"Eight Days to Live" - читать интересную книгу автора (Johansen Iris)

TWO

“EASY.” JOCK TURNED JANE around, and his hand pressed her head to his shoulder. “You were going to see her anyway, and I wanted you to get it over with before the police got here. Now don’t look at her again.”

“He… killed… her.” She still couldn’t understand it. “But she was in the taxi. I ran down from the apartment to distract him. He wouldn’t have had time to-” She buried her head in Jock’s shoulder. “She was in the taxi.”

“No. It was a trick to get you down here. There were two of them. Someone else was driving the taxi. I saw him pulling away after I killed Folard.”

She couldn’t comprehend it. “It was a trick?”

“What he did to her had to take a while. He had to have her keys and the alarm code. He probably grabbed her earlier in the evening. If he hadn’t been able to lure you down, he would have run the risk of going upstairs after you.”

She had a memory of Celine going out the door with her red silk cape flying behind her. “He was waiting for her, stalking her?”

“Yes, it’s likely. You were the big game, but they wanted you to see what they had done to her before they took you. I’d bet he’d been given his orders not to kill you tonight. But when you fought him, you were just an irresistible temptation.” He tilted his head, listening. “I think that’s the police just down the block. They should be here any minute.”

“Venable,” she said suddenly. “You mentioned Venable. He’s CIA.” She’d dealt with Venable and the CIA years ago when she’d been trying to keep him from taking Jock into custody after he’d been hospitalized. The experience had not given her any overwhelming sense of trust in the agency. But his appearance in her life at this time and place made everything even more bizarre. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“I’m working for him right now.”

“The CIA? You? Why would you be-”

“Later.”

Yes, later. She couldn’t think through this veil of horror surrounding her anyway.

Celine was dead. Celine had been butchered.

She dazedly tried to fight her way through the fog. “Why did this happen? I don’t understand any of this, Jock.”

“I know you don’t. It’s going to be okay, Jane.” He turned her to face the police car that was pulling up to the curb across the street. “I’ll give Venable a call and see if he can pull strings to make it any easier for you. But it should be pretty clear to the local gendarmes that this was self-defense. Folard even has the spike he was thinking of using on you in his hand.”

She had noticed something dark and pointed, but in the dimness she hadn’t recognized it as a spike. She felt sick as she remembered the spike in Celine’s chest. Was Foulard going to drive the one clutched in his hand into Jane’s heart? “She was such a good person. I liked her, Jock. We were friends.”

He nodded. “I know it’s difficult for you. I’ll try to get you through this as quickly as possible.”

Get her through it? He was worried about Jane. What about Celine, who had been full of joy and life only hours before?

Don’t look at her. Think of her as she’d been before she’d walked out of the gallery, laughing, joking.

Not the brilliant, helpless butterfly pinned to that door.

DAMMIT to hell.

Millet’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of the taxi as fury tore through him. He should have grabbed the bitch himself instead of relying on Folard. He hadn’t thought there would be a problem, and it was smart to let his men have a small part in this taking.

But Folard had failed. He had let her triumph. He had let Jock Gavin triumph. That son of a bitch had appeared out of nowhere.

Jock Gavin. Millet had last seen him yesterday in Rome, but here he was in Paris, interfering, putting himself between Millet and Jane MacGuire. He should have known better than to think that Gavin could be trusted when he’d accepted him into the Sang Noir. Betrayal.

He drew a deep breath and tried to control himself. It would still go well. He would continue with the grand plan and find a way to take Jane MacGuire as soon as possible. She was not only his revenge, she was to be his salvation.

But his stomach was clenching at the thought of the delay. Celine Denarve’s agony had only whetted his appetite.

He wanted Jane MacGuire.

He needed her now.

VENABLE ANSWERED JOCK GAVIN’S call on the fourth ring.

“You screwed up, Venable,” Jock said. “You promised me that you’d have someone near the gallery to protect Jane until I could get here.”

“I did my best. Presnell was supposed to be there. What happened?”

“Celine Denarve was murdered, and Millet almost got his hands on Jane. Your best sucks.”

“Shit. Is she okay?”

“No, but she’s alive. I had to kill Folard, one of Millet’s errand boys. Get busy and pull strings to keep the police from taking us in for questioning. Jane’s been through enough tonight.”

“It may take a while.”

“It had better not,” Jock said softly. “I’m very angry with you, Venable.”

Venable felt a chill go through him. He shook it off. It was difficult not to feel a little intimidated by Jock Gavin. His history alone was enough to make a man think twice. He had been an assassin without equal, and that lethal coldness lingered like a shadow that refused to leave him. But Venable had been a CIA agent for too many years to let the intimidation be more than temporary. It was his job to deal with men like Gavin, and he’d do his job and do it well. “I’ll call you back if I have any trouble.” He hung up.

Trouble? There was nothing but trouble popping up all over the place. Dammit, everything was going to hell.

Presnell, the agent he’d sent to protect Jane MacGuire, was almost certainly dead. He was too good a man to screw up like this.

Find out. Then send another man to watch Jane MacGuire. Though with Jock Gavin on the scene, it would probably be extreme excess.

His phone rang, and he glanced down at the ID.

John MacDuff.

Oh, shit. He should have known MacDuff would be hovering over Jock Gavin like a protective hawk. He considered Gavin his responsibility since Gavin had grown up on his estate, MacDuff’s Run, in Scotland. Though, God knows, Venable had hoped that the two might have lost contact since Gavin had moved to the U.S. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with MacDuff.

He punched the cell. “I was just going to call you.”

“The hell you were.” MacDuff’s voice was silky. “What are you trying to do, Venable?”

“Gavin called you?”

“Yes, he didn’t want to involve me, but he thought Jane MacGuire might need help since you’re screwing up. You son of a bitch, you’re trying to drag Jock back into that same hellhole he pulled himself out of.”

“I needed him.” He paused. “I’d do it again, MacDuff. There was a leak among my team. I needed someone good who had no connection with the Company. It’s not as if Gavin was an innocent. He was lucky I didn’t lock him up and throw away the key. After all, he was probably one of the most accomplished assassins either one of us have ever seen.”

“We made a deal. I helped you get your hands on that bastard, Thomas Reilly, who had brainwashed Jock and all those other kids he’d kidnapped, and you gave me custody of him.”

“I needed him to do a job for me. Don’t expect me to feel guilty for using Gavin.” He repeated, “He was an assassin.”

“He was a young kid who was medicated and brainwashed. Do you know how many times he tried to kill himself after he started to come off that medication?” His voice turned savage. “I should turn him loose on you, Venable.”

“Go ahead. But that wouldn’t keep him from going right back to Jane MacGuire afterward. I’d just be a minor bump in the road. And you might need me. This is a very ugly business.”

“And you used Jane to draw Jock into doing your damn job.”

“She was in the middle of it anyway. She just didn’t know it. But, yes, I gambled that he’d do anything to keep her safe.”

“Since Jane was the one who brought Jock back to the land of the living. Sure, why not send him out to kill a few scumbags to show how grateful he is?”

“What do you want me to say? I did it. I’d do it again. Dammit, I may have lost a man tonight while he was protecting Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “And the situation in Paris may be awkward. It’s too late for me to do a cleanup. We need damage control.”

“If Jock is roped into your damage control, I’ll come after you myself.”

And he’d do it, Venable thought sourly. MacDuff was a throwback to the Lairds who first ruled MacDuff’s Run. He was possessive of every person on his property and protected them with passion and ferocity. Jock Gavin had not only grown up in the village at MacDuff’s Run, but MacDuff treated him as a younger brother. “Actually, I was going to rope you into doing that for all of us. They love you in Paris. You’re a big hero to them. As I recall, one of the medals you won was a Croix de Guerre. Do you know the prime minister?”

“I’ve met him several times.”

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to convince him that it would serve no purpose to victimize a young woman who has suffered enough already. The media doesn’t need to know anything about Jane MacGuire.” He paused. “Or Jock Gavin. They’re both obviously innocent of the crime that took the life of an outstanding French citizen, Celine Denarve. And that scum that Gavin put down was clearly no loss. Can you convince the prime minister that for you to remove both Gavin and Jane from the public eye would permit the police to focus on what’s important in the case?”

MacDuff was silent. “It’s possible I can get him to go along.”

“More than possible. I’ll do my part behind the scenes to help it along.”

“Very well. Hang up, and I’ll call him. I’ll have to work fast. He won’t like being roused at this hour of the night.”

But Venable had seen MacDuff when he was moving toward a goal with a confidence and charisma that was truly awe-inspiring. He was as good at negotiating his way through social and diplomatic circles as he had been searching out the enemies in the jungle as a commando. Hell, maybe there was something to all that Laird bullshit. “I knew you’d be willing to cooperate when you realized that we all have to do what we can to make sure that-”

“Listen, Venable. I’m not willing to cooperate with you on any level. I’m pissed off, and I can’t see that changing in the foreseeable future. I’ll call the prime minister because I don’t want to have to run the gauntlet when I get to Paris. I should be there within two hours. I have a plane standing by.” His voice lowered to velvet softness. “And after I finish the call, I’m going to phone you back, and you’re going to tell me everything you know or guess or even vaguely speculate. Is that understood?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it, Venable,” MacDuff said. “I don’t like the idea of your manipulating one of my people. It’s not going to happen again.” He hung up.

“I MADE YOU COFFEE.” Jock crossed to where Jane was sitting on the brocade Louis XV couch and handed her the tiny flowered cup and saucer. “But this is all I could find to put it in. It’s hardly worth bothering.”

“Celine loved dainty cups. She said she felt like a princess when she-” Jane drew a deep, shaky breath. “I argued with her. I was used to cups that were more like pitchers. Eve never liked to run to the kitchen for a refill while she was working on her reconstructions, and she always started out with a big cup. When I’m painting, I do the same thing. But Celine said that coffee should be an experience and should be savored and-I’m babbling, aren’t I?” She took a sip of the coffee. “Thanks, Jock. Thanks for everything.” The hot coffee tasted good and some of the chill that she was feeling ebbed away. It would be back, she knew. Every time she thought of Celine, it attacked like an enemy in hiding.

But for this moment Jock had managed to lessen that terrible hollowness. He was smiling gently at her, and it warmed her. Gentleness, strength, and yet that sense of underlying loneliness.

Strength. Yes, she always thought of him as the boy she had first met, but he was older now, in his early twenties. Just as stunningly handsome, with those silver-gray eyes and wonderful features, just as quietly contained, but the years had taken away that almost breakable quality and replaced it with a sort of subtle power.

“I’m sorry your friend was killed.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “She was a beautiful woman.”

“How could you tell?” She shivered. “That expression was-”

“Entirely natural considering the circumstances,” he said gently. “But I could still tell she had a flair for living.”

“Yes.” She moistened her lips. “I’m sorry that you-I didn’t want you to kill again, Jock. Particularly not for me.”

He smiled. “You’re suffering more than I am. You and MacDuff are always worrying about my immortal soul. Since I’m virtually sure that it’s lost already, I don’t let it trouble me.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were sick. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Shh.” He lifted his cup. “Drink your coffee. It’s not important right now.”

“It’s important. You’re important.” She rubbed her temple. “What happened, Jock? Why was she killed? Celine didn’t have an enemy in the world. Was he crazy?”

“In a way, I suppose.”

“And why were you here?” Though heaven knows she had been grateful to have him. Not only because he had probably saved her life but for staying with her during those two excruciating hours of police questioning. The inspector had at first been brusque, then had turned amazingly kind and respectful. He had not even made them go down to the police station to give their statements.

But perhaps leaving the gallery would have been better. She would not have been so aware of what the police forensic team had been doing to Celine. She quickly veered away from that memory.

Now that the first shock was over, she had to fight her way through the horror and try to make some kind of sense out of that act, which had no resemblance to reason. “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you for a long time, Jock. You didn’t just drop in out of the blue and-”

“No.” He shook his head. “My timing’s not that good. I thought there might be a problem.”

She sat up straighter on the sofa. “What kind of problem? Venable. You mentioned Venable. You said you were working for him? The CIA? That doesn’t make any sense. We were all walking a tightrope just to keep Venable from taking you into custody. If MacDuff hadn’t been able to make a deal with him, he’d have thrown you into prison.”

“But it seems he had something else in mind.” His lips twisted. “A man of my talents can be a valuable commodity in Venable’s line of work.”

“He’s using you?” Anger flared through her. “Dammit, get him on the phone. I want to talk to him.”

He smiled faintly. “Only you would want to jump in and take on Venable when you’ve just had a knockout punch of your own. You don’t need to protect me. I’m not a kid any longer, Jane.”

She knew that with her mind but she couldn’t stop seeing him as that beautiful, broken boy he had been. “I still want to talk to Venable. Yes, I’ll give him hell, but maybe I can squeeze some information out of him.”

“You won’t have to squeeze. Not him. Not me. But give yourself a little time. Drink your coffee.” He leaned back in the chair. “You’d only get upset if I dove in and tried to explain now. You’re very protective, Jane.” He smiled. “No one should know that better than I do.”

“Dammit, I am upset. My friend was murdered and nailed to a door. I wasn’t very protective of her, was I?” She leaned forward. “Now you tell me what’s happening, Jock.”

“Wait for MacDuff,” he said quietly. “He should be here anytime now.”

“MacDuff? He’s coming, too? I don’t want to wait for MacDuff. I want you to-”

“Leave the lad alone, Jane.” MacDuff was standing in the open elevator. “I know you’ve been through a great deal, but so has Jock.” He smiled. “You mustn’t intimidate the poor boy.”

She stiffened as MacDuff stepped out of the elevator. Presence. Charisma. Force. She was always aware of those three aspects of MacDuff’s personality when he came into a room.

“Intimidate?” She shook her head. “I’ve never been able to intimidate Jock.”

“That’s not true,” Jock said. “You’re a truly fearsome woman, Jane. From the first time you sketched me in the garden at the castle, I knew that I’d never be free of you.” He got to his feet. “So I’ll leave and let MacDuff handle you. He likes to think he can call the birds from the trees.”

“Then you should have given me the chance to talk you out of letting Venable use you,” MacDuff said curtly. “I’m not pleased with you, Jock.”

“I quake. I quiver.” Jock moved toward the kitchen. “I have to make decisions for myself now, MacDuff. Venable used me because I made the choice.”

“Stop it,” Jane said. “I won’t have this.”

MacDuff turned back to her. “You’re right. Jock and I are both a little on edge, but we should contain it. You have a right to be upset with us.” He smiled. “But then we wouldn’t be so frank in front of you if we didn’t regard you as family.”

“Is that supposed to flatter me? I’ve no desire to be a part of you or that crumbling estate. Go to hell.”

Jock glanced back over his shoulder. “Now it’s time for you to quake and quiver, MacDuff.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“Is that what you want?” MacDuff asked her quietly. “I’ll work on it if it will please you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Aye.” His lips indented at the corners. “But it’s bullshit that put a little color in your cheeks. I don’t like to see you pale and strained. Has it been a bad time for you tonight?”

“Bad time? You might say that. That bastard crucified my friend. He pinned her to that door like a-” She broke off. “And I don’t know why. But I’m going to find out.”

“Yes, you are.” He moved across the room toward her. He looked different, she thought. He was wearing a gray tweed suit, and she was accustomed to seeing him in casual slacks and sweaters. No matter what he wore, it was difficult to take your eyes away from him. He was tall, muscular, in his mid to late thirties with dark hair pulled away from his face. His light blue eyes were a striking contrast in his olive face. It was no wonder that Celine had been drawn to him. He was forceful, magnetic-all the things that would have attracted Celine.

He said, “May I sit down?”

She nodded impatiently. “Venable has something to do with this.”

“Yes.” He dropped down on the seat Jock had vacated. “I’d like to say the bastard had everything to do with it, but that would be giving him too much credit. He was only a cog.” He frowned. “But Venable should have come to me. I would have taken care of you. He had no business bringing Jock back here to do his work.”

“Taken care of me? What are you talking about?”

“I told you I regard you as family. Naturally, I’ll take care of what is mine.”

Arrogant, possessive bastard. Don’t argue. “Just tell me why anyone should have to take care of me,” she said through set teeth. “Why did Jock show up tonight?”

“He thought you were in danger. He’d received some information earlier today, and he had to make a move. He didn’t trust Venable’s men to protect you.”

“But why me? Why would anyone be targeting me?” Jane lifted her hand to her eyes. “Don’t start in the middle. The beginning, MacDuff.”

“I’m not certain where the beginning is yet,” he said grimly. “But I’ll tell you what Venable told me. Though I’m not sure that he told me everything.” He reached in his pocket and brought out a folded newspaper. “Do you recognize this?”

She took the newspaper. Le Monde. Feature section. “Yes, it’s an article that appeared two weeks ago. Celine was over the moon that she managed to wangle an article about the show.” A photo of herself looked up at Jane. Beside it were five of her paintings that were to appear at the exhibit. “It was taken before I left to go home on a visit to Atlanta.” She frowned. “Why?”

“One of Venable’s informants, Ted Weismann, sent him a copy of this article. Your photo was circled. And a date was inserted beneath your picture.”

“What date?”

“April 1.”

“So?”

“According to Venable’s informant, it was the date that you had to die.”

Shock. No time for shock. She had to recover quickly and go on, “But April 1 is eight, no seven, days away. And it’s Celine who died.” She shook her head. “It’s all crazy.”

“Venable didn’t think it was crazy. He respected this particular informant. He’d been working with him and trying to round up a group of killers for hire called the Sang Noir, who specialized in murdering political figures. He hadn’t been very successful. No proof. They’re careful and seemed to have enough money for bribes to skirt the law. It’s headed by Jack Millet. Very lethal. Very nasty. The group is responsible for at least two assassinations of world leaders in the last year. Jorge Ralez, President of Colombia. Kim Thai of South Korea, Head of the Parliament.”

She shook her head. “According to the media, Ralez’s death was drug-cartel related.”

“And Kim Thai was supposedly targeted by North Korean secret police. Neither of their killers was caught. High-profile cases and still no one brought to justice. Very strange.”

“Yes, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“It didn’t until Venable’s informant, Weismann, sent him this newspaper with your photo. He’d copied it from one that Millet had in his possession.” He paused. “He also said that Millet had been sent the photo by a businessman who was closely involved with Millet and the Sang Noir.”

“What kind of involvement?”

He shrugged. “Weismann wasn’t sure. It wasn’t unusual for Millet to negotiate hits with anyone who had the money. Murder is murder. The payout would have had to be spectacular to get him to agree to any deal.” He paused. “But he was on the phone ranting and raving with the man who sent him that clipping the moment he received it.”

“And who is this businessman?”

MacDuff shook his head. “Millet kept his arrangement with him very hush-hush. Only a few people knew about it. It took a lot of digging before Venable’s informant, Weismann, could tell him the little he found out.”

Jane impatiently shook her head. “Look, none of this has anything to do with me. Even if Millet had a copy of this article, it couldn’t be considered very high priority. I’ve no connection with any of those people. Which could mean that the whole idea of my involvement was a fluke.” A horrible mistake, a dreadful fluke. “For God’s sake, I’m an artist. I stay as far away from politics as I can get.”

“I don’t think that it was a mistake. They went to a great deal of trouble to zero in on your location here. And your friend, Celine, was murdered. Crucified.”

She flinched. Crucified. The word was as ugly as the act itself. It took a moment for her to regain control.

Then she shook her head wearily. “I don’t know. All I know is that it doesn’t make sense.”

“It has to make sense. We just have to find out how. Because it’s not only you on the line now. Jock killed one of their men tonight. I told you, Millet is very nasty. He’s not going to forgive and forget.”

“Jock shouldn’t have even been here,” she said bitterly. “Damn Venable.”

“He justified it by saying there had been several leaks, and he couldn’t afford another one in a sensitive operation. He went after Jock because he knew that he could trust him to get rid of any threat to you. He sent him to Rome, where the main branch of the Sang Noir is located, and told him to see what he could find out. There wasn’t any question of his completely infiltrating the group. They’re very tight. But he was able to cruise along in the shallows and be on hand to pick up information as it became available.” He smiled sardonically. “They weren’t suspicious of him. Venable got Weismann to spread the stories about Jock’s background. After all, he had excellent credentials in their field of expertise. Word does get around.”

Their field of expertise. Death.

Yes, no one could say Jock wasn’t a prime expert in that field. And he’d added another body to that reputation tonight, and it had been for her sake.

MacDuff shrugged. “Anyway, Jock had been aware of something stirring about you for the last few days. But he only found out late yesterday afternoon that Millet had left Rome for Paris. He called Venable and told him to make sure you were protected, then headed for the airport. It appears he got here just in time.”

“Not for Celine,” she said dully. “Such savagery. Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But Jock is no fool, and he thinks that Venable is right and April 1 is your death date.”

She tried to smile. “April Fool.”

“I don’t regard it as a joke.”

“I know you don’t. Because Jock killed a man tonight because of me.”

“Yes.” He met her eyes. “And because you’re family, and no one threatens my family.”

She pulled her gaze away from him. She had told him several times that she had no connection to his blasted family. But he had gotten the idea into his head and wouldn’t let go of it. “I’m no MacDuff. I’m an illegitimate street kid, and I like it just fine that way. Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan are the only family I need or want. And I’ll take care of my own threats, MacDuff.”

“Whatever you say.” He smiled. “Cousin. But the portrait of Great-aunt Fiona MacDuff on my wall at home makes me wonder. There’s no discounting the resemblance.”

“She lived during the late eighteen hundreds and everyone looks like someone. We’re a homogenized race.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I. We both have egos that tell us we’re unique.” His smile disappeared. “And someone has put you on a list that definitely makes you stand out.”

“Not that you didn’t stand out before.” Jock stood in the kitchen doorway with a huge cup in his hand. “I found a souvenir mug on one of the top shelves.” He came toward her. “Much better than those little cups.” He gave her the mug and took the other cup away from her. “Now drink that down. I’m sure MacDuff has told you enough to make you need another jolt of caffeine.”

“You should have come to me, told me.” She shook her head. “MacDuff says there’s no mistake, but I still can’t see any connection that would make sense.”

“There was a connection. No one mentioned your name, but I saw that newspaper article in the possession of at least three of the members.” He made a face. “It was pretty frustrating not to be able to learn more. They welcomed me on a very tentative basis. I wasn’t privy to any crucial information, and they watched me as much as I watched them. But they definitely thought I might be useful to them at some point.” His lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “Why not?”

“Did you know anything about Folard, the man you killed?”

“No, he was never in Rome. But if he was sent after you, then he was probably one of the core eight.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I gathered that there are eight who are considered the core or most important members. They’re the only ones that Millet trusts and allows to travel with him.”

“How many people belong to this Sang Noir?”

Jock hesitated. “I’m not sure. The Sang Noir has twenty or thirty members in Rome. But I understand he gets phone calls from all over the world. Of course, they could be clients.”

“But you don’t believe that?” MacDuff asked.

“I don’t know what I believe. I was only concentrating on getting information that pertained to Jane.” He paused. “I didn’t give a damn about anything else. Let Venable track down all Millet’s dirty business. If I’d run across something about this deal Venable’s so concerned about, I’d have told him, but it wasn’t a priority. I knew he was using me.” He added, “In fact, he suggested rather bluntly that he wouldn’t be opposed if I took out Millet.”

“Son of a bitch,” MacDuff said.

“It wasn’t totally unreasonable. It could have solved Venable’s problem. I might have done it, but I couldn’t be sure that would have stopped the plans for killing Jane from going forward. I decided to let him live.”

The words were said with an offhand coolness, and Jane felt a ripple of shock. She knew that Jock still wrestled with the numbness that had been instilled in him during that period when he had been brainwashed. Yet the Jock that he showed to her was so gentle and caring that those glimpses always caught her off guard. But Jock wouldn’t have been put in the position of making decisions like that if he hadn’t been trying to help her.

“Tell me about Millet and this Sang Noir,” she said. “They have to be crazy, or they couldn’t have done what they did tonight. But I’m lost; there has to be something that I can grab and hold on to.”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Jock said. “Most of it is what Venable filled me in on when he tapped me for his little job. As I said, the group is very tight and they don’t talk much. Millet supposedly grew up in Syria. His mother was Syrian and his father, Jim Millet, an American from Miami. His father was a smuggler and had a record a mile long before he settled in a village in Syria. He was under suspicion for beating his first wife to death before he left Miami. His second wife disappeared when Jack Millet was sixteen.”

“Disappeared?”

“Her son and husband claimed she had run away. There wasn’t much of an investigation. In spite of the strides Syria has made, a wife is still often thought of as property. Millet’s father died a year later, and Jack Millet dropped out of sight for a number of years. Then he showed up in Rome and Venable began to hear rumors of the Sang Noir.”

“He didn’t have a record?” MacDuff asked.

“He was under suspicion for killing a thirteen-year-old girl in a brothel in Barcelona.” He added grimly, “He toyed with her for three days. The kid was cut to pieces.”

“Nothing else?”

“Only rumors. Very ugly rumors. His favorite sport is inflicting pain. But by that time Millet had formed his group of killers for hire, and no one would testify against him.” He looked at MacDuff. “One thing Venable told me that was a little unusual. I’m sure Millet charged a small fortune for his hits, but even when he’d had no work for a long time, he seemed to have plenty of money and was able to maintain his killing squad.”

“So we look for the money.”

He shook his head. “Venable can look for the money. We just take care of Jane.”

“I don’t care about the damn money,” Jane said. Jock’s summary of Millet’s background had not yielded anything of value except that he was a sadistic monster, and she already knew that. She felt helpless, frustrated. “I don’t know enough about him. I don’t even know what he looks like. I didn’t pay any attention to him in that taxi.”

“I can help there,” Jock said as he took his phone out of his pocket. “I took shots of all the Sang Noir while I was hobnobbing.” He flipped through the photos and handed her the phone.

Millet appeared to be in his thirties, with thick brown hair, a hook nose, and a burly neck. Not handsome but not a terrible-looking man, she thought, sick. He didn’t look like a monster who would crucify-

She quickly handed the phone back to Jock. “At least I’ll recognize him if I see him.” She tried to search through her memory for anything else that might help. Dammit, her contact with Folard and Millet had been only a few minutes. How could she-

A thought occurred to her.

“How did those members of the Sang Noir speak? What kind of phrases did they use?” Jane asked suddenly. “Were they religious?”

Jock’s brows rose. “Not unless they kept it very private. They weren’t the churchgoing types. Priests very seldom give absolution for cold-blooded murder.” He gazed at her inquiringly. “Why?”

“That man Folard… When I was on the phone with him.” Her forehead knitted. “He was accusing me of all kinds of things. Whore. Bitch. I didn’t think much of it. Obscene callers usually use terms like those. But he called me Blasphemer. That wasn’t the same. The word sounds almost biblical. It means sacrilege, doesn’t it?”

“Or wickedness, profanity…” MacDuff said. “But it does sound a bit odd.”

She was remembering something else. “And when he attacked me, he said something about the angels of paradise having to forgive him for his impatience.”

“If he was on the side of the angels, it must be one hell of a weird heaven,” MacDuff said dryly.

“But it sounds as if he believed he was doing something he thought was right.” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know why I’m trying to take his motives apart. He had to be crazy to have done that horrible thing to Celine. What difference does it make if he thought all the angels in heaven would cheer if he crucified me as he did Celine?”

“It might make a difference. It’s certainly unusual.”

“But knowing it’s unusual and being able to decipher it are two separate things. Which leaves me as much in the dark as when I started.” She got to her feet. “I can’t think right now. I’m going to take a shower and call Eve, then go to bed.”

“Call Eve?” MacDuff said. “You’re going to tell her? It will only make her concerned. I’ve arranged to keep your name out of the media.”

“Joe’s a cop. We can’t be sure he wouldn’t stumble on it somehow. I can’t take a chance they’ll find out and be worried.” But she’d probably try to downplay the threat to herself. Though how to do that was a mystery. Eve was too sharp and would see through her. “And that police inspector said it would be okay if I left here tomorrow. I’m going to be on a plane by tomorrow night.”

“You’re going back to Atlanta?” MacDuff asked. “To visit your Eve and Joe?”

The lake cottage. Joe. Eve. It all beckoned with irresistible allure. “Yes, for a little while.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

Celine pinned to the door, her face contorted with pain.

Her hands closed into fists. “Damn you. No, it’s not wise. It’s not safe for me to be around anyone until I find out what’s going on. I’ll go to my apartment in New York instead.”

“You could come home with me,” MacDuff said. “You like it at the Run.”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” Jock asked. “MacDuff will take care of you. I’ll be there, too, if you’ll have me. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

“I don’t want MacDuff to take-” She broke off. Jock would never really understand. He was accustomed to the Laird caring for him, his family, and half the county. He had changed, become much more independent, but old ways died hard. “I’m going back to the U.S.” She started for the bedroom. “And, please, stay away from Venable, Jock. Don’t let him talk you into doing anything like this again.”

He didn’t answer, and she glanced back over her shoulder.

He smiled, that beautiful, gentle smile that had first drawn her to him when he was a boy scarcely out of his teens. “Things aren’t good for you, Jane. I have to make them better.”

She shook her head helplessly. In his way, he was an implacable force on the same scale as MacDuff. “Good night.”

She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her.