“Eve called a little while ago.”

“How is she?”

“Fine. Tired. She’s working on the skull. She calls him Victor. Will you get out the steaks, Joe?”

Joe came into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “How soon will she be done?”

“Doesn’t know.” Jane took out the indoor grill and plugged it in. “You know Eve’s never sure. It’s going well, though.”

“Did she mention Galen?”

“Only that he’d called Victor a gladiator and she was having the devil of a time keeping that out of her mind. Oh, and she said that he was a terrific cook.” She chuckled. “Good thing one of them is. Eve’s not so hot.”

“No, she’s not.” He handed her the steaks. “Sounds very cozy.”

“Yeah.” Jane looked at him and her smile faded. “Joe? Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not.” He turned away. “I’ve got to go wash up. I’ll be right back.” When he closed the bathroom door, he splashed water on his face and then reached for the towel. Oh, no, nothing was wrong. His grasp tightened on the soft cloth until his knuckles turned white. Only that he was jealous as hell and wanted to kill Sean Galen.

Shit, he’d want to murder everyone Eve looked at on the street or smiled at in a restaurant. Very sane. Very reasonable.

But who said he was ever reasonable when it came to Eve? She’d been the center of his life since he’d met her all those years ago, and he’d had only this short time of her belonging to him. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Joe drew a deep breath. Get control. He had to go out and not let Jane see what a crazy, obsessive son of a bitch he was. She’d been an angel since Eve had left. No, not an angel. She was too earthy and real to be termed angelic. She’d always had that same tough, loving nature that reminded him of Eve.

Eve. Everything came back to her. And she was in Baton Rouge with Galen, who was helping her, making those damn dinners, talking to her, sharing… He had sent Galen to be with her and he’d do it again, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Joe, the steaks are done,” Jane called.

“Coming.” He hung up the towel and opened the door. He forced a smile. “I’m starved. I forgot to eat lunch today.”

“You’ve been working too hard.” She carried the steaks over to the table, almost tripping over the puppy. “Toby, get out of my way. You cannot have these steaks.”

“I bet he’ll get the leftovers.”

“Maybe. I shouldn’t do it. Sarah said he should have a balanced diet and table scraps aren’t really good for him.” She shook her head. “But he’s such a chow hound.

I never saw any dog who loved food like Toby.”

“What else did Eve say?”

“Nothing much. She mostly asked about what I was doing and how Toby was. I told her he was fine.” She sat down. “I told her you were fine, too.”

“But she didn’t ask, did she?”

“No, but I figured she probably wanted to know.”

“Optimist.”

“She’s working, and she already seems more cheerful than when she left. Work always helps her.”

“I know.”

“So you just have to hang on and be patient. Now eat your steak.” He smiled faintly. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

“Yes, don’t work so hard.” She frowned sternly at Toby who’d rested his head on her knee. “Don’t beg. It’s impolite.”

“You’re not going to last until supper’s over.”

“I will. He’s got to learn—”

Joe’s phone rang.

Jane sighed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t get through the meal.”

“I won’t answer it. I’ll let the voice mail pick it up.”

“But then you’d get indigestion worrying. Get it over with.” Joe flipped on his phone. “Quinn.”

“It’s Carol. The teeth ID came through. It’s George Andrew Capel, age forty-two.” Joe’s hand tightened on the phone. “Christ. Anything on the autopsy report?”

“I don’t know. Let me check. Yeah, here it is. They just tossed it in the in-box.

Death caused by knife wound that entered the heart from the back. The other wounds were minor. None of them capable of doing serious damage but would have been extremely painful. Looks like our killer likes to toy with his victims.”

“Maybe. Thanks, Carol.” He hung up.

“Joe?” Jane whispered.

He was scaring her. “It’s okay. It’s just that something’s come up and I have to deal with it.”

“Eve?”

“No. How could it be Eve? You just talked to her. That was Carol at the precinct. It was police business.”

“You’re never this upset about police business.” She was too sharp, and he was too panicky right now to hide his fear. He got to his feet. “I’ve got to make a couple of private calls. You go ahead and eat dinner. I’ll be back soon.”

She frowned, still troubled. “Okay. But your steak will get cold.”

“I’ll heat it up.” He wouldn’t be able to eat it anyway. Food was the last thing on his mind. The grave. The report sent to Eve. George Capel. Eve’s job in Baton Rouge.

All the pieces were falling together.

And the picture they were making was scaring him to death.

“He’s still pretty ugly, even without the sticks.” Galen tilted his head as he studied the skull on the pedestal. “Maybe it’s those empty eye sockets.”

“Go away, Galen.”

“Nope, it’s eight o’clock and you’ve been here since six this morning. Time to close up shop. I’m going to walk you home and feed you. Rick would let you work all night.”

“I’m not ready to go.”

“Are you going to be able to finish him tonight?”

“No way. I’ve still got a good four days’ work. Maybe more.”

“Then you’ll do better with some rest. Since there’s no urgency.”

“There is urgency.”

“Not for you. Melton can wait.”

He didn’t understand. When she started work, the urgency came from within. It was as if the person she was reconstructing was urging her, whispering to her: Find me. Help me. Bring me home.

“What color?” Galen was still gazing at the eye sockets. “How do you know what color to use for the eyes?”

“I don’t. I usually put in brown. It’s the most common eye color. Why are those sockets bothering you?”

“I knew a bloke in Mozambique who’d had his eyes cut out by a nasty customer in the drug trade. He got along surprisingly well, but it always gave me the chills.”

“I can see why.”

“It made me mad. I hate mutilation. No one should do that to anyone.” Eve turned to look at him. “I’ve never seen you angry.”

“You don’t want to. I get pretty nasty.”

“To that ‘nasty customer in the drug trade’?”

Galen didn’t answer directly. “No one should be allowed to do that,” he repeated.

He suddenly smiled. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve made me dwell on that unpleasantness and I’m all depressed. You have to come home so that I can fix you a fine meal and forget about it. It’s therapy.”

“It’s manipulation.” She draped a towel over the skull. “But I’ll let you get away with it. Maybe I am a little tired.”

“Right. Now wash your hands and we’ll be off.” Galen crossed over to the window and looked out at the bayou. “You should really see more of Baton Rouge.

It’s a great town.”

“I had lunch with you the day of Marie’s funeral. I saw Baton Rouge for hours and hours that day. And I didn’t come here to sightsee.”

“Someone needs to take you in hand. There’s more to life than skulls with empty sockets.”

“They’re not empty when I fill them.” Eve dried her hands on a towel. “And I’m not a total workaholic.”

“You come close. Me, I believe in stopping to smell the roses.” Galen opened the door for her. “Though I do know New Orleans better than Baton Rouge. So we’ll walk home very slowly, and I’ll tell you the history of the Big Easy and maybe a few bits of the history of my stays there. You can decide which is more entertaining.” Galen’s stories were definitely more entertaining, and lasted the walk back to the plantation house. They were bawdy, funny, and full of colorful characters and incidents.

“His name was really Marco Polo?” Eve asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”