Eight Days to Live (12 page)

He stumbled forward. He was vaguely aware of the two priests who were coming toward him
.

Let me not scream. Let me not bring shame to my family
.

But the tears would not stop
.

As he was lifted on the altar, he saw the mosaic visage on the wall facing him
.

Burning dark eyes, a dark beard, and an expression of agonized torment
.

Help me, forgive me. His gaze clung to the mosaic face on the wall. Let me die well
.

But then he could no longer see the face on the wall as the priest stepped toward him with the knife raised
.

He screamed!

JANE JERKED UPRIGHT IN BED
, tears running down her cheeks.

She was panting as she swung her legs to the floor.

Just a dream. No, a nightmare.

She moved toward the bathroom and threw water on her face.

She was shaking. The dream had been too real, like the ones she’d had years ago. Like the ones she’d had while she was painting
Guilt
. But those dreams had not been about sacrifice and the killing of small children. There had been danger and pursuit and overpowering sadness but not this horror.

Dammit, how long was she to be plagued with these periods when her dreams seemed more real than life itself?

Get over it.

It was natural that she’d been followed into sleep by nightmares. The last days had been horrible enough to spawn a thousand nightmares.

And there was no question that the mosaic face on the wall had been the face in her painting
Guilt
.

She had been obsessing about the painting, and it shouldn’t surprise her that it had popped up in a dream.

But not in that way, not seen through the eyes of an innocent child about to be killed.

But Celine and her sister had been innocent also. There had been no reason to take their lives. Jane could have made some kind of weird connection . . .

Don’t think about it. She could analyze her reasons all night and not come up with anything that would mean a damn. Go back to bed and try to get back to sleep.

Not yet. She’d sit down in that chair and try to pull herself together.
There would be no going to sleep while that dream was so vivid in her mind. That poor little boy, Kalim, had been so afraid. He was still with her. She could feel his fear as if it were her own.

The last thing she wanted was to go back into that dream, to that altar, and look up and see
Guilt
.

“SHE’S GONE.” MILLET’S VOICE WAS
shaking with rage when Alan Roland picked up the phone. “Gavin dropped MacDuff off at the airport and drove off with her. The bastard slipped away from us.”

Shit.

“You’re telling me that you’ve lost her?” Roland asked. “How? You’ve been telling me how closely you’ve been having her shadowed.”

“I did. Monson’s usually a good man. But he said that Gavin was like one of those stunt movie drivers.”

“You don’t usually accept excuses.”

“I won’t this time either. Monson will be punished,” he said. “But this is your fault. She would have been dead if you hadn’t demanded we wait.”

“You agreed that it would be more fitting for her to die on April 1. Her transgression has to be treated with due ceremony. Besides, you’re not a man anyone can persuade into doing something against his wishes.” He added a little flattery to pacify him. “You’re too strong. Everyone knows that, Millet.”

“No one can beat me when I rely on myself. It’s only when I depend on fools and weaklings that I have problems.”

The fools and weaklings were aimed at him as well as Millet’s inefficient underlings, Roland knew. He felt a surge of anger that
he quickly subdued. Millet was only a tool even though he didn’t realize it. There would be enough time to rid himself of the bastard when he got what he wanted. He ignored the personal inference. “But you’ll punish Monson and can start out with a clean slate again.”

“When I find the woman. You have to help me. You’re the big man. You have contacts everywhere. I found out that Weismann double-crossed me and is working for the CIA. I’ve put out a kill order on the son of a bitch. He was the one who brought Gavin to us, and that means Gavin is CIA. You’ve got money to burn. Spend some of it bribing someone in the CIA to tell you where I can get Jock Gavin. If we find Gavin, we’ll find Jane MacGuire.”

“Good thinking. I’ll start trying to tap my sources and get back to you. Don’t worry, Millet. It shouldn’t take too long to get a line on her.”

Millet was silent a moment. “You’re treating me as if I were a child. All that soothing bullshit. You’re nothing without me, Roland. I’m the only one who can give you what you want. All that influence and money, and in the end you’re just another power-hungry son of a bitch without the right weapon to make it happen. I’m the weapon. Me. My men. The Sang Noir. Remember that.”

Roland hadn’t expected Millet to be that perceptive. He had known that Millet had the cunning of a wild animal but had thought that he would be easier to manipulate.

But that was before Jock Gavin and MacDuff had appeared on the scene to complicate matters. Jane MacGuire’s support group was becoming increasingly annoying. It was difficult enough keeping a schizo like Millet reined in and under control. But he could do it. The only goal Millet had in life was to keep the position he held as Guardian, with all its power and perks. If Roland could
deal with top CEOs and presidents, he could handle this fanatic little bastard. He said harshly, “Listen to me, Millet. You know what would happen if anyone but me knew how careless you were with Hadar’s Tablet. They’d tear you apart. What good is a Guardian if he can’t hold on to our most precious relic? I’m giving you a chance to save your ass and cement your position. The trade is still as good as when we made it. I give you an offering that will send your stock soaring with the members. You get that tablet back and let me keep it a few days to get it translated.”

“But you want your time with Jane MacGuire, too. She’s mine. You promised me. I don’t know if I want to let you have her first.”

Roland tried to retain his patience. “She must know something. She painted
Guilt
. It’s not as if it’s going to take that long to get the information. I’ll try drugs first. Later, I may ask you to use your expertise on her if I don’t get what I want.” He knew that prospect was pleasing the bastard. “I’m sure you’d succeed if I didn’t. You’d get everything you want. What I’m asking in return is nothing in comparison.”

“I don’t think anyone would say that billions of dollars is nothing.”

“A
chance
for billions. But you have to give me that chance. I need my time with Jane MacGuire. You can have her later. I’ve circulated that photo of
Guilt
among the members, and they’re salivating. They’ll forgive you anything if you can produce her at the Offering.” He paused. “I might even be persuaded to give you a share if you find her quickly enough.”

Millet was silent. “I don’t even know if you can find the damn place. I can’t be sure. You may be all talk.”

“You know that rumors have been circulating since the time of Hadar. It’s there. It
happened
. Jane MacGuire knows it did. Give me my time with her, and I’ll find it.” Time to use the whip. “Now
are you going to cooperate, or should I be prepared to ask to see the sacred tablet on the night of the Offering?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Will you cooperate?”

Millet didn’t speak for another moment, and Roland could almost feel his scalding anger. “Someday I’m going to cut your throat, Roland.”

“No chance. I always watch my back. Yes or no?”

“I’ll go along with you as long as it suits me,” he finally said grudgingly.

“It will suit you.” Time to shift away from intimidation. “Our partnership is very important to me, Millet. After all, you’re the Guardian of the Offering. I have the utmost respect for you.” Now throw the bastard a bone that would please his bloodthirsty soul. “I can understand how your Sang Noir feels cheated that they can’t have Jane MacGuire yet. But they may feel better if they take an important substitute. I’ve learned that Eve Duncan and Joe Quinn have left Georgia and have taken a flight to Edinburgh, Scotland. That probably means that they’ll be going to MacDuff’s Run. I’m sure the MacGuire woman would be heartbroken if anything happened to them.” He chuckled as a thought occurred to him. “And Eve Duncan works on skulls; I don’t doubt that you could concoct something appropriately shocking that has to do with her career. How long does it take to boil the flesh off a skull? Or, if you choose, you might even be able to use them as hostages.”

Millet was silent, thinking. “They were on our list to be next anyway. Yvette Denarve was only convenient.”

“Then you can occupy yourself with them while I try to find out where Jock Gavin took Jane MacGuire.”

“Yes.” His voice became harsh. “But that doesn’t let you off the
hook. You’re trying to distract me. I want to know where MacGuire is, then I’ll decide whether I’m going to wait any longer.”

“You’ll wait. Think how they’ll scream and praise you. She’s going to be an offering beyond belief.” Roland’s hand tightened on the phone. “You wouldn’t be forgiven if you waste her death, Millet. You’ll know where she is as soon as I do.”

“See that I do.” Millet hung up.

Dammit, the situation was escalating, Roland thought as he hung up. Jane MacGuire’s escape tonight had caused Millet to come dangerously close to throwing out the entire case Roland had built for waiting for the execution until April 1.

Screw him. He had to have his time with the MacGuire woman. Nothing was going to stand in his way.

“He’s becoming difficult.” Sheila Carmody smiled. “He’d be even more difficult if he knew how you’ve been screwing him. I’ve never seen anyone so clever at a double cross.”

He turned to look at her. Sheila was blond, naked, and with all the appropriate talents. None of them had anything to do with conversation. Usually she was more discreet in her comments. Not that he had any worry about her talking to anyone else. She was a member and knew what the punishment would be if she broke his confidence. That was why he made sure most of his bed partners were of the chosen. “I haven’t been screwing him.” Roland moved over her on the bed. “Yet. I’ve just been finessing the bastard. I’ve only been screwing you. Now close your mouth and open your legs. I’m about to do it again.”

Moments later, he was listening to her cries as he plunged deep and hard. This was power. Take and twist and make her come. Much better than Millet’s idea of sexual pleasure. You didn’t have to rip and tear to make a woman know she was helpless, and that you were the master.

But if Sheila showed other signs of curiosity, he might have to turn her over to Millet for schooling. He’d recently been stung by that bitch, Adah, who hadn’t known her place. He wasn’t about to have it happen again. But not now. Sheila was entertaining enough, and he was preoccupied with the problem of Jane MacGuire.

And he’d have to find Jane MacGuire if he was going to have a trade for the tablet. He had to hedge all his bets. Either MacGuire or the tablet had the potential to give him what he wanted.

He had to have both. He had to have it all.

He would find MacGuire first, get what he needed from her, then give her to Millet to play with before his frustration built too high. He’d researched her thoroughly and had an idea which way she’d jump.

A few more minutes with Shelia, and he’d get off her and reach for his phone . . .

Rome
Day Three
11:32
A.M
.

MARIO SEVELLI WAS A GOOD
enough prospect, Seth Caleb thought as he studied the squat dark man sitting at the outdoor café on the Via Rimaldi. He had not paid much attention to Sevelli when he’d been targeting another member of the Sang Noir several years ago. It had not been necessary to involve anyone else in the search. He had known who he needed to find and kill.

But he probably wouldn’t have to kill Sevelli. It should be a simple Q and A that might lead somewhere promising. After researching Ted Weismann, he doubted if he would have confided in anyone in the group. But he might have dropped a word, a hint, that Sevelli might or might not remember. If he came up zero,
then he’d just move on to someone else. There were at least three other members of the Sang Noir who could be possibilities.

But Sevelli was alone at the table and Caleb wouldn’t have any interruptions.

He moved across the street and through the crowded, noisy restaurant to Sevelli’s table.

“A beautiful day, isn’t it? May I sit down?” He smiled at Sevelli. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Sevelli stiffened as he glanced up at him.

Caleb kept his smile in place and made his tone ingratiating. “I’d consider it a great favor.”

The tension left Sevelli and he looked Caleb up and down. “I’m not having any. Buzz off, fag.”

“I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding me.” Caleb pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He gestured for the waiter, then gazed earnestly into Sevelli’s eyes. “But I’ll take care of that. We’re going to be the best of friends.”