“So we look for the money.”

He shook his head. “Venable can look for the money. We just take care of Jane.”

“I don’t care about the damn money,” Jane said. Jock’s summary of Millet’s background had not yielded anything of value except that he was a sadistic monster, and she already knew that. She felt helpless, frustrated. “I don’t know enough about him. I don’t even know what he looks like. I didn’t pay any attention to him in that taxi.”

“I can help there,” Jock said as he took his phone out of his pocket. “I took shots of all the Sang Noir while I was hobnobbing.” He flipped through the photos and handed her the phone.

Millet appeared to be in his thirties, with thick brown hair, a hook nose, and a burly neck. Not handsome but not a terrible-looking man, she thought, sick. He didn’t look like a monster who would crucify-

She quickly handed the phone back to Jock. “At least I’ll recognize him if I see him.” She tried to search through her memory for anything else that might help. Dammit, her contact with Folard and Millet had been only a few minutes. How could she-

A thought occurred to her.

“How did those members of the Sang Noir speak? What kind of phrases did they use?” Jane asked suddenly. “Were they religious?”

Jock’s brows rose. “Not unless they kept it very private. They weren’t the churchgoing types. Priests very seldom give absolution for cold-blooded murder.” He gazed at her inquiringly. “Why?”

“That man Folard… When I was on the phone with him.” Her forehead knitted. “He was accusing me of all kinds of things. Whore. Bitch. I didn’t think much of it. Obscene callers usually use terms like those. But he called me Blasphemer. That wasn’t the same. The word sounds almost biblical. It means sacrilege, doesn’t it?”

“Or wickedness, profanity…” MacDuff said. “But it does sound a bit odd.”

She was remembering something else. “And when he attacked me, he said something about the angels of paradise having to forgive him for his impatience.”

“If he was on the side of the angels, it must be one hell of a weird heaven,” MacDuff said dryly.

“But it sounds as if he believed he was doing something he thought was right.” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know why I’m trying to take his motives apart. He had to be crazy to have done that horrible thing to Celine. What difference does it make if he thought all the angels in heaven would cheer if he crucified me as he did Celine?”

“It might make a difference. It’s certainly unusual.”

“But knowing it’s unusual and being able to decipher it are two separate things. Which leaves me as much in the dark as when I started.” She got to her feet. “I can’t think right now. I’m going to take a shower and call Eve, then go to bed.”

“Call Eve?” MacDuff said. “You’re going to tell her? It will only make her concerned. I’ve arranged to keep your name out of the media.”

“Joe’s a cop. We can’t be sure he wouldn’t stumble on it somehow. I can’t take a chance they’ll find out and be worried.” But she’d probably try to downplay the threat to herself. Though how to do that was a mystery. Eve was too sharp and would see through her. “And that police inspector said it would be okay if I left here tomorrow. I’m going to be on a plane by tomorrow night.”

“You’re going back to Atlanta?” MacDuff asked. “To visit your Eve and Joe?”

The lake cottage. Joe. Eve. It all beckoned with irresistible allure. “Yes, for a little while.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

Celine pinned to the door, her face contorted with pain.

Her hands closed into fists. “Damn you. No, it’s not wise. It’s not safe for me to be around anyone until I find out what’s going on. I’ll go to my apartment in New York instead.”

“You could come home with me,” MacDuff said. “You like it at the Run.”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” Jock asked. “MacDuff will take care of you. I’ll be there, too, if you’ll have me. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

“I don’t want MacDuff to take-” She broke off. Jock would never really understand. He was accustomed to the Laird caring for him, his family, and half the county. He had changed, become much more independent, but old ways died hard. “I’m going back to the U.S.” She started for the bedroom. “And, please, stay away from Venable, Jock. Don’t let him talk you into doing anything like this again.”

He didn’t answer, and she glanced back over her shoulder.

He smiled, that beautiful, gentle smile that had first drawn her to him when he was a boy scarcely out of his teens. “Things aren’t good for you, Jane. I have to make them better.”

She shook her head helplessly. In his way, he was an implacable force on the same scale as MacDuff. “Good night.”

She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her.

“YOU HAVE TO MAKE SURE that she goes to the Run,” Jock said, as the door closed behind Jane. “We can protect her there.”

“I have to do it,” MacDuff repeated. “You’re the one Jane’s always tried to care for. You persuade her.”

“But you wouldn’t like it,” Jock said. “You always have to run things. It’s your nature. It would bother you.” He smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t want to bother the Laird. It’s not my place.”

“You bastard,” MacDuff said. “It wasn’t your place to pull us all into this mire, either.”

“No, it was my duty.” Jock’s smile faded. “I think a lot about duty these days. It gives me a kind of structure to hold on to. I have a duty to you, a duty to my friends, and a duty to my country.”

And Jock needs structure after all he went through, MacDuff thought. “Duty is a hell of a reason to hit one of Venable’s targets for him.”

“It’s as good a reason as any.” He looked back at the door. “It was all about Jane. Try to take her home with you.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll be hovering over her and doing God knows what.”

“Yes,” Jock said. “And so will you. Neither of us wants to see Jane nailed to a door like that poor woman.”

MacDuff was silent a moment. “This Jack Millet who’s head of the Sang Noir. You said that you only knew what Venable had told you about him. But you were with the group long enough to take a measure of the man. What was your impression?”

“Ugly,” Jock said. “He’s smart. Or maybe cunning is the word. He’s definitely into power. He handpicked the men in the group, and he keeps them under his thumb. They’re afraid to step out of line.” He nodded. “And dirty. You can’t imagine how dirty. Or maybe you can after what I told you about that kid in the brothel. And a little crazy. You can tell, he burns with it. We have to keep that filth from touching Jane.” He turned away. “Now I’m going outside and take a stroll around and make sure that the area is secure.”

“It’s not necessary. The police will probably still be outside.”

“I know. But I can’t trust them.” He got on the elevator. “Duty…”

Even MacDuff couldn’t understand why he was being so over-careful, Jock thought, as the elevator doors closed. The Laird knew him better than anyone in the world, but he hadn’t been in that room years ago when Jane had risked her life to pull him out of almost catatonic darkness into the light. Thomas Reilly had kidnapped and brainwashed him to become the assassin he could use to do his killings. When he had broken free, the posthypnotic suicide suggestion had kicked in and almost destroyed him. He had disobeyed and, therefore, had to put an end to himself. Jane had not been able to fight the suggestion with sympathy and understanding, so she had circled and gone at it with an aggression that could have been fatal.

At that moment, he’d been swirling down, locked in silence, trying to fight against that bastard Reilly’s mental conditioning, but he’d probably never been more volatile or lethal. Before Jane had left the room that night his hands had tightened on her throat, and he’d come close to choking her before he’d realized what he was doing. She’d had to cover her neck for days to hide the bruises so that no one could see what he’d done to her.