“How long did it take you to piece this together?”
“Too long. Hours. Doane could have taken Eve anywhere by the time we figured out that they were still alive. It might have taken me even longer if Margaret hadn’t—” She broke off and leaned back against Eve’s workbench. “I should have seen it all sooner. But I couldn’t see anything clearly that night. All I could think about was that moment when the saloon blew only minutes after I’d seen Eve dragged through that door. We were all in shock.”
“I can understand that.”
“Well, I don’t understand. I should have been thinking, acting, not feeling.”
“It’s amazing that you figured it out at all. Eve was right to be so impressed with you.”
“Fat lot of good it’s done. She’s still out there … with him.”
Catherine glanced at the funeral guests outside. “Why this charade? Why not let on that you know they’re still alive?”
“Venable supposedly has an army of agents searching for Doane and Eve as we speak. We thought we might have better luck if Doane didn’t know we were still looking for him. He was evidently counting on the fact that DNA on those skeletal fragments could take weeks to come back and allow him to proceed with his plans.” Her lips twisted. “According to Venable, Doane is very proud of his ability to concoct his nasty little plans. This particular plan was very intricate, and he clearly wanted us to think they were both dead, so that he’d be free to go forward.”
“And do what?”
“He has a target. Lee Zander, the man who killed his dirtbag of a son, Kevin. Not an easy target. Zander is probably one of the foremost assassins in the world.”
“And what does Eve have to do with his damn target? I thought that she’d been taken to do a reconstruction on the son.”
“That’s what we all thought. But it appears that wasn’t Doane’s primary motive. Doane thinks Zander is Eve’s father. Since Zander killed his son, he wants to see him bleed as he kills his daughter in front of him.”
Catherine went still. “Father? And is he?”
“I don’t know. Venable seems to think that he is.” She shook her head. “But what does matter is that Doane thinks it’s true.”
Frustrated, Catherine said, “There are too many unknowns. What the hell is happening here?”
“I don’t know. Ask Venable. Though I’m not sure he’ll tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like the way he was trying to run the show at the ghost town.” She paused. “I thought he was being stupid by bringing in an attack team to go after Doane in that saloon. But now I’m not sure if he was stupid or a little too smart.”
“What are you saying? You think Venable’s crooked?”
“I think he has an agenda, and Eve’s not at the top of it.” She met Catherine’s eyes. “And why didn’t he let you know about what was happening to Eve? You’re her friend, and I’d judge you’re fairly lethal. Why not bring you into this chaos of a situation?”
“That’s what I asked him.”
“Were you satisfied with the answer?”
“No. He’s been dodging it.”
“Good. Then you’ll not trust him any more than you do me.”
She smiled faintly. “But I believe I’m beginning to trust you, Kendra.” Her smile faded. “I’ve got to get this clear in my mind, but I don’t want to blow your little scenario. Who knows that Eve is alive?”
“Joe, Zander, Jane MacGuire, Margaret Douglas, and the people who have been concerned with the hunt for Eve from the beginning.”
“Not Eve’s mother, Sandra?”
“No, it was Joe Quinn’s call. He decided that she was too erratic to trust with that information.” She made a face. “Actually, Joe was being diplomatic. Replace erratic with selfish. You’ll notice she didn’t come today—too devastated. But not too devastated to give one TV and three print interviews this morning.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what their relationship was, but it was definitely complex.”
Catherine was mentally going over the other names Kendra had given her. “Margaret Douglas…” she repeated. “You broke off in the middle of telling me something about a Margaret. Why?”
“Margaret is … difficult.”
“You don’t want to talk about her.” Catherine’s eyes narrowed on her face as she tried to remember the exact words Kendra had spoken. She had been so upset and intent on digging for the truth that she had dismissed it at the time. “You said something about your not being able to put the entire scenario together sooner except for her.”
“No, just not as soon.” She turned back to the window. “Look, I’m not going to try to explain Margaret to you. She has to be experienced. All I’m telling you is that she’s a good kid and no phony. I’d trust her in the trenches.”
“But I’m not you. I’ll make up my own mind,” Catherine said. Her gaze followed Kendra’s to the crowd below. “Which one is Margaret?”
“The girl standing next to Jane MacGuire. She tends to stay close to her when she can. She’s a bit protective.”
“Of Jane MacGuire?” She had met Jane, and no one appeared to be less in need of protection. Strong. Very strong. And Kendra had been referring to Margaret as a girl, even a kid. She gazed curiously at Jane and Margaret standing beside her.
Golden. Margaret seemed bathed in sunlight, tanned, sun-streaked hair, slim in her simple black dress. She did look young, nineteen or twenty at the oldest. She was appropriately solemn for the occasion but there was an aura of vitality, a barely restrained exuberance, held in check. “Why protective?”
“Jane saved her life. She took a bullet for her from Doane’s cohort, Blick, when all of this madness first started. Margaret believes in payback.”
“Interesting. I believe I have to talk to this Margaret Douglas.” She turned toward the door. “Would you like to come along and introduce me?”
“No, I have some thinking to do. You’re on your own.”
“Thinking?”
“Things are changing,” Kendra said soberly. “I have some decisions to make.”
“Don’t we all,” Catherine said. She opened the door. “Thank you, Kendra. And thank God you found out that we might still have a chance of freeing her.”
“I should have found out sooner. It’s to do all over again.”
“Maybe not. It appears a trap is in the offing.”
“He’s managed to sidestep traps so far.” She paused. “Good luck, Catherine.”
The words sounded curiously final, Catherine thought, as she left the house and ran down the porch steps. Imagination? Maybe. Everything was looking dark to her right now.
Dismiss it.
She had to probe, to find which way to go. She had not been pleased that Kendra Michaels had been suspicious about Venable’s motives and response to that disaster in the ghost town. Kendra had impressed her as being very sharp. Catherine had worked with Venable since she was a girl of fourteen and knew him as well as anyone. He was always an enigma, but he was a professional. Yet his priorities were always to the job, and she could see that if he had been torn, Eve might have been downgraded in importance.
So walk carefully and discreetly around Venable.
And don’t trust him any more than she could throw him.
She started to make her way through the crowd toward Jane and Margaret.
But she’d only gone a few steps when Margaret Douglas said something to Jane and was walking briskly toward Catherine.
Catherine stopped and watched her move. Margaret was worth watching—confidence, grace, vitality. Smiling at the people in the crowd as she brushed by them. She couldn’t decide whether Margaret was beautiful or just attractive because that inner glow was so strong it dominated everything about her.