terrible loss without it. She turned and smiled gently at her uncle.
"Don't worry, Phillip. I'll be fine. I can get through it. I've done it before."
"I've heard how you got through it," Phillip said. "And I could choke Venable for insisting you do this."
That's the way she had felt when she had gotten that phone call from Venable. Not at first—
her initial reaction had been sheer terror followed by the impulse to throw up. "He's not insisting. He just reminded me that he had ignored bud-get concerns in tracking down those kidnapped children from Molino's slavery ring. He promised me at least another year of fighting off the bureaucrats to keep the search going if I did this."
"Charming."
"He's a good man. He must need me."
"And what about you? You may end up in the hospital. Does Grady know?" She shook her head. "Grady's still in Tanzania. He's having problems finding some of the children there." She turned and moved toward him. She could feel his anxiety, and it was hurting her. She laid her head on his chest. "It's only this one time. I'm not going to shatter and blow away."
"It's a little boy, Megan. You love kids. It will tear you apart."
"They don't even know where or if the boy was killed. I may go there and not hear anything."
"Lord, I hope so. I can't talk you out of it?"
"Nope." She brushed her lips on his cheek. "Now I've got to get out of here. Venable's agent will be here to pick me up any minute. I'm supposed to be in Illinois by six." She picked up her duffel and stopped in the hall to get her medical bag. "I'll call you when it's over."
"You'd better. Or I'll be heading to Bloomburg after you."
She could feel his worried gaze on her back as she went out on the porch. She wanted to run back inside to the safe haven her uncle had always given her. Had she been reassuring enough to him? Probably not. He knew her too well not to realize how frightened she was to go to that riverbank.
Please let it not be the place.
Please keep the voices away.
"HERE THEY ARE," MONTALVO SAID as he caught sight of the sheriff's car pulling up on the side of the road running along the river. "This shouldn't take too long, Eve."
"It might." It was cold on the riverbank. Or maybe it was she who was chilled by the memories of those other times. "How long do we have to put up with her playacting before you call Venable?"
"We'll play it by ear."
Sheriff Dodsworth was opening the door and a young woman was getting out. Megan Blair had glossy dark hair and bright eyes and she radiated vitality.
"She's pretty," Eve said. "The media must love her."
"Venable said she was as media-shy as you are."
"Yeah, sure." She watched the woman walk toward her. Megan Blair wasn't smiling and her hands were jammed into her jacket. "I'll believe that in six weeks if she hasn't given out any interviews."
The sheriff was obviously enamored, hovering next to Megan, smiling and talking. She was nodding absently, her gaze on Eve and Montalvo.
As she drew closer, Eve could see the tightness of her lips and the rigid straightness of her posture. Strange. She found herself studying Megan as the sheriff made the introductions.
"Eve Duncan, Luis Montalvo, this is Dr. Megan Blair. Ms. Duncan is a forensic sculptor, Dr. Blair."
"I know that. I'm from Atlanta and everyone there has heard about her. She's world-famous. How do you do?" Megan took her hand out of her pocket and extended it. Then, before Eve could shake it, she jerked it away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean— I wasn't thinking." She jammed her hand back in her pocket. She turned back to the sheriff. "Where do you want me to go?" Good Lord, the woman was terrified, Eve realized. Or if she wasn't frightened, she was doing a darned good job of pretending.
The sheriff gestured down the bank. "Bobby Joe's tennis shoes and shirt were found by that big sweet gum tree."
"Then let's get it over." She turned and started down the incline.
"Unusual," Montalvo murmured as he took Eve's elbow to
"Don't worry, Phillip. I'll be fine. I can get through it. I've done it before."
"I've heard how you got through it," Phillip said. "And I could choke Venable for insisting you do this."
That's the way she had felt when she had gotten that phone call from Venable. Not at first—
her initial reaction had been sheer terror followed by the impulse to throw up. "He's not insisting. He just reminded me that he had ignored bud-get concerns in tracking down those kidnapped children from Molino's slavery ring. He promised me at least another year of fighting off the bureaucrats to keep the search going if I did this."
"Charming."
"He's a good man. He must need me."
"And what about you? You may end up in the hospital. Does Grady know?" She shook her head. "Grady's still in Tanzania. He's having problems finding some of the children there." She turned and moved toward him. She could feel his anxiety, and it was hurting her. She laid her head on his chest. "It's only this one time. I'm not going to shatter and blow away."
"It's a little boy, Megan. You love kids. It will tear you apart."
"They don't even know where or if the boy was killed. I may go there and not hear anything."
"Lord, I hope so. I can't talk you out of it?"
"Nope." She brushed her lips on his cheek. "Now I've got to get out of here. Venable's agent will be here to pick me up any minute. I'm supposed to be in Illinois by six." She picked up her duffel and stopped in the hall to get her medical bag. "I'll call you when it's over."
"You'd better. Or I'll be heading to Bloomburg after you."
She could feel his worried gaze on her back as she went out on the porch. She wanted to run back inside to the safe haven her uncle had always given her. Had she been reassuring enough to him? Probably not. He knew her too well not to realize how frightened she was to go to that riverbank.
Please let it not be the place.
Please keep the voices away.
"HERE THEY ARE," MONTALVO SAID as he caught sight of the sheriff's car pulling up on the side of the road running along the river. "This shouldn't take too long, Eve."
"It might." It was cold on the riverbank. Or maybe it was she who was chilled by the memories of those other times. "How long do we have to put up with her playacting before you call Venable?"
"We'll play it by ear."
Sheriff Dodsworth was opening the door and a young woman was getting out. Megan Blair had glossy dark hair and bright eyes and she radiated vitality.
"She's pretty," Eve said. "The media must love her."
"Venable said she was as media-shy as you are."
"Yeah, sure." She watched the woman walk toward her. Megan Blair wasn't smiling and her hands were jammed into her jacket. "I'll believe that in six weeks if she hasn't given out any interviews."
The sheriff was obviously enamored, hovering next to Megan, smiling and talking. She was nodding absently, her gaze on Eve and Montalvo.
As she drew closer, Eve could see the tightness of her lips and the rigid straightness of her posture. Strange. She found herself studying Megan as the sheriff made the introductions.
"Eve Duncan, Luis Montalvo, this is Dr. Megan Blair. Ms. Duncan is a forensic sculptor, Dr. Blair."
"I know that. I'm from Atlanta and everyone there has heard about her. She's world-famous. How do you do?" Megan took her hand out of her pocket and extended it. Then, before Eve could shake it, she jerked it away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean— I wasn't thinking." She jammed her hand back in her pocket. She turned back to the sheriff. "Where do you want me to go?" Good Lord, the woman was terrified, Eve realized. Or if she wasn't frightened, she was doing a darned good job of pretending.
The sheriff gestured down the bank. "Bobby Joe's tennis shoes and shirt were found by that big sweet gum tree."
"Then let's get it over." She turned and started down the incline.
"Unusual," Montalvo murmured as he took Eve's elbow to
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