Elektra (13 page)

E
LEKTRA HAD HER SAIS OUT IN
M
C
C
ABE’S BASEMENT
workshop and was carefully sharpening them with a whetstone when she heard someone call her name. She looked up automatically and her breath caught in her throat as she saw a younger version of herself descending the basement stairs—

No, that wasn’t right.

She had to literally shake her head to clear it, and when she looked up again, she realized it was Abby. The teenager had changed her hair, dyed the blond color to a shade that exactly matched Elektra’s. Even though Elektra realized now what the illusion had been, she still couldn’t say anything or hide the stunned look on her face.

“What’s the matter?” Abby asked when she caught Elektra’s expression. “They told me I had to change my appearance, so I—”

“No,” Elektra said quickly. “It looks… you look great.” Elektra hoped she sounded sincere. Abby
did
look excellent, but it was still a shock when she realized how much the girl resembled her.

She could tell that Abby was pleased by the blush that crept across her cheeks, but in true teenager form, all the girl did was shrug carelessly. “Thanks.” She pointed at the sais on McCabe’s long workbench. “Can you show me how to use these things? The salad tongs?”

“Sais,” Elektra corrected automatically.

“Sais,” Abby repeated, then waited expectantly.

“And no, they’re not for you.” Elektra bent her head back to her work.

Abby crossed her arms, her expression melding to stubbornness. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

Elektra shook her head. “They’re offensive weapons, meant for killing.”

“You use them.”

Elektra looked at the girl from beneath lowered lids. “I don’t want you to be like me.”

“I do,” Abby said with rough honesty.

Elektra tried to think of something to say, but it was unnerving to argue with Abby now, almost as if she were arguing with her younger self. “You want to learn something?” Elektra finally asked. “Something really hard?”

Abby brightened. “Yeah. What?”

Elektra pointed to a chair off to the side. “Sit down.”

Abby obeyed, her face bright with enthusiasm as Elektra pulled a chair around and sat directly in front of her.

“Now close your eyes.”

The girl did, then reopened them immediately. “Oh, what is this—yoga?”

“No,” Elektra told her. “It’s kimagure. It can allow you to see what’s going to happen before it happens.” She paused, but she wasn’t sure she could make Abby understand just how important learning this could be. “It’s a lot more valuable than knowing how to use a weapon,” she added.

Abby’s eyes widened. “That’s intense. How do you do it?”

Elektra struggled to maintain her concentration. “You concentrate—meditate. Learn to see everything around you. It’s not easy.”

“How long did it take you to master?”

Elektra inhaled. “Well, I never really completed my training. I only knew enough to keep myself alive. But true masters—like Stick—have learned to use their kimagure in many ways.” She opened her eyes just enough to peer at Abby. “They can bring the dead back.” Abby looked unconvinced and Elektra sighed inwardly. It would take time. “Just breathe,” she told the girl.

“I’m breathing,” Abby said. “I’m
always
breathing.”

“And shut up.”

Abby finally tried to do what Elektra had said, but the effort lasted only a few moments. She couldn’t resist a peek, just to see if Elektra really
was
doing what she said—yep. She closed her eyes again and tried to count her breathing, but she was too prone to getting restless. This wasn’t like the unconscious counting she did—breathing was something she always did. In another second or two, she started fidgeting.

“Just sit quietly,” Elektra said with her eyes still closed.

Abby tried again, to no avail. After a few moments, it seemed like her legs started swinging of their own account, one foot bouncing up and down. Elektra, of course, somehow knew she was doing all this, even though she’d never opened her eyes; she reached out with one hand and touched Abby’s knee. That stilled her legs, but then Abby made a big production out of trying to breathe in the way she
thought
she should, inhaling and exhaling in exaggerated form.

“Shhhhhh,” Elektra whispered.

Well, Abby thought as her expression went sour, this is just
boring.
She sat there, staring at Elektra, until she couldn’t stand it anymore and finally leaned in as close to Elektra as she dared without actually touching her. Did the woman even know she was there? She was so still and her breathing was so shallow and even that she could have been sleeping while sitting upright. Besides, what was the big deal about this, anyway? She wanted to learn how to fight, and this didn’t have anything to do with
that.

Tilting her head and studying Elektra—who was really pretty—Abby grinned to herself, then exhaled very quietly, directly into Elektra’s face.

No response.

She sat back, but still made an effort to stay quiet. There was a piece of thread hanging from the hem of her T-shirt, and Abby picked at it stealthily, finally working it free. It ended up being about two inches long, which was just the right length to really pester someone. Taking the thread between her thumb and forefinger, Abby reached forward and just barely touched it to the front of Elektra’s neck, then moved it enough so that it should have tickled.

Nothing, which was pretty impressive when Abby considered that she herself would have cracked up almost right from the start. Still, she was bored and this wasn’t a bit of fun. What exactly was she supposed to be learning, anyway? She twisted on her chair and looked around, hoping to find something else that would distract her.

Elektra suddenly grabbed her around the waist with both hands.

Abby shrieked and came off the chair, and then they were both laughing and giving up on the lesson. They were still laughing when Mark and McCabe walked into the room.

Mark looked from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”

“Yoga!” Abby was giggling and gasping for air. “Yoga’s hilarious!” Now Elektra started laughing again.

Mark had no idea what his daughter was talking about, but that was fine—at least she was having fun for a change.

Before he could question them further, McCabe broke in. “Hey, guys.” He dropped a pile of papers and things on the table. “Passports, plane tickets, contacts.”

Abby leaned forward eagerly, pawing through the small green books until she found her own passport and opened it. Her nose wrinkled up as she read the text surrounding the photograph. “Oh, give me a break! ‘Evelyn’? I’m not going to be a fri—an
Evelyn—”

“Get used to it, babe,” McCabe interrupted. “It’s your new name.” His gaze was bland, as if he were purposely distancing himself from all of them. “Get some sleep,” he said crisply. “You leave at dawn.”

Night came to McCabe’s farm at the end of another one of those spectacular sunsets. This time, instead of the pink-and red-painted clouds hovering over a shimmering twilight ocean, the clouds capped snow-covered mountains in the distance and bled red onto the hillsides in between. Rather than looking beautiful, Mark thought the whole thing looked vaguely ominous, like something that should precede the end of the world. It didn’t give him a warm and fuzzy feeling.

He sat on the side of Abby’s bed after tucking her in, trying not to think about the earlier sunset while his daughter wanted to talk about things he’d rather avoid altogether. Maybe, as she’d suggested earlier, he ought to “wake up.” Were they even going to make it through this? He had to believe they would—he didn’t have any other choice. If he didn’t have hope enough for the both of them, then they had nothing; her mother was gone and now it was his job to be the sole leader and the protector of his child. He would blame himself for the death of his wife for the rest of eternity, but he would
not
let the Hand take his daughter.

Abby’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I hate lying,” she said. She was irritable at having to sleep in her street clothes—something Elektra had insisted on in case they had to leave quickly—and she sounded peevish and tired. Of course she was—what they were enduring would wear down any normal adult, and his daughter was barely into her teens. “Why can’t we tell her?” Abby demanded.

Mark shook his head sharply. “She’s a
killer,
Abs. She—”

But it was clear Abby was having none of that. “Dad, she
saved
us!”

“Because she doesn’t know who we are,” Mark explained patiently. Sometimes he felt like an old VCR tape stuck in a defective machine, rewinding and playing the same scene over and over. “If she knew, she would—”

Now Abby’s face pinched a little, her nose going red as she fought not to cry. “She’s my
friend,”
she insisted.

“Your friend?” Mark stared at her and felt his patience start to slip a notch. An internal voice reminded him that she was barely more than a child and prone to trusting easily. “You don’t know anything about her!”

Abby’s voice rose. “She’s the only one I have left! I don’t want to die without—”

Now Mark’s voice, shaking with anger, drowned out his daughter’s. “Abby, you are
not
going to die! Don’t say that—
ever!
Or I’ll—” He snapped his mouth shut to choke off his own words, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead instead. She didn’t push it, but he could see the disbelief on her face, and it was killing him. If Abby didn’t believe he could protect her, that she actually had a future beyond today or tomorrow, then how could he believe in himself?

Elektra heard Mark coming long before she saw him, of course. Even though he was making an effort to walk quietly, his footsteps rang clearly in her hearing as though they were coming from a three-hundred-pound ape. He sat heavily on the lawn chair a few feet away, then stared at the floor of the porch, poking at the boards half-absently, half-angrily with the toe of his shoe. His face was tight and angry, and Elektra didn’t have to ask why—she hadn’t heard the words between him and Abby, but the volume and the tone had reached her through the window.

“How is she?” Elektra finally asked, being careful to keep her voice down.

Mark shrugged, then ducked his head and nodded to himself. “Still alive… thanks to you.”

But Elektra shook her head. “Don’t thank me, Mark. You don’t really know what I was—”

“What you were doing there?” Mark finished for her. “Sure I do. You were there to kill us.” He looked at her wearily. “We suspected it from the minute you moved into the Wheelwright place.”

Elektra sat back and considered this. She hadn’t thought about it until now, but if she put all the pieces together and then inserted Mark and Abby’s behavior, they’d certainly come close to that complete picture, wouldn’t they? It all fit—the constant vigilance, the paranoia, the evasive answers to her questions. It was kind of ironic that they’d known who she’d come there for before she had… and they’d been her target.

“Ever since her mother was killed,” Mark said in a low voice, “we’ve been looking over our shoulders.” He rubbed the knuckles of both hands. “I brought this whole mess on us. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I loaded the gun. I put it in their hands.”

“Mark,” Elektra said, “come on—”

He held up his hand. “I brought this on Abby. If I hadn’t gone after that money, trying to be a big shot—”

Elektra found herself reaching out and resting her hand on his arm. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s easy to cut your heart open, but it won’t help.”

Mark looked up at her in surprise, then their gazes met and locked. It wasn’t the first time she’d been caught by Mark’s attractiveness, but it
was
the most powerful; that he was enamored of her just gave everything a double dose of desire.

Elektra saw it coming, and tried to stop it. “I’m probably not a good person to…” She hesitated, not finding the right words. “Especially now. I have nothing to give—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said, and then she wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly they went from her hand stroking his arm to being in each other’s arms, kissing and holding on to each other as if nothing and no one else existed in the universe. His hands felt so good on her back, his lips fit hers almost perfectly, warm and soft, and when his mouth moved to her throat all she wanted to do was throw her head back and—

It took every bit of willpower she had to pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. He looked from her shoulders to his hands as if he couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up in his arms…or maybe why she wasn’t still there.

Elektra’s heart was pounding as hard in her chest as if she’d just had a rip-roaring good fight with someone. “Oh, I really hated that,” she managed. She inclined her head toward the window, a silent reminder that Abby was just on the other side of a pane of glass.

The expression on Mark’s face said he knew she was right, but he didn’t like it. She couldn’t help that, and just to keep things temptation-free, she got up and hurried inside, leaving Mark to find his way back into Abby’s room and sleep, fully clothed, on a comforter pallet on the floor at the side of Abby’s bed.

Elektra slept fitfully, twisting and turning and floating in and out of awareness, her nerves working on her and refusing to let her drop completely into slumber. The night had cooled considerably and now a chill wind was blowing into McCabe’s ranch house through any number of windows left open, including the one in Elektra’s room. This time when the air hit her, her eyelids snapped open and she was suddenly awake, logic and reason fully functional, reflexes on high alert.

McCabe was standing at the foot of her bed, holding his shotgun.

Elektra rolled and jammed her hands up and under her pillows; they came back out armed with a sai in each one. As she spun and readied them, McCabe raised his shotgun, and if she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn he was aiming straight at her—