The Killing Game by Iris Johansen

as a collection of bones.”
    “You're . . . looking at her?”
    “I remember her walking toward me across the park at the school picnic. She was eating a strawberry ice-cream cone and her red hair was shining in the sunlight. There was so much life in her. I couldn't resist.”
    Darkness. Don't faint.
    “You have that same spark. I can tell. Only you're so much stronger.”
    “I'm going to hang up now.”
    “Yes, you sound a bit under the weather. Shock can do that. But I'm sure you'll recover soon. I'll be in touch.”
    “Damn you.
Why?
”
    He was silent for a moment. “Because it's necessary, Eve. After this little chat, I'm even more convinced than I was before. I need you. I can feel your emotion like a tidal wave. It's . . . exhilarating.”
    “I won't answer the phone.”
    “Yes, you will. Because there's always a chance you might get her back.”
    “You're lying. If you killed those other children, why did you bury only Bonnie with all those adults?”
    “I'm sure I must have buried more than they found. I vaguely recall at least two other children. Let's see . . . two boys. Older than Bonnie. Ten or twelve.”
    “Only one child's skeleton was found.”
    “Then they missed the others. Tell them to try in the gorge itself. The mud slide must have washed them over.”
    The line went dead.
    Eve slid down the wall to the floor. Cold. Ice cold.
    Oh, God. Oh, God.
    She had to do something. She couldn't just sit there in horror.
    Joe. She could call Joe.
    She dialed his digital number with a shaking hand.
    “Come back,” she said when he answered. “Come back.”
    “Eve?”
    “Come—back, Joe.”
    “What the hell's wrong?”
    There was something else she should tell him. “Talladega. Tell them—to look in the gorge—itself. Two—little boys.” She hung up and leaned against the wall. Don't think about it. Wrap the numbness around you until Joe gets here.
    Don't faint. Don't let out the scream building inside you.
    Just wait until Joe comes.
             
    SHE WAS STILL sitting on the floor when Joe arrived an hour later.
    He was across the room in four strides, kneeling beside her. “Are you hurt?”
    “No.”
    “Then why the hell did you scare me to death?” he said roughly. He carried her to the couch. “I nearly had a heart attack. Christ, you're cold.”
    “Shock. He said—I was in shock.”
    He was rubbing her left hand, warming it. “Who said you were in shock?”
    “Phone call. I thought it was a crank. Like one of those calls I got after Bonnie—” She had to stop for a minute. “But it wasn't a crank. Did you call Talladega?”
    “Yes.” He took her other hand and began massaging it. “Talk to me.”
    “He said he had Bonnie's bones.” The numbness was wearing off and she was beginning to shake. “He said she wasn't as pretty as when he—”
    “Take it easy.” Joe grabbed the throw from a chair and tucked it around her. He crossed to the kitchenette and began making instant coffee. “Just take deep breaths. Okay?”
    “Okay.” She closed her eyes. Breathe deep. Ride out the pain. Ride out the horror. In. Out. Let it go or it will rip you open.
    “Open your eyes.” Joe was sitting on the couch beside her. “Drink this.”
    Coffee. Hot. Too sweet.
    He watched her drink half the cup. “Better?”
    She nodded jerkily.
    “Now talk to me. Slowly. Don't force it. If you have to stop, do it.”
    She had to stop three times before she finished. When she finally fell silent, he just sat there for a moment. “Is that all? Have you told me everything?”
    “Isn't that enough?” she asked unevenly.
    “Hell, yes.” He nodded at the cup. “Drink the rest.”
    “It's cold.”
    “I'll get you another.” He got up and strode back to the kitchenette.
    “He killed Bonnie, Joe.”
    “It could have been a crank call.”
    She shook her head. “He killed her.”
    “You're not yourself. Give yourself some time to think it over.”
    “I don't need time. He knew about