Countdown

by Iris Johansen

  If MacDuff had warned her about Jock and she was still planning on seeing the boy, then Trevor’s interference would do no good. She’d do as she pleased, and any protest from him would be useless.

  But she never let stubbornness get in the way of good sense. So try to get ammunition to convince her that it was reasonable for her to turn her back on the boy. Until then he’d take measures to protect her and try to keep himself from obviously stepping between them.

  Ammunition. He reached for the telephone and dialed Venable. “I have a favor to ask. I need information.”

  Jane was still with Mario when Trevor knocked on the door at eight-fifteen that evening. He opened the door without waiting for an answer. “I do hate to interrupt, Jane.” His tone was sarcastic. “But I can’t have you distracting Mario from his work any longer.”

  “She wasn’t distracting me,” Mario said quickly. “Her presence is very quiet and soothing.”

  “Soothing? Amazing. And Bartlett tells me she went down to the kitchen late this afternoon and fixed you both a tray. You must have discovered a side of her that she’s never shown me.”

  “People respond differently to different people,” Jane said. “I didn’t want to disturb Mario.”

  Mario grinned. “Because she wanted me to finish the scroll I’m working on.”

  Jane nodded with a rueful smile. “I was hoping you’d speed through it and give me something to read tomorrow.”

  “I told you I was having trouble with it. There are entire words missing and I have to guess. Or perhaps I’m stretching out the translating so that I can look up and see you sitting there.”

  “You’d better not be,” Trevor said.

  “Just a joke,” Mario said quickly. “It’s going well, Trevor.”

  “Any reference?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Reference to what?” Jane asked.

  “The gold. What else?” Trevor said. “If you read Cira’s first letter, you must know there’s a doubt that the gold was in the tunnel, that she might have hidden it somewhere else.”

  “And if she did, you’re out of luck.”

  “Unless I find a clue to where she stashed it.”

  “You mean where Pia stashed it. Who is Pia?”

  He shrugged. “If you read the scroll, you know as much as I do.” He met her eyes. “You said you wanted to go to the Run. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “You seem to be fascinated by Mario and his scholastic bag of tricks.” He turned on his heel. “Come on.”

  “Wait a moment.” He wasn’t waiting. He was already halfway down the hall. “Bye, Mario, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Trevor had reached the staircase by the time she caught up with him. “You’re being exceptionally rude.”

  “I know. I feel like being rude. It’s a privilege I allow myself occasionally.”

  “I’m surprised anyone puts up with you.”

  “They don’t have to. It’s their privilege to tell me to go to hell.”

  “You’re right.” She stopped on the stairs. “Go to hell.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Now, that’s what I expected. You mustn’t treat me too—” He broke off. Then a smile lit his face. “I’m being an uncivilized bastard, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you did your best to provoke me today.” He made a face. “I made it easy for you. You knew just where to strike. I’ve always prided myself on my self-confidence, but you managed to undermine it. I was actually jealous of Mario.” He lifted his hand to stop her as she started to speak. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t want to rake me over the coals. You were frustrated about your situation here and you wanted me to be frustrated too. Well, you succeeded. We’re even. Pax?”

  They weren’t even, but she welcomed the possibility of ignoring the tension between them. The past twenty-four hours had been unbearable. “I’d never encourage Mario to get my own back against you. I don’t play with people’s feelings. I like him too much.”

  “Oh, I believe you. But you wouldn’t mind letting me wonder. I showed you a weakness and you jumped on it. Maybe in the back of your mind you were punishing me for being fool enough to push you away four years ago.”

  She moistened her lips. “I don’t want to talk about this now. Are you going to take me to the Run or not?”

  He nodded and turned to the door. “Let’s go.”

  They were stopped by a guard at the gate, as Trevor had been last night. “Jane, Patrick Campbell. We’re just going to the Run, Pat. All clear tonight?”

  Campbell nodded. “Douglas had a sighting three hours ago, but nowhere close to the castle.” He took out his phone. “I’ll just give your security boys on the perimeter a warning to keep sharp.”

  “Do that.” Trevor took Jane’s elbow and nudged her through the gates. “We take the path around the castle to the cliffs. It’s about ten minutes’ walk.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s a full moon. You should be able to see well enough. . . .”

  When they turned the corner and began walking toward the edge of the cliff, Jane first noticed only the sea stretching before her. “What is this? What am I supposed to—”

  They had reached the top of a knoll, and below them, stretching toward the steep cliff, was a level grassy plain that bordered the entire rear of the castle. The grass was perfectly manicured and on either end of the long expanse were several rows of boulders.

  “MacDuff’s Run,” Trevor said.

  “What the devil is it? It looks like some Druid meeting place.”

  “It was a meeting place, all right. Angus MacDuff had a passion for athletic games. He was something of a robber baron and admired might in any form. He finished building his castle in 1350 and the next spring he held the first Scottish Games in this area.”

  “That long ago?”

  Trevor shook his head. “In 844 Kenneth MacAlpine, King of Scots, organized a three-day game to keep his army occupied while waiting for good-luck omens before his battle with the Picts. Malcolm Canmore, who took the throne in 1058, held regular games to select the strongest and fastest Scots to join his elite guard.”

  “And I thought they were called the Highland Games.”

  “The MacDuffs originated in the Highlands, and I guess they brought their games with them. According to their journals the games were the highlight of their year. Curling, wrestling, racing, and some local sports that were a bit weird. All the young men in MacDuff’s service participated in them.” He smiled at Jane. “And an occasional woman. Fiona MacDuff was mentioned as being permitted to run in the races. She won two years in a row.”

  “And then I suppose they decided to outlaw women?”

  He shook his head. “She got pregnant and stopped of her own accord.” He stopped beside one of the boulders at the end of the Run. “Sit down. I imagine that the later generations brought out chairs to view the games, but these were the first seats.”

  She slowly sat down on the boulder beside him. “Why do you come here?”

  “I like it.” His gaze traveled down the stretch of grass to the rocks at the end of the Run. “It’s a good place to get your head straight. I feel at home here. I believe I would have enjoyed knowing Angus MacDuff.”

  As she stared at his profile, she believed he would too. The wind from the sea was lifting his hair from his forehead and there was that hint of recklessness about his mouth. His eyes were narrowed as if gauging the difficulty of the next competition. She could imagine him sitting here, laughing with the laird and preparing for his turn at the Run. Jesus, she wished she had her sketchbook. “Which event would you have entered?”

  “I don’t know. The run, maybe curling . . .” He turned to her and his eyes were glittering with mischief. “Or maybe I’d have been better suited taking book on all the events. I’m sure there was plenty of gambling going on during the games.”

  She smiled back at him. “I can see you carving out a
niche in that area.”

  “Perhaps I could have done both. I’d have gotten bored with only betting on one game a year.”

  “Heaven forbid.” She looked away from him. “I didn’t expect this when you brought me here.”

  “I know you didn’t. You probably thought the Run was one of my more wicked criminal enterprises.”

  “Or had some connection with Grozak. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I wanted you here,” he said simply. “I like it here and I wanted you to like it too.”

  He was telling the truth, and she did like it here, dammit. It was as if this place reduced everything to the basic and primitive. She could almost hear the pipes and feel the earth vibrate beneath the feet of those long-ago runners. “Would it have been so difficult to just say that?”

  “Hell, yes. You’re having trouble even looking at me these days without throwing up a cast-iron barrier. And then I made it worse by letting sex— See, you’re tensing again. Look at me, dammit. This isn’t like you, Jane.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t seen me in four years.” But she forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Oh, God, she wished she hadn’t. Now how was she going to look away?

  “Tough, isn’t it? Me too.” He stared down at her hand resting on the boulder. “Christ, I want to touch you.”

  He wasn’t touching her but he might as well have been. Her palm pressing against the rock was tingling and she felt again that queer breathlessness.

  His gaze stayed on her hand. “You touched me once. You put your hand on my chest and I had to stand there and keep myself from reaching out for you. It nearly killed me.”

  “It should have. You were being stupid.”

  “You were seventeen.”

  “I was old enough to know what I wanted.” She added quickly, “Not that you were so special. You were just the first man that I’d felt that way about. I was a little backward where sex was concerned.”

  “You didn’t act backward. I thought you were going to slug me.”

  “You called me a schoolgirl.”

  “I was trying to make you angry enough to protect myself.”

  She was still angry, hurt—and filled with bitter regret. “Poor Trevor.”

  “I hurt you.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t let people hurt me. Did you think you’d scarred me for other relationships? No way.”

  He shook his head. “You warned me you’d search until you found someone better than me. You kept your word.” He looked out at the sea. “Clark Peters, nice boy, but he got possessive after two months. Tad Kipp, very smart and ambitious but he didn’t like your dog, Toby, when you brought him home to Eve and Joe. Jack Ledborne, archaeology professor who supervised the second dig you went on. He didn’t tell you he was married and you cut him dead when you found out. Peter Brack, a K-9 cop in Quinn’s precinct. A match made in heaven. A dog lover and a cop. But he must have done something wrong, because you—”

  “What the devil?” She couldn’t believe it. “Have you been having me watched?”

  “Only when I couldn’t do it myself.” His gaze shifted back to her. “And most of the time I could. Do you want me to go on with your little black book? Or do you want me to tell you how proud I was when you won the Mondale International Art Award? I tried to get them to sell that painting to me, but they keep them for five years to put on tour to display around the country.” He smiled. “Of course, I considered stealing it, but I didn’t think you’d approve. But I did steal something else that belonged to you.”

  “What?”

  “A sketchbook. Two years ago you left it on a bench at the Metropolitan Museum when you went off with your friends to the cafeteria. I flipped through it and I couldn’t resist. I was always going to return it to you but I never did.”

  “I remember that happening. I was mad as hell.”

  “It didn’t seem to be anything that you’d develop into a painting. It seemed more . . . personal.”

  Personal. She tried to remember if she’d had any sketches of Trevor in that sketchbook. Probably. “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you do all this?”

  “You told me when you left Naples that it wasn’t finished. I found it wasn’t finished for me either.” His lips twisted. “Jesus, sometimes I prayed for it to be finished. You’re tough, Jane.”

  “Then why didn’t you—”

  “You told me I had no place in your life for the next four years. I was giving you your chance to find out if that was true.”

  “And if I had?”

  “The truth? I’m no martyr. I’d have stepped in and ruined the tidy little life you’d structured for yourself.”

  “What are you saying? What’s the bottom line?”

  “The bottom line?” His hand moved to within an inch of hers on the boulder. She could feel its warmth. “I want to go to bed with you so bad it’s a constant ache. I respect you. I admire you. You accused me once of being obsessed with Cira, but it’s nothing to what I feel for you. I don’t like it. I don’t know if it will go on. Sometimes I hope it doesn’t. Is that bottom line enough for you?”

  “Yes.” Her throat was tight and she had to clear it. “If it’s true.”

  “There’s a way to test at least the most obvious portion of it.”

  He moved his hand that last inch. He touched her.

  She shuddered, but not with cold. Heat.

  Too much. Too intense.

  She jerked her hand away. “No.”

  “You want it.”

  She couldn’t lie about that. She felt as if she were sending out signals like an animal in heat. “It’s too fast.”

  “The hell it is.”

  “And sex is—it’s not everything. I don’t even know if I trust you.”

  “And you’re still wary as hell.”

  “I have reason.”

  “Do you? Your friend died. Do you think I’m to blame?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know. I want everything clear between us. That’s why I brought you here. Think. Make a decision.”

  “Mike might have lived if you hadn’t gone after the gold and become involved with this Grozak.”

  “So are you blaming me for the domino effect?”

  “No, I guess not,” she said wearily. “Or maybe I am. I’m not sure anymore. I don’t know what the hell is happening.”

  “I’d have saved him if I could. I wish I could turn back the clock.”

  “But you’d still go after the gold, wouldn’t you?”

  He was silent a moment. “Yes. I won’t lie to you. I have to get the gold.”

  “Why? You’re a brilliant man. You don’t have to do this. I don’t believe it even means anything to you but the game itself.”

  “You’re wrong. This time it does mean something. If I get it, then Grozak won’t.”

  “Revenge?”

  “Partly. You’re not above taking revenge yourself, Jane.”

  “No, I’m not.” She got to her feet. “But I wouldn’t do it by depriving a killer of a pocketful of gold. We don’t think alike.”

  “Sometimes it’s not necessary to think.”

  That wave of heat again. “It is for me.”

  “We’ll see.” He stood up. “But I should warn you, if you decide you want to put your hand on me again, you’re not going to get the same answer.” He started toward the path. “And Angus MacDuff would understand perfectly.”

  9

  I’ve got the old man,” Wickman said as soon as Grozak answered. “What do you want me to do with him?”

  Satisfaction surged through Grozak. Now, this was efficiency. He’d been right to call in Wickman. He’d only been on the job a matter of a few days and he’d done what he’d been paid to do.

  Well, not entirely what he’d been paid to do.

  “Has he written the note?”

  “I have it.”

  “Then it’s time to finish the job.”

  “How?”


  Grozak thought about it. In order to have maximum effect the method had to arouse shock, fear, and horror.

  “How?” Wickman repeated.

  “I’m thinking.”

  And then it came to him.

  I’ve got a line on Grozak,” Joe said when he called Eve that evening. “He’s bad news.”

  “We knew that from what Trevor told Jane. Details?”

  “I don’t have details. The FBI has put a lock on his computer records.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Maybe the same reason Interpol wouldn’t let me access Trevor’s records.” He paused. “And the CIA bounced me off the Internet so fast it made my head swim. Five minutes later I got a call from my captain asking me what the hell I was up to dealing with classified material. Those sites are being monitored damn closely.”

  Eve felt a ripple of fear. “Did you find out anything at all?”

  “I was able to access Grozak’s local police records. He was born in Miami, Florida, and had a record by the time he was thirteen. He belonged to a particularly vicious teenage gang. They were involved in a number of hate crimes ranging from the rape and torture of a black girl to joining with a Nazi group to beat up a Jewish shopkeeper. He was sent to a juvenile facility for killing a Hispanic cop when he was fourteen. He was paroled at eighteen and disappeared from the radar screen after he got out of prison. That was over twenty years ago.”

  “He evidently expanded his horizons and moved on to the international scene if the CIA is involved.” She shivered. “Hate crimes. You’re right. He’s bad news.”

  “He appeared to have a grudge against the world. And his psychological profile indicated he’d only get worse.”

  “Then why the hell did they let him out of prison?”

  “The system. Got to give every murdering kid a fighting chance to kill again. It’s the American way.”

  “And according to Trevor, he killed Mike. Christ, it’s not fair.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Are we going to phone Jane right away?”

  “Not until we know more. It’s not going to help her to know what he did as a kid. We need an update. And maybe she’ll be the one to get us one. I’m sure she’s not sitting around that MacDuff’s Run and wringing her hands.”