Captivated by Jeffery Deaver

Author:Jeffery Deaver [Deaver, Jeffery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Crime, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9780525542254
Google: Bhl5DwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07KDW94WX
Barnesnoble: B07KDW94WX
Goodreads: 42960246
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons
Published: 2019-03-05T06:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

“Did you tell him?” Evelyn Fontaine’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Did you tell Ron where I am?”

Shaw, Fontaine and young Jason Barnes were not in one of the derelict buildings downtown—which, Shaw reflected, would have been a perfect film noir setting where a snitch is tortured to death. Instead, the venue was the comfy Java Joe’s.

“No, I didn’t,” Shaw told the artist.

Fontaine’s intense lavender eyes held his blue. “I hope so. I really do. Or I’m dead.”

As the photo in Matthews’s wallet had revealed, she wasn’t a beautiful woman, despite her husband’s insistence; her face was long, the angles of jaw and cheeks severe. But that face reminded him of a Roman empress’s, her hair was an exotic, calculated tangle, her figure both willowy and voluptuous, and the charisma hinted at in the photo was more than present in person. She had an intense air about her. And those round violet eyes . . .

Evelyn Fontaine was indeed captivating.

She was wearing close-fitting tan-colored jeans and a gossamer cornflower-blue blouse. A half pound of thin wire bracelets encircled her wrists. Her earrings were silver nautilus shells. She wore dusky eye shadow as her only makeup.

How Shaw happened to be here at the moment: Tony, the black-suspendered director of the gallery displaying her canvases, had called Fontaine just after Shaw left. It turned out that, concerned Matthews might come looking for her, she had alerted Tony and other acquaintances in town to look out for strangers asking about her.

“Then I asked some friends from the Commons to invite you to come talk to us.”

Shaw frowned. “They’re artists?”

The young men who had grabbed him were huge, with grips so tight that Shaw didn’t bother to resist, worried about dislocating an arm.

“Sculptors,” Jason Barnes said, by way of explanation.

Ah. Of course. “And my tire?”

“I’m sorry, Colter.” They were on a first-name basis now. “We didn’t want you flying out of town without us having a conversation.”

The twin Michelangelos were gone, since Fontaine’s initial concern was dispelled: that Shaw was a thug hired by Ron Matthews to beat her bloody or even kill her. Shaw had explained about the reward and she’d researched it—and Shaw himself. She’d concluded all was legit.

He now explained his decision to set up a meeting in public, to avoid any altercations.

“No! You can’t say a word!” Fontaine said, eyes widening. “You can’t let him know I’m even in the state.”

“The man is a sociopath,” Barnes said.

Fontaine continued. “He seems normal on the surface. But he’s a sadist.”

Barnes asked, “Did he try his tricks with you? Did he cry? Did he say he’d never hurt her? Did he tell you how he was going to change?”

Yes, yes and yes.

Barnes was handsome, with long dark hair and a faint accent. His complexion too suggested Latino heritage, despite the Irish-inflected name. His age was around thirty-five, Shaw estimated, but he could pass for younger. Five-nine or -ten, with a slim build. His pleated black slacks and shirt of rich gray were stylish: SoHo or Michigan Avenue, not the J.

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