Stalemate (4 page)

"And you don't want me to see you vanish like something in a Star Trek transporter?" She closed her eyes. "You used to like those Star Trek reruns. Do you remember how you--"

Aching emptiness. Sadness.

She opened her eyes. No Bonnie. The rocking chair was vacant. Tears stung her eyes. Stupid. Weeping because Bonnie had drifted away from her again.

Beloved dream. Beloved spirit. Beloved Bonnie.

She could hear Joe's quiet steps coming down the hall.

She instinctively shut her eyes again. She didn't want to have Joe know that she was crying. She couldn't bear to make explanations right now. Better to pretend to be asleep.

He slipped into bed and drew close to her. He whispered, "Eve?"

She didn't answer.

He hesitated and then lay back against his pillow.

She felt as if she'd betrayed him. There shouldn't be pretense between them. Why couldn't she lower the barriers and confide in him? He was so good to her. Even if he didn't understand he'd never condemn her.

She couldn't do it. Lately it was as if there was a growing distance between them. Sometimes the closeness was there, sometimes she had to work to keep it firm, keep the substance of their love in focus.

Like Bonnie, drifting back and forth into her life like a puff of smoke.

Like Bonnie...

She was asleep. Eve hadn't been asleep when he'd come to bed but she was sleeping now.

Joe stared into the darkness. He wanted to touch her, wake her, make love to her. He needed to do it.

Christ, how insecure could he get? Sex should be pleasure, not a frantic effort to bring her back to him. They were so fantastic together physically that it was always a temptation to use it when he was frustrated in any other aspect of their relationship.

And he'd use it again if he had to do it. He'd use anything he had or could dredge up from heaven or hell. She'd been the center of his universe for years and he didn't know if he could survive without her.

He wouldn't have to do that. All he had to do was get past this remoteness he'd sensed in her during the last months. He'd blamed it on weariness. She always worked herself into exhaustion if he didn't watch out for her. Then he'd blamed it on the fact that Jane was grown and on her own. It might have been a period of adjustment. It might be that--

He was losing her.

No! He instantly rejected the thought. He would not lose her.

And he wouldn't let her be killed by Montalvo or be drawn into the machinations of Soldono.

Why the devil hadn't Soldono answered his voice mail?

In the morning he'd try again and then get on the phone and contact a few people he knew in the CIA in Washington.

He turned over and looked at Eve.

Lord, she was beautiful. She always told him he was crazy and that she wasn't even pretty. Her features were more interesting than attractive. Her red-brown hair was clean and shiny but she always kept it short and simply coiffed. When she worked, she wore horn-rimmed glasses.

But there was a world of intelligence and strength in those brown eyes and her lips were beautifully formed and sensitive. He loved to watch her expressions and try to bring a smile to those lips. Hell, he loved to watch her, period.

He started to reach out to touch her.

He stopped. No, this wasn't the time to be impulsive. She was very delicately balanced right now.

And their relationship was even more fragilely balanced. She'd probably deny it, but he sometimes believed he knew her better than she knew herself. He'd studied her, agonized with her, watched her with pride as she slowly healed and grew to be the woman she was.

No, he'd be patient, he'd watch and wait.

They had to get past this business with that bastard Montalvo before he could concentrate on clearing away any obstacles between them.

Sleep. Don't touch her. Don't reach out and grab because you're beginning to feel desperate....

Joe was on the phone when Eve walked out on the porch after nine the next morning. He looked at her as he hung up. "No answer from Soldono."

"What the devil is going on? Do you suppose something's happened to him?"

"Do you mean do I think Montalvo got pissed off at him and killed him?" Joe shrugged. "We'll find out. I'm going to make some calls. I'll see if Venable in the CIA can track him down."

Venable. She vaguely remembered the name. "Will he talk to us about CIA business?"

Joe's lips tightened. "Oh, yes, he'll talk to me. Go get yourself some breakfast. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"I just want some orange juice." She turned toward the door. "I have to get back to work on Marty. I should have worked last night instead of fretting over something I couldn't help."

"You're allowed to be distracted occasionally."

"No, I'm not. Not when I have a job to do." She moved toward the easel where Marty waited.

Concentrate. Think about the boy who was lost. Forget everything else. Her fingers moved searchingly, delicately molding the clay over the cheekbones. It was the last stage of the reconstruction and the most definitive one.

Let her hands work without thought.

Smooth.

Mold.

Smooth.

Help me, Marty....

It took Joe almost an hour to get hold of Venable, and when the agent came on the line, his tone was reserved and unencouraging.

"I can't talk about Soldono, Quinn. He's an agent on assignment. You were FBI at one time and you know that it puts our man at risk to discuss that assignment."

"We didn't go to Soldono. He came to us. Now tell me what's happening."

"Same answer."

"Venable." Joe's words spat out hard and fast with bullet velocity. "I don't know what this is all about, but your man screwed up handling Montalvo. I don't like having Eve put on the spot to correct that screwup. I don't like it so much that if Soldono is still alive and kicking, I'm tempted to go down there and strangle the bastard. But Eve isn't like me. She's going to worry until she knows that Soldono is okay and that he reached Montalvo in time to stop him from executing a man. So you tell me what's happening, dammit."

Venable was silent a moment. "I don't know what's happening. I haven't heard from Soldono since he called me and told me that Eve had consented to deal with Montalvo. He was going to contact him immediately after he hung up and check back with me."

"He didn't call?"

"He didn't call. I've been trying to reach him all night."

"Shit."

"I've sent a man to Montalvo's compound to try to check on Soldono, but I won't chance losing another man unless I'm sure Soldono is in danger."

"You ran a risk for that mole in Montalvo's camp."

"Gonzales was valuable. Most of Montalvo's men are loyal to him and the chances of getting another informant in his camp are practically nil. We have to know what he's doing."

"Why? A two-bit weapons dealer?"

"There's nothing two-bit about Montalvo. You didn't check deep enough. He's the big man to go to for weapons in South America. He supplies drug dealers, rebels, militias, anyone with the money to pay. If we can't stop him, we need to know where those weapons are going."

"And Gonzales was telling you."

"Until Montalvo caught him last week. He contacted Soldono and invited him to the compound for a discussion. You know the rest."

"A screwup."

"If it was, I have to bear the brunt of the blame. I told Soldono to stall, to find a way that wouldn't involve pushing an American citizen into jeopardy." He paused. "Actually, I was surprised that Montalvo thought Gonzales's life or death would even matter to her."

"It would matter. When you work with death as much as Eve does, life takes on a very special value. But it worries the hell out of me that Montalvo would realize that about her. You wouldn't think he'd--I want to know more about Montalvo."

"He's smart, he's deadly, and not always predictable. I don't have time to fill you in on anything else about him right now. As you can see, I have a problem. I'll phone you when I find out anything about Soldono." He hung up.

Joe slowly pressed the disconnect. His uneasiness was growing. Montalvo's insight into Eve's character was chilling. No threats to her family, she had said. Nothing that would trigger instant antagonism. But he'd still played on the sensitivity that was Eve's core.

He rose to his feet and went into the house. Eve was totally absorbed, her fingers flying over the features of her reconstruction. She didn't look up as he came into the room. She had forgotten everything but her Marty and the task of bringing him home.

For once he was grateful for that single-minded dedication that was a key quality of Eve's. She wouldn't even realize that time was passing if Venable didn't get back to him right away.

Eve carefully set the brown glass eyes into the sockets of the reconstruction and took a step back. It was the best she could do. She only hoped it would be good enough. "What about it, Marty?" she whispered. "You were a very handsome little boy, you know. Lord, I hope you have a safe haven somewhere now. I'll do the computer work and then we'll see if we can bring you home."

"Finished?"

She turned to see Joe sitting on the couch. She nodded and reached for the towel to wipe her hands. "Finished. It took a long time. It wasn't coming." She arched her back to ease the ache. "It's almost dark."

"It was dark an hour ago."

"Oh." She shook her head to clear it. It was always like this after she'd finished a reconstruction. Exhaustion, disorientation, and sadness. "Longer than I thought."

But the world was coming back to her now. "Did you get through to Soldono? No, that's right, you were calling Venable."

"Venable hasn't called me back yet. He doesn't know anything about why Soldono isn't answering his phone. Why don't you take a shower? I'll put a pizza in the oven and we'll--" Joe's cell phone rang. "Quinn." He listened for a moment. "Okay, call you back."

"Something wrong?" Eve asked.

"I don't know. Venable got an anonymous message on his voice mail."

"What's that to do with us?"

"It was only two words. 'Duncan. Porch.' "

Her gaze flew to the screen door. "Porch." She was across the room in a heartbeat.

Joe beat her to the door. "Get the hell away from there." His shove was not gentle. He opened the window to the right of the door, jerked the slender flashlight out of his pocket, and shone the beam out onto the shadowy porch. "Nothing. No one." He swung over the windowsill onto the porch and crouched low. The beam played over every inch of the porch. A moment later he straightened. "No one's here."

"False alarm?"

"I didn't say that." The beam of his flashlight was focused over a rectangular Styrofoam box before the front door. "But at least the delivery boy is gone."

Eve jerked open the door and looked down at the box. Jesus, she was shaking. "What is it?"

"No wires. That doesn't mean that it's not explosive."