Bonnie

by Iris Johansen

  “Perhaps he’d just arrived on the scene,” Catherine said. “Gallo wouldn’t have deliberately chosen to—”

  “Gallo was standing in the water watching his approach,” Joe said flatly. “I saw him while I was moving in the brush to take my shot. He was watching, not moving, not lifting his knife. He acted as if he were frozen.”

  “I took him out,” Gallo said.

  “Barely,” Joe said. “A knife between the shoulder blades would have been a hell of a lot more efficient.”

  “And would have run the risk of leaving him dead and unable to be questioned. Ask Eve how she would feel about that.”

  “You’re saying that you deliberately risked Catherine on the altar of leaving that killer alive to tell us what we need to know.” Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you had another agenda.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He paused. “Of course, you could have been going to let Catherine be killed, but when you saw me on the bank, you decided you had to make a token effort.”

  “No way,” Catherine said. “You’re reaching, Joe.”

  Joe’s gaze never left Gallo’s face. “But you still left that bastard alive and able to escape. Then you stayed in the bayou for hours, supposedly searching for him, but came up empty. Even when you were close enough to that inlet to hear the motorboat. A picture seems to be emerging. I’m wondering why you would do all that.”

  “Keep wondering.” Gallo turned away and moved toward the trees. “I’m not defending myself to you, Quinn. I’ll see you all back at the house.”

  “Get in the car, Gallo,” Catherine said. “I’ve been through that brush. It’s hell on bare feet.”

  But Gallo had already disappeared into the palmetto shrubs.

  “Okay.” Catherine turned to Joe. “You’re saying that Gallo didn’t want Jacobs’s killer caught. Why? Are you still thinking that Gallo had something to do with Bonnie’s death? That maybe he didn’t kill Jacobs himself but he had an accomplice do it?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit until I find out why Gallo didn’t throw that knife when he had a better chance of taking out his target.” He turned away and started up the slope. “And I don’t regard any argument you can give me as credible.”

  She stared at him. “Why the hell not?”

  He looked back over his shoulder. “You’re being emotional. You’re not thinking as clearly as you usually do.”

  “He made the throw. He saved my life. I was with him in that house, and I know he didn’t set Jacobs up to be butchered.”

  Joe didn’t answer as he got into the driver’s seat.

  Eve could sense the frustration Catherine was feeling. She was feeling a similar frustration, mixed with uneasiness. Yes, Joe’s suspicion could be based on his history of distrust of Gallo. But Joe was smart and cool and seldom let anything interfere with his logic. “Come on.” She took Catherine’s arm and nudged her toward the slope. “Get in the car. I don’t want you getting angry and stomping off into the brush like Gallo. After looking at the soles of your feet while we were sitting on the bank, I’m surprised you can walk.”

  “I’m all right.” Catherine started up the slope. “But I won’t let Joe make me pissed off enough to hike back.” She added through set teeth, “I’m not credible? I’m too emotional? Screw him.”

  “He used the wrong words,” Eve said.

  “You bet he did.”

  “But you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t think that there was some truth in what he said.”

  Catherine’s gaze flew to her face. “Do you believe Gallo was going to let me die?”

  “No.” She smiled. “But I’m emotional, too. I don’t think nearly as logically as Joe. As we’ve already discussed, sometimes gray seems white to me.” Her smile faded. “And there may be a good deal of gray in this scenario. Gallo may not be pitch-black, but he could be bordering on charcoal.”

  Catherine shook her head. “He saved my life. He wouldn’t have let me be murdered.” She got into the backseat of the car. “And that’s not an emotional judgment.”

  “No,” Eve said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s more like faith.”

  * * *

  “HOW ARE YOUR FEET?” Gallo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his gaze on Catherine, who was sitting in a chair by the stove, her bare feet soaking in a pan of warm water. “I’m glad you’re taking care of them. Salt water?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze across the room. “I always take care of myself.”

  His lips twisted. “Quinn wouldn’t agree with you.”

  “Joe thinks I’m ‘emotional.’” She looked at his feet, encased in boots. “You tore your feet up, too, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You deserve it. You were stupid. I had no choice. But you could have just kept quiet and let yourself be driven back to the house.” She sloshed her feet in the water. “Did you bandage your feet before you put on those boots?”

  “Yes, I take care of myself, too.” He came toward her. “Where are Quinn and Eve?”

  “They’re calling Jane MacGuire. Eve promised to keep in touch with her.”

  “And Eve always keeps her promises.” He took the towel draped over the chair next to Catherine’s. “Did you call Venable again?”

  “No, but he called me and said he’s on his way here. He asked a favor of New Orleans Police Department, and the forensic team should be here anytime to check out that truck.”

  “He’s moving fast.” He fell to his knees, took her left foot out of the water, and enveloped it in the towel. “It’s not that urgent, is it? Not to the CIA.”

  “No. And Venable has no real reason to come down here. He knows I can take care of it. Which means that he has another reason to move in.”

  “You’re obviously valuable to him.” He was gently patting her foot dry. “He wants to make sure nothing happens to you.”

  His hands were warm through the terry of the towel, and his position at her feet and the action itself were unbearably intimate. She felt a rush of heat go through her.

  Not now. The searing sensuality was unexpected, and she felt the tensing that was now familiar. Pull away from him.

  She didn’t move. She watched him slowly move the terry over her foot. Each stroke was causing her to tense, the blood to rush beneath the skin at his touch. “Venable isn’t that protective. He wants something.”

  “What?” He placed her foot on the floor and lifted her other foot from the water. He began to dry the top, then cradled it in the towel. “You have beautiful feet.”

  “No feet are beautiful. Some of them are just not ugly.”

  “You’re wrong.” His hands tightened around her foot, his eyes focused on the towel. “I never dreamed I had a foot fetish. I keep thinking where I’d like to put—” He drew a deep breath. “That’s not where I meant this to go.” He began to dry her foot again. “I’m constantly becoming distracted when I’m around you.”

  “Where did you mean it to go?” she asked unevenly. “I’m curious to know, Gallo.”

  “I wanted to tell—” He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “I never wanted him to kill you, Catherine. No matter what Quinn says, I’d never do that. You trusted me when no one else did, when I didn’t even have faith in myself. I was planning on taking him out earlier. I thought I’d have time. But then everything went to hell.”

  “Why?”

  “I wasn’t expecting him—” He broke off and threw the towel aside. “Shit.” He jumped to his feet. “I never meant it to be that close, Catherine. But I had to target his hand. I tried, but I couldn’t do anything—” He was striding to the door. “But I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I couldn’t stand that either.” He looked at her over his shoulder, and she was shocked at the torment she saw on his face. “That damn Quinn was right about almost everything else, but he was wrong about that. Bel
ieve me, Catherine.”

  Before she could answer, he was gone.

  She collapsed back in the chair and drew a shaky breath. She felt vulnerable and hot and bewildered. Those moments with Gallo had been explosive, and she had not come out well. She had responded, not been aggressive. She had not been in control. She should have asked him questions instead of trying to puzzle him out and being swayed by what he was clearly feeling.

  What she was feeling.

  Dammit, she’d have to go after him and make him—

  She heard the sound of a car starting outside.

  “No!” She jumped to her feet and ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and threw open the front door.

  Gallo was already driving the car out of the driveway and toward the road.

  “Gallo!”

  He didn’t answer, and, the next moment, the car disappeared around the curve of the road.

  “Catherine?” Eve was behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  Catherine threw her arm out toward the road. “That’s what’s wrong. He’s gone. He took off.”

  “Gallo?” Joe said as he came out of the living room.

  “Who else? Did he say good-bye? Did he explain more than muttering a lot of disjointed garbage? No.” She went back to the kitchen, tossed the water from the pan out the door, and sat down. She glared at Eve and Joe, who had followed her from the front door. “But he’s not going to get away with it. I’m going to go after him.” She opened the first-aid kit she’d set out in readiness to bandage the cuts on her feet. “But first we’re going to find out everything we can put together about the man who killed Jacobs. Dammit, Jacobs was scared because he knew who killed Bonnie. I know it. If we’d had just a little more time, we’d have made him tell us everything. It had to be that man we lost in the bayou. We’re close, Eve.”

  “But Gallo may be closer.”

  “Not for long, dammit,” she said through clenched teeth.

  CHAPTER

  4

  “LET ME HELP YOU WITH THOSE bandages.” Eve knelt by Catherine’s chair and lifted her foot. “Those cuts look more annoying than serious.” She used the antiseptic, then laid it down again. “Though you shouldn’t have run after Gallo. We have to cleanse them again.”

  “I can do this.” Catherine ran her fingers through her hair. “Everyone is treating me like an invalid. Gallo was—” She drew a deep breath. “Thanks, Eve. I’m a little upset.”

  She was more than a little upset, Eve thought. Catherine valued her professional coolness, and she was not displaying that quality at the moment. Who could blame her? Eve was upset as well. Joe’s accusations had been very disturbing. “Just what did Gallo say to you?”

  “I told you, no explanations.” She paused, watching Eve cleanse the cuts. “All he said is that he never meant me to be hurt. I believed him.”

  “I saw his face,” Joe said from where he stood in the doorway. “And he could have thrown that knife before he did. Why are you being so stubborn?”

  “Because I saw his face, too,” Catherine said. “Five minutes ago, when he told me that you were wrong and that he never meant me to be killed. I’ve got to go with what I think and feel.” She looked down at Eve. “But I believe Joe when he said that he could have thrown that knife before he did. Joe doesn’t make mistakes like that. And Gallo’s behavior is definitely suspect since he’s acting as weird as hell.” Her glance shifted to Joe. “We just have to figure out why he’s behaving like that.”

  “Give me a few minutes alone with him, and we won’t have to bother figuring out anything.”

  “We’d have to catch him to let you talk to him,” Eve said. “And maybe that’s why he took off. He didn’t want to cause any conflict.”

  “Really?” Joe’s tone was skeptical. “I’ve never noticed he’s particularly peace-loving.” But he was studying Eve’s expression. “Are you weighing in with Catherine on this?”

  “I’m trying to get to the bottom of what Gallo is up to. You can’t both be wrong. Since I trust both of you, there has to be a middle ground.” She finished bandaging Catherine’s feet and stood up. “And the middle ground has to have something to do with the man who killed Thomas Jacobs. Let’s start with him. Appearance. I caught only a fleeting glimpse. You said that you thought that you could give me a good enough description of his face for me to do a sketch, Catherine. We’ll leave that for later. He was thin, very thin. That’s my sole contribution.”

  “And tall,” Joe said. “I couldn’t tell anything about his hair because it was covered by the hood of the wet suit. But he moved like an athlete, smooth, coordinated.”

  “Age?” Eve asked.

  Joe shrugged. “Not close enough.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Fifty, maybe.” Catherine frowned. “I’m not sure. There was something…”

  “It may come back to you when we start the sketch.”

  “Possible.”

  “Now, motive?”

  “He didn’t want Jacobs to talk to us. Jacobs was definitely afraid of someone. He thought he’d be killed if he talked. He told us that he wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “Talked about what?” Eve asked.

  “How the hell do I know? Bonnie’s death? What else could it be?” Catherine began to put on her socks and boots. “But we’d better start that sketch right away. I want to find that killer before Gallo does, and he has a head start.”

  “Because you think Joe is right, and Gallo knew Jacobs’s killer,” she asked quietly.

  Catherine nodded. “But that doesn’t mean he hired him to kill Jacobs. That didn’t happen, Eve.”

  “It better not,” Eve said. “I want to give Gallo a chance, but if he was an accomplice in killing Jacobs, then that means everything he told me about dreaming about Bonnie while he was in that prison in North Korea was a lie. I was so damned touched when he said that dreams of her kept him alive.” Her lips tightened. “If it wasn’t true, that would mean I was a fool to think that he loved my daughter.”

  “I can’t guarantee that anything he told you about Bonnie was true. Everything to do with Bonnie is strictly between the two of you.” Catherine made a face. “I’m limiting my investigating to things that can be proved.” She shifted her glance to Joe. “I’ve been told that I’m in the minority. I found it hard to believe that you were consorting with ghosts, Joe.”

  “You have no idea.” Joe smiled faintly. “Someday, I’ll sit down and tell you a few tales that will cause your hair to curl.” His smile faded. “Don’t be too committed to reality, Catherine. It can trip you up.”

  “I’m clinging to it with both hands. It’s comforting. Now, Eve, where do we get a sketch pad for you?”

  “We don’t. But I have a loose-leaf notebook in my bag that I can use. It’s in the trunk of the car. I can make do with a regular pencil.”

  “I’ll go get it.” Joe turned and moved toward the door. “I’ll be back in a— I hear a car.” He threw open the door. “I think the local sheriff’s department is here.”

  Eve followed him and saw the two white cars with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Department on the side drawing up before the house. “Venable got them here fast.”

  “But I don’t want them coming in and finding Jacobs’s body,” Joe said. “That would prove awkward.”

  “Awkward?” Catherine joined them at the door. “Yes, I think that would be a little awkward. Venable should be here soon with a CIA crew to do cleanup. Those cops were only told to do the forensic work that we wanted done on the truck.”

  “Then I’ll keep them away from the house.” Joe moved toward the two police cars. “I’ll take them down the road to the Chevy.”

  Eve and Catherine watched as he greeted the officers with smooth, friendly authority. A few minutes later he got into one of the patrol cars, and the two sheriff’s cars moved down the road.

  “That’s going to take a while. We might as well get started.” Eve pulled out the keys and moved toward the renta
l car. She paused after she’d unlocked the trunk to look out at the bayou. “The fog is almost gone. Why couldn’t this have happened a few hours ago? It would have made everything so much easier.”

  “You mean you don’t have a metaphysical reason for the fog, too?” Catherine shook her head. “I’ll shut up. I know this was difficult for you to share, and you don’t need me giving you a hard time.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She took the notebook out of the trunk and slammed it. “Actually, you took it better than I would have thought.” She glanced at Catherine. “And you’re under a strain that tends to exaggerate every emotion.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Oh, yes. But it’s buried deep and just waiting to break free. I guarantee that you’ll know it when it does.” She turned toward the house. “Now let’s get this sketch started.”

  * * *

  “THAT’S ALL THAT WE CAN do before we haul the truck into the pound,” Detective Pierre Julian said to Joe. His words were spoken with professional courtesy, but the accent was pure Cajun. “Would you like us to do anything else? My captain said we were to cooperate with you in any way we could.”

  “No, you’ve been very thorough.” It was true: Julian had gotten down to business as soon as they had reached the truck. His forensic team had swarmed all over it, but the investigation had still been done with great care. “I couldn’t have asked for a better team in Atlanta. You seem to have a hell of a lot of experience.”

  “You think Atlanta’s the only place that can deal with crime?” Julian asked. “They may call New Orleans the Big Easy, but if we didn’t protect our city, the tourists wouldn’t find us that easy to come and visit.” He paused. “But we’re not used to calls from the CIA. Is this guy supposed to be a terrorist or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Julian shrugged. “Bad news. We’ve got to stop those creeps. I hear Homeland Security thinks they’re just walking over the Mexican border. You want me to take you back to the house?”