Countdown - Iris Johansen [20]
“Why did they come after me?”
“They considered you a valuable asset in the game.”
“Game?” Her hands clenched. “It was no game. Mike died in that alley.”
“I’m sorry,” Trevor said gently. “I don’t believe he was meant to die. It was an accident.”
“That’s no comfort. And how do you know what was meant to happen? What did you have to do with this?”
“Everything. It was probably my fault.”
“What?”
“I should have come sooner. I was hoping that I was wrong and there wouldn’t be a fallout, so I sent Bartlett instead. I should have bundled you up and taken you back with me.”
“You’re not making sense. What’s this all about?”
“Cira.”
Jane froze. “What?”
“Or to be more precise, Cira’s gold.”
She stared at him, stunned.
“A chest filled with gold over two thousand years old. The antiquity alone would make it exceptionally valuable. The fact that Julius Precebio gave it to his mistress, Cira, would even add to the mystique.”
“You found it?”
“No, but I’m on the trail. Unfortunately, there are others who know I’m on the trail and are looking for an edge.” He inclined his head at her. “And they found it.”
“Me?”
“Who else?”
“Why would they think—”
He glanced away from her. “I’d bet they’re guessing you may be my Achilles’ heel.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps our past? That time we were together in Herculaneum was pretty highly publicized.”
“Ridiculous. You have no Achilles’ heel.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, they’re looking for an edge. I never said they found it. But I didn’t want to come here in case it seemed to confirm that they were right, so I sent Bartlett.”
“And they used Mike to get to me,” she said dully. “And that damn gold.”
“Yes.”
“Damn them.” She was silent a moment. “And damn you.”
“I thought you’d feel like that. But there’s nothing I can do now but damage control.”
“The damage is done.”
“It may have just started. They used Mike Fitzgerald to get to you. Who’s to say they won’t use someone else you care about?”
Her gaze flew to his face. “Eve? Joe?”
“Bingo. You’d go anywhere, do anything for them.”
“No one’s going to hurt them,” she said fiercely.
“Then your best bet is to avoid their involvement entirely. Get the hell away from them and go someplace where you’ll be safe.”
“And where is that?” she asked sarcastically.
“With me. I’ll keep you safe and I won’t have to worry about you being a thousand miles away.”
“I don’t give a damn about your blasted worries. And I’ll keep myself safe. You should never have—” She stopped as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Joe.”
“Donnell’s dead,” Joe said when she picked up the call. “And the police want to talk to you.”
“Dead?” She went rigid. “What are you talking about? He can’t be dead.” She saw Trevor stiffen next to her. “I just saw him a little over an hour ago.”
“Where?”
“I let him out of my car on one of the side streets about four miles from here.” She tried to think of the street name. “I don’t remember which one. I wasn’t paying any attention.”
“Donnell was killed by a hit-and-run driver on Justine Street. There was a witness in one of the houses who saw a light-colored car drive up on the sidewalk and hit him.”
“No accident.”
“Not likely. After the driver hit him, he backed over him.”
“Did the witness get a license number?”
“No. The kid had had a couple drinks and was feeling no pain. He was lucky to be able to dial the police and report what he’d seen. Where are you? I’ll send Manning to pick you up and get a statement.”
She still couldn’t believe it. “They killed him. . . .”
“That’s what you’ve got to convince Manning.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was killed by a light-colored sedan. You drive a tan Toyota Corolla. Donnell had admitted to you that he was an accessory to Mike’s death. You’d just come back from your friend’s funeral and were understandably upset.”
“But you called Manning and told him that Donnell was going to turn himself in.”
“And that you were concerned he’d get off. Do the math, Jane. Isn’t it reasonable that you might have changed your mind and gone back to take justice into your own hands?