One more check. He walked to the head of the bed and gazed down at her.

She stared back at him, her eyes as wide open, her expression as terrified as when hed plunged the knife into her heart.

He took out the envelope with the photographs and the typewritten list Timwick had given him at the airport. He liked lists; they kept the world in order.

Three photographs. Three names. Three addresses.

He crossed Dora Bentzs name off the list.

The phone was still ringing as he left her apart-ment.

No answer.

It was three-thirty in the morning. There should have been an answer.

Logan slowly replaced the receiver.

It didnt have to mean anything. Dora Bentz had married children who lived in Buffalo, New York. She could be visiting them. She could be on vacation anywhere.

Or she could be dead.

Timwick could be moving quickly to tie up all the loose ends.

Shit, Logan had thought he had time.

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions.

Hell, so what? Hed always trusted his instincts, and they were shouting at him now.

But sending Gil to check on Dora Bentz would be a tip-off. Timwick would know what he only sus-pected now. Logan could try to save Dora Bentz or he could remain safe for a few more days.

Shit

He picked up the phone and dialed Gils number in the carriage house.

Lights. Moving lights.

Eve stopped drying her hair, slowly got up, and went to the window.

The black limousine that had picked them up at the airport was gliding down the driveway toward the gates.

Logan?

Gil Price?

It was almost four oclock in the morning. Where would anyone be going at this hour?

She doubted if shed be told if she asked to-morrow morning.

But shed damn well do it anyway.

SIX

Eve didnt fall asleep until five, and then her slumber was restless. She woke at nine but forced herself to stay in bed until almost ten, when a thun-derous knock sounded on the door.

The door opened before she could answer, and a small, plump woman strode into the room. Hi, Im Margaret Wilson. Heres the gate control you wanted. She set the remote on the nightstand. Sorry if I woke you, but John says I screwed up on the lab. How the hell was I to know you wanted pretty? What do I need to get? Pillows? Rugs?

Nothing. Eve sat up in bed and gazed curiously at Margaret Wilson. The woman was probably in her early forties. The gray gabardine pantsuit she wore slimmed her plump figure and complemented her dark, sleek hair and hazel eyes. I told him that I wasnt going to be here long enough for it to matter.

It matters. John likes things right. So do I. Whats your favorite color?

Green, I guess.

I should have known. Redheads are pretty predictable.

Im not a redhead.

Well, almost. She looked around the room. This kind of thing okay?

Eve nodded as she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

Good, then Ill get on the phone and order some stuff. It should be Oh, my God, youre a giant.

What?

Margaret was glowering at her. How the hell tall are you?

Five nine.

A giant. Youll make me feel like a midget. I hate tall, skinny women. They do something to my psyche and I become over aggressive.

Youre not that small.

Youre patronizing me. She grimaced. And Im being defensive. Oh, well, Ill have to fight it. Ill just keep telling myself that Im much smarter than you. Get dressed and come on down to the kitchen. Well grab some cereal and then Ill take you for a walk around the grounds.

Thats not necessary.

Sure it is. John wants you kept happy and he says you dont have anything to do right away. If youre anything like me, youll go crazy. She headed for the door. But well take care of it. Fifteen minutes?

Fine. She wondered what the response would have been if she had said otherwise. Margarets tac-tics made a steamroller look subtle.

But it was hard not to like her. She hadnt smiled once, but she exuded a vibrant energy and cheerful-ness. She was blunt, bold, and like no one Eve had ever met. She was a breath of fresh air after the dark tension she sensed in Logan.

The Barrett family graveyard. Margaret waved a hand at the small iron-fenced cemetery. Theres no grave later than 1922. Do you want to go in?

Eve shook her head.

Thank God. Cemeteries depress me, but I thought you might be interested.

Why?