Blind Alley

by Iris Johansen

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” His smile lit his plump face with a kind of boyish radiance. “You're very kind but I've got to go on duty now.”

  She was smiling too as she watched him go down the steps.

  “Was that Bartlett?” Eve came to stand beside her.

  “I think so.” She shook her head. “Or maybe it was Peter Pan or Winnie-the-Pooh.”

  “What?”

  “Why don't you go see for yourself? Take him a cup of coffee.” She added solemnly, “He was on duty and wouldn't come in.”

  Eve watched as Bartlett picked up a pebble and sent it skimming across the lake. “Maybe I will.” She turned and headed for the kitchen.

  For the rest of the day Jane didn't see Trevor except at a distance. He seemed very busy and intent as he talked to Singer and his men. In spite of Joe's cautioning, she couldn't see any signs that Trevor was being overbearing with any of the security team. There was no question that he was in charge but he appeared to be handling them with respect and humor.

  It was fully dark when he drove up to the cottage. He spoke for a moment to Bartlett before he got out of the SUV, his arms loaded with catalogues and packages. “I brought your mail,” he said as he climbed the porch steps. “I checked for it earlier. Does it come late in the afternoon every day?”

  She nodded. “About four.” She set her computer aside and held out her hand for the bundle. “Thank you. But you didn't have to pick it up.”

  “Yes, I did. Your mailbox is three miles away on the main road. I wanted to make sure that there weren't any surprises. Since Aldo was camped out in the woods he probably checked out your mailbox occasionally. It's what I would have done. You never can tell what will come in handy when you're on the hunt.” He sat down beside her on the swing. “But there didn't seem to be anything to worry about. Most of it's for Eve.”

  “It's usually that way. Eve's very famous and she has a lot of requests for her services. And she wouldn't like you going through her mail.”

  “Like I said, I didn't want any surprises.”

  “What did you expect? A cobra in the mailbox?”

  “No, that wouldn't fit Aldo's pattern. But Julia Brandon was killed by poison gas. There are ways of making an envelope deadly.”

  Her mind jumped immediately to the aftermath of 9/11. “Anthrax?”

  “Or something else. I didn't think it likely he'd want to rob himself of the pleasure of a close-up kill, but he's not always predictable.”

  “You seem to be doing a pretty good job so far. Poison gas . . . That's the only one who died like that, isn't it? Drownings, incineration, smothering. For a serial killer he doesn't seem to be consistent in his methods. They usually have a weapon of preference, don't they?”

  “He's consistent. Each one of those deaths occurred to the citizens of Herculaneum during the eruption. He's killing Cira over and over in every conceivable way she could have died that night.”

  “My God.”

  No air. Hot. Hot. Hot.

  “Are you okay?” Trevor's gaze was narrowed on her face.

  “Of course I am.” She looked out at the lake. “How did Cira die?”

  “I don't know. Every scroll in the library concerned Cira's life, not her death.”

  “Then maybe she didn't die at Herculaneum. There were survivors, weren't there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she could have been one of them.”

  “I'd think a woman like Cira would have been heard from in the years after the disaster if she'd lived. She was no shrinking violet.”

  “Maybe she had a reason to disappear.”

  He was silent a moment. “That had a note of desperation. You really want her to have survived, don't you? Why?”

  “Don't be silly. I'm not desperate about anything. She just didn't deserve to die in that tunnel.”

  “Tunnel?” He was gazing at her oddly. “Why should she have died in a tunnel? She had a fine home in Herculaneum.”

  “Did she? I must have been thinking about the gold in the tunnel.” She changed the subject. “I just remembered that Joe wanted to know if you'd figured out how Aldo found all those women with Cira's face. You said one woman's photo was in the newspaper and I guess he could have stumbled on one or two of them, but not all. And he was moving so fast in the past few weeks that he couldn't have just gotten lucky.”

  He shook his head. “I've been concentrating more on getting Aldo, not the whys and wherefores. But tell Quinn I'll work on it.”

  “Good. You won't be alone. Joe may figure it out before you do. He doesn't like to ask for help.”

  “He didn't. You did it for him. Did Bartlett come by and introduce himself?”

  “Yes, he's very unusual. How did you get together with him?”

  “I was backtracking after I saw that photo of Peggy Knowles and questioned all the families of the victims I ran across. Bartlett was on Ellen Carter's list. I was pretending to be from Scotland Yard at the time. I'm pretty good and no one else was suspicious. But Bartlett is a hell of a lot smarter than he looks. He followed me back to my hotel and pulled a gun on me.”

  “Bartlett?”

  He smiled. “He surprised me, too. He was scared to death but he was determined. His hand was shaking so badly that I thought I'd better talk fast or he'd shoot one of us by accident.”

  “Why didn't he call the police on you?”

  “Because he wasn't happy with the way the investigation had been going. He loved Ellen Carter.”

  “He said he had three ex-wives.”

  “She was number two. Bartlett stays close to his wives even after they divorce him.”

  “Why would they divorce him? He seems . . . sweet.”

  “He has a talent for choosing the wrong partners. Some men marry the same type of woman over and over. He has no problem acquiring wives. Women seem to melt and want to take him home. Didn't you?”

  She nodded. “And Eve's taken him lunch and coffee today. And she had to leave a reconstruction she's working on to do it.”

  “See?”

  “Well, evidently you weren't immune either.”

  “You're right.” His lips twisted ruefully. “He's stubborn as hell and he wouldn't leave me alone after he knew that I was trying to find Aldo. He quit his job as an accountant and he's been with me ever since.”

  “I like him.”

  “All women—dammit, I like him, too.” His gaze went to Bartlett. “But he drives me crazy. I'll probably have to rope, tie, and drag him away or he'd stay out there all night. He was happy as hell he could do something constructive to help you.”

  “Sweet.”

  “And you're melting, too.” He sighed as he got to his feet. “I'll take the mail into the house.”

  “I can do it.”

  He glanced at the computer. “You're busy. What are you doing?”

  “Homework. I like to work out here on the porch.”

  He made a face. “Homework. I keep forgetting how young you are. Maybe it's Freudian.” He headed for the door. “Make sure no one picks up the mail every day but me.”

  “Tell that to Joe.”

  “Quinn is willing to let me do the donkey work. He knows I'm not dumb enough to step on his toes. We're gradually coming to an understanding.” He opened the screen door. “It's Eve I'm worrying about.”

  “Because she doesn't melt around you like she does Bartlett?”

  “Because she's a mother protecting her cub. Talk about unpredictable.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me why you want so badly for Cira to have survived that volcano?”

  He obviously hadn't been deceived and wasn't about to let it go. Well, she wasn't about to confide in him. “Since everyone seems to be equating the two of us maybe I just want her to have come out on top. It would be a good sign.”

  “Yes, it would.” He studied her expression and then shook his head. “But I don't think that's it. . . .”

/>   “Think what you like.”

  “I always do.” He paused. “But I need to know. I need to know everything about you. It's safer for both of us.”

  “Why?”

  “He'll use any secret, any memory, any feeling that will draw you to him. He's done it already once with Toby.”

  “I made a mistake. I won't do it again. And I'm not about to bare my soul to you. You've taken it upon yourself to learn entirely too much about me on your own.”

  “Yes.” A sudden smile lit his face. “And it was my pleasure. It's still my pleasure.” He went into the cottage.

  She had to force herself to look away from that door. Sweet Jesus, he was handsome. Most of the time when she was with him she was only aware of that magnetic personality and the sense of wariness it brought her. But in that last moment it had hit home what a beautiful man Trevor really was.

  Beautiful? Trevor would not have been pleased. Where had that word come from?

  Beautiful as a god.

  Cira had been thinking of Antonio when those words had sprung to her mind. Antonio, intelligent, cynical, and totally charismatic. Antonio, who had seduced and dazzled and betrayed her. But in the end had he also tried to save her, or was that another deception?

  What difference did it make? She was treating a dream as reality. And if this was some kind of psychic connection she'd made with Aldo, she'd evidently embroidered and enhanced it on her own. She was rooting for Cira every step of the way and Aldo certainly saw her as a villainess.

  And what about Antonio?

  Maybe she had to have a hero to save Cira. Though he was more of an antihero.

  Like Trevor.

  She stiffened. Cira's view of Antonio was remarkably like Jane's opinion of Trevor. And from that first moment she had felt a strange familiarity with him. She'd even told Eve he reminded her of someone.

  Antonio?

  She couldn't even remember what Antonio looked like. Cira was seeing him, not her. Cira was feeling the tempest of resentment, bitterness, hope, and love.

  Love? Did Cira still love Antonio?

  Oh, to the devil with it. What difference did it make? There was a chance she'd never have another dream about Cira. It had been several nights since she'd had that nightmare in which the ground had cracked beneath Cira's feet and she stared into molten fire.

  Lava. When she'd known about the tunnel at Herculaneum and the woman who'd lived and died there.

  But Trevor had already told her that the ashes were from Vesuvius and her imagination might have made a mental leap to an active volcano. How did she know what tricks a mind could play? These blasted dreams of Cira had completely shaken her confidence. At first, as she'd told Eve, she'd been able to view Cira and her struggles with curiosity and excitement as if she were reading a novel. It had been interesting and she'd looked forward to the next installment and trying to figure out exactly what was happening to her. That was no longer the case. After what Trevor had told her, she was flailing in the dark, trying to find her way. She was caught, held captive, and she was dreading going back into that tunnel.

  “Stay away, Cira,” she whispered. “I have enough on my plate. Don't come back.”

  ELEVEN

  Molten lava yawning before her feet.

  “Jump!” Antonio held out his arms. “Now, Cira. I'll catch you.”

  Jump? The crack was too wide and getting wider every second.

  No time. No other choice. She leaped across the crack. The heat seared her legs even as her feet touched the opposite ledge.

  It crumbled beneath her!

  Then he was yanking her upward and forward in one movement.

  “I've got you.” Antonio's hands grasped her forearms and they were stumbling backward.

  Another rumble.

  “We've got to get out of this passage.” Cira glanced over her shoulder.

  The crack was widening, gaping.

  “You said you knew the way,” Cira gasped. “Prove it. Get us out of here.”

  “Only you'd be stubborn enough to wait until you saw the gates of hell to say that to me.” Antonio grabbed her hand and started at a dead run down the tunnel. “The crack seems to be going across the tunnel. We can't go back, but it's not following us.”

  “If it doesn't cause the roof to cave in when it tries to devour the other wall.”

  Heat.

  The lava behind them was gobbling what little air was still in the tunnel.

  “Then we'd better be out of this branch of the tunnel before it happens. There's a turnoff just ahead that should lead us to the sea.”

  “Or to Julius.”

  “Shut up.” His hand tightened with bruising force on hers. “I'm not taking you to Julius. If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have taken his money for your face when he offered it two weeks ago.”

  “My face?”

  “When you told him you were leaving and wouldn't give him back the gold, he asked me to kill you.”

  “What's that got to do with my face?”

  “He said he'd commissioned a dozen likenesses of that wonderful face and didn't want anyone but him to possess it. Not even you. He wanted me to kill you and take my knife and remove your face and bring it to him.”

  She felt sick. “Madness.”

  “I agree. And, as I have a fondness for that face, I declined his offer. But it meant I had to leave Herculaneum for a few days. There was a good chance he would have put a price on my head as well. He knew I was your lover. It was why he thought I might have a chance of killing you.”

  “If you could have gotten past Dominic,” she said fiercely. “Dominic would have cut your head off and served it to me on a silver tray.”

  “That was why Julius resorted to bribery. Everyone knew how well guarded you were. Where is Dominic? He should be here with you.”

  “I sent him home to the country.”

  “Because you didn't want Julius aiming his arrows at him. That's what bodyguards are for, Cira.”

  “He served me well. I didn't want him— I can take care of myself. Shouldn't we have reached the end of the tunnel by now?”

  “It winds around. Julius didn't want to make getting out of the villa too easy.”

  “And how do you know how to get out?”

  “I made it my business. I spent many nights in these tunnels while we were together. It would hardly be intelligent to steal the gold and then not have an escape hole.”

  “Bastard.”

  “I was willing to share.”

  “My gold.”

  “There was enough for both of us. I would have earned it. I would have provided safety and treasured you as much as the gold.”

  “I'm to believe you? Good gods, what nonsense you're—”

  Rumbling.

  Rocks tumbling around them.

  A sharp stone pierced Cira's skin. She felt the warm blood pouring down her arm.

  “Hurry!” Antonio was jerking her through the tunnel. “The structure of the tunnel's weakening. It could go any moment.”

  “I am hurrying. What a stupid—” Another rock struck her cheek.

  More pain.

  More blood.

  More pain.

  More pain . . .

  Wake up. Stop moaning, dammit.”

  Blood . . .

  She opened her eyes. “Blood,” she gasped.

  “Wake up.”

  “Antonio . . .”

  No, it was Trevor standing above her beside the porch swing.

  Of course it wasn't Antonio. . . .

  “I'm awake.” She tried to catch her breath. “I'm fine.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I must have dozed off. What time is it?”

  “Only a little after midnight. I saw you curled up in the porch swing when I took over for Bartlett an hour ago. But you were sleeping so soundly I thought I'd let you sleep until you stirred.” His lips tightened. “But that was before you started whimpering. It was damn disconcerting. You're not a person given to whimpering. What the hell were
you dreaming?”

  Rocks flying, blood, pain.

  “I don't remember.” She arched her back to ease the stiffness. She must have been curled in that fetal position for hours. Or maybe not. How long did a dream last? “Is everything okay?”

  “No problems. The security team is sharp. I just have to remind them to keep sharp. Boredom is our worst enemy.” He was frowning. “You don't have to be afraid.”

  “Of course I do. I'd be an idiot not to be afraid.”

  “Scared enough for it to give you nightmares?”

  “Everyone has bad dreams.”

  “Not about blood.” He paused. “And not about Cira.”

  She stiffened. “I take it I was doing more than whimpering. What did I say?”

  “I couldn't make out very much. I think you said, ‘Watch out, Cira. Rocks. Too late.' When you woke, you were talking to someone named Antonio.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “And, if you know what I'm talking about, then you do remember that nightmare.”

  “And you should have waked me right away and not eavesdropped.”

  “You have to admit that it's natural that my attention should be caught by Cira's name.”

  “I don't care if it's natural. You shouldn't have eavesdropped.”

  “Granted.” He was silent. “What were you dreaming?”

  She looked away from him. “What you'd expect me to dream since you told me about her. Tunnels. A volcano erupting. A woman running for her life.”

  “Is this the first time you dreamed about her?”

  “No.”

  “When did it start?”

  “None of your business.” She rose to her feet and picked up her laptop. “We've let you inveigle yourself into our lives, but keep your hands off my dreams, Trevor.”

  “If I can.”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “I'm having trouble not being drawn into every aspect of your life. Believe me, I've tried to keep my distance. It's not working.”

  “Try harder.” She took a step toward the door. “I don't need you to confide in. I have Eve and Joe. If I want to talk about Cira or anything else, it will be with them.”

  He held up his hand in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I hear you.” He stood looking at her as she opened the screen door. “If you change your mind . . .”