Smokescreen - Iris Johansen Page 0,14

thought you might,” Jill said quietly. “Actually, I thought it could be—”

“Get over here,” Eve interrupted. “I’m angry, and on edge, and I want to see your face while I’m listening to what you say to me. You went to a hell of a lot of trouble to tear me apart, and I have an idea why. How quick can you be here?”

“Ten minutes. I’m in a motel just off the freeway.”

“I thought you’d stay close,” Eve said curtly. “I’m surprised you didn’t camp out in your car.”

“I thought about it.”

“I’m sure you did. I’ll expect you in ten minutes, and don’t expect either coffee or politeness. We’ve gone past that now.” She hung up.

She got to her feet and moved toward the door to the porch. She needed air and to calm down a little before she confronted Jill. She hadn’t realized until she’d actually made contact with her how the anger had been building in the last few hours. Or perhaps it had started building earlier, during all the hours she’d been working on Nora last night.

She took a deep breath and gazed out at the lake, trying to steady herself.

Sunlight. Beauty. Peace.

Everything that she wanted to surround her while she was working on Nora and others like her who had been robbed of all three.

And this was Eve’s life, her home.

The anger was growing again.

But now she had a target.

Jill was driving down the lake road and pulling into the driveway.

Eve met her at the top of the stairs. “You’re early. You must be eager to see me.”

“I broke a few speed laws. I figured that you needed to vent before you exploded,” she said. “You don’t get angry often, but when you do, it’s supposed to be impressive.”

“Of course you’d know that about me, too. Research.”

“Yes.” Jill’s gaze was studying her face. “Circles. You didn’t sleep last night. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? I don’t believe you. I think it was all part of your plan to manipulate me. You knew exactly how to do it. You knew which buttons to push and took time to coordinate them in the right order.” Her lips tightened. “Those photos and biographies were a masterstroke. They brought me down as if I’d been run over by a fifty-ton truck. You knew they would, didn’t you?”

“Yes. It was your principal weakness.” She added, “And your greatest strength. I had to use it.”

“You’re not even denying it.”

“Why should I? You’d know I was lying, and I wouldn’t insult you.” She paused. “Besides, I’ve won, haven’t I?”

Eve stared at her in frustration. It was difficult to hold on to her anger as she gazed at the reporter. Jill wasn’t boasting; there was only vulnerability and that sadness Michael had noticed. “Not yet. I hate being manipulated. Last night, I started thinking about every way you’d done that since you walked in here yesterday afternoon. It took me a little while to get it together because you were so clever and so good at what you do. Even those photos weren’t close-ups of the children. Just loving family shots. Because you knew I never looked at facial photos of my reconstructions.” Her lips tightened. “And then you hit me with the photos after the massacre.”

“I didn’t want to do it. But I had to convince you.” She moistened her lips. “We need you, Eve. You don’t realize how much. But I promise if you come, that you’ll see how worthwhile it is.”

“I can tell that you think it is. But you’re asking me to put my life and career on hold while I do those reconstructions.”

“Only for a few weeks. I told you, I wouldn’t expect more from you.”

“How generous of you,” she said dryly. “It’s what I expect of myself that matters. You’ve been playing me to get what you want, but that’s over.” She was silent. “I’m the only one in charge of what I do, but there are things I have to know before I commit.” She stared her straight in the eyes. “Is everything you told me the truth?”

Jill’s gaze didn’t waver. “Absolutely. Every word.”

“Even those stories you wrote about the children at the school, their stories?”

Jill nodded. “I swear it. You can ask their parents and grandparents. You believe me?”

Eve couldn’t help but believe her. “You’re so good at what you do. I had to be sure.”

“I am good. I’m a fantastic storyteller. It’s my primary talent. I have others, and I’ve always had to use whatever skills I have