“You stay there and don't move a muscle.”
“I'll do what I please. Tell me how we get Eve invited to Herculaneum after Aldo reads the confirmation in the magazine.”
“We do two days of prep work in the newspapers having Sontag talk about forensic sculptors and the need to get the foremost professional in the business to do it. Then we wait another couple days and have Sontag announce his choice.”
“That's almost another week of waiting.”
“Then that's what we'll do.”
“I should think you'd be able to hurry it.” She yawned. “I'm too tired to argue right now. I was up all last night researching the magazine and convincing Joe that helping me was the right thing to do. I'm going to bed. Remember to fax that—”
“My God, you're formidable.”
She felt a pang of hurt. “I don't know what you're talking about. There was a job to do and I did it.”
“And the most formidable thing about you is that you don't realize it. You probably made Drake so dizzy that he didn't know whether he was coming or going.”
“I only gave him what he wanted.”
“Heaven protect us poor males if you ever pull out the big guns.”
“If you have to rely on heaven, then you're pretty sorry and don't deserve to be protected. And I'd think you'd be grateful instead of whining.”
“I am grateful. And mad. And scared.”
She couldn't deal with this any longer. “The hell you are. Get over it. Send the photo.” She hung up the phone.
“He didn't like you leaving here?” Eve asked from behind her.
“No.” She turned to face Eve. “Why should he be any different? You and Joe hated it too. But you finally agreed that I could do it.”
“Oh, I didn't have any doubt you could do it. I just wish I could have been there to watch you in action.”
Jane frowned. “But you were angry when you thought I was manipulating Joe.”
“That was Joe. Aldo's made this a war zone. As long as you don't hurt innocent bystanders, use any weapon you can.” She smiled. “But next time I don't want to be the one to stay here and keep the home fires burning.”
“You'll be in the middle of it once we get to Herculaneum. If we ever get there. Trevor is taking baby steps during this stage of his precious con.”
“Which is probably smart,” Eve said. “I approve of delicacy in the final stages. I've learned I can ruin everything in my reconstructions if I get in too much of a hurry. Though I agree it's hard to wait. Get to bed soon. You look like you're ready to drop.”
“I am.” She motioned to Toby and moved down the hall. “I'm going to sleep like a rock tonight.”
“With no dreams?” Eve asked quietly.
“You mean of Cira?”
Rocks falling, striking. Pain. Blood.
She shook her head. “I haven't dreamed of Cira for a long time. Maybe it's over. Maybe I'll never dream of her again.”
“Don't be too sure. Considering that everything we're doing is about Cira, I'd be surprised if she weren't front and center in your mind.”
“So would I. But then she's always there. Did I tell you that she was probably the Herculaneum version of a musical comedy star?”
“No. Really?”
“Isn't that strange? She had such a tough life. It must have been hard for her to act the clown. I can't see her cavorting around singing and dancing.” She shrugged. “But I guess she could do anything she wanted to do. Good night, Eve.”
“Sleep well.”
She'd sleep well, Jane thought as she closed her door behind her. If she dreamed, it would be of Sontag and Aldo and the ruins of Herculaneum with Trevor spinning his web around all of them.
She should be glad that she no longer dreamed of Cira. Maybe the circle was now complete, her story told. Maybe Cira had died when those rocks had crashed down on her.
Sadness. Loneliness.
Instant rejection surged through her. No, she wouldn't have it.
She was crazy. How could she prevent something that had happened two thousand years ago? Whatever had occurred in that tunnel, she had to accept it.
She started to undress. “But it's not fair, is it, Toby?” she whispered as she slipped into bed. “She fought so hard. She deserved to live. . . .”
Dahlonega, Georgia
The photograph of the sculpture in Archaeology Journal was slightly blurred but unmistakable.
Cira.
Aldo's gaze devoured the woman's features before scanning the accompanying article. Confirmation. The magazine was being very discreet but it was clear they were confirming Sontag's find and had even been given a prized photo of the statue found in the anteroom.
He went to the Florence La Nazione site. Another news conference and Sontag talking about his remarkable discovery and obtaining a forensic sculptor to verify that the bust and skeleton were the same woman. It was the second mention in as many days.
Forensic sculptor.
Cira.
Jane MacGuire.
The circle was closing, tightening like a noose.
Very well, the worst had happened, but he could make it work for him. Maybe this was a challenge so that he could prove how superior he was to that bitch.
Last night he'd dreamed of Cira and woke in an ecstasy of sexual release. Broken bones and blood and her tears of humiliation. But he couldn't have the blood without Jane MacGuire. She was the present manifestation of that bitch. He had to have both to be complete.
He would have them. He deserved it.
But fate sometimes stumbled and needed a little help. He had to take control. Look at what happened at that glade when he'd almost had Jane MacGuire in his grasp.
He couldn't permit any slips this time.
I need to see you,” Sontag said curtly when Trevor answered his phone. “Right away. I never bargained for this.”
“You didn't bargain for anything. You were blackmailed.” Trevor sat up in bed. “What's wrong? Reporters bugging you?”
“Just get here.” He hung up the phone.
Trevor glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he started to dress. Two forty-five A.M. Sontag wasn't one who tossed and turned, worrying in the dead of night, and he'd definitely sounded spooked. Trevor had better move fast before he unraveled and blew everything.
He arrived at Sontag's house on the outskirts of Herculaneum fifteen minutes later.
“You said it was cut-and-dried,” Sontag sputtered as he threw open the door. “Just a few news conferences and then I could go to Cannes. You said he was out of it.”
“Calm down,” Trevor said. “You have only a week or so more and then you can leave Herculaneum.”
“I'm leaving tomorrow.”
“The hell you are.” He strode into the room. “You still have work to do.”
“No, I don't.” He picked up a large envelope on the coffee table and threw it to Trevor. “I'm done.” He was untying his velvet robe as he moved toward his bedroom. “I wash my hands of it. He's trying to take over. He'll expose me. I'm going to pack.”
It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let Sontag off the hook. He was tempted to go after him at once and apply pressure but he decided to let him cool down for a few minutes. He opened the envelope and drew out the sheaf of papers inside.
He gave a low whistle as he saw the top page. “Christ!”
We've got him,” Trevor said when Jane answered her phone two hours later. “We've not only got him. I'd bet he's here in Herculaneum.”
She stiffened. “What?”
“Sontag phoned me in a panic and tossed an envelope at me as soon as I walked into the room. It contained a complete dossier on Eve Duncan. It was obviously pulled off the Internet, and the story about her reconstruction of the Egyptian mummy was on the top.”