Promises to Keep (15 page)

Thirty-Nine

Sabrina followed Ben down
the dark stairs, Avasa at her side. She was a good dog, trained to follow commands without hesitation. She took the stairs as silently and vigilantly as her master. Catching a scent on the early autumn breeze, she lifted her head to take it in. She stopped for a moment, as still as stone, ears laid flat against her skull. She didn't bark, but the pause in her step told Sabrina everything she needed to know.

Whoever or whatever was on the porch didn't belong there.

Sabrina kept the muzzle of her SIG trained to the right, over the railing, watching the shadows for any sign of movement. She imagined the faceless Church lurking in the dark. Suddenly Ben's stories seemed less like a ploy to scare her into toeing the line and more like a warning. One she should've heeded.

Reaching out, she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him just before he rounded the corner of the house. Ben turned a bit, shooting her a questioning look. He must've read her face because he tipped his head to the side:
go back upstairs.

Instinct told her that was the smartest thing to do, but she fought it tooth and nail. She'd never left a partner behind, and she sure as the hell wasn't going to start now. She shook her head and resettled her grip on her SIG, tipping her chin at the shadow cast across the front yard by the porch light. What kind of assassin announced their presence like that?

Ben held up a finger. One shadow. Whoever was on the porch was alone—or wanted them to
think
they were. He held up three fingers and counted down.
Three … two … one …

The two of them took the corner together, leading with their guns, muzzles trained on the source of the shadow.

“
Holy shit.”
The woman on the porch squeaked out, shooting her hands toward the sky, eyes yanked wide with fear. She was wearing a pair of loose jeans and a logo T, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail away from her pretty face.

Ben immediately tipped his gun toward the ground, shooting Sabrina a questioning look. “You know her?”

“Nope.” She shifted her SIG a few inches to the left, farther on down the porch. “It's a little late at night to be selling magazine subscriptions, isn't it?” she said to the woman on the porch, watching her face carefully. “Turn. Slowly.” She twirled her finger in the air to demonstrate what she meant.

“Okay …” The woman turned slowly.

“She's not carrying,” Ben said, roaming his eyes over the woman's form, looking for the bulge of a holster against her hip or tucked into the small of her back.

“Carrying what? Oh God … Look, I'm just here to see Val—Valerie Nickels,” the woman stammered out, hands still held high.

“I've never seen you before in my life.” What the hell was this? Some sort of decoy meant to distract them? Or was she what she
looked like—a poor woman, scared shitless by a pair of guns shoved in her face? “Where's your purse?” Sabrina said, still driven by the instinct that whispered to her that something was wrong.

“My … I left it in the car. I just came by to drop off some pictures I took of Valerie and her baby today at the park.”

Ben shot her a look. Would Val be dumb enough to give their address to a total stranger she met in the park? The answer slumped her shoulders and ticked the muzzle of her gun a few more inches to the left. “Where are they? The pictures?”

Now the woman started to lower her hands. Sabrina swung the muzzle back in her direction, centering it on her chest. The woman froze in terror, her eyes zeroed in on the gun in her hand. “On a disc in my pocket.”

Just then the front door flew open. “What's going on?” Val stepped out onto the porch, a sleeping Lucy nestled against her chest. She looked down at the baby to make sure she was still sleeping. “Have the two of you
lost your minds
?”

Sabrina lowered her gun but didn't tuck it away. “Do you know her?” she said, ignoring Val's question completely.

“Yes, I do,” Val said. “Her name is Courtney. I met her this morning at that coffee shop on Berry. She's a photographer, we started talking …” She shot a look at Ben. “What did you do to her?”

Ben held up his hands. “Don't look at me, she was crazy when I found her.” He tucked his .40 into the waistband of his cargo shorts, a sly smile creeping over his face. “But, better safe than sorry, right?”

Valerie gave him a withering look. “Good. Great. Just what I need,
two
of you running around.” She turned to the woman standing next to her. “Sorry about that. My roommate, Sabrina.” She flung a hand in the direction of the yard. “Sabrina, this is Courtney.”

“Nice to meet you,” Courtney said, her hands still in the air. She looked at the gun in Sabrina's hand. “Can I put my hands down now?”

No
. “Yes.” Sabrina tucked her SIG into the small of her back and dropped her arms to her sides, her hand falling onto Avasa's head. The dog was still quivering. She gave her a few long strokes, urging the tension from her neck and shoulders.

“Come in.” Valerie stepped back, opening the front door a bit wider. “Now that my friends have waved a gun at you, the least I can do is offer you a glass of wine.”

Courtney smiled. “That'd be great, I—” She was cut off by the chime of her cell. Reaching into her pocket, she gave the screen a quick scroll before shooting a look at Sabrina across the porch. “But, actually, I can't stay.” She reached into her back pocket and produced a paper sleeve with a cellophane window. “I just wanted to drop these by. If you like what you see, give me a call and we'll set up a shoot. I'd love to use this little cutie in my portfolio,” she said, running her hand along Lucy's soft black curls with a smile. She handed Val the disc and turned to leave. “It was … life-affirming to meet you, Sabrina,” she said, taking the steps in a rush and following the length of the driveway to the ancient Ford Bronco that sat curbside.

She jumped in and started it up, the rattle and chug of it was deafening. How in the hell had they not heard that thing when it pulled up? Pulling away, Courtney gave the horn a couple of beeps and waved, disappearing from sight. Sabrina watched her go, not wanting to turn around and face her friend.

“I thought we'd finally pulled clear of this, Sabrina,” Val said quietly, pulling her gaze to the porch. It was late August, so the anniversary of her kidnapping was right around the corner. How many times had she lost it in the past, let herself be consumed by memories? Let paranoia and anger take root? She couldn't blame Val for seeing her behavior and believing that this was just one of her annual freakouts. But that wasn't what happened here.

She sighed. “It's not about that, Val—”

“You always say that,” she said before looking at Ben. “I can't do this right now. You deal with her.” Val went back inside and shut the door with a firm
click
.

She turned away from the porch and fixed Ben with a cold look. “
She was crazy when I found her
? Seriously?”

Ben just shrugged. “What was I supposed to say?
We're out here hunting wabbits?
So she thinks you're losing it, what's new?”

“Asshole.” She turned away and made her way toward the stairs that led to her third-floor studio. Ben took a few steps in her direction, and she looked at him over her shoulder. “If you take one more step, I'll shoot you were you stand.” She turned away and continued around the side of the house and up the stairs, Avasa at her heels.

Forty

He waited until he
heard the muffled thud of Lark shutting the door to his room before he moved. Standing, he bent and picked up the boy.

Michael carried him up stairs to the room across from his own. He pulled back the covers on the bed and deposited him in it. He was thin. Too thin. Dark shaggy hair lay flat against the skeletal angles of his face. The baggy shirt and sweats practically swallowed him whole. He saw himself as a child, shell-shocked and broken—a half-feral boy no one wanted.

He'd been eight when his smack-addicted mother finally managed to kill herself. He sat, locked in the closet in a puddle of his own urine for three days, waiting to die. Hoping to, really. But the smell of his mother rotting away in the bathroom finally won out over the warm garbage stench that permeated the shitty tenement they lived in.

He'd been pulled out of that closet. Cleaned up and fed. Put in an endless parade of cars and taken from placement to placement. Eight of them in less than a year before he landed on Sophia and Sean's doorstep. His life with them stuck. Not because he'd finally settled, but because they refused to give up on him. Because they loved him.

Because, finally, someone wanted him.

He looked at the boy.
Who are you? Why do both Reyes and Cordova want you dead? What do you know that's so important?
Instead of asking questions he was sure there were no answers for, Michael tugged the covers up to Alex's chin, over his frail shoulders. “Good night,” he mumbled in Russian before heading for the door. He could've sworn he'd heard the kid whisper, “
Spasibo,
” just before he shut the door behind him.

Spasibo.
Thank you.

Michael stopped in his room long enough to change his clothes, exchanging the rumpled suit for a pair of track pants and a faded T-shirt before pulling on a shoulder holster to house his Kimber .45. A lightweight jacket completed his newest disguise.

In his track pants and cross trainers, he looked like a regular guy out for a late-night run.

Nothing could've been further from the truth.

He circled the block, his head on a swivel. Scanning the street, the surrounding yards. Cars parked along the curb. All was quiet—for now. It was only a matter of time before the place was crawling with Spanish thugs and Colombian henchmen. This was the calm before the storm. Time to batten down the hatches.

Reapproaching the street that held Miss Ettie's B&B, he continued on toward Sabrina's. She wasn't asleep. She'd be up, pacing and worrying. Figuring out a way to keep the Kotko boy safe. Waiting for the same thing he was—for it all to come crashing down on them.

He stopped as soon as he reached her fence line, allowing the hydrangeas to hide him from view. He stood there for a moment, fighting the urge to climb her stairs and knock. To apologize and smooth things over.

Suddenly the door at the top of her third-floor landing opened and she appeared, a large rust-colored dog at her side. She took the steps quietly and cut across the yard to the street where she'd parked her car. He watched her unlock the door, letting the dog in first before she slid behind the wheel.

He crossed the street at a quick clip, reaching the car seconds before she turned the engine over. Raising his hand, he rapped his knuckles against the passenger side window. The dog in the seat next to her let out a sharp bark, floppy ears flattened against a sleek skull, quivering lips peeled back from large teeth.

Sabrina jumped in her seat, turning to place a hand on the dog's flank. She looked through the window before she said something he couldn't hear. The dog's demeanor changed instantly; it no longer looked poised to attack but rather like it was waiting.

She said something else to the dog just before the window a few inches from his face was powered down. “Do you ever sleep?”

“About as much as you do,” he said with a shrug. “You finally got your own dog.”

“She was a gift,” Sabrina said as if she needed an excuse. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I'm hungry. Thought I'd go grab a bite,” she said, the lie flowing smoothly. He could always tell when she was lying because she looked you right in the eye when she did it.

He chuckled and made a point to look at his watch before answering. “Yeah? Me too. Mind if I tag along?” He wasn't hungry, but it was nearly eleven o'clock at night. She wasn't going anywhere without him.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”

“Excellent,” he said, reaching through the open window to open the locked door from the inside. The dog shifted in the seat in front of him, letting out a low-level growl. He looked at the woman behind the dog. “You want to tell your bodyguard to relax?”

For a moment it looked like she would do no such thing but then she relented. “
Stil en rustig,
Avasa,” she said firmly and the dog's demeanor changed again. Craning her neck around, she gave her mistress a few wipes with her tongue. Sabrina smiled and ran a hand over the dog's head, ruffling her ears. “Okay, okay—
achterbank
,” she said, and the dog immediately did as she was told, moving to the back seat.

“Your dog responds to Dutch,” he said, opening the door and easing himself into the seat that had been vacated.

Sabrina started the car and shifted into drive. “Just a few key commands,” she said, pulling away from the curb.

The canines used by FSS were trained to follow Dutch commands. He knew without asking who had given her the dog.

Ben.

It bothered him more than it should. Here was more proof that while he had been busy trying to do the right thing and stay away, his partner had made himself at home in Sabrina's life. Dwelling on Ben's motives would prove dangerous, so he pushed the thought from his mind. They traveled in awkward silence for a while before he spoke again. “I'm sorry about earlier—”

She held up a hand, stopping him cold. “Don't. There's no need to apologize. I understand perfectly.”

“I don't think you do,” he said. “Lark is Shaw's lapdog. Sent here to keep tabs on me—on us. It's safer if I …” He let his gaze drift out the window. Gone were the affluent homes and wide manicured lawns. In the space of twenty minutes they'd traded St. Francis Wood for the Tenderloin, one of San Francisco's toughest neighborhoods.

She made a left onto Eddy and parallel parked in front of a Korean restaurant. “Safer if you what?” she said, killing the engine.

He didn't answer, couldn't really. Not without tearing down the wall he'd worked so hard to build between them.

Thankfully she let it go. “If you're coming with me, you're going to want to leave your gun in the car,” she said before looking over her shoulder. “
Blijven en beschermen
.”

Stay and protect.

As soon as the words were spoken, she was out of the car and around its front, heading for the Korean restaurant and leaving him little choice but to follow.