Quinn Read Free Page B

But gazing at Eve Duncan, he couldn’t think of single aspects but the woman as a whole being. He was only aware of the tension, the painful restraint, the burning vitality of her. Why couldn’t he look away from her?
    Get a grip. What had she said? ATLPD. “I have to make my own report.”
    “Red tape. Procedures.” She scooped up the omelet and put it on a plate. “Why didn’t they send someone right after it happened?”
    It had only been two weeks, but it had probably seemed a lifetime to her. “We had to wait for a request from the local police.”
    “You should have been here. Everyone should have come right away.” Her hand was shaking as she picked up the plate and put it on a tray. “I suppose I’ll have to talk to you. But I have to take this omelet to my mother. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since Bonnie disappeared. I can’t get her to eat.”
    “I’ll take it,” he said impulsively as he reached out and took the tray. “Which room?”
    “First door at the top of the stairs.”
    What was he doing? Joe wondered as he started up the stairs. So much for his philosophy of noninvolvement. He had practically jerked that tray out of her hands. Why?
    To help her, ease her, make all that pain go away.
    Crazy. He had seen Eve Duncan for only a few minutes. Sympathy, yes. That was natural and right. Not this urgent need to banish the torture she was experiencing in any way possible.
    Okay, deliver the omelet to her mother and go back down and interrogate Eve Duncan. No doubt that temporary aberration concerning the woman would have vanished by that time.
    He stopped short as he saw a framed sketch on the wall. It had to be a sketch of Bonnie Duncan, but it was extraordinary. The photograph he had in his file was good, but the little girl in this sketch was drawn with such love and skill that it made her come alive.
    Who had drawn it? Eve Duncan?
    Stop wondering about her and stick to his job.
    He knocked, then opened the door. “Mrs. Duncan? I’m Agent Joe Quinn. Your daughter sent you breakfast. May I come in?”
    “I suppose…” Sandra Duncan was lying propped up in bed, and her Southern accent was much heavier than her daughter’s. “But I’m not hungry, you know. I haven’t been hungry since Bonnie…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss her. Why can’t you find her?”
    Eve Duncan’s mother was in her late thirties and prettier than her daughter, but she had none of her strength or that riveting vitality.
    “That’s why I’m here.” He carried the tray over to her and put it on her lap. “That’s my job. But you have a job, too. You have to keep up your strength and help your daughter.”
    “Eve’s so strong,” she whispered. “I’ve never been strong. Except for Bonnie. I took care of her when Eve worked, and I did a fine job. Eve told me that all the time. But then somebody took her away.”
    “But your daughter is still here. She needs you.”
    She frowned. “Does she?”
    “Yes. I want you to eat that omelet and take a shower, then go downstairs and help her. Will you do that?”
    “I’d rather go to sleep.”
    “It doesn’t matter. She needs you.” He handed her the fork. “We all have our jobs.” He turned and headed for the door. “It’s time that you did yours, Mrs. Duncan.”
    “Sandra. Everyone calls me Sandra.”
    He smiled at her over his shoulder. “Pretty name for a pretty lady. My name is Joe. I hope to see you downstairs next time I visit here.”
    Sandra smiled tentatively. “You’re strong. I like a strong man. But are you strong enough to help Eve to find our Bonnie?”
    “If you’ll all help me.” He closed the door and paused a moment before he went downstairs. Involvement. He should have let Eve Duncan handle her own personal problems. His only duty was to find her daughter’s killer. Yet he hadn’t been able to resist pushing Sandra Duncan to help her. According to his report, Eve Duncan’s mother was a former drug addict who had