Promise Not To Tell(5)

“What does this have to do with the past?” Cabot asked.

“If I’m right,” Virginia said, “if Hannah Brewster was murdered, then I think we have to consider the possibility that Quinton Zane is still alive.”

CHAPTER 3

She had their full attention now.

Virginia watched the expressions on the men’s faces with a sense of relief. She had hoped that they would at least listen to her wild theory, but Anson Salinas and Cabot Sutter were doing a whole lot more than just hearing her out. They were one hundred percent focused, a couple of natural-born hunters who had just sensed prey. She reminded herself that they were both ex-cops.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but I have the impression that you’re not altogether surprised to hear me say that Zane might still be alive.”

“Anson and my brothers and I have never found hard proof that he’s dead,” Cabot said. “Until we get solid evidence, we’re working on the theory that he’s alive.”

“I don’t remember you having brothers at Zane’s compound,” she said.

This time Anson responded. “Max Cutler and Jack Lancaster. After the fire they didn’t have much in the way of family. They came to live with me. I did the foster parent thing.”

Paternal pride was infused in Anson’s voice.

“So I’ve got brothers,” Cabot said. “And a dad.”

“I understand,” Virginia said. “All of you have questioned Zane’s death?”

“Over the years we’ve chased down every rumor – every hint – that he might still be out there somewhere,” Cabot said, “but if he is, we’re almost certain he’s operating outside the country these days.”

“A few years ago there was a pyramid scheme in New York that looked like it had his fingerprints all over it,” Anson said. “But by the time it came to our attention, whoever was running the scam had vanished.”

“Generally speaking, we keep our little conspiracy theory a family secret,” Cabot added. “We’ve learned the hard way that it gives other people a bad impression. They tend to regard our interest in Quinton Zane as an unhealthy obsession.”

“Anything connected to Quinton Zane is, by definition, unhealthy,” Virginia said. “But just so you know, I share your obsession.”

“We’re listening,” Cabot said.

He angled himself onto the corner of Anson’s desk, one foot braced on the floor, and peeled the plastic lid off his coffee. His movements were deceptively relaxed. He had no doubt been born with that fluid coordination, Virginia thought. But his actions were infused with an aura of control and power that told her he had worked to hone his natural talent.

Mentally she did the math and concluded that Cabot was in his early thirties, two or three years older than she was. The tall, lanky boy with the very serious eyes had matured into the kind of man who probably wasn’t the life of the party. He would, however, be the kind of man you’d want at your back in a bar fight.

His dark hair was cut ruthlessly short and his lean profile had hardened into pure granite. His eyes were a feral shade of amber brown and still unnaturally intense. Hannah Brewster would have said that Cabot had the eyes of an old soul. But that wouldn’t have been entirely accurate. He had the eyes of a man who took the world very seriously.

There was no ring on his hand. That surprised her because everything about him intrigued her. Surely she wasn’t the first woman to find him interesting. On the other hand, Cabot Sutter would definitely not be the easiest person on the planet to live with. There was a gritty, uncompromising vibe about him that, sooner or later, would probably convince a lot of women that he was more trouble than he was worth.

She understood the reaction. She was a little screwed up herself, with a history of failed relationships testifying to the fact that a number of men had decided that she was more trouble than she was worth.

“As I told Anson, Hannah Brewster was an artist,” Virginia said. “She was also quite eccentric. Some would say unhinged. I occasionally exhibited some of her work in my gallery.”

“Was she any good?” Cabot asked.

“Hannah was quite good but her work is… disturbing. It’s too raw and too dark and too personal for most people. Hannah painted to exorcise the demons of her past – our past. She was there, you see.”

“She was a member of Zane’s operation?” Cabot asked.

“Yes. She was my mother’s closest friend in the cult. I’m sure you remember her. She did much of the cooking and cleaning.”

Cabot glanced at Anson. “See if Brewster’s name is on our list.”

Anson was already at work on his computer.

Virginia watched him. “You’ve got a list of the cult members?”

“It’s not a complete list,” Cabot said. “Nobody used last names, remember? And Zane confiscated everyone’s ID. Most of the documentation that he collected disappeared with him that night.”

“I interviewed the survivors after the fire,” Anson said, “but they were all traumatized. Some refused to identify themselves. Others were afraid. Most just took off and disappeared. I had no legal grounds to hold them. We’ve done our best to compile a list of cult members but, as Cabot said, we don’t think that it’s complete, not by a long shot.”