“It’s a favor, Eve,” Margaret interrupted. “I take all kinds of jobs to survive but not from my friends. Just pay the bill, and I’ll send you the money next time I have it.”

“That’s not what I—” She shrugged. “We’ll work it out.” She took Margaret’s arm and pulled her toward the front entrance. “Come on. I need to get you to bed.”

“You’re treating me like a kid.” Margaret’s eyes were gleaming with amusement. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Eve.”

“Since you were a kid. That doesn’t make it right.”

“And you suddenly had a maternal flash of your Jane as a child trying to survive on the streets.” She chuckled. “She did very well, and so did I.”

“Again, that doesn’t make it right.” She opened the glass door. “And I’ll treat you the way I wish to treat you. Okay?”

Margaret nodded slowly. “Okay.” Her smile was brilliant. “Like you said, we’ll work it out. I can handle it.”

*   *   *

“There’s Joe,” Eve waved across the terrace at Joe, who had just come into the hotel restaurant. “He made good time,” she told Margaret. “It’s only a little after noon.”

“Protective.” She ate a bite of her salad as she watched Joe make his way through the tables toward them. “Like Nalchek. He was probably on edge about your being out here without him.”

She was right, Eve thought. She’d talked to Joe early this morning when he was getting ready to go to the airport, and he hadn’t been pleased with her.

“Hi.” Joe pulled out a chair and dropped down onto it. “Good to see you, Margaret. Though I could wish that you hadn’t exploded on the scene with such enthusiasm.”

“You mean recklessness,” Margaret substituted. “And no one would have ever known I went to those woods if Nalchek hadn’t been out there. I would have done what I had to do, then called Eve and told her I was on my way to her hotel.”

“And she would still have left the hotel and come to pick you up.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Margaret said. “She’s as protective as you are.”

“I can argue with it,” Eve said. “Drop it, Joe.”

He smiled. “It’s dropped. Just wanted to draw her attention to my take on it.”

“Loud and clear,” Margaret said cheerfully. “Everyone in the world has to take care of Eve, or they’ll be facing Joe Quinn’s wrath.”

He nodded. “Something like that. And she’s staring very disapprovingly at me at this moment. I think it’s time I changed the subject.” He turned to Eve. “I got word from the Interpol database right before I got on the plane. They may have come up with a match.” He grimaced. “Though it took long enough. Walsh is a fairly common name. I was bouncing back and forth between Interpol and the FBI most of the night. One dead end after another. This one came closest, and the location seems right.” He took out his phone and dialed up the report. “James Bradford Walsh. British subject, fifty-seven, last-known address in Sacramento, California. That’s not his real name but one of his most-frequently-used aliases.” He paused. “No current warrants, but he’s a very ugly customer. His prime area of expertise is as enforcer. He’s worked for various mobs both in London and the U.S. His last-known employer was the Castino Cartel in Mexico City. He fit right in with them. His record reflected burglary, drugs, suspicion of human trafficking, suspicion of murder. In short, he did anything that was demanded of him by the Castino family.”

“What about children?” Eve asked. “Is there anything about violence toward children?”

“Some of the human trafficking involved children but not exclusively.”

“Anything about ‘marking’ his victims?”

Joe shook his head. “No details. Either he’s not our man, or he’s very clever. I’m searching other European Web sites to see if he’s mentioned.”

“It’s pretty vague.” Eve’s hands clenched. “You didn’t get anything from any other Web sites?”

“Only a Paul Walsh who was located in San Antonio, Texas. But he’s been serving time in Huntsville Prison for the last three years. And the FBI came up with Ronald Samuel Walsh who looked promising until I realized he had no history of violence. So were back to James Walsh.”

“Damn. Photo?”

He punched a button and pushed the phone toward her. “Looks pretty ordinary.”

“So did Ted Bundy.” She looked down at the photo. Thin, brown hair, high forehead, full lips. Deep-set, dark eyes. As Joe said, ordinary.

Or was he? There was something about the set of those lips … His eyes were so without expression they had a kind of blankness, but those lips were …

She knew from her sculpting experience how they could change, betray, transform. Sometimes she had to struggle to give the lips no expression in her reconstructions. An indentation at the corners, the faintest curl could change everything.

And Walsh had made no effort to keep his lips from betraying what was beneath his impassiveness.

Ugliness.

Which didn’t mean he was a child murderer.

And that didn’t mean he wasn’t.

“Eve.”

She looked up and pushed the phone back to him. “I don’t believe he’s ordinary. I think he may be the one. I want to know more about him. What made him such a great enforcer?”

“Total ruthlessness and he trained himself into a top-notch executioner. Guns, knives, explosives; he was an expert with all of them. And he had no trouble with decapitation. Every week or so, one of Castino’s enemies would be seen hanging headless on one of the local bridges.”

“You say he lived in Sacramento for a while. Can we find out anything from the police department or maybe his former neighbors?”

“I’m already on it. I called the Sacramento PD after I landed at San Francisco.”

“I should have known.”

“May I see?” Margaret asked as she took the phone. “Walsh…” She gave the phone back to him. “I can’t tell anything. Human killers are much more difficult to judge than animals. There are all kinds of signals broadcast by the big cats or rattlesnakes.” She looked at Eve. “Is it okay if I go to the grave site now that Joe is here? I’m not accomplishing anything here.”

“And we’re boring you?” Eve said. “By all means, I’ll call Nalchek, and we’ll all go.”

“I’ve already called him,” Margaret said as she got to her feet. She checked her wristwatch. “I told him I’d meet him at the grave site at one thirty.” She smiled. “And you can introduce him to Joe and get them on the same page. That will give me the chance to look around without Nalchek hovering.”

“You have it all planned.”

“Not really. I just want to know who was guarding your Jenny and why. It’s been nagging me since last night. May we go?”

Eve nodded. “I admit I’m curious.”

“So is Nalchek.” She zipped up her hoodie and started across the terrace. “He was entirely too willing to let me go into his woods again today. I thought I’d have a battle…”

*   *   *

Nalchek was standing by the grave, and he only nodded curtly to Margaret. His gaze went beyond her to Joe. “You’re Joe Quinn. I’ve heard about you. I’m John Nalchek.”

Joe nodded. “I’ve heard about you, too.” He glanced at the grave site. “Eve says you’re obsessed.”

Nalchek stiffened. “Does she?”

“Yeah.” He looked back at him. “But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s obsessed, too. It won’t bother me unless you start causing her problems.”

“Joe,” Eve said.

“He should know,” Joe said. “I think I can probably work with him, but he has to know the limits.” He met Nalchek’s gaze. “Got it?”

“Got it. Understood.” He paused. “And I’ll let you hang around unless you get in my way.” He smiled faintly. “I won’t cause Eve any problems because she’s on my wavelength.” He turned away. “But I don’t promise I’ll work with Margaret Douglas. She’s a little too—” He stopped and muttered a curse as he looked around. “Where the hell is she?”

“She’s slipped deeper into the woods while you and Joe were exchanging words and sizing each other up,” Eve said. “She warned me she’d probably do it. She didn’t want you around to get in her way.”