“You don’t know that. He has no idea that it was you who did the killing.”

“Doane is obsessed, and he’s had five years to hunt for answers. I would have found those answers long ago. I’d bet he’s only been waiting for his chance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think? We had a deal. I told you I’d leave Doane alone as long as it was safe for me. You screwed up. I’m not going to wait around for him to come knocking on my door. I’ll get rid of him in the most convenient and safe way for me.”

“Let us try to find him first.”

“No. I trusted you once. It was a mistake. I won’t do it again.”

Venable muttered a curse. “You cold son of a bitch. What kind of monster are you?”

“You know what kind of monster. You’ve used me on occasion … when the game was rich enough.” He paused. “The world is overrun with monsters. I’m just the one who doesn’t make excuses.”

“Two days. Give me two days. I’m having an agent break into his house and see if he can find the disk or a way to trace him.”

“I don’t give a damn about the disk. Give it up. Why does it matter to you if he lives or dies?”

“I made a promise. This isn’t only about you. I do give a damn about the disk and several lives that are more important than yours. After all these years of keeping him contained, I’m not going to let Doane ruin everything for us.” He added sarcastically, “I know that sounds bizarre to you that anyone would care to keep his word.”

“Why? I always keep my word,” Zander said. “I told you exactly what would happen if you lost track of Doane.”

“Two days.”

Zander thought about it. It would take him one day to wind up things here, and now that he was alerted, he could afford to give Venable the time he wanted. “Two days. But I want to know what your agent finds out. If you don’t gather Doane in, I’ll be right on top of him. No second chance.” He paused. “And find out if he knows about Eve Duncan.”

“There’s been no sign that he’s even been looking for her.”

“But then you’ve obviously been taking Doane for granted all these years. How would you know if he’s gone after her?”

Silence. “And would you care?”

“You know me better than that. I just have to know which way the bastard is going to dodge.” He hung up and headed for the desk across the room.

He was surprised he’d had to nudge Venable to explore the Eve Duncan possibility. The CIA agent not only knew Duncan but liked her. Perhaps he was rejecting the idea because he did care about her and didn’t want to accept the blame for turning Doane loose on her. Foolish. You couldn’t ever allow feelings to interfere if you wanted to stay alive.

He opened the drawer of the desk, drew out the folder he always kept handy, and flipped it open. Eve Duncan’s photo and dossier were front and center. The dossier was short and concise. Duncan was illegitimate and raised in the slums of Atlanta, Georgia. She’d been raised by a mother who hadn’t known or cared who Eve’s father could be and who’d been hooked on drugs for most of Eve’s childhood. That hadn’t stopped Eve from becoming one of the foremost forensic sculptors in the world and in demand by every law-enforcement authority in the U.S. Her career had been motivated by the kidnapping and murder of her daughter, Bonnie, when the child was only seven years old. She had only recently discovered the child’s body and the person responsible for her abduction and death.

And Zander could see in her face the pain and endurance that had been the result of that agonizing search. Eve Duncan was not a beautiful woman, but her features were interesting, and her hazel eyes gazed out of the photo with directness and boldness as if to challenge the world.

But she did not have to fight that world alone. She might be queen of her particular world, but she had two knights who were always on guard.

He had placed two other photos and brief dossiers on either side of Eve Duncan’s. Joe Quinn, her lover, whose square face and tea-colored eyes reflected both strength and intelligence, and Jane MacGuire, Eve’s adopted daughter, who was far more beautiful than Eve and reputedly just as strong. It was always Zander’s procedure to surround the target with the paths to get to them so that he could study the possibilities. In this case, Quinn and MacGuire could be either the guardians to protect Eve Duncan or Doane’s means to the end.

If Doane had searched deep enough to find Eve Duncan.

There was a possibility he was wrong, and Doane hadn’t made the connection. He might be coming direct to him. Oh well, it was possible he would know as soon as Venable got into Doane’s house and looked around. If Doane was on the move, he must have a plan, and he might deliberately leave clues to taunt him. No one could say Doane was entirely sane, but then neither was he. Madness was all in the eye of the beholder.

He stared thoughtfully at the glimpse of mountains he could see beyond the French doors. It would be a long time before he’d see those mountains again. Perhaps never. The Doane problem might make it unsafe for him to chance staying here any longer. He had a twinge of regret before he shrugged it off. He had been here too long anyway. It would only have been a matter of weeks or months before it was time for him to move on. Doane’s flit had only escalated the action. He had a keen sense of self-preservation, and it was never safe for him to forget who and what he was. He had only stayed alive this long by recognizing that he was always a target. Someday, he would grow tired and no longer care, but that day had not yet come.

He got to his feet and moved toward the door. “Stang. Pack up all the records and destroy the computers. Move the money to the alternate bank accounts. I want it done by the end of the day. I’m leaving Canada.”

“What?” Stang whirled to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just time I faded away … and cut all ties. Do it.”

Stang opened his lips to protest, then closed them again. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.” He left the library.

Zander strolled back to the desk as the door closed behind Stang. He looked down at the faces on the dossiers. The premonition was growing stronger by the moment that Doane might have probed deep enough to reveal a possible vulnerability in Eve Duncan.

No proof.

But he would have been a dead man a dozen times over if he had relied on proof instead of instinct.

Joe Quinn and Jane MacGuire. They were the guardians at the gates of the castle that was Eve Duncan. Strong and competent guardians. Joe Quinn was particularly formidable, a detective with the Atlanta Police Department, ex-SEAL, ex-FBI. Totally devoted to Eve. Jane MacGuire was an up-and-coming artist, but she had been trained by Joe Quinn, and she, too, was devoted to Eve, who was more best friend than parent to her. She had been a street kid until she was ten years old, and she and Eve had found each other. The reports on her were that her ingrained toughness was still present and had become a force with which to be reckoned since she had left college.

Yes, Quinn and MacGuire should be able to keep Eve Duncan safe.

As long as those guardians at the gates stayed close, alert, and on guard.

Lake Cottage

Atlanta, Georgia

“I’LL BE BACK IN TWO DAYS.” Joe brought Eve close and kissed her, hard. “I have to testify tomorrow afternoon in Miami, a cross-examination the next morning, then I’m out of there. I promise.”

“Maybe.” Eve made a face. “How many times have you been tripped up by lawyers? They might bring in another witness and put you on hold.” She kissed him again and stepped back. He was frowning, and she had sensed an edginess since he’d walked into the cottage for lunch. “It’s okay, Joe. It’s not as if I won’t have company. You know that Jane will be flying in from London tonight.”