Chasing the Night - Iris Johansen [14]
Eve could see that fear. It was reflected in the woman’s face and the slight trembling of her lips. She sensed it as a living force. Who could blame her? How would she have felt if she had gone through those years of searching, never knowing if her Bonnie was alive or dead? But at least there had been hope for Catherine Ling. From the beginning, Eve had known in her heart that Bonnie had been killed.
“You’re thinking about your daughter.” Catherine was studying her face. “You’re making comparisons. I made comparisons, too. That’s why I’m here.”
“Bonnie’s death has nothing to do with your son’s kidnapping. I’m sorry for you, but I can’t help you. Talk to Venable.”
“You can help me.” Catherine’s voice breathed intensity. “You’re the only one who can. Why do you think I’m here? I’m not stupid. Do you think I haven’t gone over every way, every person who could bring Luke back to me? I’ve been trying to find a way for over a year to get Venable to persuade you to help. Why do you think I was willing to camp out on your doorstep to make you listen to me?”
Desperation, pain, hope. Eve knew the emotions that were motivating Catherine all too well, and her heart ached for her. “I’ve listened to you.” She turned. “And I want you off my porch. Come into the house, and I’ll give you a cup of coffee. Then we’ll discuss how we can get Venable to help you. I know several qualified professionals at Langley who can do the job.”
Catherine stared at her a moment, then rose to her feet in one graceful, fluid movement. “Coffee would be good.”
But she wasn’t committing to any of Eve’s other suggestions, Eve noticed ruefully as she preceded Catherine into the kitchen. She probably should have closed the door and not invited the woman back into the cottage. But that wasn’t an option, not since she had seen that photo of Luke. She would just have to use persuasion and firmness to ease Catherine Ling out of her life.
“You’re letting me get one foot back in the door. It’s not going to be easy to get rid of me,” Catherine said quietly. “If I were you, I’d have slammed the door and barricaded myself in the house.”
“You’re not me.” Eve pressed the button on the coffeemaker and watched the liquid pour into the cup. “And I don’t need to barricade myself against you. I’m not afraid of you, Catherine Ling. Cream?”
“No. Black. And call me Catherine.” She took the cup Eve handed her. “No, I can see you’re not afraid. You weren’t even afraid when you first saw me and didn’t know whether or not I was a threat.” She sipped the coffee. “And, no, we’re not alike. Venable keeps seeing resemblances, but he’s wrong. We only have one thing in common, and I intend to exploit that to the fullest extent.”
“Go ahead. It won’t get you anywhere.” She gestured for her to sit down on the couch. “I have a job I have to do. Cindy has been lost too long, and I have to bring her home.”
“She’s dead. Bring my son home instead. He’s alive, and there’s no telling how long he’ll stay that way if I don’t get him away from Rakovac. I can’t wait any longer. I have to go after him. But he’s eleven years old, and I don’t even know what he looks like. I haven’t seen him since he was two.” She whispered, “So many years…”
“Age progression isn’t my area of expertise. Even if I wanted to give up work on my reconstruction of Cindy, I couldn’t do as good a job as someone who does it day in, day out.”
“That’s not true. I’ve studied your reconstructions, and they come amazingly close.” She looked down into the coffee in her cup. “You have all that scientific stuff down pat, but that isn’t what happens in the final step, is it? You make a connection.”
“Do I?” she asked warily.
“Oh, I’m not saying that there’s anything weird going on. I’m too practical to think anything like that. But Michelangelo once said something about the figure coming out of the stone. Certain artists have the passion that makes their work come alive.” She raised her gaze to look at Eve. “You have that passion.