Quicksand (4 page)

"Good-bye, baby," she whispered. "Come back soon."

Even if it meant dire warnings about a madman and a lethal woman with a box. She didn't care if Bonnie's visits were the outpouring of the mental ramblings of her own mind. She would cling with all her strength to these moments, since she could no longer cling to Bonnie. She turned and started back up the path. "Come on, Toby." She whistled for the retriever.

"Let's go back and see if Jane's heard anything."

JANE HANDED HER A POST-IT
note when she walked into the cottage. "Luis Montalvo." Eve stiffened. "What?"

"I said that he could call you on your cell phone, but he said after consideration it was better that he leave you a message. He wants to talk to you." She paused. "But only if you want to talk to him. He said to tell you he's going to be boarding a plane for Bloomburg in the next thirty minutes."

"Bloomburg," Eve repeated. "Dammit, of course I want to talk to him. He leaves a message like that and he wouldn't expect me to do anything else. Crafty bastard."

"He sounded very . . . sincere."

"Oh, Montalvo is very sincere." She started to dial the number. "When it suits him. You just have to be careful what he's sincere about. He never gives up. It can be anything from attacking a drug king's stronghold to stealing a skull from a grave." His phone was ringing. Answer me. Don't you dare leave me hanging. He finally picked up. "What the hell do you know about Bloomburg, Montalvo?"

"Hello to you too, Eve," Montalvo said quietly. "I'm glad you called."

"You knew I would."

"Only if you were aware of what was going on in Bloomburg. There was a possibility that Quinn might not have told you that he'd located Kistle. He's very protective of you." He paused. "But he did tell you?"

She ignored the question. "The deputy said that they would be catching Kistle soon. Why are you going?"

"Why is Quinn going? He is on his way, isn't he?"

"Yes. But how do you know he isn't there already?"

"Miguel would have told me."

"Miguel's in Bloomburg? Is he all right? How are his hands?"

"Not good. He's going to have to have at least one more operation. But I couldn't keep him from going when we found out Kistle had surfaced. He likes you, Eve." And she liked Miguel. The young man was a law unto himself and she'd had problems with his complete devotion to Montalvo, but no one could help liking him. "You should have told him to stay in that hospital."

"Tell him yourself . . . when you get to Bloomburg." He paused. "You are going, aren't you?"

"Yes. But you didn't answer me. Why are you going when the sheriff's department is sure he's going to be caught anytime now?"

"My life hasn't given me much faith in anyone but myself. And I've been unearthing some additional information lately about Kistle that's made me uneasy."

Her hand tightened on the phone. "What information?"

"I have to board my plane. We'll get together in Bloomburg."

"I don't want to get together with you. I want to know now."

"But Quinn probably uncovered the same facts and shared them with you." He added, "Just as he told you about Bloomburg."

"Damn you."

"I'll see you soon. I did want to tell you I'm calling Venable with the CIA and asking him to get the FBI on site in Bloomburg. Kistle has been crossing state lines for years and even a suspicion that he's a child murderer should give them an excuse to intervene."

"It won't be easy. There's no evidence yet."

"I can bargain with Venable. I'm a storehouse of information about the underbelly of crime in Colombia. And he owes you, Eve. That should be enough for him to be very persuasive with the FBI."

"Why are you so determined to get the FBI involved?"

"I want all the help I can get. The best, most experienced help."

"You really don't believe the sheriff's men are going to get Kistle, do you?"

"I hope they do. I have to go now. I'll see you in Bloomburg." He paused and then said softly,

"I would have told you, Eve. It's your right. I would have taken you with me. I'd take you with me now if you'd come."

"Good-bye, Montalvo." She hung up.

It had been months since she'd seen Montalvo and yet it seemed like only yesterday. Their time together in Colombia had been fraught with danger that had bred a closeness that had dominated her life for that short period. The intimacy that had grown between them while she was working on his wife's skull had been too strong, too sensual, and she'd shut him out of her life.

"My God." Jane's gaze was on her face. "No wonder Joe doesn't like Montalvo." Eve was jerked back to the present. She should have been more guarded. She hadn't wanted Jane to be aware of the fallout from that reconstruction she had done for Montalvo. "That's putting it mildly."

"Did you have an affair with him?"

Eve felt a ripple of shock. She wanted to back away, change the subject, but she wasn't going to lie to Jane. "No, it wasn't like that."

"It might have been better if it had been. He disturbs the hell out of you." She couldn't deny that either. "I love Joe. Joe is smart and sexy and we . . . mesh. We complete each other. I know how lucky I am. He's everything I want." She moistened her lips.

"Montalvo is just . . ." How could she explain it to Jane when she had trouble understanding it herself? "He
knows
me. Maybe it's because he went through the same pain with his wife that I did with Bonnie. Maybe it's just that there are some people who are instinctively in tune. He said we were mirror images of each other."

"And do you believe it?"

"Sometimes. We shared pain and obsession. No one can actually understand how that feels unless they've been there."

"Joe said Montalvo plays you like a song."

"He tries. And he's good at it." She stared Jane in the eye. "That's why I told him that I didn't want his help finding Bonnie's killer. We made a deal when I did his wife's reconstruction, but now that he's given us a lead, Joe and I can find Kistle by ourselves. I value the life I have with Joe and I won't have it turned upside down."

"You sound determined."

"I couldn't be more determined. As long as Joe wants me, I'll never leave him."

"He'll always want you."

"I hope so. He's put up with a lot from me over the years. Sometimes I think he's getting a little tired."

"People don't get tired of you, Eve. Joe wouldn't. I wouldn't. Now stop talking nonsense." Jane reached out and touched Eve's cheek. "But if I can help you work it out, let me know."

"There's nothing to work out. That's not what this is about. It's about Kistle . . . and Bonnie." She turned toward her bedroom. "I'm going to pack. Will you call and make me a reservation to Bloomburg?"

"Two reservations," Jane corrected. "I'm going with you."

"You said you had to start the work for your next show."

"I can paint anywhere. Do you really believe I'd let you go after that son of a bitch without having me in your corner?"

She smiled. "I guess not. Whatever was I thinking? By all means, come along. It seems as if my entire world is flocking to Bloomburg."

"Right, I'll pack a bag. We can drop Toby off at my friend Patty's, so she can take care of him while we're gone."

"Let's hope that won't be long." She closed the bedroom door. It would be good to have Jane with her. They were so much alike in spirit and background that they might well have been mother and daughter. Jane had appeared years after she had lost Bonnie, and her presence had warmed and enriched her. Jane always insisted that she wasn't hurt that Bonnie dominated Eve's life. She said that friendship was enough. Maybe it was, when the friendship was this close. Daughter or friend, Eve had been lucky to have Jane come into her life. And to have Joe come into her life and choose to stay.

She reached for her phone and dialed Joe again.

Still no answer. The phone was still turned off. Surely the plane must have landed by now.
He's not even going to be able to take a breath before he's pulled down into the quicksand.
She felt a chill go through her as she remembered Bonnie's words.

She moved over to the closet and pulled out her duffel. Pack and then call Joe again. Dammit, answer me this time, Joe.

Quicksand . . .

QUICKSAND.

Kistle could feel his muscles strain as he pulled himself hand over hand through the trees twenty feet above the bog. Most quicksand wasn't as dangerous as most people thought, but it could slow you down.

And it made an excellent trap.

He'd left a few scraps of his shirt material on the branches of the path leading here as bait. Then he'd covered the first few yards of the bog with branches. Everything was working out splendidly. The sheriff's men had split up and were scouring the entire forest and he hadn't had to isolate them individually. Two of the pricks were heading this way now, trotting like cattle to the slaughter.

"Come on," he whispered as he settled in the crook of a tree and lifted his rifle, checking the silencer and the scope. "Just a little farther. Come and get me." A minute later a man burst from the shrubbery at a run. The next instant he was followed by a second man. They were three yards from the camouflaged bog.

A few more steps.

He took aim three feet ahead of them.

Into the quicksand!

He didn't wait to watch them flounder helplessly as they sank.

Two shots.

One bullet in the head of the first officer. The other in the throat of the second man . . . He was already moving toward them as they fell. He grabbed the two men by the shirts and dragged them out of the bog, dripping with mud and sand. They had been nothing, no challenge at all. Just as he'd thought. Cattle to the slaughterhouse.

He could feel the excitement tingling through him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the messages he'd scrawled on scraps of paper he'd ripped from his notebook. It was starting.

"DETECTIVE QUINN?"

Joe looked around to see a uniformed officer coming toward him across the terminal. "Yes."

"Deputy Charlie Dodsworth." He shook his head wearily. "No, that's not right. They've made me acting sheriff until the next election. I talked to an Eve Duncan at your phone number and she told me—"

"Eve? You called Eve? I told Sheriff Jedroth to call me on my cell phone. Why the hell—"

"I didn't call her. She called me," the deputy interrupted. "The sheriff is dead and Kistle had his phone and contacted her." He turned toward the exit. "I'll give you a ride into town. I have some questions to ask you."

"Jedroth's dead? How did—"

"Not now." Dodsworth waved his hand to stop the flow of words. "I've got to have my questions answered first. You'll have your turn. I've had one hell of a night. I lost my friend. And we lost that damned child killer in the woods. Now I've got to find a way to catch the bastard. What you know, I have to know." He went ahead of Joe through the door and out into the parking lot.

Joe hesitated and then followed Dodsworth toward the patrol car. It was clear all hell had broken loose since he had talked to Jedroth earlier tonight. Kistle had called Eve. My God, it was the last thing Joe had wanted to happen. He should call her and ask what that—

"Detective?" Dodsworth had opened the passenger door. "I want to get this over with quick. I have to go and see Maggie Jedroth and try to explain why her husband died tonight." How many times had Joe had to break that news? Whether in a big-city precinct or a sheriff's office in a little town, the life of a cop still sucked sometimes. "Fifteen minutes. Ask your questions. Then I have to ask a few of my own and make a phone call."

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING
about Kistle's background," Joe said impatiently. "I told you, I traced him by his cell phone he bought in Detroit. If I knew any of his friends or family, I'd be on my way to see them, since you lost the bastard."

"We'll get him back. Why did Kistle call Eve Duncan?"

"My number was the last number on the sheriff's phone."

"But he talked to her. She said he was taunting her, telling her he could never be caught."

"How could I know anything about that? When I call her, I'll ask what he said." And he needed to make that call right now. Find a way to skip over the unessential questions and give the sheriff a quick summary. "Look, the reason that we're after Kistle isn't only that he may be a child killer. He could have killed Eve Duncan's child, Bonnie. That makes it very personal. If he did call to taunt Eve, it may mean that he's the one we're searching for."

"It wasn't hard to figure out that it was personal after we read the report on you. You may be in luck," Dodsworth said. "Because we're not going to let him slip away from us." He parked in front of the sheriff's office. "Now come inside and sign a statement and we'll—"

"No way. I'll do it later. I told you that—"

The deputy's radio blared out. "Charlie. Where are you, Charlie?"

"Dodsworth," he answered. "Have you got him, Pete?"

"No. God, Charlie. It's bad here. You gotta come and—"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Bill Parks and Lenny Brewster. They're dead, Charlie. Shot."

"Kistle?"

"I guess so. You gotta come and see them."

"I'm on my way." Dodsworth was backing out of the parking space. "I should be there in ten minutes."

"Where are we going?" Joe asked.

"Clayborne Forest." Dodsworth pressed the accelerator and put on the siren. "That was Pete Shaw, a deputy, on the radio. Parks and Brewster were in the posse tracking down Kistle."
THE PATROL CAR WAS MET
at the edge of the forest by a lanky young deputy whose face was pale enough to show the freckles scattered on his thin cheeks. "They're dead, Charlie. I was talking to them ten minutes before we found them. We split up, but there were two of them and—"

"Take it easy, Pete." Dodsworth got out of the car. "You did the right thing. Where are they?"

"Still at the bog. I called the medical examiner and told him to come take a look."