16 Taking Eve
Page 28
She was almost at the door.
Carnations.
Don’t breathe.
She held her breath.
Carnation scent surrounding her.
She unlocked the front door and heard the gas release from the vent above the door.
More carnations.
Dizzy.
Oh, God, she should have taken longer to accustom herself to the gas.
Too late.
Hold your breath and pray that you can endure it.
She was outside!
Don’t breathe yet. There might be lingering scent on the air issuing from the open doorway or clinging to her clothing.
She ran.
Rocks under her feet. Trees. Head for the trees. Sharp, cold air hitting her cheeks.
Lungs bursting.
The feel of the duffel striking her thigh as she ran. Was she feeling Kevin’s reconstruction through the heavy canvas?
She could hear Doane shouting behind her. No shots. He must not have retrieved the gun before he came after her or he’d be firing bullets instead of ugly words. He’d probably been too stunned that she’d been able to withstand the gas.
She took a cautious breath. It seemed safe. The faintest hint of carnation probably emanating from her shirt.
Or was it coming from the duffel, caught in the open zippered fold where Kevin’s skull rested?
The scent was from her shirt. Don’t think of anything else.
Just bone and clay. Just bone and clay.
“Give him back to me.” Doane’s voice was a raw, thunderbolt of rage. “What are you doing? Give him back to me, or I’ll kill everyone that you care about. And I’ll tell Blick to take his time with your fine, pretty daughter. Blick knows all about suffering. He never interfered with Kevin’s pleasure, but sometimes he shared.”
She tried to block out his voice. He had no weapon at the moment but words, but these filled her with desperation and fear. Don’t listen to him.
Keep to the plan.
Her gaze searched wildly to the right and left. This path appeared to be going straight up the mountain, with trees on either side.
She needed to be closer to the cliff edge.
“Blick was angry that I was upset when he disobeyed me and shot Jane MacGuire. He’ll be happy to have my blessing to take that anger out on her.”
“I told you once that you can’t use that weapon against me. Jane’s stronger than you, so is Joe.” Please, let that be the truth. Let good be stronger than evil.
A break in the trees ahead, and she could see a glimpse of the steep cliff that sloped to the valley hundreds of feet below.
Yes.
She increased her speed, running hard, leaving Doane a good distance behind.
“You’re mad. What are you doing? You know I’ll punish you. We’ll punish you.”
“Stop where you are.” She’d reached the break in the trees, near the edge of the cliff, and turned to face him. She was panting, perspiring, her eyes glittering. “This is the end, you bastard.”
He stopped several hundred yards down the path, his expression suddenly wary. “Suicide, Eve?” He shook his head. “I know I said that you didn’t have a fear of death, but I don’t think you’d willingly take your own life.”
“You’re damn right I wouldn’t.” She reached in the duffel and pulled out the reconstruction. “Poor Kevin, he’s a little worse for wear with all this jouncing around. His nose looks a bit askew, doesn’t it?”
Doane froze, his gaze on the skull of his son. “Give him back to me.”
“No way.” She glanced over the cliff. “It looks a long, long way down that slope. I’m afraid he’s going to have a rough trip.”
“No!” He took a step forward, then stopped as she held the reconstruction over the edge. “He’s so near to being back with me. You can’t do that to him.”
“Watch me. And then you can decide whether you want to chase after me or go after your precious son. There’s no telling what kind of damage that skull will undergo skidding down that slope toward the valley. It might break on the boulders, or it might be eaten by wolves or coyotes if you don’t retrieve it right away. Don’t you want to save your son, Doane?”
“You won’t do it. He won’t let you do it.” He was glaring at her from those burned red eyes. “It’s happening right now. Your muscles are locking. Aren’t your hands tightening around that skull to keep it from dropping?”
“No.” She deliberately forced her fingers looser on the reconstruction. She wouldn’t let insidious suggestion beat her now. “Do you think that I’d let you use my work in the little nightmare scenario you’ve drawn in that sick mind of yours? I can see you flourishing this ghastly head in Zander’s face before you kill him, and I don’t give a damn. But you seem to want me to be part of the kill, and you’ll have to give that up.”
“I won’t give it up. I want Zander to see you. I want you there.”
“Then come and get me.” She looked him in the eye. “But go and get Kevin first.”
She dropped the skull over the cliff.
Doane screamed as if in mortal pain.
She whirled and started dashing up the path.
Run.
And hope that she’d managed to buy the time she needed to get away from Doane. It had been the only ploy she could think of to distract Doane from the chase.
She had a good chance of Doane’s going after Kevin’s skull. He was completely obsessed by everything connected to that reconstruction.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
Doane was standing at the edge of the cliff, his hands clenched into fists as he looked down the long slope where she’d thrown the skull. His face …
And then he looked up the path at her. Darkness. Rage. Evil.
She froze. She inhaled sharply and couldn’t move. She should keep running, but the force of that evil halted her in her tracks. It was as if he’d laid a hand on her shoulder and jerked her to a stop.
“You think you’re so clever.” It wasn’t a shout, it was hoarse, low, and they were so far apart, she shouldn’t have been able to hear him. But she heard every word. “You know nothing if you think I’ll let you get away. I have to have you there when I kill Zander. I’ve been planning it for three years, ever since I found out about you. I’ve been seeing it before I go to sleep at night. I’ve been promising it to Kevin every day. Killing Zander won’t be as sweet if you’re not there.” He paused. “He has to see you die.”
“You fool.” She stared at him in disbelief. “You’d be killing me for nothing. Zander won’t care.”
“He’ll care. He thinks he won’t, but he won’t be able to help himself. There’s nothing stronger in this world.”
The sentence sounded vaguely familiar. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Zander. What I found out three years ago when I was searching for something, anything to hurt him. It worked out so beautifully for Kevin, for me. I knew it was meant to be.”
She felt a chill mixed with bewilderment and a panicky foreboding as she stared down the hill at him. “All you found out was that I’m a forensic sculptor who could put your son’s face back together.”
“Oh, no. That was a side bonus to my finding you. That wasn’t what I was looking for. It was just a sign that what I found was true.” His voice was soft, vicious. “That I’d found the one perfect weapon to use to cut Zander to the soul and cause him to bleed.”
Why was she standing here talking to him? Why couldn’t she move? Her lead made her safe for only a few moments.
Turn and run.
But that might make him decide to follow her instead of going after the skull. “You’re talking wild. He’d turn his back and walk away.”
“No, he couldn’t do that any more than I could. There’s nothing stronger in the world.”
This time she remembered when he’d said those words. She stiffened, her eyes widening. “What are you trying to say? You’re not making sense.”
“Nothing stronger than the bond between a father and his child,” he repeated. “My heart was broken when that bastard killed my boy. I have to take his child from him and butcher it.” His eyes narrowed on her face, drinking in every expression. “I have to butcher you, Eve.”
Shock. Disbelief. “What do you—”
“That I found what I was looking for when I was searching for some way to pierce Zander’s armor and cause him to suffer for the little time he’ll have left before I kill him.” He smiled, and the malice increased. “I found his daughter.”
She inhaled sharply, as if kicked in the stomach. “If you mean what I think you mean, then you’re truly insane,” she said unsteadily.
“No, Zander is your father. Even if I hadn’t known it, I could tell by how like him you are. You’re both the same species of monster. Full of venom and ugliness.” His glance shifted to look down at the valley. “Or you could never have done that to my Kevin, you bitch.”
Everything she had heard was crazy, incredible.
Lies.
Impossible.
Pay no attention to those words, which were blowing her mind. Why was she still standing here, muscles locked, staring at him like a victim fascinated by a weaving cobra? Break away. Push away those lies. “Then go down that slope and try to find your son.” She forced her muscles to move. “Save him. Try to salvage that broken face. Or go to hell with him.” She started to run again. “I’m not going to listen to your ravings any longer.”
She heard another curse behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he was no longer standing on the cliff edge.
He was coming after her.
She had lost.
“Did you think that I’d let you fool me into giving you the chance to get away? Kevin will wait for me.” He was putting on speed. “He wants you as much as I do.”
Her heart was pounding hard as she raced up the hill.
Faster.
He’s your father.
Madness.
She had to go faster. Doane was big, with long legs …
But she was smaller, lighter, younger.
She was pulling ahead a little.
No, just holding her own.
Even her mother had no sure idea who had fathered Eve. Doane could not know.
He was getting closer.
It was getting dark, and the trees were casting long shadows on the path. Darkness was good, it would help her slip off the path into the brush and lose Doane. If she could just get a little more ahead of him …
Silence except for the harsh sound of Doane’s breathing behind her.
Her lungs were hurting.
Ignore the pain. Keep running.
Her legs felt weak, rubbery.
Keep running.
“You can’t get away.” Doane’s voice was laboring. “I’m stronger than you. Kevin—makes me strong. He won’t—let you free. Can’t you feel him—beside you?”
She felt a sharp coolness touch her body.
It was the wind, she thought desperately. To believe anything else would be to accept defeat.
She steeled herself and began to run faster. Then, incredibly, with every step, she could feel her strength increase, her muscles burn, and the pain leaving her.
No coolness, gentle warmth enfolding her.
Bonnie?
Light. Strength. Love.
Oh God, yes, Bonnie.
She felt a rush of sheer joy.
“You’re done. It’s over. You’ve lost me!” she shouted fiercely back to Doane. The blood was pounding in her veins. Exhilaration was making her heady. “Can’t you see?” She was gaining distance with each breath, every step. “I am free, you bastard!”
LOOK FOR
HUNTING EVE
BY IRIS JOHANSEN
ON SALE JULY 16, 2013
ALSO BY IRIS JOHANSEN
Sleep No More
Close Your Eyes (with Roy Johansen)
What Doesn’t Kill You
Bonnie
Quinn
Eve
Chasing the Night
Shadow Zone (with Roy Johansen)
Eight Days to Live
Blood Game
Deadlock
Dark Summer
Quicksand
Silent Thunder (with Roy Johansen)
Pandora’s Daughter
Stalemate
An Unexpected Song
Killer Dreams
On the Run
Countdown
Blind Alley
Firestorm
Fatal Tide
Dead Aim
No One to Trust
Body of Lies
Final Target
The Search
The Killing Game
The Face of Deception
And Then You Die
Long After Midnight
The Ugly Duckling
Lion’s Bride
Dark Rider
Midnight Warrior
The Beloved Scoundrel
The Magnificent Rogue
The Tiger Prince
Last Bridge Home
The Golden Barbarian
Reap the Wind
Storm Winds
Wind Dancer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
IRIS JOHANSEN is the New York Times bestselling author of Sleep No More, What Doesn’t Kill You, Bonnie, Quinn, Eve, Chasing the Night, Eight Days to Live, Blood Game, Deadlock, Dark Summer, Pandora’s Daughter, Quicksand, Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, No One to Trust, and more. And with her son, Roy Johansen, she has coauthored Close Your Eyes, Shadow Zone, Storm Cycle, and Silent Thunder. Visit www.irisjohansen.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
TAKING EVE. Copyright © 2013 by Johansen Publishing LLLP. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Rob Grom
Cover photograph © Shuhui Yang
ISBN 978-1-250-01998-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 9781250019974 (e-book)
First Edition: April 2013