Blind Alley - Iris Johansen [97]
Her gaze shifted to the right. “Two tunnels lead off this area?”
“Three including the one you'll be using.”
“And Aldo will be in one of them?” She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the yawning darkness. She could imagine him there now, watching them. “Isn't there any way we could go after him and try to hunt him down once we're sure he's there? You said he won't be familiar with these tunnels.”
“Joe and I talked about the possibility.” He shook his head. “It could be a nightmare to try to track someone. These tunnels are like a maze and there are at least two exits besides the one at Via Spagnola. He could stumble on one of them and then we'd lose him.” He paused. “But if you're having second thoughts about drawing him into the open, tell me. It's your choice, Jane.”
“I was only asking. I'm not having second thoughts.”
His lips twisted. “I believe I was hoping you were.”
“How strange.” She took another step toward the velvet cloth. “It looks . . .”
Blood. Pain. Aldo standing looking down at the velvet in triumph.
Imagination.
Crush the fear. She swallowed. “It looks very theatrical.” She turned away and started back toward the tunnel. “I'm sure Cira would have approved.”
“Only if it was a comedy. Tragedy wasn't her forte.”
“Not mine either.”
His hand was on her elbow, supporting, comforting. “And I intend to keep it that way. Let's get out of here.”
I'll go ahead.” Trevor climbed the ladder and opened the trapdoor to the kitchen. “If Quinn is awake and stirring, then I'll be the one to face his wrath first.” He glanced around the room, and whispered, “All clear.”
She hadn't realized how relieved she'd be to know she wouldn't have to confront Joe and Eve. She was shaken enough without having to deal with any other emotion.
“Get to bed,” Trevor said as he pulled her up into the kitchen and shut the trapdoor. “Tomorrow's a big day.”
“For Eve,” Jane said. “Not me. As far as the media is concerned, I'm only here because I'm Eve's kid and she wanted to expose me to European culture.”
“But since she's not too accessible, they may try to get at her through you. And anyone who read the Archaeology Journal article might see the resemblance with the statue.”
“It was too blurred. Sam did a good job.”
He stiffened. “Sam? You're on first-name terms?”
“He's that kind of man. And we hit it off.”
“I'm sure you did. I'd bet you had him wound around your finger before you'd been in his office fifteen minutes.”
She frowned. “It wasn't like that.”
“Really? What was it like?”
“I told you how difficult it—” She broke off. “I don't have to make explanations. What's wrong with you?”
“Not a damn thing. I was just wondering what you did to get—” He stopped and turned away. “You're right, I'm out of line. Sorry.”
“Apology not accepted. If you mean what I think you mean.”
“It was a mistake, okay?”
“No, it's not okay. Are you some kind of sex maniac? First, that stupidity about Cira and now this. I don't sleep with people to get my way. I have a mind and I use it.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Anger was searing through her. “It's no wonder you have those disgusting dreams about Cira. You believe all women are prostitutes.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “It's my face. Because I look like her, you think I'd behave the same way.”
“I know you wouldn't.”
“No? In some part of that pea-sized, chauvinistic brain the thought must have been there or you wouldn't have acted like such