Taking Eve(21)

“As a friend.” Margaret’s voice was wistful. “That would be nice. The other trainers and techs like me, but they think I’m kind of strange.”

“You are strange.” Jane smiled. “But I know a lot of strange people, and it doesn’t get in the way. We could work through it if you don’t mind me asking you questions. I’m very curious.”

“Sure.” She grinned. “I don’t have to answer all of them. I probably won’t. Everyone deserves their privacy.” She added impishly, “Even Seth Caleb.” She turned to Devon as she came into the room. “You go rest and get a cup of coffee. Jane and I will watch over Toby. I’ll call you if I see him doing anything that worries me. You know you can trust me.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Devon wearily rubbed the back of her neck. “Thirty minutes. No more.” She headed for the door to the waiting room. “And yes, I can trust you.”

“See?” Margaret murmured as the door closed behind Devon. “No one knows more than Devon how strange I am, but she still thinks I’m okay.” She went over to Toby and stroked his head. “And this one agrees with her.”

Jane was beginning to see that Margaret was a strange and somehow wonderful mixture of strength and vulnerability. She was beginning to wonder what experiences had created that unique blend. “I can see that he does.” She smiled and tapped her own breast with her index finger. “This one agrees with her, too.”


Lake Cottage

Atlanta, Georgia

A BANGING ON THE DOOR.

Eve was abruptly jarred from sleep.

What the hell?

She sat upright in bed and looked at the clock.

Don’t open the door.

Joe’s words came back to her even as she swung her feet to the floor.

But what if it was the policeman who had been cruising the area?

The banging increased in volume.

One way to find out. She checked her phone and retrieved the telephone number for the policeman Joe had hired. Ron Hughes. She dialed quickly.

He answered on the first ring. “Hughes. Is everything okay, Ms. Duncan?”

“You tell me. Is it you that’s been banging on my door?”

“Hell, no. I’m about six miles from your place making the circle from the highway. I’ll be right there. Don’t answer the door.” He hung up.

And she had no intention of opening that door. But she wasn’t going to cower in this bedroom, either. There was desperation, maybe even violence, in the force with which those blows were being struck against the front door. If it was desperation, it could be that someone had had an accident in this torrential rain and needed help. If it was violence, she wanted that violence to have a face she recognized. The person on the porch might very well take off when he saw the patrol car coming down the road. For good or ill, she had to know who it was out there.

No problem. The two picture windows on either side of the door had drapes that she could pull a little aside so that she could see who was standing in front of the door. She thrust her feet into slippers, shrugged on her robe, grabbed her gun from the bedside table, and left the bedroom. The next moment, she had reached the front door.

The banging continued.

She moved to the far right side of the door and carefully drew the red drapes the tiniest bit away from the window.

She stiffened with shock.

The next moment she was at the front door, turning off the alarm.

She thrust her gun in her robe pocket and threw the door open.

“Stop that banging. What are you doing here?”

“You need me,” Ben Hudson said simply. “So I came, Eve. May I come in? I’m all wet.”

“For heaven’s sake, of course you have to come in.” She took his arm and pulled him into the cottage. “Just look at you.” She grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen cabinet and handed it to him. “You look like you’ve been swimming in the lake.”

“Do I?” He smiled his warm sweet smile as he wiped his face. “I guess so. After all, it’s all just lots of water.” He dried his sandy hair until it stood up in spiky tendrils. “But kind of different.”

She shook her head as she gazed at him. Here he was on her doorstep smiling at her as if he had just dropped in to say hello. Wide-set blue eyes stared at her from beneath that ridiculously spiked hair, and he was obviously pondering the difference between lake and rainwater. He was the same calm, sweet, slow boy she had grown to know all those months ago when he had helped Joe and her find Bonnie’s body. The counselors at the charity camp where he worked had told her he was twenty years old but had the mental capacity of a child of ten. She had never been sure that was true. He was indeed special, but that uniqueness seemed far beyond the easy pigeonhole where they wanted to put him. When she had first seen him, his joyous smile had reminded her of Bonnie’s. It still did. She wanted to hold him, take care of him, shake him for wandering outside in this storm.