“Control himself?” She moistened her lips. “Who was this ‘unimportant’ person that your son murdered?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and then he shrugged impatiently. “It doesn’t really matter what I say, does it? I’ve tried so hard to do what Kevin taught me to do, but it’s coming to an end. I believe he’s ready for it to come to an end. I can’t make you believe in me. So what difference does it make?”

“Whom did Kevin murder?”

He was silent again. “Just a child. Her name isn’t important. She would have been glad to sacrifice herself if Kevin had time to explain how vital her death was to him. He needed a release to keep him functioning properly. If she’d gotten to know him, she would have loved him. Everyone loved Kevin.”

She closed her eyes for an instant as the horror hit home. “I understand that Hitler had his fans, too. But I don’t believe that they would have been glad to die for him.”

“That’s why Kevin would have been greater than Hitler. He could persuade anyone to do anything.”

“Including you.”

“When I understood that was my duty to him. Yes, I did anything he wanted me to do, gave him anything he wanted.” He met her eyes. “I’m not ashamed. I’m proud of everything I did for Kevin.”

Eve’s head was spinning. Images of Hitler. Ugly visions of a dead child. How old had that child been when Kevin had killed her? As old as Bonnie when she’d been taken? “He still has you under his spell even though he’s dead. Don’t you realize that he was crazy? All of that bull about his needing a release is straight out of serial-killer textbooks. He obviously had delusions of grandeur, but that isn’t unusual either. He was a self-indulgent monster who was using you. He probably cared nothing for you.”

“He did care.” His face was flushed. “That’s all you know. Kevin loved me. When he found out that he was going to have to go to court, he wouldn’t let me come to him and made sure that I’d be protected no matter what happened to him. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and help him. But he said he had Blick if he needed to escape. Blick would never leave him.”

“Blick was Kevin’s friend?” Her lips twisted. “Or should I say follower?”

“He worshipped Kevin. They were both in the Army, but Kevin was in the Special Forces when they met in Istanbul. The Army taught Kevin to kill, and he became magnificent at it.”

“Like a god? But then the Army didn’t know Kevin needed his little releases, did they? Did Blick know that executing the enemy wasn’t enough for your son?”

“Not at first. But Blick could see his power, and Kevin let him come close to him. Kevin showed him how exciting it was to break all the rules and take what you want. He was grooming him.”

“To become a monster like your son?”

“I’m getting tired of your sarcasm.” His voice was suddenly harsh. “I knew you wouldn’t understand Kevin.”

“Then why did you try to explain him to me? Did you want absolution for what you did to help him?”

“Absolution? No.” He got to his feet. “I told you, I’m proud to be his father, proud of everything I did to help him.” His voice lowered to silky softness. “I told you because Kevin wanted you to know. I feel it. He doesn’t like it that you don’t fear him. You know he’s here, but you’re strong enough to resist him, like the other one.”

“What other one?” she whispered.

“You know.”

Bonnie.

I’m fighting to keep him away, but he’s getting stronger.

“Well, you’ve told me, and I’m still not afraid of him.” But she was struggling to keep her voice from shaking from the shock she was feeling. “Do you know they made fun of Hitler during World War II? He was a monster, but get beyond that ugliness, and he was only a cruel little man who was easy to ridicule.”

“Oh, that was another age. Kevin agreed with you. He admired Hitler, but he was also critical. He told me that manipulating al-Qaeda and the terrorist groups was the way to go. He was already making great strides insinuating himself into a group in Pakistan by feeding them information, when those Army bastards caught him and threw him into jail.”

“Too bad it wasn’t the al-Qaeda. They would have played with him a long time before they killed him.”

Doane looked as if she’d struck him. “Bitch.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’ll pay for that.” He drew a deep breath. “I’ve got to get out of here for a while, or I’ll beat you until you can’t sit upright on that stool. Kevin wouldn’t like that. He has such fine plans for you.”

For the first time, Doane’s mask was slipping. Push him a little more. “He has no plans. He’s dead and gone, Doane.”

“Is he?” He was striding toward the front door. “He’s not gone to me. I’m not gone to him. Sometimes I feel him near me just like when he was alive. I even dream about him. If he’s gone, then why do I feel he has plans for you and your Bonnie?” He paused at the door. “Keep on working. If you don’t have more done when I come back, I’ll call Blick and have a talk with him about Jane MacGuire.” The door slammed behind him.

Eve straightened on the stool. Get control. The gloves were off, and it might be better that way. She had goaded Doane until he had jettisoned all the games he’d been playing. Now they were out in the open and face-to-face.

Not quite. There were still blanks to be filled in, but that could come later. Doane was no longer pretending to be the warm, fatherly guy next door. It had been bizarre and horrible watching his expressions change and twist. The man who had strode out of here had been completely different from the mask he had worn since she had met him.

“I’ve got you. I can see you, Doane,” she whispered. “And I’ll learn how to manipulate you just the way your dear Kevin did. Neither one of you is going to beat us.”

Us. The word had come naturally, instinctively. Had she been referring to Jane or Joe?

Or Bonnie.

She felt a wave of nausea abruptly wash over her, and she had to grab hard at the wood of the worktable to keep from falling off the stool.

Not the gas. Not the gas. Not the gas. Bonnie’s words flying back to her.

Her gaze was blurry as she stared at the face of the reconstruction. Kevin’s face.

She could feel it pulling her, smothering her.

Things that do go bump in the night. He’s so strong, Mama.

We’ll beat him, baby.

But not by sitting here right now. Doane had given her an opportunity, and she had to take it.

The desk. The locked drawer.

She shook her head to clear it, then reached for the steel spatula she’d been using to smooth the clay. It had no sharp edges she could use to pick the lock, but it was fine steel and might be strong enough to pry the drawer open. It didn’t matter any longer that Doane remain ignorant that she was trying to rifle the desk. The conflict between them was now stark and without subterfuge on either side.

Move.

She slipped down from the stool and ran across the room toward the desk.

Damn, her knees were weak.

And she could feel a tension in the middle of her back between her shoulder blades.

As if someone was staring balefully at her.

Imagination.

That blob of clay held no life.

But could it hold death?

Ignore it.

Easy to say. The cords of her neck were so tense she could hardly breathe.

Go away.

She closed her mind and concentrated as she inserted the spatula in the opening of the drawer.

She carefully worked it back and forth, chiseling at the soft wood around the lock. The spatula was as strong as she’d hoped. Strong enough?

A sound from outside.

She tensed and listened.

No footstep. No slamming truck door. Just a faint sound that might be Doane’s voice talking on his phone.

Good. It might keep him occupied a little longer. She started working frantically at the drawer.