“A slip of the tongue.”

“Was it?” He studied her face. “I don’t … think so.”

“Think what you like.”

“I always do,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“How long has it been since you ate?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And what was it?”

“Berries.”

“Not very substantial.” He took a leather case from his jacket. “Would you like some beef jerky?”

“Is that supposed to be my last meal?”

“No; just protein to keep you going if I find it necessary to take you on the run.”

“But you have me so beautifully staked out here.”

“True.” He got to his feet and came around the fire. “But a little food is always diplomatically correct with prisoners. I always go by the Geneva Convention.” He knelt in front of her. “Should I feed it to you? Or can you handle it yourself?”

“I can do it.” She took the strip of jerky in one of her bound hands and lifted it to her lips.

“Such trust. What if it’s poison?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you’re not to be intimidated.”

“You could have killed me when I was unconscious. Why poison me?” She gnawed off a piece of the jerky. “You’re right; berries only sustain. Anything that gives additional strength is good.” She glanced up at him. “Even you, Zander. No, you’re only tolerable.”

He sat back on his heels, watching her chew the jerky. “You look like you’ve had a rough couple days. You’re dirty and bruised.” He reached out and touched her hair. “And your hair looks like a haystack.”

She stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you fearing for your virtue?” His gaze narrowed on her face. “No, that’s not it. You know, don’t you? He told you.”

She didn’t answer.

“I was wondering if he would,” Zander murmured. “I rather thought he’d save it for the big surprise. When did he break it to you?”

“After I threw Kevin’s skull off the cliff.”

“What?” He started to laugh. “You did that? Priceless.”

“He’s crazy. It’s all lies.” She glanced away from him. “He had to find some way to punish you in a way that would hurt you the same way that you hurt him, and he made up that bullshit.”

“Very logical of you.”

“It’s the only reasonable explanation for all this madness he’s put everyone through.”

“There is another explanation.”

“No, there’s not.”

“I disagree. A much simpler one.” He smiled. “That I am your father, Eve.”

She inhaled sharply. “No,” she said flatly. “I have no father.”

“That’s an impossibility, I’m afraid. Sandra was no Virgin Mary.”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” she said fiercely. “You have no right. It’s all lies.”

“So defensive.” He shrugged. “I’m just being honest. I’m not really attacking her. When I first knew Sandra, she was young and beautiful and hungry for everything that life held. That’s not bad, that’s human.” He paused. “But from what I’ve heard about your childhood, she didn’t deserve you defending her … You practically raised yourself when she got hooked on drugs. You had to take care of her from the time you were a kid.”

“That’s none of your business. She straightened herself out after I got pregnant with Bonnie. She was wonderful with my Bonnie.” She threw the strip of jerky he’d given her on the ground. “I don’t know what kind of game you and Doane are playing, but I’m not part of it. My mother wasn’t even sure who my father was.”

“She knew, Eve.”

“Why should I believe you? You come into my life and say you’re my father. Where’s your proof?” She shook her head, her eyes glittering fiercely. “My mother might have not been the best mother in the world, but she was there. Even if I did believe you, my answer is still the same. I have no father.”

“Fair enough. I have no intention of arguing with you. Though I might be able to furnish you with proof that would satisfy you.” He smiled. “But then there are different degrees of satisfaction. If I proved I was your father, that doesn’t mean you’d be happy about it. Quite the contrary. To call me a rotten apple on the family tree would be an understatement.”

“You don’t care if I’m happy. I’m bait, remember?”

“Certainly, how could I forget? But I’m beginning to think there’s something else going on. I may have to explore it.”

“The only thing going on is that you have me tied, and I want to be free.” She looked at the trees. “He should be coming anytime.”

“No, you’ll notice I set the fire so that the flames are burning low, and there’s little smoke. We may have a long time before Doane gets a visual or a whiff of the smoke.”

“And why did you do that?”

“I’m not sure. Impulse?”

“But you want to get this business with Doane over with. That’s why you’re here instead of waiting until Doane came after you. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes, and I’m sure that’s my primary reason. I’m a professional.”

“You’re a killer.”

“And that’s my profession. It should be done well or not at all.”

“Okay, that’s the primary reason,” she said impatiently. “What other reason could you have?”

“Curiosity? Boredom? I no longer have to rely on my profession to furnish me with either money or purpose. I haven’t for a number of years. Loss of purpose can be a dangerous thing for a man like me, it makes one careless. But I’ve always had an inquiring mind, and that’s still a force. I’ve noticed that I require a stimulant to keep me interested in life.” His lips twisted. “Not surprising in a man who has dealt with death most of his adult life. I need something more.”

“Then go join a monastery in Tibet.”

“Actually, I spent some time at one during one point in my life. It was a total waste of time for me. There was mental challenge but little else.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that answer to the suggestion she’d so scornfully tossed out. “So you went back to your true profession?”

“I never left it. I was sent to the monastery to kill Tenzin Dorje, a priest who was inciting political unrest in the country.”

“And did you kill him?”

“No, I learned enough from the order that I figured that I was paid in full.” He shrugged. “I don’t like dealing with politicians anyway. They’re never trustworthy.”

“You didn’t do your job?” Her lips twisted. “That’s not professional.”

“It would have been unprofessional if I’d taken their money and walked away. I did not. My reputation was still unblemished.” He paused. “Though I might as well have made the kill. I knew that priest was a dead man.”

“And was he?”

“Of course; six months later they sent someone else up the mountain to the monastery. He wasn’t nearly as good or as clean as I was, but he did the job.”

“And you had no regrets?”

“I didn’t say that. Venable says I’m too cold to have any feelings, but occasionally I feel a stirring.” He smiled. “They just aren’t what other people usually identify as conventional emotions. That priest knew that he would probably die for what he believed. Part of me wanted to tell him what a fool he was, another part wanted to knock him on the head and take him away and let him convert Eskimos or something. But people do what they have to do. So I went down the mountain and let him do what he had to do.”

“Die.”

“Yes.” He looked down at the fire. “Death comes to everyone. The bad, the good, the guilty, the innocent. You have a lot of experience in that particular truth, don’t you? Your Bonnie was both good and innocent, wasn’t she?”

“You have no idea. She’s special. And beautiful, so beautiful.” Eve’s gaze went to his face. If by some wild chance what he had told her was true, Zander was Bonnie’s grandfather. She found herself trying to find a resemblance. He had fine, strong features, but she could not see Bonnie in him.

His glance shifted from the fire and caught her appraisal. “You’re relieved that Bonnie doesn’t look like me.”

And Eve was annoyed that he’d read her so easily. “There’s no reason why she should. You’re not my father. How do you know what Bonnie looks like?”