Like a Knife (9 page)

If the silence had been embarrassing before, it was deafening now. Everyone turned to look at Nick. Casually, he speared a tomato and brought it to his mouth. His manner suggested he could have cared less what they thought, but sitting next to him Rachel saw the pinched white lines around his mouth that told a different story.

'The police are wrong," Rachel said quickly. "He had nothing to do with-"

'That's okay." He chewed slowly, deliberately, meeting Julia's shocked expression head on. "Yes, you're right."

"Your picture was in the newspaper," one of the lawyers said slowly, as if seeing Rachel's dinner companion for the first time.

"Nick... Raine." Dana supplied his last name with a small look of triumph for having remembered.

He bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"What are you doing with my niece?" This stern question from Uncle Elliot. "Haven't you brought her enough trouble?"

Rachel winced, but Nick said calmly, "I think that better wait till after dinner." He looked around the table at the embarrassed guests, his expression clearly saying he'd prefer privacy. "For now"-he scraped back his chair-"if you'll excuse me." And walked out of the room.

Rachel sent her aunt a dagger's look and ran after him.

"Rachel!" her aunt called behind her.

"Let him go," her uncle shouted at the same time.

Ignoring them both, she found Nick outside, hands in his pockets, staring at the bevy of BMWs and Mercedes parked in front of the house.

"Nick, I'm sorry. I know what you've done for me, even if they don't. You've turned your life inside out to keep me safe. Because of me, you're working for people you hate, doing things you hate."

He barked a short, bitter laugh. "I'm just doing what comes natural. What I'm good at."

"Rachel!" Elliot stood in the open doorway, still holding onto his dinner napkin. He hurried out to stand protectively near his niece. "I'm sure Mr. Raine has more important things to do. Come back inside." To Nick he said, "We won't keep you."

"Elliot, don't be an idiot. When you hear what he's done for me, you'll-"

"I know what he's done
to
you," Elliot said. "And possibly to another woman-"

She rounded on him, barely holding on to her temper. "I explained about the hit-and-run to Aunt Julia. Nick wasn't there. He's not responsible for what happened." She turned to Nick. "Tell him. Tell him what yon told me about Rennie Spier."

The minute Spier's name left her mouth, she wished she could take it back. Her uncle's face grew even more pinched.

"What does Spier have to do with this?"

"Nothing," Rachel said quickly.

"Is that why you came tonight? Are you in some kind of trouble? Has he gotten you into some kind of trouble?" He looked accusingly at Nick.

"No, it's not like that at all."

"That's exactly what it's like," Nick said. "She needs a place to stay. A safe place."

Her uncle's worried gaze shifted from Nick to her and back again. A silent message passed between the two men. It ended with Nick turning toward the cars in the drive.

"Go with your uncle."

"Why? Where are you going?"

In answer, he strolled to his car, opened the door, and pulled the gun out from under the seat. He did it deliberately, making sure both of them saw him do it.

Elliot drew in a sharp breath.

Shucking his jacket, Nick tucked the weapon at the small of his back. "Get inside. I'm going to take a look around." He slammed the car door and walked into the deepening night.

She started after him, but her uncle pulled her back. "Stay here."

But she couldn't. She jerked away and ran after Nick.

Rachel caught up to Nick as he was heading toward the back of the Bradshaws' house. Without turning his head or missing a step, he spoke in a flat voice. "I thought I said to-"

"I heard what you said."

He sighed. "She hears, but does not listen." But he made no further protest when she tagged along.

The moon was up, though darkness hadn't settled in completely. They tramped in silence. The house sat in the middle of large, sprawling greens that gave way to dark woods in the distance. Clumps of azalea and rhododendron created islands of shrubbery in the smooth grass sea. Nick's gaze only skimmed the plants and flowers, looking beyond them to the far borders. From time to time he turned, walking backward, as if judging various distances. From the drive to the front door. The edge of the woods to the house. A ripple of disquiet crawled up Rachel's back and she wanted to pretend this wasn't necessary, but couldn't

Lights came on as they walked, giving them a clear path, and Nick noted them with interest "Your uncle installed motion-sensitive lights. What's the rest of the security system like?"

"The house is wired."

"Good."

Standing at the tiered patio at the back of the house, they couldn't see the edge of the property, which disappeared into the shadowy woods. A tennis court sat at the far left. The glittery reflection of a swimming pool took up the center. Nick gestured with his head over to the right

"What's over there?"

She turned to face the direction he pointed out, where the grounds rose into a small hill. A wave of pleasure washed over her. "My childhood." Impulsively, she took his hand. "Come on, I'll show you the best thing about this place."

She pulled him up the slope, liking the feel of his hand in hers. By the time they reached the top, though, he'd managed to disengage his fingers and shove his hands in his pockets. She missed his warmth but didn't push; she was too excited to show him what lay on the other side of the hill. They stood at the crest, looking down. A small pond surrounded by trees shimmered in the moonlight.

She said, "Ever hear the Mark Twain story
The Prince and the Pauper?
In the story, Prince Edward of England switches places with a street urchin who looks like him, and both get to see how the other half lives. Well, that story is me. Except I played both parts."

"The princess lived up here?" He nodded over his shoulder to the house.

"Someday I'll show you my throne room. It's all pink and white, with angels and fat cherubs playing on the ceiling. My aunt had it done when I came to live here."

"And your father-he was the pauper?"

"David Goodman didn't believe in the 'cult of the material.' The few times he let me stay with him, I slept on a couch he'd rescued from someone's trash." Fondly, she gazed down at the sheltered enclave. 'The only place I truly felt at home was down there."

Tramping down the hill, she recalled the countless times she'd made the journey growing up. Even now, after all these years, it still held a certain mystical appeal.

When they reached the bottom, she had a childish urge to kick off her shoes and wade in the water. But Nick stood still, quietly scanning the scene around them. She could tell he wasn't seeing the moonlit pond or the huge, leafy maples that guarded it. He didn't care that she'd chiseled her name in the old wooden swing hanging from one of the trees. He saw only entrances and exits, hiding places, weak spots in the security system.

"What's on the other side of the trees?"

She eyed him, wishing he could forget danger for a moment. "A wall. It's the eastern boundary of the property."

He disappeared into the trees, and she tensed, grateful for his prudence but resentful at the same time. This was her refuge, the one place she could escape her fears. Now Nick was bringing them into the heart of her sanctuary.

"Okay, it's not impossible to get over," he said when he returned, "but it would definitely slow someone down."

She gave him a tight smile. "I know. It used to slow me down. Then I figured out how to build steps out of rock, and there was no keeping me. Ran my aunt and uncle ragged until they found out what I was up to and dismantled my staircase."

"And what were you up to?"

"Oh, running after my father mostly. Catching his dust." She eased onto the swing and began to drift. It was darker here than above, lit only by the moon. The glow hovered over the surface of the pond, turning it a misty silver. Encircling the water, maples arched into a leafy haven that was snug and private. Safe.

She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of leaves and moss, and letting the magic seep into her skin while the tension flowed out. "I love this place."

"You're lucky you had somewhere to go. Some kids-" He leaned against a tree and stared off into the night. "Some kids don't."

Was he talking about himself or someone else? The picture of the boy in the photograph rose in her mind, and with it all her anxiety returned. She looked away, into the comfort of the trees, but knew there was no escape, not even here.

Resigned, she asked him the question that had haunted her all day. "Did you... did you look for the boy today?"

Her voice seemed to pull him back from wherever he'd gone. He threw her a tight smile. "No. I went to see Rennie."

Alarm shot through her. "Are you all right? Is he?"

"He wasn't there."

How could he be so calm about it? "Well, what happened?"

"I talked to Frank. He swore Rennie had nothing to do with what happened at your apartment last night."

She studied him, her own doubt mirrored in the lines of his face. "But you don't believe him."

He lifted his shoulders. "I don't know what to believe." He scooped up a branch from the ground and snapped it in two, as if the bough were Rennie himself. "But if Rennie didn't do it, who did?"

"Who else would want you to stop looking for the boy?"

"Or stop me trying to prove Rennie killed his wife." His tone said
this
was the important issue, not the child. He made a frustrated, growling sound in the back of his throat and walked to the edge of the pond.

Sliding off the swing, she joined him and said gently, "No matter what you do, you can't change the fact that Shelley is dead. You can't do anything to help her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She picked her words carefully. "Maybe you should... forget about Rennie. Concentrate on finding the boy."

His head snapped around to face her. "I let Rennie get away with a lot. I'm not letting him get away with killing Shelley." He strode back toward the trees, obviously wanting .an end to the discussion. But she couldn't let this go. Not yet. Not when a child's safety was at stake.

"He's only a boy, Nick. He's probably scared and alone. Who knows where he is, or if he's safe." She hesitated, then plowed on, knowing she was getting in deeper than she should, but unable to stop herself. "If you're... if you're having trouble, I could help. We could look for him together."

He leaned against one of the maples and sent her a black look. "You do have a death wish."

She glided over to him. "No, but I know what it's like to live with strangers, to be frightened."

He gave her a pointed look. "He's not you. He's got a whole different set of problems."

"What about the warehouses near the site of the accident?"

"The police combed the area. They would have found a mouse, let alone a six-year-old."

"And the parks? You said the photographs were taken at a playground. I could-" She bit her lip, compelled to do something; anything, despite the lingering threat, so long as the boy was alone out there. "I could do some scouting."

"No."

"Nick-"

''No!" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "You can't. You just can't."

Suddenly, she was staring up at him. Shadowed by moonlight, his face was partially lit, half light, half dark, like Nick himself.

"Please." His expression softened, eyes pleading. "I couldn't take another-" He looked down. "I can't... be responsible," he said in a low, grim voipe. "Not again."

"You're not. You had nothing to do with what Spier did to me. I don't blame you."

He raised his head, and the moon caught the misery in his face. "You should. Christ, if you only knew-"

"Knew what?" She searched his face, but all it revealed was his struggle to stay silent. Secrets. Always so many secrets.

After a long while, he dropped his hold and looked away. "Nothing. Forget it."

"I don't want to forget it." Gently cupping his jaw with her hand, she turned him back toward her. "Why are you so hard on yourself?"

He stilled at her touch. She caressed him softly, stroking the bitter lines away. She knew it was unwise, knew being near him was risky, but her fingers moved on their own, scraping his jaw, weaving through his hair.

"Don't," he whispered.

"I won't." But she kept right on touching him, tracing the line of his cheek, his eyes, his lips, as if she'd never heard the word
danger.

He grabbed her wrist, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. As rapid as her own. For a moment she thought he was going to stop her.

Then he brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it.

She drew in a breath. Heat pooled in her chest and between her thighs. As if in a trance, she sank into the circle of his arms. And now there was only the two of them. No Rennie Spier, no aunts or uncles, no menace. Only her and him in this safe, special place. Only moonlight and Nick's raven eyes, hazy with desire. Moonlight and Nick's mouth, descending toward hers.

A twig cracked.

His head came up, his eyes cleared, and before she knew what was happening, he pushed her behind him and drew his gun.

Her heart was still pounding, but for an entirely different reason now. God, it couldn't be. No one could get in here.

"Rachel?" A whisper in the dark. "Are you there?"

Relief flooded her. "It's okay," she said to Nick. "It's Chris."

Her cousin emerged from the lee of the hill into the center of the circle of trees. He stopped short when he saw the gun.

"I'd shake your hand," Chris drawled, "but it seems otherwise occupied."

Nick lowered the weapon and stepped aside. Chris walked past him and put an arm around Rachel.

"Are you all right?"

"She's fine," Nick said.

Chris whirled on him. "Then what do you need a gun for?"

Rachel put a hand on her cousin's arm. "Don't start."

"Come back to the house," Chris said to her. "The dinner party's breaking up."

She looked at him suspiciously. "Did your parents send you?"

"You know better than that." Playfully, he pulled her braid. "But I admit they're worried about you.
I'm
worried about you. Every time I called for the past few weeks, you sounded comatose." He eyed Nick. "Looks like we were right to be worried. What's going on?"

Nick shoved the gun behind his back. "She needs someplace to stay. Someplace safe."

"Why?"

"It's a long story," Rachel said.

"I've got plenty of'time."

"Not here," Nick said. "You can talk all you want back at the house." His tone was harsh, his face hard. Where was the man who'd held her a moment ago?

Softly, she said, "Nick-"

"It's late. I have to go." Beneath the curtness he almost sounded relieved that Chris had interrupted them. He gestured for them to precede him up the hill.

As they walked toward the house, she slowed to let Nick catch up to her. It was full dark by now, but the grounds were well lit. The illumination showed every line in his hard, craggy face.

"Where are you going?" He didn't answer. "Are you coming back?"

"I'll take you to work in the morning."

"Not necessary," Chris said quickly. "I can take her."

Nick stopped and turned toward Chris. "Do you have a piece?"

Chris's brow furrowed. "A piece of what?"

"A gun, a weapon."

Chris gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Am I going to need one?"

"No," Rachel said quickly.

Nick took the gun from the small of his back. "Here." He shoved the weapon at Chris.

"We don't need that," Rachel said.

Chris handled the gun gingerly. "You don't expect me to shoot anyone?"

Nick's eyes bored into Chris like two pieces of heatblackened steel. "I expect you to do whatever is necessary to protect her."

He wheeled away, leaving them at the front drive. Slipping into his car without another word, he drove off.

She watched him leave, the way she used to watch her father leave, the red glow of his taillights disappearing into the night.

She was sick of the sight.

"Give me your keys," she said to Chris.

"What?"

"Your keys!"

* * *

Nick tightened his hold on the steering wheel to stop his hands shaking. He glanced in the rearview mirror once, then refused to look back. Refused to see the hurt in Rachel's eyes, the disappointment in her face.

Forget her.
He had other things to think about.

But he couldn't forget the raw ache in his chest when she'd brought her slim fingers to his face. Or the surge of desire when she'd glided into his arms. He was still shaking from her touch.

And from the knowledge that he'd almost told her about Panama. A wave of nausea washed over him as he remembered how close he'd come to revealing the one thing that was sure to make her turn away from him forever. No matter what happened, no matter how strong the temptation or how hard she pressed, he could never, ever tell her what happened.

He depressed the window buttons and floored the gas pedal, jolting the car into high speed. Night air flew in, engulfing him so he couldn't think. Or feel.

Under normal conditions the trip into Manhattan took forty-five minutes. Nick made it in thirty. By nine o'clock he'd parked the car in the underground garage below Spier's headquarters. A tunnel led into the compound, but Nick headed for the street He wanted the extra minutes to review his strategy before confronting Rennie.

He got as far as the mouth of the garage, then stopped short. Rachel stood on the sidewalk, calm and cool, as if they met on a street corner every day. He gaped at her.

"What the... what the hell are you doing here?"

"Following you." She nodded with her head in the direction of a small Miata convertible parked to the right of the garage. "It's Chris's car."

As if that explained everything. "Why would you-" He pulled her into me shadow of a wall, out of the line of sight. "I told you to stay with your family. You can't come with me."

"I don't want to come with you," she said quietly. "I want you to come with me."

He raked a hand through his hair, at a loss. "Look, I have to talk to Rennie."

"No, you don't. You've done enough. I want you
to
come back to Long Island. Elliot's a lawyer; he has a ton of connections. We can work something out. Something that doesn't involve you and Rennie Spier in the same room."

Her eyes were dark and steady on his face, and a pang went through him-how could she care so much?-but he pushed it away and muttered an oath beneath his breath. "This is crazy. I don't need you to protect me. Go home."

"Not without you."

Dragging back some semblance of patience, he said, "I have things to do, Rachel. I'm not going with you, and you can't come with me. We talked about this. I thought you understood that staying away from Rennie was your best insurance policy."

1 don't want to have anything to do with Rennie Spier, okay? But I don't want you to have anything to do with him either." She raised her chin. "I'm not letting you run off to God knows what-risk life and limb most likely-all on account of me. No one fights for me, Nick, no one saves me. And no one leaves me behind anymore."

Anymore.
As though she'd been left behind a thousand times before. "Oh, I get it. This is about your father, isn't it? Catching his dust, you said."

"It's about you, Nick. And keeping you safe for once."

"Rachel to the rescue?"

She colored, but didn't back down. "Maybe. Call it whatever you want. But you need protection as much as me."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his back to her, facing the corner. He was oddly touched and royally pissed. He couldn't ditch her, not if he wanted to make sure she was safe. But he couldn't take her inside either.

What he wanted to do was strangle her. But before his hands could reach her throat, he saw a cab pull up to the curb half a block up. Martin ducked inside.

The conversation Nick overheard that morning replayed in his head. Two men, meeting tonight. Was Martin part of the team? And did the job involve Rachel?

Nick looked from the cab to the front of SATCO headquarters. He could go in and confront Rennie, and maybe worm the truth out of him. Dicey at best. Or he could follow Martin and find out for himself. Either way, he couldn't leave Rachel.

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and stepped into the street, whistling shrilly and raising his arm to hail a cab.

Rachel said, "What are we doing?"

"We're taking you home."

He flagged down a taxi and they tumbled inside. Nick pointed out Martin's car to the driver. "Double your fare if you can keep that black-and-yellow in sight."

"This isn't my usual route," Rachel said dryly.

"I overheard Frank planning something this morning, and I want to see what Rennie's up to. I'll check this out, then take you back to your car."

She sighed but didn't argue, and he pulled his attention away from her to concentrate on Martin. He was heading uptown; traffic was brisk but not heavy, and they had no trouble keeping him in sight. Ten minutes later, they pulled up to Penn Station, where Martin's cab had just stopped.

"Shit," Nick said softly. Penn Station housed the Long Island Railroad terminal and the Amtrak hub to Boston, Philadelphia, Miami, Chicago, and who knew where else. Martin could be going anywhere.

Quickly, Nick paid the driver and slid out "Stay close." He wrapped her hand in his own and jogged after Martin.

It was almost nine-thirty, but the station was full of noise. Announcers bellowed train times and tracks in an indecipherable buzz, people scurried to buy tickets or check schedules. Groups of kids clumped together, laughing and shoving, the girls with bare shoulders and midriffs, the boys with loose, baggy jeans. The smell of grease and ketchup and sweat hung in the air. Nick dodged the milling crowds, the beat-up vending machines, and the overflowing trash cans to follow the path Martin set a few yards ahead.

He ducked into the corridor leading to the Long Island Railroad, and Nick breathed out in relief. At least that narrowed the field.

"He's going to a track," Rachel said. All the tracks were below main level, connected by a set of stairs. "Look, I've done this a million times going out to my aunt and uncle. There are two tracks down there. You won't be able to tell which train he boards from here."

A stream of people were plunging down the stairs. Martin joined them, and Nick and Rachel followed.

"Montauk or Islip?" As they slipped through the entrance, Rachel pointed to the line names posted on either side.

"I don't know. None of this makes sense." Martin always said the subway was for losers and hadn't taken a train since he could afford a car and a driver if he wanted one. But he was taking a damn train now.

Two-thirds of the way down the stairs he saw Martin enter the train on the left track. Montauk. Why the hell was Martin going out to the eastern end of Long Island?

"What's in Montauk?" Rachel asked.

Nick shook his head. "Rennie's got a beach house out there, but-" He shrugged. "Besides, we don't know where he'll end up. He could get out at any stop along the way." If he'd been alone, he might have followed Martin, but he wasn't going to drag Rachel on what could be a three-hour train ride leading to who knows what at the end. They reached the platform, and the train opposite Martin's started to pull out. Nick shouted over the noise, "Come on, let's get you home."

"Only if you're coming," she said stubbornly.

He couldn't help a small smile. "After that stunt you pulled at Rennie's, you think I'd trust you by yourself?"

Rachel's shoulders relaxed; she hadn't realized how tense she'd been. It wasn't so much the cloak-and-dagger stuff, though that had been intimidating enough, but persuading Nick to leave. Now she grinned at him, profoundly glad he was coming with her, even if it was only to personally escort her. Once they got back to the Brad-shaws she'd find a way to bully him into staying, and in the morning they'd talk to Elliot. She had no illusions that it was going to be an easy conversation, but at least Nick would have a chance to get free of Rennie now. They turned around to head back up the stairs, but Nick stopped so fast, Rachel ran into him.

"What's the matter?"

Instead of answering, he jerked her back, shoved her down the track and up against a signpost. He leaned in as if about to kiss her, and her heart leaped into her throat. But he only whispered in her ear, "One of Rennie's men is on the stairs."

"What?"

"Shh."

God in heaven. "But-but how could Rennie possibly know where I'd be?"

"I don't know. But he did. Christ, he's coming down. We can't stay here."

She looked around wildly, but there was no place to go. A few feet ahead, the track ended in blackness, and with Rennie's thug on the stairs they couldn't escape that way. They were trapped.

An announcer made a last call for the Montauk train. Her eyes met Nick's.

"Okay," he said in a low voice, "on three." He made the count and in one swift move, they made a dash for the doors and dove onto the train. Moments later, the doors closed.

Nick pushed her into a seat and shoved her head down as the train jostled into motion. She smelied dirt and feet and the sharp metallic scent of machinery, and men they entered the tunnel out of Manhattan and plunged into darkness. The hand on her head lifted and she sat back, mouth dry, heart thumping wildly.

"Did he see us?"

Nick's voice came out of the darkness. "I don't think so. He didn't try to get on the train."

She let out a long, quivery breath, and seconds later, the lights came back on. Next to her, Nick sat stone-faced.

"So much for keeping you out of harm's way," he said.

She looked down. One hand was wrapped around the other wrist. She pried them apart and tried to ease the tension. "At least now you can find out where Martin's going," she said lightly.

His mouth thinned. "First stop, we're out of here."

"Fine by me. I didn't bring my bathing suit anyway."

A few minutes later, a conductor came through the car to collect tickets.

"We're getting off at the next stop," Nick said, handing him some cash.

The conductor nodded. "Glad to hear it, but so is everyone else. This is nonstop to Montauk, son. Last train of the night Nothing coming or going till tomorrow."

Nick stared at him, and Rachel's heart sank. She thought of everything she'd planned to do tomorrow, the continued search for grant money, me kids, the mess if she wasn't there to open up. Cheerfully the conductor collected their money and punched holes into the paper ticket, which he stuck in a slot designed for that purpose in the seatback ahead of them. Then he moved on to do the same with the other passengers in the car.

Rachel's brain stayed on stun. "Now what?"

"Christ," Nick muttered and punched the seat in front of them. "Shit." He slumped backward, his head landing with a thump on the chrome that edged the leather seat He was staring straight up at the roof. "Well, we're not getting off, but then, neither is Martin. And we left Rossi at the platform...." He sighed, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top shirt button. "Probably the safest three hours we're going to get is the next three." He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

"You're going to sleep?"

"I'm going to try." His voice was already fading.

She watched the lines of his face loosen, tempted to brush the hair back from his forehead and help him relax. She rarely saw him this way, loose-limbed and easy, and she wondered how often he sloughed off the burdens he always seemed to carry.

Suddenly, sleep looked very appealing. She put her head back and closed her eyes, too. "You know, this trip of Martin's may have nothing to do with Rennie," she murmured. "With the suit and briefcase, he looks like a salesman on his way home from a hard day on Madison Avenue."

"Mmm," he murmured, barely there. "Except he's carrying hollowpoints, not talking points."

The hard reality of his words shuddered through her. Suddenly, she was wide awake.