Venable nodded and turned on his heel. “Dukes.” He walked away from the mound. “He had a wife and a kid. I’ll have to call them.”

“Very fitting.” Joe fell into step with him. “But it would be more fitting for you to zero in on the man who cut his throat. First things first, Venable.”

“I have my own priorities.” Venable gave him a cold glance. “And I do things my own way.”

“Unless you do them wrong. Putting Eve in jeopardy falls into that category.”

“I didn’t want her hurt. There was a chance she wouldn’t be in jeopardy. I had to be sure.”

“You just dug up evidence that should convince you.”

“Knock it off, Quinn. Nothing you can say is going to influence me more than seeing Dukes with his throat cut. I liked him. He was a good man, and I worked with him for more than four years.”

Joe attacked from another angle. “Why would you think that Eve wouldn’t be in danger?”

“Because he wasn’t the one who—” Venable broke off. “Drop it, Quinn. I’m thinking.” He raised his head as they approached the cottage. “There’s Jane on the porch. She looks like hell.”

“Yes, but I can’t convince her to rest. She won’t stop.” He added deliberately. “She’s not like you. She thinks Eve is in danger. She’s probably going to go after you when she finds out about Dukes.”

“Did she finish the sketch?”

“Yes, she brought a copy with her.” He was climbing the steps. “I wanted you to see it.”

“Joe?” Jane took a step forward. “What about Dukes?”

“Dead. Throat cut.”

“Shit.” She had turned paler. She whirled on Venable, and said fiercely, “It could have been Eve. Damn you, Venable. Joe said that you know more about this than you’re telling him. You talk to us.”

Venable’s face was without expression. “Joe said you have a sketch.”

She opened her pad and thrust the copy at him.

He gazed at the sketch for a moment and handed it back to her. “You’re extraordinarily good, Jane.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Her gaze was narrowed on his face. “You recognized him, didn’t you?”

He walked over to the porch rail and stared out at the lake. “I hoped it wouldn’t be him. Everything pointed in his direction, but there was the smallest chance that it could be someone else. Because of her profession, Eve does seem to attract a wide variety of lethal weirdos.”

“Who is he?” Joe asked hoarsely.

Venable didn’t answer immediately. Then he shrugged. “His name is James Doane.”

“More,” Jane said. “Tell us more.”

Venable shook his head. “Later. I’ve got to call Dukes’s wife, and then start trying to issue a few warnings.”

“If you know his name, do you know where we can start on finding him?” Jane asked.

“Right now?” He shook his head. “The last address I have is a house in Goldfork, Colorado, where he lived until last week. There’s no possibility he’d take Eve there. He’d know I’d be having it watched.”

Joe tensed. “He’s aware you knew his address?”

“Of course.” He added simply, “I’ve had him under protective custody for the last five years.”

“What?”

“I told you, later.” He met Joe’s gaze. “You’re going to get what you want from me, but it’s going to make waves like a tsunami. I have to warn people it’s coming, so I can minimize the damage. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.”

There was no pushing Venable any more at the moment, Joe thought. It would be useless. Venable had already committed, and he had to give him a little more space. “Not long, Venable.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Doane?”

“You’re already trying to work it out for yourself. Before you get on the phone and start checking, you’d better have another name other than the one we gave him.” He took out his phone. “Relling. James Herbert Relling.”

Rio Grande Forest, Colorado

DOANE WAS ASLEEP AT LAST.

Eve could hear the steadiness of his breathing. It had taken him over an hour to settle down on his couch and another twenty minutes before she could take the chance that he was sound enough asleep so that she could start to move. Doane must have been as charged as she had been after he had opened up the floodgates about Kevin this afternoon.

She gazed up at the socket in the ceiling over the bed.

Two more minutes, and she’d start moving. She just hoped there was still gas in that line. She had opened that nozzle four times, and the last time it had not seemed to have a very powerful effect on her. That could mean that she was not getting enough gas or that she was becoming partially immune to it. She hoped it was the latter. Perhaps this time she’d leave it open a little longer and find which was true.

It would be a risk.

Hell, everything she did was a risk. This was a way out, possibly the only way out. She had to know if it was working or if she had to search out another path. Joe would say it was reckless, and she should wait for him to come for her. He had tried to free her to make a move, but she knew he didn’t want her to make that move without him.

Joe.

She closed her eyes and let the thought of him surround her. His tea-colored eyes, the way he moved, the quiet that hid all the leashed fierceness, the intelligence that was both a challenge and source of pride to her. Thinking about him soothed her, and she wanted to cling to it.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t rely on him. He was her friend and her lover, but this was her battle. She had to make her own decisions.

I’m sorry, Joe. Run toward me. I’ll run toward you. One way or another, we’ll come together. That’s the way it’s always been.

She opened her eyes.

Two minutes had passed. Doane’s breathing had stayed even and perhaps had deepened. Time to move.

She slipped from the bed and began to fold it up in the middle.

No sound.

Slowly.

She knew the drill now and it took her less than a minute to climb up on the bed and reach for the nozzle to unscrew it.

She drew a deep breath and opened the line.

Carnations.

She started to close the line.

Wait. A little more. Test it.

Carnations.

Dizziness.

Blackness, closing in.

She frantically turned the screw.

Too much. Too much.

Get down.

No noise.

Hold on.

Don’t black out.

Hurry. Get down. You’ll ruin everything if he finds out what you’ve been doing.

She reached the floor, staggered, and fell to her knees.

Carnations.

Had she left that line open or was the smell just still in her nostrils?

If she’d left it open, she had to go back up and close it.

Not now. She wouldn’t be able to manage yet. Too weak. Much too weak.

She curled up in a ball on the floor.

Dizzy.

Darkness …

*   *   *

STUPID. SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN sure that gas line was closed. She could vaguely remember hurriedly turning the screw but maybe—

“Stop worrying, Mama. You closed it.”

Bonnie?

She opened her eyes to see Bonnie leaning against the folded bed a few yards away. Her daughter was dressed as always in her Bugs Bunny T-shirt and jeans, and her curly red hair gleamed even in the dimness of the room. So little, so beautiful, so beloved.

Bonnie suddenly chuckled. “Don’t be sappy, Mama. I was never beautiful except to you. Red hair and freckles on my nose?”

“Don’t make fun of me. You were—you are beautiful. It’s spirit that makes beauty.”

“Then I guess I should be beautiful because I’m most certainly a spirit.” Her smile faded. “You shouldn’t have doubled that dose of gas, Mama. You scared me. I was worried about you. I was afraid you were going to fall.”

“I had to make sure that I was—”

“I know why you were doing it,” Bonnie interrupted. “But you shouldn’t have done it. It was working. Your body is becoming accustomed to the gas.”