She had a sudden memory of Bonnie’s face as she’d seen it earlier as they were driving here, drifting in the fog. Joe had thought that Eve might have imagined seeing the ghost of her daughter because of the stress she was under.

It wasn’t imagination. She had seen Bonnie, a spirit so sad that it had broken Eve’s heart. Such terrible sadness.

Why? Did Bonnie know what was going to happen and was sad for all of them. For what reason? The death of Jacobs?

Or the death of someone else, someone whose death Bonnie knew would hurt Eve? A chill went through her at the thought. Not Joe. Please God, not Joe. You’ve just given him a new lease on life. Not Catherine, who had hardly started to know the meaning of joy and had a son who needed her. Not Gallo, who had perhaps suffered more than all of them.

If this is the end, shouldn’t it be you and me, baby?

“Eve.” His eyes were on the road ahead of him, but Joe’s voice was soft but clear. “It’s going to be all right. We’re going to get through this together.”

She nodded jerkily. “I know, Joe.”

Together. Yes, they’d be together, but maybe not right away.

Eve could not forget the sadness in her daughter’s face.

Let it be me, Bonnie.

*   *   *

CATHERINE STOPPED AND stood still in the water as she saw the pale, fog-shrouded glow of headlights on the road leaving from the direction of the house.

Joe and Eve.

Smart.

They were betting that the man who had killed Jacobs had a car parked somewhere on that road bordering the bayou. It was reasonable that he’d be heading across the bayou in the direction where he’d left it.

She tried to pull up a mental picture of the curve of the road around the bayou. Gallo had said the terrain was shaped like a hook …

And Gallo had told her that they should go southwest.

And sent her west.

But the hook of land surrounding the bayou extended to the east. That would be where that car would be parked. Southeast. And Gallo was heading due south.

And would probably soon veer to the southeast.

Damn him.

Anger was seething through her. The son of a bitch was trying to protect her. Who the hell did he think he was? She was every bit as competent a professional as he. She should have slapped that damn macho tendency down as soon as it raised its head. Now it was getting in the way of her job.

And could get them both killed.

But not if she could help it.

She turned and headed southeast.

*   *   *

JACOBS’S KILLER WAS definitely heading southeast toward the hook of land bordering the bayou, Gallo thought.

He could hear him, and, if he got lucky, soon he might be able to see him.

The fog was lifting for a few seconds, hovering, then closing down again. All he’d need would be those few seconds to draw his knife and hurl it.

If he was close enough.

And he would be close enough.

He could feel the excitement and tension searing through him. Another hunt. But this was nothing like the hunt with Catherine. Even in the darkest hours of those days, he’d known that it was different from anything he’d ever experienced. There might have been lethal danger, but it had been coupled by challenge. This hunt was different. No beautiful, sleek panther who could turn and rend him in the flash of an eye.

This was only prey.

And the sounds of the prey were approaching closer to that far bank.

The fog lifted …

Gallo caught a swift glimpse of the shadowy bank, a gnarled cypress tree dipping its roots in the water, Spanish moss hanging from another tree near—

Near a gleam of metal. A car?

He couldn’t be sure. The fog had closed in again, dammit.

But that gleam of metal was a little too opportune. The bank had to be the prey’s destination.

He began to carefully, silently, swim toward it.

*   *   *

CATHERINE PULLED HERSELF from the water onto the bank. Now that she had a destination, she could move faster over ground. She should be somewhere near the road, and the car would probably not be parked on the road itself but hidden in the shrubbery.

She moved swiftly through the heavy palmettos and shrubbery that bordered the bank. Her sopping-wet clothes were clinging to her body, and the soles of her bare feet were being scratched, cut, and bruised with every step.

Pain.

Her feet were bleeding.

Ignore it. Block everything out. Concentrate on the job.

She had to find Jacobs’s killer before he got away.

Find the car. Wait for him to show.

But she had to be careful. She couldn’t kill the bastard even though it would be safer.

Eve still needed him. Eve still had to know about her Bonnie.…

*   *   *

EVE STRAIGHTENED IN HER seat. “I saw someone.”

Joe tensed. “Where?”

“He’s gone now. I only got a glimpse. This damn fog. Not close. Around that bend. I saw someone climbing out of the water onto the bank.”

“Gallo? Catherine?”

She shook her head. “He was thin, wearing a dark blue or black wet suit.”

“Around that bend?” Joe pulled to the side of the road. “Then we go the rest of the way on foot. We still have to use the lights, and we don’t want to scare him off.” He got out of the car. “I can do this alone, Eve.”

“No, you can’t.” She jammed her hand into the pocket of her Windbreaker and gripped her .38 revolver. A weapon to protect Joe as Joe had always protected her. Would it do any good? The more time that passed, the greater the cold dread that was icing through her.

She got out of the car and joined him as he strode into the brush bordering the bayou. “You said together, Joe.”

*   *   *

HE HAD HIM.

A man in a dark wet suit, tall, thin, moving quickly along the bank toward the gleam of metal that Gallo had identified as a vehicle.

Yes.

Gallo unsheathed his knife as he stood up in the shallow water near the bank.

Dammit.

The prey had disappeared as a fresh billow of fog descended.

No, there he was again. He was moving with a lithe jauntiness as if he had all the time in the world.

You don’t have any time at all, bastard.

Bring him down permanently or just wound him? Gallo thought as he raised the knife and lined up the target. It would depend on how long he had before the fog settled down once—

Oh, my God.

No!

His hand holding the knife fell nervelessly to his side as he stared in horror at the man in the wet suit.

No. No. No.

Not prey at all.

But the man had sighted prey of his own, Gallo realized.

His stance had changed and now he was in stalking mode. He’d drawn a knife from the holster at his waist.

Stalking whom?

Catherine.

Catherine, standing at the edge of the trees. Catherine, setting her own trap for the man who had killed Jacobs, the man who had killed Bonnie.

Dammit, what is wrong with me? Gallo thought in agony. Throw the knife.

CHAPTER

3

IT WASN’T A NEW VEHICLE, Catherine noticed as she cautiously approached. It was a beat-up blue Chevy truck and the tires looked worn, almost bald.

No sign of the driver of the truck.

She’d been listening and hadn’t heard anyone come out of the bayou.

But she might not have been able to hear him. Gallo had said this creep was good. She trusted Gallo’s judgment.

When it didn’t concern his damned chauvinistic attitude toward her.

She stopped. She’d been tempted to check out the license plate and the glove box of the truck. Not smart. Better to wait and do all that later. Now she should wait and watch and listen.

Not much watching with this fog, but she could listen.

No sound.

The fog had come in again, and the truck was only a hazy outline before her. But she’d probably have company soon. Just wait and pounce when he came on the bank.