the control board and Eve's face was suddenly on the screen before him.

It told him nothing. She was looking at the flower-covered graves, her face totally without expression. What had he expected? Strain? Torment?

“Pretty weird, huh?” Mark asked. “What a nutcase.”

“Damn you, she's not a nut—” He broke off, as surprised as Mark at the sudden burst of fury. “Sorry, but she's not crazy. She's just carrying around a lot of baggage.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark said. “I just thought it was all kind of weird. I wouldn't be trekking up to a graveyard at night. I guess she—” He suddenly started to laugh. “Shit. You're right, she's normal as hell.”

Eve was looking up into the trees, and the middle finger of her right hand was lifted in an obscene gesture.

“She's giving us the bird.” Mark was still chuckling. “I think I like her, John.”

Logan found himself smiling. He liked her too, dammit. He liked her strength and intelligence and resilience. Even her stubbornness and unpredictability intrigued him. In other circumstances he would have liked having her for a friend . . . or even a lover.

Lover. He hadn't realized he was regarding her in a sexual light until that moment. She was attractive, but he'd been more aware of her mind and personality than her tall, graceful body.

Yeah, sure. Who was he kidding? Hell, sex was always important and, if he was honest with himself, Eve's very breakability aroused him.

Which made him pretty much of a scumbag.

So forget it. Concentrate on what was important, the reason he'd brought her there.

And why the hell she was still in that damn graveyard.

The warm wind stirred the carnations on the graves and carried the faintest scent to where Eve was standing outside the fence.

She had told Margaret she wasn't a ghoul who hung around graveyards, so why was she there? Why hadn't she gone to bed as she'd intended instead of obeying the crazy impulse that had brought her there?

And it
was
impulse.

To believe something had called her there was insane, and she was not insane. She had fought that fight after Fraser had been executed and she had to be very careful not to let herself go down the path toward madness. It would be so easy. Dreaming of Bonnie at night was permissible, but she mustn't imagine Bonnie was there when she was wide awake.

Besides, Bonnie couldn't be here. She had never been in this place.

Logan had talked of death and graves and her mind had done the rest. No one had called her.

It was only an impulse.

She wasn't surprised to see Logan waiting for her when she entered the house an hour later.

“I'm tired. I don't want to talk, Logan.” She walked past him and started up the stairs.

He smiled. “I gathered that from your extremely rude gesture.”

“You shouldn't have been watching me. I don't like being spied on.”

“A graveyard isn't the most pleasant place for a stroll. Why there?”

“What does it matter?”

“I'm curious.”

Her hand tightened on the banister. “Stop trying to read some significance into everything I say or do. I went there because it was night and I knew the way. I didn't want to get lost.”

“That's all?”

“What did you expect? I was up there having a séance?”

“Don't bite my head off. I was just curious. I was actually hoping the walk had cleared your head and you'd come to a decision about the—”

“It didn't.” She started up the stairs again. “I'll talk to you in the morning.”

“I'll be working most of the night, if you come to any—”

“Back off, Logan.”

“Whatever you say.” He added, “Since you obviously know I'm keeping an eye on you, I thought it only fair to keep you informed about my own whereabouts.”

“Sure you did.” She slammed her bedroom door behind her and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower would get rid of this tension. Then maybe she'd go back down to the lab and work on Mandy. She knew she wasn't going to sleep well tonight, and she might as well be productive.

It wasn't as if she were afraid of going to sleep and dreaming of Bonnie. Bonnie was never a threat. How could a loving dream be a danger?

And it had been pure impulse, not Bonnie calling her, that had led her to the graveyard that night.

The two bodies were lying in one sleeping bag, their arms draped around each other in a final embrace. They were naked and their eyes were wide open, staring into each other's face with terror.

A long tent stake was driven through both their bodies.

“Son of a bitch.” Killing them was bad enough, but Gil felt there was something obscene about the way the old couple had been posed. It robbed their death of all dignity.

He looked around the campsite. No footprints. No visible evidence. Fiske had taken time to clean up.

Gil flipped open his phone and called Logan. “Too late.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah, nasty.” More than nasty. Twisted. “What do you want me to do?”

“Come back. I haven't been able to contact Maren. He's in the desert somewhere. But that may be good. If we can't reach him, I doubt Fiske will be able to. We may have a reprieve.”

“Don't count on it.” He glanced at the two bodies. “Fiske isn't going to be twiddling his thumbs.”

“I'm not counting on anything, but there's no way I want you heading for Jordan. I may need you.”

Gil went still. “The skull?”

“I can't wait any longer. Everything's moving too fast. Come back.”

“I'm on my way.”

Very satisfactory.

Everything neat and he'd even been able to add a little whimsy.

Fiske was humming softly to himself as he unlocked his car and got in. He quickly dialed Timwick. “Cadro's done. I'm heading for Jordan on the next plane. Anything else?”

“Forget Maren for the moment. Go join the surveillance team at Barrett House.”

Fiske frowned. “I don't like surveillance.”

“You'll do this one. If Logan and the Duncan woman sneeze, I want to know about it and I want you on the spot.”

“I don't like jumping all over the place until I finish the job. I still have Maren to—”

“We followed Gil Price when he left Barrett House yesterday morning. He went directly to Dora Bentz's apartment.”

“So? I left it clean.”

“You don't get the point. He knew about Dora Bentz and that means Logan knows. We can't—” Timwick drew a deep breath. “We need Logan, Price, and the Duncan woman dead.”

“You said it was too risky.”

“That was before we were sure Logan was on the right track. There's no question we can leave them alive now.”

At last Timwick was showing some balls. “When?”

“I'll let you know.”

Fiske pressed the end button of the phone. Things were definitely looking up. Both the challenge and monetary opportunities were escalating. He started humming again as he opened the glove compartment and took out Timwick's list. He drew a neat line through the second name and below Maren's name carefully wrote in block letters John Logan, Gil Price, and Eve Duncan.

Might as well keep things orderly.

He started the car, then grinned as he suddenly realized the song he was still humming.

Making a list, checking it twice.

Gonna find out who's naughty or nice . . .

EIGHT

“Wake up,” Margaret said. “For God's sake, do you even have to sleep with those bones, Eve?”

Eve groggily lifted her head. “What?” She shook her head to clear it of sleep. “What time is it?”

Margaret was standing in front of the desk. “It's almost nine in the morning. John told me you weren't going to work anymore last night.”

“I changed my mind.” She looked down at Mandy on the desk in front of her. “I fit a few more pieces to the puzzle.”

“And fell asleep working on it.”

“I was going to close my eyes for just a minute.” Her mouth felt nasty. “I guess I was tired.” She pushed back her chair. “I need to go brush my teeth and shower.”

“Not until you tell me what a good job I did on this lab.”

She smiled. “Sorry, it's wonderful.”

“Your enthusiasm is truly astonishing.” Margaret sighed. “I knew I should have told them to do it in sackcloth and ashes.”

“I told you it didn't matter.” She stood up and moved toward the door. “But I appreciate your effort.”

“John wants to see you. He sent me to find you.”

“I'll see him after I shower and change.”

“Could you hurry? He's been pretty edgy since Gil got back.”

Eve turned at the door. “He's back?”

Margaret nodded. “About an hour and a half ago. They're waiting for you in the office.”

Waiting for her decision. Waiting to see if she'd go along on Logan's wild-goose chase.

Kennedy.

My God, in the clear light of day the idea was even more bizarre than it had been the previous night.

“And John authorized me to shift that other payment you agreed on to the Adam Fund,” Margaret said. “I called the bank and you should be able to verify the transfer within another hour.”

She hadn't agreed to that other payment. Logan was applying pressure, bribing her without insisting on a return favor. Well, let him give the money. It wouldn't influence her decision and the kids would benefit. “I trust you.”

“Verify,” Margaret said. “John insists.”

Logan could insist until he was blue in the face. She'd do exactly what she wanted to do. Working on Mandy last night had been good for her. She felt much more in control of the situation that morning. “I'll see you later, Margaret.”

“You took enough time.” Logan scowled at her as she walked into the study. “We've been waiting.”

“I had to wash and blow-dry my hair.”

“And very nice it looks,” Gil said from the corner of the room. “Worth every minute of the delay.”

She smiled at him. “I don't believe Logan thinks so.”

“I don't,” Logan said. “It's rude to keep people waiting.”

“It depends on whether you have an appointment or a summons.”

Gil chuckled. “You shouldn't have sent Margaret, Logan.”

“Dammit, I didn't want to appear pushy.”

Her brow lifted. “Oh, yes?”

“Well, not obviously pushy.” Logan gestured to the chair. “Sit down, Eve.”

She shook her head. “This won't take long.”

Logan tensed. “Look, I don't want you to—”

“Shut up, Logan. I'll do it. I'll go to your damn cornfield to get this skull. We'll bring it back here and I'll do the work you want me to do.” She gazed directly into his eyes. “But we do it right away. I want this over with.”

“Tonight.”

“Fine.” She started to leave.

“Why?” Logan asked suddenly. “Why are you doing it?”

“Because you're wrong and the only way I can prove you're wrong is to do the work. I want to be done with it and get back to what's important to me.” She added coolly, “And, yes, I do want to see you with egg on your face. I want it so much that I might even volunteer to work on Chadbourne's reelection campaign.”

“And that's all?”

She carefully kept her face without expression. Don't let him see anything. Don't let him know the panic she'd had to overcome last night. Don't give him a weapon to use against her. “That's all. When do we leave?”

“After midnight.” He smiled crookedly. “As is proper for such a nefarious enterprise. We'll take the limo. It's only about an hour's drive from here.”

She glanced at Gil. “Are you coming too?”

“I wouldn't miss it. I can't remember the last time I dug up a skull. Particularly one that promises to be this interesting.” He winked. “‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him, Horatio.' ”

She headed for the door. “Actually, that quote is closer to the mark than anything Logan's told me. That skull has a hell of a lot better chance of belonging to Shakespeare's Yorick than to Kennedy.”

“They're on the move, Timwick,” Fiske said into the phone. “Price, Logan, and the Duncan woman. They just drove out the gates.”

“Be careful. You'll blow everything if they realize you're following them.”

“No problem. We don't have to get close until there's need. Kenner planted a signal device in the limo when Price was at the Bentz apartment. We'll wait until they're on a deserted road and then overtake them and—”

“No, you'll let them get where they're going before you act.”

“That may not be the ideal situation. I should—”

“Screw the ideal situation. You'll let them get where they're going. Do you hear me, Fiske? You let Kenner handle it. I've given him exact instructions and you'll do what he says.”

Fiske hung up the phone. Son of a bitch. It was bad enough having to give in to Timwick without knuckling under to Kenner. He'd had a bellyful of the prick in the past twenty-four hours.

“I told you I was in charge,” Kenner said from the driver's seat. “You're just along for the ride until I give the word.” He jerked his head at the two men in the backseat. “Just like them.”

Fiske gazed straight ahead at the limo's taillights in the distance. He drew a deep breath and tried to relax. It would be all right. He would manage to do his job in spite of Kenner's interference. He'd kill the three in the limo up ahead and cross their names off the list.

And then he'd start his own list with Kenner's name at the very top.

The cornfield should have reminded Eve of something as all-American as a state fair but all she could think about was a horror movie she'd seen about a group of ghoulish children living in a cornfield.

No children here.

Only death.

And a skull buried beneath the rich brown earth.

Waiting.

She slowly got out of the car. “It's there?”

Logan nodded.

“The field looks well tended. Where's the farmhouse?”

“About five miles to the north.”

“It's a big field. I hope Donnelli gave you good directions.”

“He did. I have them memorized.” He got out of the car. “I know exactly where it's located.”

“Those directions had better be good.” Gil had opened the trunk and was taking out two shovels and a large lantern flashlight. “Digging's not my favorite pastime. I spent a summer on a road crew when I was working my way through college, and I swore I'd never do it again.”

“Serves you right.” Logan took the lantern and one of the shovels. “Never say never.” He strode into the cornfield.

“Coming?” Gil asked Eve as he started after Logan.

She didn't move.

She could smell the earth where death waited.

She could hear the breeze as it rustled through the rows of tall corn.

She felt her chest tighten at the thought of sinking, drowning into that swaying sea of corn.

“Eve?” Gil was standing at the edge of the field, waiting. “John wants you with us.”

She moistened her lips. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Ask him.”

“It's stupid for me even to be here. I'm not going to be able to tell anything until I get back to the lab.”

“Sorry, he wants you there when he digs it up.”

Stop arguing. Do it. Get it over with. Get out of this place.

She followed Gil into the cornfield.

Darkness.

She could hear the rustling sound Gil was making ahead of her, but she couldn't see him. She could see nothing but the tall stalks all around her. It was like being buried. Even with a map and directions, how could Logan manage to find anything?

“I see a light ahead.” Gil's voice drifted back to her.

It was more than she could see, but her pace increased.

Get it over with. Get out of here.

She could see the light now. Logan had set the flashlight on the ground and was already digging, his shovel spiking into the earth and tearing at the roots of the cornstalks.

“Here?” Gil asked.

Logan glanced up at them and nodded. “Quick. It's buried pretty deep so the farmer wouldn't dig it up when he was planting. You don't have to be careful. It's supposed to be in a lead-lined box.”

Gil started digging.

She wished they'd given her a shovel, she thought after five minutes. Being busy would have been better than standing there, watching. Her tension was growing with every second.

This was stupid. There was probably nothing buried there and they were all behaving like people out of a Stephen King novel.

“I've hit something,” Gil said.

Logan glanced at Gil. “Hallelujah.” He began digging faster.

Eve moved closer to the hole and saw rusted metal through the loosened dirt. “Jesus . . .”

Why was she feeling so shaken? Just because Donnelli hadn't lied about the location didn't mean the rest of the story was true. There might not even be a skull in the box and the chances of it being Kennedy were out of sight.

Logan was prying open the lock on the box.

Only it wasn't a box, she suddenly realized. It was a coffin.

A baby's coffin.

“Stop it.”

Logan looked at her. “What the hell?”

“It's a coffin. A baby . . .”

“I know that. Donnelli was an undertaker. How else do you think he got a lead-lined box?”

“What if it's not a skull?”

Logan's face hardened. “It's the skull. We're wasting time.” He broke the lock on the coffin.

She hoped he was right. The idea of a little baby buried out here alone and lost was too heartbreaking to bear.

Logan was throwing open the coffin.

No baby.

Even through the heavy plastic wrapping she could make out the skull.

“Jackpot,” Logan murmured. He brought the lantern closer. “I knew it was—”

“I hear something.” Gil had raised his head.

Eve heard it too.

The wind?

Not the wind.

More purposeful. The same sound they had made as they had moved through the cornfield.

And the rustling was heading toward them.

“Shit,” Logan muttered. He slammed shut the coffin, grabbed it, and jumped to his feet. “Let's get out of here.”

Eve looked over her shoulder. Nothing. Just that menacing rustling. “It could be the farmer, couldn't it?”

“It's not the farmer. There's more than one.” Logan was already running. “Don't lose her, Gil. We'll circle back through the field and come out on the road where we parked the car.”

Gil grabbed her arm. “Hurry.”

They shouldn't be talking. Someone would hear them. But that was crazy. What difference did it make? They were making as much noise crashing through the corn as whoever was pursuing them.

Logan was zigzagging through the field and they were following.

Running.

Suffocating darkness.

Rustling.

Her lungs were hurting.

Were they closer?

She couldn't tell. They were making too much noise themselves for her to figure it out.

“To the left,” someone shouted behind them.

Logan tore through the corn at a right angle.

“I think I see something.” A different voice.

Oh, God, it sounded as if the man were in the row next to them.

Logan was turning, heading back the way they came.

Gil and Eve were on his heels.

Faster.

Eve was completely disoriented. How could Logan tell where he was going?

Maybe he couldn't. They might run into whoever was pursuing them at any minute. Maybe they should—

Logan was turning again. To the left.

And they were out of the field and running toward the road.

The limo.

But over fifty yards away.

And a Mercedes was parked beside it. She couldn't see if there was anyone in it.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the field.

No one.

They were almost at the limo.

And the Mercedes door swung open.

Gil dropped her arm. “Get the coffin inside the limo, John.” He turned, pulled out his gun, and darted toward the man who was getting out of the Mercedes.

Too late.

A shot.

She watched in horror as Gil fell forward. He struggled to his knees and tried to raise his gun.

Oh, God, the man was pointing his gun at Gil again.

She didn't even realize she was moving until her hand grasped the gun and jerked it aside. The man turned toward her and her hand chopped down on the carotid artery in his neck. He grunted. His eyes glazed over. He was falling.

“I'll drive. Get in the backseat with Gil.” Logan was dragging Gil the few feet toward the limo. “Try to stop the bleeding. We've got to get out of here. They've got to have heard the shot.”

Eve held the door for Logan and then dove into the seat beside Gil.

Jesus, he was pale. She tore open his shirt. Some blood, high up on the shoulder. What if he—

“They're coming!” Logan shouted as the limo jumped forward.

She glanced out the window and saw three men pouring out of the cornfield.

Gravel flew as the limo tore down the road.

Logan glanced in the rearview mirror. “How is he?”

“It's a shoulder wound. Not much bleeding. He's conscious again.” She glanced out the window once more. “They've reached the road. Can you go any faster?”

“I'm trying,” he said through his teeth. “It's like driving a damned yacht.”

He had reached the paved road leading to the freeway, but the Mercedes was too fast. Its headlights were only yards behind them.

Then the Mercedes hit the side of the limo.

It was trying to force them off the road into the ditch.

It struck them again.

This time Logan barely managed to keep the car on the road.