“Or maybe she didn’t and is trying to reach you.”
“Why me?” she asked again. “I’m not even sure I’ve ever met her.”
“How do I know? Strange things happen. People are chosen. You know that I believe there’s a plan for all of us. At times, the plan seems unbearably painful, like when I lost my little daughter, Bonnie. Like the night Trevor, the man you loved, was shot. But sometimes we get lucky and have the chance to make the plan a little brighter for ourselves or someone else.” Eve closed the sketchbook. “Maybe you’re the only one this woman could reach. You were sensitive to Cira, but she was gone centuries before you were born and there was nothing you could do for her. Perhaps it’s your turn to reach out to someone you can help.”
“You know I’ve never been entirely sure that I had any actual connection to Cira. Those dreams could have been figments of my imagination.”
“Because you’re stubborn and a realist who hates to admit to anything that she can’t see and touch.” Eve smiled. “But those dreams of Cira have dominated you in so many ways. I believe she’s as much alive to you as the rest of us in your life. Even when you fight acknowledging that Cira actually existed and reached out to you, you’re still drawn to everything connected to her. You spent months on the Internet and in libraries tracking down references to her. When you discovered she might have fled from that erupting volcano in Herculaneum to Scotland, you tracked her down to a connection with the MacDuff clan.” She reached out and touched Jane’s cheek affectionately. “And you’ve been at Gaelkar, Scotland, with the MacDuffs for almost two years, trying to find Cira’s treasure. Not because you want the treasure itself; you just want proof that your Cira exists.”
“But I don’t have that proof yet.” She looked at the sketchbook. “And if I don’t, then maybe I’m just nuts and I need to see a shrink.”
“But what if you don’t have time to wait for proof?” Eve asked. “Six nights in a row? And each one of these sketches shows an escalation. Something’s happening to make her more afraid every time she comes to you.”
Jane moistened her lips. “Maybe it’s already happened. Maybe she’s not even alive, Eve.”
Eve was silent. “It’s possible, I suppose. Do you believe that, Jane?”
“No!” The rejection came instantly. “I don’t want to believe it. She wants to live. She’s out there somewhere. But I could be wrong.”
“Or you could be right.”
“And what am I supposed to do about that? Look in your crystal ball. All I see is her face.”
“And the background. She makes sure that she’s giving you the background with every sketch. Study them and see if you can come up with something. Research. Go on the Internet, as you did when you were tracking down Cira.”
“It was easier to do research on Cira. That was history.”
“And this may be a matter of life and death,” Eve said quietly. “Stop being stubborn and do your job, Jane. Isn’t that what you were going to do anyway? You’re out here fretting and giving yourself arguments pro and con when you know you have to see if you can help her.” She paused. “So what’s your first move?”
“Eve.”
“The Internet?”
Jane sighed. “No, I can start doing that on the plane while heading back to Scotland. I’d like to ask Joe to take one of the sketches to the precinct in the morning and run it through the missing persons database and see if he can come up with anything. She was hurt in that last sketch. Someone struck her. It might be a stranger or a supposed friend or a member of her own family.” Her lips twisted. “Who knows? How many times have you run across the murder of a child caused by people who should have been taking care to keep the child safe, Eve?”
“Too many. But this isn’t a helpless child; this is a woman who is fighting back.” She got to her feet and handed Jane the sketchbook. “And you’re fighting back, too. What’s the next step?”
“Identify that mountain range in the background. National Geo might help.”
Eve chuckled. “Listen to you. This has all been simmering in your mind for how long?”
“I told you: I really didn’t notice the background.” Or did I? Jane wondered. She wasn’t even looking at the sketches, and that mountain range was before her, down to the last detail. “Well, maybe I did.”
“Maybe you did,” Eve said softly. “Choose the sketch you want to give Joe.”
“I will.” She made a face. “But he’ll probably think it’s a waste of time.”
“No, you know Joe better than that. He’s a realist, too. But he went through that Cira business with you when you were seventeen. And since he’s a police detective, he realizes that black and white can sometimes end up gray or even scarlet. He’ll get you what you need.” Eve leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “And now I’ll say good night. If we keep talking, neither of us will be able to function in the morning.” She started to turn away and then stopped. “You said you needed to know her name. It’s bothering you. So give her one.”
“What?”
“Give her a name. Do you remember when I was pregnant with Michael that I felt I had to know his name so that I could be closer to him?”
“I believe this is a little different, Eve,” she said drily.
“It doesn’t have to be her true name. I give my reconstructions a name before I begin working on them, so that I can form a connection with them.”
“I know you do.” She had grown up watching Eve work on those pitiful skulls and had known that every one was personal and special to her. “But she may not even exist.”
“She’ll exist for you if you give her a name. I think she exists for you now anyway.” She turned away and headed for the door. “Good night, Jane.”
“Good night. Thank you, Eve. I’m sorry to disturb your night. I hope I didn’t wake Michael.”
“You didn’t wake him.” Eve turned and smiled at her. “Who do you think sent me out here? He was already restless. I believe Michael was worried about you and sending out vibes. He’ll sleep better now that I’ve done something about you.”
“And you’ll sleep better,” Jane said. The closeness of the bond between Eve and her son was remarkable and far beyond the ordinary. Jane wasn’t sure that she knew the full extent of that tie, but she was just grateful that Eve had been given this special child after all the heartache she had gone through after losing seven-year-old Bonnie all those years ago. “Between the two of you, I feel as if I’ve been railroaded.”
Eve’s brows rose. “Do you?”
“No, just kidding. As usual, you’ve managed to cut through all the fog and clarify. You and Michael are a great team.”
“With a great deal of help from his father.” Eve blew her a kiss. “See you in the morning.”
The next moment, the door closed behind her.
Jane gazed after her for a moment before she looked down again at the sketchbook. She’d been telling the truth. She did feel clearer and more focused now that she’d talked to Eve. Yes, she still had doubts that this dream was anything but pure imagination, but Eve was right: She had to explore before she could take a chance on dismissing those dreams. So research, but don’t become obsessed. Look upon it as an interesting exercise.
A name. Eve had wanted her to give the woman a name.
Why not?
She opened the sketchbook and looked down at the first sketch. In this one, the woman looked younger than she did in the later sketches. Maybe only eighteen or nineteen. Still intense, still burning and bold, but somehow more youthful.
A name …
Lisa.
The name came out of nowhere.
Not bad.
She looked at the second sketch.
Lisa.
She flipped to the third sketch.
Lisa.