Quicksand (6 page)

"And that day could be today or tomorrow or next week. Kistle is fixating on you like a mad dog. It's only a matter of time before you end up with a stake through your heart too. I won't stand by and wait for it to happen."

"Stake? What are you talking about?"

"Kistle killed two deputies last night. He led them to a bog and when they were struggling in the quicksand, he shot them. Then he left notes on stakes he stabbed into their hearts."

"Quicksand," she whispered.

"Aren't you interested in what he wrote on those notes? Just three words." He paused. "
For
you, Eve
."

The words tore through her like a knife thrust. "No!"

"He wanted to hurt you. It does hurt you, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does," she said unevenly. "It makes me feel . . . responsible."

"I knew you'd feel like that." He added bitterly, "That's why I didn't want Dodsworth to tell you. I wanted it to be done gently by someone who loved you. I do love you, but I can't be gentle right now." He started the SUV. "So I end up by hurting you too. Kistle would be proud of me."

She watched him back out of the parking space, filled with a bewildering mixture of horror, sadness, anger . . . and fear.

Quicksand.

Those two men had died in that bog and Joe was on his way to Clayborne Forest now. She wanted to call him and tell him to come back.

It would be no use. She had never seen Joe this driven and bitter. She could almost feel the explosive emotional energy that was tearing through him.

And she was in little better shape. The shock of Joe's revelation and the raw harshness of his words had shaken her. Get over it. She was here in Bloomburg for a purpose and that purpose would be accomplished. She had to believe that Joe would be able to take care of himself. Yeah, since she could do nothing about it anyway, she thought dryly. Joe wasn't about to do anything she asked him to do. He had his own agenda and believed she was some kind of fluttering, suicidal bird flying to destruction. He might understand that Kistle could be the one to bring her peace and closure, but he didn't really accept it.

"It's good to see you, Eve. Though I wish it was under kinder circumstances." She whirled to see Miguel Vicente coming out of the hotel. The last time she had seen him he had been bedridden from the torture he'd received at the hands of the drug dealer who had also almost taken Joe's life during those nightmare weeks in the jungle. Though it was impossible to ever say Miguel was subdued, he'd definitely been under the weather. Now he looked like the young man she had first seen at that armed compound in Colombia. Tall, dark, handsome, and filled with a wicked sense of understated humor that could be both endearing and exasperating. "Hello, Miguel. Montalvo told me you were here." She frowned as she looked at his bandaged hands. "And I told him to send you back to the hospital."

"If I'm careful, all is well." He smiled. "For instance, I will not offer to carry your bags into this hotel. Though it offends my sense of gallantry, I will let you take them in yourself." He tilted his head. "Of course, I could go inside and prod the doorman, who should be out here to do his duty." He beamed. "Yes, that would be much less boring. Wait here."

"No," she said firmly. She knew exactly how lethal Miguel could be even with those wounded hands. "I'll do it myself."

"That one box looks very familiar," he said. "Another skull?"

"Yes."

"Anyone I know?"

"No, a child no one knows right now."

His smile faded. "I meant no disrespect. As you know, it's my nature."

"Why are you here, Miguel?"

"One, to make sure you're comfortable. Two, to make sure you stay alive. Montalvo said the latter was more important than the former." His boyish demeanor suddenly dropped as he turned to the bellman leaning against the reception desk and gestured to Eve's cases. "I believe you have a job to do," he said softly. "I'll be very displeased if it isn't done quickly." The bellman started to smile and then blinked and rushed forward.

"Good." Miguel turned back to Eve. "Now you go up and tell your Jane that I'm here and that I'll be in the hall if either of you need me."

"How did you know I was with Jane? For that matter, how did you know I was at this hotel?"

"I followed you from the airport. I decided that I would not approach you when you were with Quinn. He does not have good feelings for me. I could see that he was not in the best of moods."

"He has reason."

Miguel nodded. "Montalvo is very tense also. Am I invited for dinner and to meet Jane MacGuire? I feel almost as though I know her already and I'm sure she would find me interesting."

"You can join us for dinner. I don't need you to stand guard over me. This isn't Colombia."

"No, I like it better here, but I prefer the discipline Montalvo enforces. It's much easier to stay alive if everyone knows the rules and the consequences. In your country the rules keep changing and there are always exceptions." He inclined his head. "I will see you at six for dinner. Okay?"

She nodded. "But no lurking in the halls."

He smiled cheerfully. "As you like. I'll go to the forest and see what's happening. I think Montalvo may have only told me to guard you to keep me away from the bog. He keeps talking about gangrene."

She sighed. Manipulation? Probably. But it was working, dammit. "Okay, Miguel." She headed for the desk. "Lurk to your heart's content."

"You haven't asked where Montalvo is," he said behind her.

"No, I haven't." She glanced over her shoulder. "And you're invited to dinner. Montalvo is not."

"I WAS WONDERING IF I
should come down and run interference," Jane said when Eve walked into the room. "My tactfulness can only last so long. You know I tend to dive in and try to straighten out a tangle when I see it."

"It's not a tangle." What was she saying? Of course it was. "Or maybe it is. Anyway, it's up to me to untangle it."

"Good luck. I've never seen Joe this way," Jane said. "He was almost combustible." That had been Eve's thought too. She was once more aware of how much alike she and Jane were. "It's a difficult time for him." She was suddenly impatient. "But it's difficult for me too. We have to deal with it. He can't just drive away and let—"

"Shh." Jane shook her head. "Deal with it later. You haven't slept all night and you're on edge. Get some sleep and then we'll have dinner and talk about it." She nodded toward the adjoining door. "That's your bedroom. Take a shower and get at least a couple hours' rest."

"After I set Carrie up."

"I already cleared the desk over there." Jane smiled. "I knew you wouldn't let Carrie stay in that case any longer than you had to. But I think you should cover her when we have room service. It might be a little disconcerting to the waiter."

"Particularly since this entire town is probably edgy about the sheriff's death." She opened Carrie's case and carefully took out the skull and placed it on the desk. It wouldn't be ideal work conditions, but she could manage. She draped the cloth over the reconstruction and headed for the bedroom. "We're going to have dinner with Miguel Vicente at six."

"Vicente?" Jane frowned, processing the name. "Montalvo's friend?"

"Friend, second in command, thorn in his side. It's hard to describe Miguel's relationship with Montalvo. At any rate, he showed up downstairs and informed me he was on guard duty and wanted to meet you."

"Interesting. Does that mean I'm going to meet Montalvo too?"

"No. You probably will eventually, but I'm going to put it off as long as possible. Montalvo is an element I don't need to deal with right now." She shut the door behind her and headed for the bathroom. She didn't want to deal with Miguel either, but refusing his help might bring Montalvo in his place. Besides, though she didn't believe she needed a guard, she'd never refuse protection for Jane. She should have told her to stay in Atlanta but she'd been in no shape to argue. No, face it, she'd wanted Jane's company. No one understood her like Jane, and being with her was a comfort. There was nothing soothing or comfortable about anything else in this situation.

Including Joe.

She should have known Joe would try to keep any knowledge about Kistle to himself. These last months together had partially bridged the gap between them that had been growing even before she had gone to Colombia. But the abyss still remained and his recent move to shut her out wouldn't help.

She couldn't tear herself up worrying about relationships right now. She stepped into the tub and turned on the shower. What was done, was done. She was here and so was Kistle. How many miles was Clayborne Forest from this hotel?

For you, Eve
.

She shuddered.

Would those two men have died if Kistle hadn't wanted to send a message to her? Killers were killers and they needed no excuse to murder. Easy to say, but who knew what would trigger a monster like Kistle? He might have gone dormant for months if he hadn't talked to her. She had to stop thinking about it. Kistle had meant to hurt her and she mustn't let him.
For you, Eve
. . .

FOUR

CLAYBORNE FOREST WAS STILL
teeming with searchers when Joe arrived at the command post the sheriff's department had set up near the road. And the cavalry had arrived, he noticed. The scowling red-haired man who was talking to that young deputy Pete Shaw was dressed in a dark suit and Joe would bet he was FBI.

The deputy turned to Joe in relief as he approached. "This is Agent Hal Cassidy, Detective Quinn. I've been filling him in, but I've got to call Charlie and give him my report. You talk to him." He hurried away toward his vehicle.

Cassidy shook his head. "My God, if they have nothing but kids like him conducting this investigation, it's no wonder Kistle is using them for target practice." Cassidy turned and shook his hand. "Venable told me about you, Quinn. What the hell is happening here?"

"I'm sure the deputy gave you the bare bones. What else do you want to know?"

"What the FBI is doing here," he said curtly. "We have no proof that we're even needed. It's a cop killing, but they have so many searchers they're tripping over each other. They should be able to handle it. And the deputy mentioned another possible kidnapping and murder, but how can we investigate it when there may not even be a crime? All the deputy could say was that a little boy, Bobby Joe Windlaw, was missing and everyone had thought he was drowned." He stared Joe in the eye. "Until you contacted Jedroth and he began to wonder."

"I didn't say anything about any local killings. I don't know anything about Bobby Joe Windlaw." But he remembered Jedroth had said something about the little boy during that last phone call. "I just told the sheriff I had suspicions and asked him for surveillance. I'd say those suspicions were warranted, since Jedroth ended up dead."

"We haven't been able to track down any records on Kistle yet." Cassidy's gaze shifted toward the trees. "And this kind of case could stretch on indefinitely. We might be beating those bushes for the next year. I've seen it happen. The locals should take care of it."

"Do you expect me to argue? I didn't call you into the case. Go back to St. Louis."

"Easy to say," he said sourly. "I've got work there, damn important work to do. I'll be out of here in a heartbeat if I can persuade the director to stop playing patty-cake with Venable."

"You've obviously made up your mind. Just give him your report." Cassidy's gaze narrowed on Joe's face. "You don't want us here. Why?"

"I don't care whether you're here or not. It won't affect what I do." He walked away from Cassidy toward the bog where the two deputies had been shot. The bodies were gone, but chalk markings indicated where they had been found. The area was now cordoned off. Not that it would do any good after all the trampling that had gone on last night. He moved closer to the bog and looked up into the trees. The men had been shot after they had entered the quicksand, and judging by the wounds, the bullets had come from the front and angled downward. That meant Kistle had probably been waiting for them in one of those trees. Which one . . .?

"The big oak on the other side of the bog."

He stiffened but didn't turn around. "Hello, Montalvo."

"What a pleasure to see you looking so strong and well again, Quinn. I was most unhappy when you were ill and a mere shadow of yourself."

Joe turned to face him. Montalvo was dressed in the same type boots, khaki pants, and shirt that had been almost his uniform in Colombia, and he looked very much at home in these woods. "Bullshit. I was in your way and you would have loved it if I'd croaked." Montalvo chuckled. "Not true. That would have guaranteed that you'd remain a part of my life. Eve would never have forgiven me."

Joe felt a surge of rage tear through him. He had hated those days in Montalvo's compound when he'd been hurt and helpless, and in contrast Montalvo had been everything that was vibrant and powerful. The memory was still a throbbing wound. Keep calm. Calm, hell, he wanted to break the bastard's neck. "You're right." He turned back to the bog. "Eve is completely loyal to the people she loves."

There was a silence behind him. "A wonderful quality. A wonderful woman."

"What are you doing here, Montalvo?"

"Keeping a promise." He moved forward to stand beside Joe. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes."

"I can see how you'd have problems, considering the stakes. But in my way I'm an honorable man. One has to have some code to live by. I always keep my promises and I always repay my debts."

"And you don't have trouble collecting debts owed you," he said through his teeth. He smiled. "That goes without saying."

"Do I have to ask why you're here?"

"The same reason you are. I want to bring in Kistle." He added softly, "I want to drag the dragon in front of the lady and cut off his head. And then I hope she'll think it worth giving me a prize. Isn't that what you want, Quinn?"

"That's simplistic."

"It's honest. Do I want to ease her pain? Yes. Do I want to give her the solace she gave me when she did the reconstruction on my wife's skull? With all my heart. Do I want to take her to bed and never let her go back to you? Absolutely." He looked out over the bog. "And this may be the way to do all three. So I'd be a fool to miss the opportunity that's offered."