“I’m still set on coming. Thanks, Nalchek.” She hung up and drove into long-term parking.
The call had not been entirely satisfying, but she knew what she had to face now. Nalchek would cooperate but might be surly. He didn’t want to have anyone getting in his way. She could deal with it. It didn’t matter as long as he was committed, and he was certainly that.
And she had confirmed that the dress in which Jenny had appeared to her was the one she’d worn the night she’d been killed or taken. Where had she gone that night?
And Jenny had suffered that night. Dear heaven, what pain she must have gone through when that monster had broken her fingers.
She drew a deep breath and tried to fight down the anger that was searing through her. Jenny hadn’t remembered the deathblow, but she’d remembered the pain of her hand. Even in the great beyond, that memory had lingered.
Forget it, Jenny. If you can, let it go.
But I won’t let it go. I’ll remember what you went through.
I promise you.
SONDERVILLE, CALIFORNIA
1:05 A.M.
It was damn chilly in the woods tonight. There might be frost by morning.
Nalchek zipped up his leather jacket and moved a little faster down the trail toward the grave site. He could hear the leaves crackle under his feet, Hell, why was he even here at this hour? He hadn’t been able to sleep and had given up after a couple hours of turning and twisting in his bed.
And it was Eve Duncan’s fault. She had made him doubt his ability, and he’d been drawn back here to make sure that he was right, and she was wrong. It had been hard for him to give her the politeness she deserved when he was so frustrated. He didn’t need to begin thinking he might be making mistakes. He had learned in Afghanistan that that could lead to disaster. You just barreled ahead after you decided on a course and went after the objective.
If you knew the objective. It was only a vague—
Movement.
Up ahead.
He stopped.
A light step but not an animal. Two-footed. And the rhythm was different.
And he was headed for the grave site.
Nalchek glided forward, listening.
Not much to hear. That step was very light, and the brush was scarcely moving as he passed.
And then the movement stopped.
He had reached the grave.
Nalchek stopped, too.
No sound.
What was the bastard doing?
He glided forward until he could see the grave beyond the trees.
A figure in jeans and a dark hoodie was kneeling by the grave, reaching, digging through the dirt.
Shit!
“Halt.” He barreled through the trees and dove down in a low tackle. “You’re under—” He stopped as a fist crashed into his lower lip. To hell with it. Read him his rights later.
Just take him down.
He grappled him over on his stomach and grabbed his wrists to cuff him.
Him?
He stiffened. Those wrists were too delicate, that body he was straddling was not— A woman? Either that or a teenage boy. He’d bet on its being a woman.
He finished the cuffing and flipped her over on her back.
He shined his flashlight down on her face.
Maybe not quite a woman. A girl not over nineteen or twenty.
Her sun-streaked hair had tumbled from beneath the hoodie, and she had glowing, healthy skin, and her blue eyes were very wary.
“I’m not a threat to you.” She moistened her lips. “Are you a threat to me?”
“Maybe. It depends on what you tell me in the next few minutes.”
“I can’t see you. It sounded like you were starting to say I was under arrest before you got rough with me.”
“I didn’t get rough with you. You would have known it if I had.”
“You have on a leather jacket. I felt it when I was struggling with you. It had some kind of insignia on it. Cop?”
“I could be one of the Hell’s Angels.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping for cop. Let me see you.”