Atlanta, Georgia

“NICE HOTEL,”MARGARET SAID as she took her room key from Jane. “This will be a great change. I’ve traveled a lot during my life, but I’m more used to Motel 6.” She entered the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor. “I think we should go over the journal tonight. Suppose I meet you guys in twenty minutes. I’ve got to change out of this dress and high heels and get comfortable.” She smiled. “Your room, Jane?”

“Fine,” Jane said dryly. “I suppose I should be happy you asked since you seem to have taken charge.” She glanced at Trevor and Caleb. “Yes?”

Trevor nodded.

“By all means,” Caleb said. He got out of the elevator as the doors opened and turned left. “Margaret’s viewpoints are always interesting. Twenty minutes.”

Trevor got out of the elevator and took Jane’s bag. “I’ll see you to your room.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need—” He was already going down the corridor, and she had to rush to catch up.

He took her key and opened the door. “I know you don’t need me. But I need to do everything I can for you.” He smiled down at her as he handed her back her key. “I told you that I’d discovered my calling.” He put her bag inside the door. He brushed his lips across her forehead and started down the hall. “Twenty minutes.”

She stood looking after him for a moment, feeling a warm melting inside her. It wasn’t passion though that was present also. It was a feeling that was different from anything she had felt in the time she was with him. It was like a wonderful, golden net that was holding her safe and secure away from all loneliness. She wanted to call him back and have him smile like that at her again.

He stopped as if he had heard her call him and looked back at her. “I meant it,” he said softly. “It’s going to be different for us from now on. I’ve never been a believer in fate, but I am now. I feel as if it’s our time, and I have to reach out and take it before it goes away. Trust me.” He turned and went down the hall.

“Trust me.”

Only two words, but a concept so difficult for her to accept.

Because trust meant commitment, and that was even more difficult for her.

She shook her head to clear it and went into the room and closed the door. She couldn’t think right now about Trevor and the promise that he offered. She had only one commitment, and it was to Eve.

She took the journal out of her bag and put it on the coffee table in the sitting room. Just looking at it jarred her out of the beauty of the moments before. Ugliness and horror and malice beyond imagination.

And, like Margaret, she wanted to get as comfortable as possible to mentally gird her loins at what was soon to be faced. She took her suitcase to the adjoining bedroom to wash and change. Then she’d order coffee from room service.

Twenty minutes.

*   *   *

“COFFEE, GOOD.”MARGARET plopped down on the couch in Jane’s sitting room. “I grabbed one of those little sandwiches on the buffet at the service, but I need some caffeine.” She had changed to jeans, tunic, and her usual flip-flops and looked even younger than her nineteen years. “You need a cup, too, Jane. You look more tired than I do.”

“Yes, she does,” Caleb murmured. He poured coffee into a cup and handed it to Jane. “But she’ll be fine … for tonight.”

“I’ll be fine. Period,” Jane said firmly as she took a sip of coffee. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Yes, it has.” Trevor’s thoughtful gaze was on her face. “You’ve had a lot of rough days since that blowup in the ghost town. I’ve been worried.” His gaze shifted to Caleb. “So worried that I’m even glad of reassurance from you.”

“You should be glad,” Caleb said. “No one can know her physical condition better than I do.” Before Jane or Trevor could reply, he turned to Margaret. “But we’d be wise to get this little meeting over with so that she can get to bed.” He glanced down at the journal on the coffee table. “Jane said that when you read that piece of filth, you might have found something that will give us a lead.”

“Maybe. It’s a hodgepodge of grandiose bragging, porn, and poetic quotations.” Margaret picked up the journal and flicked it open to one of the earlier pages. “As you say, it’s all pretty much filth, particularly during these passages when he’s describing his victims.” She shivered. “Those poor little girls. It made me cry.”

“The lead,” Caleb prompted.

“Every now and then, during those obscene meanderings, he’d drop in a line that could be lost because of the sheer disgust you’re feeling.” Her gaze ran down the page. “Like this one. “Smooth skin, child skin, as satin soft as mother’s.” She flipped through more pages. “Blue eyes, staring at me, scared eyes, hating what was happening to her. Beautiful, beautiful eyes, almost as beautiful as mother’s eyes.” She looked up as she closed the journal. “There are several more comparisons like that one.” She added deliberately, “Kevin’s mother. All we’ve heard about is Doane, Kevin’s father. But when he was committing these atrocities, he was thinking about his mother. And from the sampling I’ve read, there’s nothing vengeful about those thoughts. If you weave them together, you get a picture of a son almost besotted by his mother.”

Jane frowned. “But from what I’ve heard from Joe, most serial killers are driven by hatred for their mothers if the relationship enters into motivation at all.”

“And it may not be a motivation,” Margaret said. “I don’t know. I just thought that since we have no clue about where to find Doane, we should try another avenue. She evidently had a powerful influence on Kevin.” She paused. “If she’s still alive. I don’t even know that.”

“Venable didn’t mention Kevin’s mother when he was talking about Doane?” Trevor asked.

“No,” Jane said. “But evidently Venable left out a lot that we should have known.” She reached for her phone. “And I can find out if she’s still alive. Catherine Ling.” She accessed her directory and dialed. Catherine picked up in three rings. “I need help. Venable’s never mentioned Kevin’s mother. Is she still alive? What do you know about her?”

“Nothing. Why do you want to know?”

“It’s a question of exploring every avenue at the moment. Can you find out about her from Venable?”

“Probably. He’s trying to keep me from rocking his boat, so he’s being very cooperative. If not, I’ll access CIA records. Give me twenty minutes.” She hung up.

“Twenty minutes,” Jane repeated as she hung up her phone. “Catherine is nothing if not efficient.”

Catherine called back in fifteen minutes and Jane put her on speaker. “Harriet Relling is still alive. She divorced her husband when Kevin was only fifteen. Then she changed her name and moved to Muncie, Indiana. She teaches English Literature at Ferry Road High School.”

“Any contact with Doane since the divorce?”

“No. The divorce papers said irreconcilable differences, but according to Venable’s reports, she’s very bitter. He did a thorough investigation on her five years ago when he put Doane under protective custody. As of that time, she’d never had another relationship after the divorce and was reputed to be something of a man-hater. Has a few friends but is pretty much a loner. She’s an advocate for better schools and gives talks around the state. She has a doctorate in English Literature and has been offered positions at several universities but has always refused. She organized the local autism walk three years ago. And, as I said, she changed her name. She’s now Harriet Weber and told everyone in Muncie that she was a widow.” Catherine paused. “Venable says that she was not put under the same surveillance as Doane because the chances seemed miniscule that she had anything to do with either of them since the divorce.”

“And Doane’s surveillance was not as tight as it should have been,” Jane said. “Or he’d have never been able to take Eve.”