Hunting Eve

by Iris Johansen

  “Go!” Kendra whispered. “That was a gunshot. Silencer.”

  Margaret didn’t ask questions.

  They ran down the stairs, but before they reached the bottom, Kendra heard distinct thumps from the front porch.

  Upstairs. It was the only way …

  Kendra and Margaret half stumbled, half ran up the stairs as more gunshots echoed in the room behind them.

  “Bitches!” The shooter yelled as he took cover in a downstairs hallway.

  For all his firepower, the man was keeping his distance, Kendra realized. He probably thought they were cops or Feds. And armed.

  If only.

  “This way,” she whispered to Margaret as she pulled her through a doorway at the top of the stairs.

  They went perfectly still while Kendra tried to get a fix on the man’s position.

  Close your eyes. Concentrate.

  She could hear his slow, measured breathing downstairs. Nothing nervous or intense about him; this man was comfortable firing a gun, accustomed to killing. Not someone to underestimate.

  And he had probably killed Officer Rollins tonight. The young man would not be going home to his wife and baby.

  Bastard.

  He was staying in one place. For now.

  Waiting for them to make a move.

  Kendra turned to Margaret. She was holding up well. No tears, just intensity and steely resolve in her expression.

  Good, Kendra thought. She was going to need it.

  Kendra quietly removed the phone from her pocket and turned on the screen.

  NO CARRIER.

  Shit!

  “No phone calls, ladies. That’s against the rules. Why don’t you come down, and we’ll talk,” the voice called from downstairs. He had obviously heard the barely audible beep from her phone.

  So he must have incredibly sharp hearing. Maybe as good as hers, Kendra thought.

  Good to know.

  “Your phones won’t work. And I’ve cut the home phone lines.”

  Margaret held up her phone toward Kendra and shook her head. The screen read NO SIGNAL.

  He was jamming their phones. Clearly a pro.

  “And I guarantee you’ll die if you try to go out a window. You’re too far up.”

  Margaret suddenly leaned forward and shouted, “Come up those stairs, and I’ll blow your fat head off.”

  Good God, Margaret sounded rough, like a world-weary street cop, Kendra thought, completely different from her usual tone. It would have been amusing if the situation had been different. The girl had moxie.

  Still, it seemed to be working.

  Silence down below.

  But that bluff was only going to get them so far. Kendra pressed herself back against the wall. Concentrate. She replayed each room of the house in her mind. There had to be something she could use, some way out …

  Footsteps downstairs. One, then two more. The guy was no idiot. It wasn’t going to take him long to figure out that they didn’t have weapons. And he certainly wouldn’t want to chance hanging around until someone else arrived.

  “Throw down the box,” the man called out. “Throw it down, and I’ll be on my way. We’ll never see each other again.”

  Kendra looked down at the tattered box in Margaret’s hand. Tempting, but no. There was a chance it was something that could help them find Eve.

  “You don’t even know what it is. Give it up.”

  “It’s the disk. The list of Pakistani double agents.”

  “Wrong.” He chuckled and took two more steps. “Why put your lives on the line? You don’t even know what you have there.”

  Kendra couldn’t argue with that.

  “Who are you with? CIA? Do you think they’ll care if you end up dead? All they want is that box. Give it up and live another day.”

  Kendra pulled off her shoes and motioned for Margaret to stay where she was. She quietly moved down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

  “Good,” the man said. “Explore. Trust me, there’s nowhere to go.”

  That keen sense of hearing again.

  Kendra entered the bedroom and approached the gas fireplace. She turned the key hard clockwise as far as it would go. Gas hissed from the fireplace. She grabbed a long fire starter from the mantel and moved quickly back down the hallway.

  She heard another three steps downstairs.

  Kendra tabulated the steps she had heard. One, three, five … Eight steps, which would put him about halfway to the staircase.

  Need to stall, give the gas time to do its job …

  “What’s in the box?” she called.

  “Why should I tell you? You’ll be happier not knowing.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Believe me. Toss it down, and you’ll survive the night.”

  “You seem a little edgy. Calm down. We don’t want to hurt you.” She paused. “And we don’t want to be hurt.”

  “That’s better. You’re being reasonable. Throw down the box.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Kendra turned back toward Margaret and saw that she was pulling the rubber bands from the box and lifting the lid. Margaret peered inside, then turned it upside down over Kendra’s outstretched hand. A worn, weather-beaten, moleskin notebook tumbled out.

  Kendra quickly examined it. Not the data disk that she had been led to believe might be there. As she thumbed through the book, she saw that there were no lists of names, just pages and pages of erratic scribbling, like a journal.

  Not like a journal, she realized; it was a journal. But whose?

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  Kendra slipped the notebook into her waistband and pulled her shirt over it. She quickly snapped the rubber bands over the cardboard box. “It’s all yours.”

  “Smart woman. Throw it down.”

  Kendra glanced at the master bedroom at the end of the hall. If her timing was just a bit off, this lunatic would kill her and Margaret.

  Make it count …

  She stepped toward the staircase and hurled the box downward. It bounced off the landing wall and tumbled down the remaining stairs to the main floor.

  “Good girl.”

  She heard him tearing into the box. Only another few seconds …

  She reached toward a bookshelf and picked up three tiny ornamental wooden figurines.

  Wait for it …

  “Shit!” He started cursing viciously.

  That was her cue. Hope you’re still listening, asshole … She tossed one of the figurines through the open bedroom door, then tossed the other.

  She crouched beside the bookshelf and pulled Margaret down beside her.

  Would he fall for it?

  Sure enough, he was charging up the stairs. He jumped the last few steps and sped past them down the hallway to the master bedroom.

  Success!

  Kendra pulled the trigger on the fire starter and adjusted the flame to its highest setting. She jammed the remaining figurine into the trigger guard to keep the flame ignited.

  She stood and hurled the fire starter down the hallway behind him. She watched as it twirled end over end, almost as if in slow motion.

  The shooter, now standing in the bedroom, whirled around, the gun extended before him.

  And in the next moment, the flame hit the gas.

  Boom!

  Kendra instinctively shielded Margaret from the explosion, using her body to block the raining splinters. She looked up.

  Black smoke billowed down the hallway, pulsing with light from dozens of dancing, flickering flames.

  No one was running out of the bedroom, but that didn’t mean they were safe.

  “Come on,” Kendra said. “Out!”

  Kendra and Margaret bolted for the stairs.

  * * *

  BLICK PULLED HIMSELF TO HIS feet, still not sure if he was in one piece. His eyes stung from the smoke, which had choked off most of the breathable air.

  How long had he been unconscious? Probably only a mat
ter of seconds. Any longer, and the smoke would have killed him.

  His ears were ringing, and the left side of his face throbbed. He cupped his palm over his cheek, and it felt cold and wet.

  Blood.

  His ears were blocked, ringing, but he thought he could make out the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It had to be them, those bitches.

  But he couldn’t hope to catch up. Not now.

  Now he just needed to stay alive long enough to make it out himself. He pushed himself through the smoke and felt his way down the hallway until he reached the stairs.

  The smoke was much lighter here.

  One step, then the next. And over and over until he finally reached the ground floor. The front door was open.

  Were the bitches waiting for him on the other side?

  Doubtful, but possible. He had lost his gun in the blast, but he had a backup. He slowly, painfully, reached for the Beretta in his ankle holster. He held it in front of him and cautiously moved through the front doorway. No one was there.

  Wait. He caught a glimpse of two women disappearing down the street. There was something familiar about the smaller woman …

  His vision suddenly fogged, and he realized it was from blood dripping into his eyes. He used his sleeves to wipe it away.

  Who had done this to him? Who had taken that journal?

  The island. Jane MacGuire. The smaller woman was the one who was with MacGuire when he had taken his shot. Her name would be easy enough to check.

  But that hadn’t been Jane MacGuire with her in the house tonight. Who was it?

  He moved to the police car, where the officer’s logbook still rested on the hood. Blick flipped through it, leaving bloody fingerprints on each page. Screw it. Get the information and get out. He could see neighbors pouring out of the houses into the street. There would be cops arriving any minute. At last he reached the final set of entries, where the most recent visitors were listed.

  There, finally, the last name, the name he was looking for.

  Dr. Kendra Michaels.

  * * *

  KENDRA GLANCED IN THE REARVIEW mirror as she sped down State Route 23 in her rental car. “Keep an eye out, Margaret.”

  “I’ve been watching.” Margaret twisted back around in the passenger seat. “Though I don’t know what I’m looking for. We don’t have any idea what kind of car he was driving. You thinking he’s following us?”

  “I have no idea. I doubt it. But I don’t want to be surprised.”

  “Do you think he might be…” Margaret’s voice trailed off.

  “Dead?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “Not likely. The blast wasn’t that intense. I wouldn’t mind if it took his arm or leg off, though.”

  It had been less than ten minutes since they had bolted from Doane’s safe house, and Kendra’s heart was still pounding hard. They had seen that poor officer’s corpse on the front sidewalk, and narrow footprints on the ground of the lawn beside it indicating that his killer had coldly stepped over him on the way into the house. Then Margaret had grabbed her suitcase from behind the bushes bordering Doane’s neighbor’s house and they had jumped into Kendra’s car.

  Two fire engines, flashers on and sirens wailing, roared past them from an opposing traffic lane.

  Margaret settled back in her seat. “He deserves whatever he gets for killing that officer. I didn’t like his voice. It kind of scared me. I’ve never met anyone who sounded that … cold. Have you?”

  “A few.”

  “I guess I should have expected it from the man who shot Jane.”

  Kendra’s gaze flew to Margaret’s face. “What?”

  “It was Terence Blick. We only caught a fleeting glimpse as he ran toward the bedroom, but I recognized that red hair and freckles.”

  “Recognized from what?”

  “Jane and Joe had a file on him from the security video on Summer Island. They shared it with me while I was at the lake cottage.” She made a face. “Grudgingly. Joe’s a little less protective than Jane but not much.”

  “You might have mentioned it to me.”

  “We were busy trying to get away from him. But now I’ve mentioned it.” She smiled slyly. “But I would have thought you would have figured it out anyway. You’re so logical and stuff. After all, Blick was Doane’s accomplice. Who else would have shown up at that house?”

  “Ask your friend, Carlie, the German shepherd,” Kendra said sourly.

  Margaret chuckled. “Next time.” Her smile faded. “You know, I think he was going to kill us no matter what we did.”

  “It’s a distinct possibility.” Kendra pulled the worn-moleskin notebook from her beltline and handed it to Margaret. “And we know he was willing to kill to get his hands on this.”

  Margaret thumbed through the pages. “Is that what those agents have been looking for?”

  “I don’t think so. All I’ve been hearing about is a disk.” Kendra pulled off the road and parked in the illumination of a streetlight. “At first glance, it looks like a college kid’s journal, packed with random scribbling, painfully obvious insights, and pretentious poetry.”

  “That’s probably what you would think of my journals.”

  “It’s also what I think of the ones I wrote when I was a teenager. None of us are immune.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think anyone would ever try to kill anybody for ours. Maybe if we tried to force them to read them.” Margaret studied a page for a moment. “Kevin. This belonged to Kevin. He was Doane’s son, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, it’s not a disk. Do you think it could have the names of those embedded agents in code?”

  Kendra flipped through a few more pages. “Maybe. Not that we have any reason to trust anything Blick said, but he did say it wasn’t the names at all.” She nibbled thoughtfully at her lower lip. “Did you get the impression that he thought it was something more important?”

  Margaret nodded. “Could be. His exact words were … that we didn’t know what we have here.” She shrugged. “I thought it was weird he’d be so open about it.”

  “Not so weird. Blick wasn’t supposed to be the brains in the partnership with Doane.” She lifted her gaze to Margaret’s face. “And he didn’t intend to let us live after he got his hands on this journal. He thought he’d be safe to say what he liked.” Her glance fell to the journal again. “Well, I’d certainly like to find out why it’s so important.” She paused at one of the pages and stared in disgust at an entry. “This one’s a letter to one of his victims, promising that her murder would ensure her of remaining forever pure and unspoiled.”

  “Sick.”

  “And here’s one where he’s boasting and congratulating himself for besting the police.” She looked up. “Okay, not the usual teen angst. But there has to be something else here.”

  “Should we turn it in to the FBI or maybe to Venable?”

  Kendra hesitated. “Eventually.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Because their interests and ours may not be entirely in sync.”

  Margaret gave her a questioning look.

  “I don’t like it that Venable told Quinn about some disk and not this journal.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t know about it.”

  “Venable is very sharp, and he had five years to find out every detail of Kevin’s past. Do you think he wouldn’t have succeeded?”

  “Go on.”

  “What I mean is … Our first priority is getting Eve back. I’ve worked with the FBI, CIA, and other agencies before, and they’re standup organizations, but they often have their own agendas. Secrets and bureaucracies. It drives me nuts. It can muddy the waters.”

  “That’s not all,” Margaret said quietly. “What else?”

  “I’m not saying Venable would…” She looked ahead. “But I’ve seen cases where some people in government would be willing to sacrifice—”

  “Eve?” Margaret interrupted. “That’s terrible.�
�

  “It is. But they would tell you that it’s just collateral damage.” Her lips thinned. “I’m doing this for Eve and Quinn. I don’t give a damn about Venable and his spy games.” She held up the journal. “I’m not going to give them this until after I’ve gotten what I need from it. Okay?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “There were a lot of I’s and no we’s in what you said. You need to rethink it.” She paused. “And while you’re doing that, what do you intend to do next?”

  Kendra thought for a moment. “I think I’ve … we’ve done all we can here in Goldfork. I’m going to drive south.”

  “South? To where?”

  “Mineral County. The radio presets in Doane’s blue car corresponded to stations in that area, so he had probably spent some time there recently. It’s only a few hours’ drive. I’m going to leave right now.”

  “Oh.” Margaret stared out the windshield for a long moment. “You’re clearly not issuing an invitation, but I’ve decided to go with you.”

  Kendra laughed at her simple, direct tone. “Oh, you have?”

  “Yes, I know you said you work alone, but you really could use my help.”

  “Just out of curiosity, how could you help me?”

  “Even if you don’t believe in my sensitivity toward animals, I’m also very good with people. Most people like me and want to help me. You believe that, don’t you?”

  Kendra nodded. “I didn’t know you were so aware of it yourself.”

  “Of course I am, I’ve had to learn to employ every weapon I have for survival tactics. It can be a cruel world sometimes. Most of the time, it’s pretty wonderful. But I don’t take advantage. It could be useful for us, though.”

  Kendra studied her. It was possible that Margaret could help, but there was something about her that seemed especially fragile at this moment. Even though she had shown some very real flashes of toughness tonight.

  Margaret smiled. “You think I need protecting. That’s a mistake a lot of people make. I’ll be fine whether I go with you or not, Kendra, but I won’t quit. And, even if we both were to go off on our own, you’ll probably just keep on bumping into me.”

  And Kendra would probably worry about her when she was out of her sight, she realized with frustration. She might be as tough as she claimed, but Kendra couldn’t help seeing her as vulnerable. Or maybe it was just that when anyone saw someone that bright and full of joyous life, they instinctively sought to find ways to make sure that life went on. It might be Margaret’s most powerful weapon. Whatever it was, Kendra was caught. “In that case … We might as well stick together for a while.”