CONTENTS

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Also by Iris Johansen

Copyright

CHAPTER

1

STOP ME. FIND ME. KILL ME.

Agony tore through him as John Gallo pushed through the brush, the branches scratching his face as he ran.

How long had he been on the run?

Hours? Days?

And why couldn’t he stop?

Why couldn’t he let the sheriff’s men find him, shoot him? He knew these woods so well that it was easy to avoid capture. Whenever they had come near, instinct and self-preservation had kicked into high gear, and he had fled.

And those instincts were so good, he thought bitterly. They had been honed by all the battles, all the killings, all the ugliness of his life. Save yourself so that you can kill again.

But at least he had not stayed to kill his hunters. That was part of the reason why he had not exposed himself. He couldn’t trust himself not to kill them. He was too well trained, too expert in the ways of destruction.

And then there was the madness.

There was no telling where that sickness would take him.

He was climbing, he realized. He was climbing the high hill where he’d done his last kill.

Paul Black. He’d broken his neck.

And Joe Quinn. If he was dead, that, too, could be laid at his door.

He broke free of the shrubs and trees and was standing on the edge of the cliff over the lake.

What was he doing there?

One step, and he would plunge over the precipice.

Why not?

Maybe that damnable instinct would not kick in when he hit the lake below.

“It will, you know.”

He stiffened, afraid to turn around to see who had spoken.

Madness. It was back, taunting him, torturing him.

“Look at me.”

He slowly looked over his shoulder.

A little seven-year-old girl, with curly red-brown hair wearing a Bugs Bunny T-shirt.

The same T-shirt she had worn the day she had died.

The day he might have killed her.

The agony was overwhelming, searing through him, blocking everything but the sight of her and his own guilt.

His daughter, Bonnie …

Milwaukee Airport

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

“YOU’RE JANE MACGUIRE?”

Jane turned away from the baggage claim carousel to see the woman who had spoken walking toward her. It had to be Catherine Ling, she thought. Her adoptive mother, Eve, had described the CIA agent in detail, but the reality was even more stunning. Catherine Ling was part Asian, part Caucasian, and more exotic and magnetic than any woman Jane had seen except on the movie screen. She appeared be in her late twenties, tall, graceful, with high cheekbones, huge dark eyes slightly tilted at the corners, olive-gold skin, long dark hair pulled back in a chignon. But it was the aura of power and vitality that surrounded her that was the most impressive. As an artist, Jane’s first impulse was to ask her to pose for her. The second was to squeeze every bit of information she could from her. “I’m Jane. You’re Catherine Ling? How is Joe?”

“Is that your bag?” Catherine lifted Jane’s suitcase off the carousel with easy strength. “Joe was no better when I left the hospital. But as far as I know, he’s no worse. Eve doesn’t want to leave him, so she asked me to pick you up. I’ve made reservations for you at a Hyatt near the hospital. We’ll check you in, then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Jane shook her head. “To hell with that. I’m going to the hospital to be with Eve. I should have been with her ever since Joe was admitted. It’s been almost two days. Why the hell didn’t she call me before this?”

“You were in London, and there wasn’t much you could do. Joe was in surgery for a long time. Eve said she didn’t want to talk to you until she could give you good news.” She headed toward the exit. “That didn’t happen, so she called you anyway. She thought you should be here.”

Jane nodded jerkily. “That’s what she said. She was so upset that she didn’t realize how that sounded. I felt like I was flying to a deathbed.” She took her suitcase from Catherine. “She didn’t even tell me what happened with Joe, only about his wound. A knife thrust to the back that did serious organ damage.” Her lips tightened. “A knife. Whose knife? I don’t want to stress Eve out by asking questions. That means you’re on the hot seat, Catherine. I want to know everything before I walk into that hospital.”

Catherine nodded. “I thought that would be my job.” She stopped before a silver Toyota. “Get in. I’ll fill you in while I drive you to the hospital.” She slipped into the driver’s seat. “But I’m going to go through a drive-through McDonald’s and get you a cup of coffee.”

“You think I’ll need the caffeine to get through this?”

Catherine gave her an appraising glance as she started the car. “I think you’re probably a cool customer. But you love Eve and Joe. They raised you from the time you were ten. You have a right to be upset and need a little bolstering.” She pulled out of the airport parking lot. “And if you don’t, I do. You’re going to be pissed at me.”

“Am I?” Jane stiffened. “Why?”

“I’m partly the reason Joe was hurt.”

“Then yes, I’ll be pissed at you. I’ll want to break your neck. Is Eve angry with you?”

“No, she says no one could have stopped Joe.”

Jane slowly nodded. “She’s right. No one could ever stop Joe from doing what he wanted to do. I knew that the first time I saw him. But it relieved me. I knew if Joe ever became my friend, it wouldn’t be because Eve wanted him to do it. It would be because he wanted it himself. That was important to me. I was a ten-year-old Eve had picked up from the streets because we’d known the moment we’d come together that it was right we stay together. But Joe was a big part of her life even then. I didn’t want to have to walk away.”

“And you didn’t have to do it,” Catherine said. “You became a family.” She smiled faintly. “A very strange family. Eve Duncan, a famous forensic sculptor, Joe Quinn, a police detective, and you, a kid from the streets.”

“We learned to mesh,” Jane said. “Eve was no problem. Joe was slower. But we both loved Eve, so we worked at it.” She smiled. “And then as we got to know each other, it wasn’t work any longer. Funny how love makes everything easier.”

“Yeah, funny.” Catherine pulled into the McDonald’s drive-through. “Do you want anything besides coffee?”

“No.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

She studied Catherine as she gave the coffee order. How much love had Catherine had in her life, she wondered. Eve had told her she’d been a street kid like Jane but had grown up in Hong Kong. She’d married a much older man, then been widowed. She had come into Eve’s life when she’d asked Eve to help her find her son, who had been kidnapped by a Russian criminal wanting revenge on Catherine. Eve had helped her rescue him, and they had become close friends. There was no doubt in Eve’s mind that Catherine adored her son, Luke. But Jane had gotten the impression that, other than Luke, Catherine’s life had been her job as a CIA agent.