“And maybe I don’t.”
She changed the subject. “You said you’ve spent a lot time looking for any clues in those woods where Jenny was found. Have you found anything at all?”
“No.”
“Then why keep looking?”
“Sheer frustration,” he said. “I told you I felt like she was calling to me. I interviewed everyone in the neighborhood about that killing that took place over eight years ago. Nothing. No one missing a child, no one who even remembers a nine-year-old child in the neighborhood who wasn’t fully accounted for. The only things I had left were you and the crime scene.”
“And I failed you,” Eve said. “I’ll make it up, Nalchek.”
“Bullshit. I told you that I didn’t expect more of you than you gave me. What were you supposed to do? Hand-carry the skull out here?”
She chuckled. “You’re right. And I won’t make it up to you, I’ll make it up to me.” Her smile faded. “But your friend was killed near that crime scene, and that means that the killer was watching it. Have you found any signs of anyone besides you wandering around that area?”
“No, if there was anyone, he was damn good about covering his tracks. I grew up in those woods, and I know them like my right hand. I was in the Special Forces, and I’ve been trained to observe. I saw signs of my men and the forensic crew. Nothing else.”
She hesitated. “Maybe you need a fresh eye.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t doubt that your Special Forces training made you very savvy, but there are all kinds of other people with specialized talents that might prove valuable.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“Maybe.” She went on quickly, “Isn’t there just a possibility that you might not see—”
“If there was something there, I would have seen it.” His voice was cool. “Is that all?”
“Just one other thing. What clothes was Jenny wearing when you took her out of that grave?”
“What? Why do you want to know that?” He went on impatiently, “Never mind. Everything she had on was in such tatters that it was hard to tell, but we decided that she was wearing a long white dress. Black, patent-leather shoes. Kind of dressy. She looked like she might have come from church. But I sent men around to all the churches within a hundred-mile radius, and they came up with zilch.”
Eve felt a surge of disappointment. Nalchek had already covered the only lead that she had thought might be a possibility. Which only proved how sharp and competent he was. “If not a church, where else would a little girl wear a fancy dress? A party?”
“Search me. I’m still looking.”
The music.
“I have a suggestion. Little children sometimes have musical recitals. They dress up for them.”
“That’s reaching. But I’ll check it out.”
“You’re obviously not going to give up.” She was turning into the airport. “Neither will I, Nalchek. I have to hang up now. I’ll call you when I arrive in San Francisco and have picked up our rental car. Can you give me the name of a decent hotel in your area?”
“Sonderville doesn’t have more than a few hotels. Martello’s Vineyard is pretty nice.” He sighed. “If you’re still set on coming, I’ll make your reservations.”
“I’m still set on coming. Thanks, Nalchek.” She hung up and drove into long-term parking.
The call had not been entirely satisfying, but she knew what she had to face now. Nalchek would cooperate but might be surly. He didn’t want to have anyone getting in his way. She could deal with it. It didn’t matter as long as he was committed, and he was certainly that.
And she had confirmed that the dress in which Jenny had appeared to her was the one she’d worn the night she’d been killed or taken. Where had she gone that night?
And Jenny had suffered that night. Dear heaven, what pain she must have gone through when that monster had broken her fingers.
She drew a deep breath and tried to fight down the anger that was searing through her. Jenny hadn’t remembered the deathblow, but she’d remembered the pain of her hand. Even in the great beyond, that memory had lingered.
Forget it, Jenny. If you can, let it go.
But I won’t let it go. I’ll remember what you went through.
I promise you.
SONDERVILLE, CALIFORNIA
1:05 A.M.
It was damn chilly in the woods tonight. There might be frost by morning.
Nalchek zipped up his leather jacket and moved a little faster down the trail toward the grave site. He could hear the leaves crackle under his feet, Hell, why was he even here at this hour? He hadn’t been able to sleep and had given up after a couple hours of turning and twisting in his bed.
And it was Eve Duncan’s fault. She had made him doubt his ability, and he’d been drawn back here to make sure that he was right, and she was wrong. It had been hard for him to give her the politeness she deserved when he was so frustrated. He didn’t need to begin thinking he might be making mistakes. He had learned in Afghanistan that that could lead to disaster. You just barreled ahead after you decided on a course and went after the objective.
If you knew the objective. It was only a vague—
Movement.
Up ahead.
He stopped.
A light step but not an animal. Two-footed. And the rhythm was different.
And he was headed for the grave site.
Nalchek glided forward, listening.
Not much to hear. That step was very light, and the brush was scarcely moving as he passed.
And then the movement stopped.
He had reached the grave.
Nalchek stopped, too.
No sound.
What was the bastard doing?
He glided forward until he could see the grave beyond the trees.
A figure in jeans and a dark hoodie was kneeling by the grave, reaching, digging through the dirt.
Shit!
“Halt.” He barreled through the trees and dove down in a low tackle. “You’re under—” He stopped as a fist crashed into his lower lip. To hell with it. Read him his rights later.
Just take him down.
He grappled him over on his stomach and grabbed his wrists to cuff him.
Him?
He stiffened. Those wrists were too delicate, that body he was straddling was not—
A woman? Either that or a teenage boy. He’d bet on its being a woman.
He finished the cuffing and flipped her over on her back.
He shined his flashlight down on her face.
Maybe not quite a woman. A girl not over nineteen or twenty.
Her sun-streaked hair had tumbled from beneath the hoodie, and she had glowing, healthy skin, and her blue eyes were very wary.
“I’m not a threat to you.” She moistened her lips. “Are you a threat to me?”
“Maybe. It depends on what you tell me in the next few minutes.”
“I can’t see you. It sounded like you were starting to say I was under arrest before you got rough with me.”
“I didn’t get rough with you. You would have known it if I had.”
“You have on a leather jacket. I felt it when I was struggling with you. It had some kind of insignia on it. Cop?”
“I could be one of the Hell’s Angels.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping for cop. Let me see you.”
He turned the beam on himself. “You might be better off with the motorcycle gang. I don’t like people messing around my crime scenes. Are you some college kid who’s hazing for a sorority?”
“No.” She was studying him with narrowed eyes, her gaze going from his broad shoulders sheathed in the black leather jacket to his muscular body garbed in the tan uniform and down to his black boots. Then it traveled up to his close-cut dark hair, to his craggy cheekbones, square, defined chin, and deep-set blue eyes. “I think maybe you’re right. You look … formidable. I might be better off with a Hell’s Angel.”
“Now that we agree on that score, let’s find out who the hell you are. You’re not a college kid. Curiosity seeker? Do you belong to one of those phony witch covens and are trying to get ritual dirt for one of your spells?”