Quicksand (9 page)

Too damn many ifs.

IT WAS QUINN STANDING
across the little clearing, Kistle realized. Quinn was in the shadow of the huge sweet gum tree. As soon as Kistle saw him, he was gone, vanished.

He had thought Joe Quinn would be coming after him, and he was glad that he hadn't been disappointed. Quinn knew what he was doing in the forest and would be an interesting challenge.

He could no longer see him and Quinn was making no sound. Silence and stealth. Kistle would have to be very careful. He knew Joe Quinn's background and respected it. It was good that he was going to be challenged by the best of the best. These other yokels would be a piece of cake and bore him in no time. But Quinn would not bore him.

And neither would the hunter who'd crossed his path earlier in the evening. He'd been bigger, more muscular, but just as silent. Kistle had barely caught a glimpse of him, but he'd had the same phantom elusiveness as Quinn.

A tracker they'd brought in to find him?

Possible. At any rate, someone to keep Kistle interested . . . until he chose to kill him. Should he go after Quinn now? Excitement tingled through him at the thought. What a magnificently effective blow that would be to Eve. But devastation should be paced, build, until the final eruption.

He sighed as he reluctantly prepared to leave. No, he'd move away from the danger that was Joe Quinn and keep to his original plan.

What are you doing tonight, Eve? Are you waiting for me? You won't wait for long. I won't let you. You'll have to come after me yourself.

And then I'll wait for you.

"YOU'RE JANE? I'M LUIS
Montalvo." Montalvo smiled as she opened the door. "Of course you're Jane. Miguel told me how beautiful you are. He's very disappointed that you won't let him sweep you off your feet."

"He'll recover. I think you're the only one he takes seriously." She stepped aside to let him enter. "Eve will be right out. Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Please. Black." He sat down on the couch. "Where is Quinn?"

"He'll be here. He was at the forest all night." She handed him the cup. "You were there too, weren't you? I'm surprised you didn't run into each other."

"It's a big area." His gaze went to the reconstruction on the desk. "Another child?"

"Yes. Eve calls her Carrie. She couldn't bear not to try to finish her if she got the chance." He nodded thoughtfully. "I can see it. Food for the soul."

"What?"

"It keeps her going. Perhaps subconsciously she thinks of each child as a stepstone to get to her Bonnie. If she does enough good works, then someday she'll be rewarded by finding her daughter."

Oh, yes, Jane could see how Eve could have been drawn to Montalvo. Those high cheekbones and dark eyes were totally arresting and he radiated confidence and vitality. Looks, charisma, and what was more dangerous, intelligence.

"I never thought of it quite like that," she said slowly. "I think it's probably much simpler. She's a good woman trying to save others from pain."

He nodded. "You could be right. I have a tendency to overanalyze at times. Particularly when I need to know how someone is going to react. It's important to me to know how Eve thinks." He lifted his cup to his lips. "I bought a painting of yours a month ago." Her brows lifted. "Why? You don't have to know how I think."

"I found it fascinating. I went to the gallery because I was curious about Eve's daughter and found myself caught."

"Which painting?"

"It's one of Quinn's lake cottage. Very serene. I tried to buy another one, but they told me it wasn't for sale. It was the portrait of a man. You titled it
Guilty
. There was a world of torment in that face. Guilty of what, Jane?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "He doesn't exist. I just started sketching his face one night. It wouldn't leave me alone, so I thought if I did a portrait it would be a catharsis. It didn't work. I still paint him."

"Interesting. Perhaps it's not a person; it's the face of guilt."

"It could be true. We all have reason to be guilty in some area." She met his gaze. "But some of us aren't tormented by it."

He chuckled. "You're talking about me. You're right, I've developed a thick skin over the years. But I don't believe you're talking about my past. You're more personally involved."

"Very personally. I love Joe. Eve has a right to do what she wants to do. I'll back her all the way. But don't you make trouble for her."

His smile faded. "That's the last thing I want to do. I want her to be happy and at peace. I'm the one who can do that for her, Jane."

He was almost making her believe it. She shook her head. "She's happy with Joe."

"Is she?" He finished his coffee and set the cup on the coffee table. "There are degrees of happiness, just as there are degrees of guilt. As you said, Eve should do what she wants." And he would do everything he could to make sure what Eve wanted was what he wanted, Jane thought. Persuasive as Satan, and yet she believed he meant every word he said. What a lethal combination.

He shook his head as he studied her expression. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I only want to give her what she—"

"Hello, Montalvo," Eve said as she opened the door. "I've just been on the phone with Joe. He'll be right down."

"Oh, that's right. Miguel told me he had another room." Montalvo rose to his feet. "Very wise. He doesn't need distractions." He smiled. "Hello, Eve. I've been getting to know your Jane. I feel as if I've run a gauntlet. She's very like you."

"I take that as a compliment."

Eve was tense, but Jane could sense the odd familiarity that was almost a bond between her and Montalvo.

He knows me
, Eve had said.

Yes, he did, and that would be the most dangerous weapon Montalvo had in his possession.

"Would you like coffee, Eve? Or how about orange juice? It's pretty—" Jane's cell phone rang and she took it out of her pocket and checked the ID. "It's my agent, Eve. I can have him call back."

"No, go take the call. I'm not letting you put your life on hold for me." She went to the sideboard and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Shoo."

Jane hesitated. She was probably being idiotically protective. Eve wouldn't accept hovering from anyone. She punched the button on her phone as she headed for her bedroom. "If you need me, give a shout."

"IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU, EVE,"
Montalvo said quietly. "They say anticipation makes pleasure more intense. I could do without the anticipation. I don't like doing without you."

"You never had me." She stared at him over the rim of the cup as she lifted it to her lips. She had hoped that when she saw him again he'd be less than she remembered him. He was the same Montalvo, dark eyes that gazed out at the world with intelligence and boldness, dark hair, full well-shaped lips, and a strength and vibrance that was like a living force. "I told you that I didn't want you involved in this, Montalvo. I want you out of my life."

"I'm not interfering. I felt duty-bound to have Miguel guard you, otherwise I've stayed in the background. Have I approached you?" He smiled. "After all, Quinn invited me here."

"Because you have information we need. Do you think I don't know Joe wouldn't have—" There was a knock on the door. "That must be Joe." She set down her cup and moved toward the door.

"What a polite knock," Montalvo murmured. "I approve." Dammit, he was enjoying the fact that Joe wasn't staying with her. She threw open the door.

"Did Jane forget to give you your key?" She took her own key from the chest by the door and handed it to him. "Montalvo's already here."

"So I see." Joe came into the room and shut the door. "Let's get to it."

"Certainly." He opened the portfolio he'd placed on the coffee table. "First, tell me what you've found out, Quinn."

"Not much. I was able to trace him by a credit card slip he used at the local Wal-Mart. I was surprised he hadn't changed his name when he left Detroit."

"He wasn't under suspicion there and had no reason to change it. He had no idea we were after him." Montalvo spread documents and photos on the coffee table. "My investigator was able to gather quite a bit of information, but there's still a lot we don't know." He tapped a photograph. "This is the latest photo we have of Henry Kistle, Eve. It was taken two years ago at a barbecue given by his employer, Chad Pelham."

The photo was of a man sitting in a striped lounge chair holding a can of Budweiser. He was fortyish, well built, with large brown eyes and a thick shock of gray-brown hair. He was smiling into the camera. It seemed impossible to Eve that this was the man who had called her and spat out that poison.

"His employer?" Joe said. "What work did Kistle do?"

"He was a personal trainer. Pelham owned a gym and Kistle worked for him for over a year. His coworkers said that Kistle was very popular with the ladies. But there was no hint of indiscreet conduct with any of them. Then Pelham decided to cut Kistle's commission, but he didn't give him an argument. Two weeks later Kistle said he had another job, resigned, and took off." He pulled a newspaper clipping out of the pile. "Pelham died in a car accident six weeks later. The brakes on his car failed him. No sign of tampering." Montalvo shrugged.

"But then, the authorities weren't suspecting that he'd been murdered."

"How do you know he was?" Eve asked.

"Kistle doesn't like authority. He tolerates it because a loner is always suspect and it would interfere with his main goal."

"And what is that?"

Montalvo drew out three pictures and spread them out on the report. "Three children were reported missing in the year Kistle worked for Pelham. He didn't dirty his own backyard. The kids all lived in surrounding towns."

"They were killed?"

"They're still missing. No bodies. Evidently Kistle is clever and very careful. No bodies, no evidence."

Eve slowly picked up the photo on the top. The little girl was nine or ten, with blond hair in a ponytail. She was laughing into the camera.

Do you know how many pretty little girls I've killed since your Bonnie?

"Eve," Joe said quietly.

"It's okay." She dropped the photo back on the coffee table. "Go on, Montalvo."

"Kistle dropped out of sight for those two years. My bet is that he just settled somewhere else for a while and used fake ID. Only God knows how many killings he committed during those two years. Then, when he thought enough time had passed, he went back to Detroit and used the Henry Kistle name again."

"And why did he leave Detroit for Bloomburg?"

He threw another photo down. "Kevin Jacobs. He didn't show up from school one day. He lived in a suburb and again there was no body found. But he was a cute little kid and the media had a circus. Kistle probably felt safer exiting the scene again."

"God," Eve whispered.

"He probably gets fake ID every time he's forced to leave a town," Joe said. Montalvo shrugged. "And he's been doing this for years. He's probably an expert at forging documents. I told you, he's very clever."

"And how do you know that?" Eve asked. "It wasn't clever of him to call me and run the risk I'd act fast enough to catch him."

"Maybe he didn't intend to talk to you until he heard your name. Then he couldn't resist." He gazed down at the photo of Kistle. "And he evidently likes to take chances. Not with the child killings. He probably realizes how crimes against children arouse the public and he's extremely careful with them. It's part of the joke he has on the world. As long as there are no bodies found, there's no crime and he can go on doing what he wants to do. But he didn't have to go back and kill his former boss, Pelham. It was petty. Why take the chance?"

"Revenge," Joe said. "And it made him feel superior."

"Good guess."

"It goes along with the profile on serial killers. In most cases it's all about power. Even the sexual abuse is a power play."

"Then Kistle follows the profile," Montalvo said. "He has to be best."

"You seem certain," Eve said. "You can't know what he thinks from these cases you told me about."

"No, there's something else." Joe's gaze was narrowed on Montalvo's face. "What?"

"I had my investigator go back to Murdock, the man who first tipped him that Kistle had told him that he'd killed Bonnie Duncan. He spent three days going over every detail of the time Murdock had spent with Kistle. He came up with a tiny bit of information. Kistle liked to go hunting. He boasted that he'd been dropped into a jungle and survived six months. What does that sound like to you, Quinn?"

"SEALS or Rangers."

"He was in the Rangers. My investigators spent a week trying to get permission to go through records and ended up using bribery. They had a photograph, or they would never had identified him. He was nineteen when he joined the Army under the name of Tim Hathaway. He later qualified for training to be a Ranger."

"That requires a hell of a lot of discipline," Joe said. "And if he made it, then his instability must have occurred later. Acceptance of discipline isn't in his profile."

"No, he was as sick then as he is now. He was just able to become what his officers wanted him to become. He showed that same talent later. He wanted that training and he would have done anything to get it."

"You mean he wanted to learn how to kill in the most efficient way possible," Eve said.

"And he liked proving he could survive when no one else could. He was superb during the survival tests in the jungle. He was strong and smart and never quit. His reports were glowing when he went on missions. He was polite and obedient and lethal. What else could the Army want?"

"He made it through his hitch?" Joe asked.

Montalvo nodded. "Honorably discharged." His lips twisted. "But curiously enough, three weeks later an Apache helicopter blew up carrying his commanding officer and two of the men Kistle served with. No evidence of anything but an accident, of course. Kistle was an expert by that time. I'd judge that he was releasing some pent-up malice. Maybe one of them was a little too good. As I said, Kistle had to be best."