Survival Instinct (16 page)

She parted ways with Bill in the late afternoon, peeling off a generous tip for his day’s work and reserving his time for Longsford’s party. It was getting a step or two ahead of herself, as she had yet to acquire the invitation—but then, that was what she was about to start working on.

She’d given herself five long blocks to walk before she reached the hotel, here in the middle of rush hour. The streets were jammed with traffic and the sidewalks likewise, making it difficult for a woman with a handful of shopping bags to make any graceful progress. Karin sidestepped several near-collisions until she found the older man who suited her needs. For him, she contrived to trip into his path.

Her shopping bags went flying; she bumped into him and he into her during their efforts to recover her belongings—the scanty panties and lacy bras she’d bought just for him. And he didn’t have the slightest clue when she lifted his watch.

After that she sorted out the lacy things with efficient cheer, stuffing them back into random bags and making apologies and calling him a gentleman. For a moment she was worried—it had been a while since she’d seen a man’s face so red—but he went on his way with swift, stable strides and she decided maybe he wouldn’t have a stroke after all.

She didn’t look at the watch until she was back in the hotel room, a smooth journey with no more bumps or jostles. There, she dumped the lingerie on the middle of her big queen bed and pulled the watch out from the tangle.

Oh, yeah. A large Tiffany Mark bracelet watch. Self-winding, in stainless steel. Well over two thou retail.

This would get someone’s attention.

She pulled off the Maia clothes, hanging them with neat precision. She’d need to grab some food, but first of all she had to get out of here unseen. She wasn’t leaving this place as Maia. She pulled on a pair of tight, worn jeans, not especially stylish but attention-getting all the same. A black turtleneck, taken from Dave’s thrift-store purchases. Her own worn army surplus field jacket over it all…and Dave’s Ruger stuck into the deep pocket of that jacket. She slicked her hair back tight, turning the blond society coif into a mean ponytail, and pulled out the brown contacts. She scrubbed her face of its gentle makeup and applied mascara and a hard eyeliner, leaving the rest alone. A few things in her back jeans pockets, the watch in an inside jacket pocket, a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap on her head with the ponytail sticking out the back…

Ready to go. She checked the hall and she slipped out the door and into the stairwell; half a flight of stairs down got her to the main exit door. She hesitated there long enough to insert her door key into a planter of early annuals. Tonight would be the riskiest part of this whole operation, and if she happened to get searched by the people she hoped to find, she didn’t want to give up anything but the watch. No ID, no key card, no credit cards. Just some cash, a watch and a lot of attitude.

On the other hand, with the Ruger in her pocket, she hoped to avoid anything that up close and personal.

She walked a few blocks away from the hotel and picked up a battered taxi, waving it down in the dark. When she told the driver she wanted to check out the southeast pawnshops, he turned to look at her askance, assessing her expression. Then he turned back to the road with a shrug, and accelerated into traffic.

She paid him to wait at the first place, where she idly played with the watch and asked questions about special-interest printers. The man behind the counter turned impatient fast and bitched at her for wasting his time.

The second store visit netted her the grudging suggestion that she try Freddie’s. The cabbie rolled his eyes when he heard their new destination, and this time he opened his mouth. Karin cut him off. “I know,” she said. “But it’s where I need to go. And I’m a big tipper.”

Another eye roll, but he took them there. A tight little storefront with a darkened shoe-repair place on one side and a dimly lit sex-toy shop on the other. Bars across all the windows, of course. Looked just about right.

Karin leaned forward to catch the cabbie’s attention. “Wait for me.”

He gave her a dour look behind an overgrown mustache. She slid out of the car, striding confidently for the pawnshop door, one hand on the Ruger in her pocket and the other already holding the watch. She pushed inside to the inevitable jingle of bells and quickly spotted the security cameras. Three of them. This guy wasn’t taking any chances. A few more steps of the crowded store revealed that the cash register was behind security glass.

Yup. This looked like the place.

“We’re closing!” a man called from the back, bored with her already.

Karin held the watch up in clear view of at least two of the security cameras, dangling it enticingly from her fingers.

Yup. Here he came. She heard footsteps with a limp. When the man came into sight from the back room—grizzled, beefy and clearly a candidate for hip replacement—she lowered the watch but kept it in sight. “It’s yours, if you can give me the right information.”

He grunted. “And just how hot is it?”

She didn’t pretend otherwise. “You’ve got a day or two.”

“Whatta you want?”

“I’m looking for a printer.”

He grunted again. “Try the phone book.”

She sighed loudly, and stuffed the watch into her coat pocket. “Oh,
please.
”

A shrug. He eyed the pocket where the watch now resided.

“Look. I give you the watch, you’ve got something over me if you want it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a special print job to run. It’s a one-time job, then I’ll be out of here. I’m not moving in on anyone’s turf.” She cocked her head. “Though I could, if I wanted to. Just in case you think I might blunder around leaving tracks to this place. Not gonna happen.”

“I should think that?” The very picture of innocence. Deeply sarcastic innocence at that.

“A name,” she said. “The go-to guy. Where I can find him. That’s all.” She withdrew the watch but kept it close to her body this time.

“Tiffany’s?” he asked, not quite believing it.

“Just something I bumped into.” She smiled at him, knowing he’d catch her meaning just fine.

Someone else came into the store; she stepped aside so she could keep them both in view at the same time. This fellow was scruffy—way beyond fashionably scruffy—and he had a mean, leering look. At least ten years older than Karin, he’d gone far past
youthful indiscretions
and straight to
loser.

He said, “Hey, Freddie, you got nice company.” He turned to Karin. “Don’t suppose that’s your cab what just took off?”

Karin glared at him. “What’d you say to him?”

He grinned. “Just my natural charm.”

She looked him up and down with distaste. “I can imagine.” And then, when he took a few steps toward her, she shook her head sharply. “I can imagine quite well from here, thanks.”

He stopped, but she didn’t like the looks of him. Too confident, too anticipatory. He was playing with her, and didn’t think she’d know it. He said, “Nice watch,” and couldn’t quite hide the greed in his voice.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “That’s why I took it.” She angled her head back at Freddie, but kept a close eye on the unwelcome newcomer. “Just write it down, Freddie. We’ll make the swap. I’ll handle my business and be out of this area for good.”

Freddie exchanged glances with the man—he’d inched a little closer to Karin and clearly thought himself sly for it—and shrugged, a gesture limited by Freddie’s own beefy nature.

Karin almost tsked out loud at the obvious nature of his underlying decision. Write the stuff down, then have the scruffy guy pounce on her for the watch without ever giving anything away. But she wanted the information, so she kept her tsking to herself until Freddie was done, holding the paper up for her inspection from a distance.

She was supposed to reach for it, to be distracted and off balance, not noticing the other man. And she did reach for it, snatching it out of Freddie’s thick-fingered grip even as she drew the Ruger and jammed it into the belly of the other man, stopping his sly move short.

“Whoa,” he said, and his hands shot up, surrender and denial both. He backed away in slow motion, casting meaningful glances at Freddie. Appeal. He expected the man to do something, and no doubt there was a sawed-off behind the counter somewhere.

But Freddie didn’t look like a fast man, and he looked like he knew his limits. “You got what you came for. Now what about that watch?”

She could have snorted and left, but she didn’t. He’d been right to be concerned about her credentials and the effect of her activity on his turf. And she had indeed gotten what she’d come for.
Don’t cross the local players unless you want them popping up to jam up the con.

Karin watched them both as she pulled out the watch and tossed it underhand at Freddie. “All yours,” she said. “Of course, if you’ve scribbled up some nonsense here, the cops will know where to look for that watch.”

He waved her off with such disinterest that she knew he’d stopped toying with her. She’d earned her way to the local printing expert—a woman she would visit the next day—and with any luck she’d never see Freddie or his friend again.

Said friend was easing toward the door. Karin stopped him merely by aiming the gun not at him, but at the spot just ahead of him. To continue, he’d have to walk right into her sights. “Hey,” he said. “I’m not part of this.”

“Keys,” she told him.

“Whatta you—”

“Keys.”

In the background, Freddie grunted. “You scared off her ride, dope. Next time maybe you’ll check things out before you try weaseling in.”

But the man sulked. “It’s a motorcycle.”

She only smiled at him. “It’s a beautiful night for a ride.” It wasn’t; it was chilly and she wasn’t dressed for the wind of a motorcycle ride. But she wasn’t going to wait for another cab. She held out her hand, twitching her fingers in a little come-hither gesture meant for the keys. “Toss ’em.”

He fished on his belt for the release to the big jangle of keys by his side, a sullen eye on the Ruger. When he freed the key, he tossed it just to the side—an invitation to reach out and become off balance, or to miss the key altogether.

Karin snatched it out of the air with satisfaction, and then gestured with the pistol, suggesting that the sullen man join up with Freddie. “You’ll find the bike in Old Town, a couple of blocks from the flower shop.”

The man snorted. “What do I know about Old Town?”

“Not my problem. You shouldn’t have interfered with my business. And oh—they use parking meters on that part of the street, so I wouldn’t dawdle. I’m really low on change right now.”

Freddie grunted again, but this time with amusement at the man’s expense. When he turned to Karin he said, “Go on. He won’t try to stop you. You played this clean…come back if you need to.” He ran a meaty thumb over the watch face and added, “Bring another nice gift if you do.”

Karin grinned. “Always do.” She pulled the door open just enough to slip through, and found the motorcycle half a block down, up against the curb. A big solid Kawasaki Vulcan—no wonder the guy was anxious about it. Well, he’d have it back by morning.

She hopped on the bike, started it up and slowly released the hand clutch to pull out into the thinning traffic of late evening, reveling in the trickle of excitement that told her
well done.
Tomorrow she’d meet with the printer and see if they could pull off the invitation.

Just like old times. From the bump-and-snatch on the street to her ability to handle Freddie to keeping on track in spite of the complications caused by the bike’s owner. It might have been easier with Dave at her side, but—

The excitement took a strange dive as she realized how he would have reacted to the watch, how he would have reacted to her casual use of the gun. To how easily she’d performed the little dance of acceptance with Freddie.

No, it wouldn’t have been easier with Dave after all. She’d made the right decision, going solo.

But her excitement had disappeared, to be replaced by an unexpected, sullen fatigue. She rode the motorcycle north, winding her way through unfamiliar streets until she found a good spot, and left the bike by the curb. She dropped a few coins in the meter, and then wondered if she’d have done the same had she not been thinking about Dave and his damnable honor.

Damnable was right. “It was good work,” she told the bike in defiance, and then left it there, walking the blocks to the hotel. She plucked up her room key card out of the potted plant, buffed it clean against her thigh and went to her room. She needed a good night’s sleep, and then she’d head off into tomorrow.

And this time she’d be sure to leave the anchor of Dave’s conscience behind.

Chapter 17

S
he was still here somewhere. Dave propped his forehead in his hands and muttered a sound of pure frustration.

She just wasn’t here as Ellen Sommers, Karin Sommers or Brooke Ellington. Big surprise, she’d had another identity to fall back on.

But she was out there. She’d taken the list of links, the society page printouts, the pages of notes about the people who ran in Barret Longsford’s circles…everything she needed to continue the scam.

And she’d taken his gun. That irritated him the most. It seemed…
personal.
He’d already replaced the Ruger, although not before he’d spent the morning alternating between fury and pain as he unsuccessfully hunted Karin.

He hadn’t expected her to leave.

And exactly what, his almost-buried common sense asked him, had he thought she
would
do? He’d given her plenty of reason to doubt him. She’d broken her cover to offer him her expertise, and he’d given her grief.

Even now, unease made his stomach do a slow roll. Her skills were built on a lifetime of theft and deception, and it wasn’t a morality he could accept. Nor was the California warrant something he could ignore, even if he hoped the charges weren’t true.

But leaving her out there to carry this off on her own wasn’t an option, either.

He looked at the thick Yellow Pages spread open before him—all the hotels he’d called marked off with neat
X
’s. “Where are you, dammit?”

But she wasn’t going to be easily found. He shut the phone book with a thump and turned his thoughts to Longsford, reaching for the thick sheaf of notes he’d collected on the man so far.

That was when it hit him.

He didn’t have to find Karin. He knew what she was after. If he put himself in the right spot at the right time, she’d find
him.

And meanwhile, he had work to do. One way or the other, Longsford was going down.

Dave wished he didn’t think Karin would go down with him.

Karin walked out into the crisp morning, depositing her key card into its damp hiding spot with no more hesitation than a woman recovering from a slight misstep. She had the Ruger in the field jacket, but she didn’t expect to use it. Today the printer might decide to work for her or he might not, but either way it would be a genteel encounter as compared to the gauntlet she’d run to get this far.

And if the printer refused to work with her, she’d find another. Definitely not an optimal plan; her timetable depended on this step. And on Longsford’s next big social whirl—cocktails at an environmental benefit event held in his own home.

Too perfect, really.

She walked past where she’d parked the motorcycle the night before; the bike had been reclaimed. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t really wanted him to lose the thing. Be it on his head that he’d walked into the wrong shop at the wrong time and acted like a jerk.

Well, she’d done what she had to. And she’d made it back to the hotel safely, and here she was in the same clothes—her laid-back tough-girl outfit—ready to take the next step.

Today’s destination wasn’t far from the pawnshop, but it nonetheless crossed one of those invisible lines between neighborhoods. The new neighborhood upgraded from scum-of-the-earth sordidness to merely plain, old and crowded. Touches of leftover class peeked out through the architecture, the occasional Victorian paint job and the windowsill plantings. The cabbie took her through a business strip and into a small warren of streets, and when he pulled to the curb, it was at a pleasant little house with a Big Wheels out front and toys scattered near the sidewalk leading to the front door. Barbie, baby, G.I. Joe—they all met the same naked fate. The tiny clothesline strung between two azalea bushes went a long way toward explaining that one.

Had she been anyone else, Karin might have hesitated, assuming she had the wrong address. But she had reason enough to know that scammers had family, too.

The woman who opened the door was plump with rich brown skin, marked with random ink stains on the old men’s shirt she wore. She took one look at Karin and said, “Ah. The Tiffany watch and the big black gun.”

“It’s a Ruger,” Karin told her. “Can I come in?”

“Do you have it with you now?”

She didn’t answer directly, just gave the smallest of shrugs—a little bit apology, a little bit matter-of-fact. “After my reception at Freddie’s?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” But when she stepped back so Karin could enter the foyer, she pointed at a high shelf over the door. “Put it there. My kid’s in the house.”

Karin complied, though not without a quick assessment of the woman, who gave her a scornful look. “No, I don’t have a gun. What did I just say about my kid being in the house? Besides, people here know better than to harass me. I’m the best this city has, and we do look after our own.” She glanced back at Karin as she led the way to the basement, a stairwell and low-ceilinged area so well lit that it might as well have been daylight down there. “You’ll learn that fast enough, if you’re looking to move into this area.”

“I told Freddie I wasn’t.”

No doubt she knew that, too. No doubt she was leaving Karin room to tie her cover story into knots.

“Doesn’t matter,” Karin added. “I know the score. I’m not part of this community. That makes me expendable. So I’m looking after myself, and that means not messing with you.”

The woman gave a short laugh and gestured at a long worktable with high-backed stools. “Have a seat.” The table itself was covered with evidence of previous jobs—stains and smears and lumps of dried ink—but no sign of current work. Karin hoped it meant she was in between jobs, and not merely playing it safe after she got Freddie’s heads-up.

Karin didn’t waste any time. She pulled out the picture of the invitation, and then the sheet with the printer specs on it. “Can you make me one of these? Thirty-six hours?”

The woman snorted at her bluntness but didn’t dismiss the idea. “This is pricey stuff. Looks like Houghlin’s work.” She glanced up long enough to receive Karin’s nod of affirmation and then looked at the invitation again, this time biting her lower lip. From above them came a thump and a flurry of giggles; without looking up, the woman called up the stairs, “I’m watching you!” and then, finally, returned the picture.

“I need it to look just like that, but made out to Maia Brenner, for this event.” She handed over the card on which she’d written Maia’s name, and the name of Longsford’s benefit event.

“They’re just going to ask for your money.” She tapped the picture a few times in thought, and then shook her head. “It’s specialty paper. I can’t get it that fast.”

“It’s not about money at all,” Karin said, dropping her voice just in case the words might carry upstairs. “I’m looking to reel in bigger fish. Someone who takes children. He does unspeakable things to them, and then he kills them. He’ll be at this function. I need to meet him there.”

The woman paled slightly. “The water-tower boy?”

Karin gave a succinct nod. “Exactly.”

“Whatever it’s about, I need to get paid. And I don’t take Tiffany’s.”

“Cash for you,” Karin said. “Where it comes from isn’t your problem.” She still hoped to complete the scam and get herself a new start, but nothing was going according to plan for this one. Especially not the man who was meant to be her partner and who was instead now probably trying to do his best to stop her. “Charge for the fast turnaround. Whatever.”

Finally the woman sighed. “No promises,” she said. “The ink’s no problem, but I might not be able to get the paper. Let me know where I can reach you.”

Karin gave her the number, assuring her it was a prepaid cell phone purchased only the day before. “I’m Maia,” she said, and then grinned. “Well, as long as I’m
here,
I’m Maia.”

“You can call me anything you like,” the woman said absently; her thoughts already seemed caught up in the challenge of the job. “Just don’t try to get in touch. I’ll make contact.”

Sensing her dismissal, Karin pulled out the material for Ranchwood Acres and slapped it on the table. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I also need this material prepared in slicks. The URLs to the Web site pages are included, and there’s a PDF download. Very thoughtful of them. I just need a few pertinent details changed. I’ll get back to you on those when you call about the invitation. Can you do it?”

She snorted. “This one’s hardly worth coming to me.”

“Except for your reputation for quality,” Karin said. “I’m pushing this one. There can’t be so much as a smudge out of place. He’s got to take the bait hard and fast.”

“And you’re sure—”

“Oh, this is him.” She smiled thinly. “And I’m going to stop him.”

The woman looked at her with dark humor that seemed out of place on her otherwise urban young mother face. “Not exactly something I’d expect from someone in your line of work.”

“No,” Karin admitted, her voice tinged with her own surprise. “I don’t suppose it is.”

Karin Sommers’s Journal: On the Make Again

Dear Ellen,

Believe it or not, here we go. I was so glad to get away from Rumsey, so eager to start my new life. Now it looks like I’m starting my old life instead.

But one of these days when I pick up this journal, it’ll be to tell you that Longsford is behind bars. I just hope I’m not behind bars right along with him.

Dave took a giant swig of spring water and tossed his apple core into the garbage. He patted the Maxima’s dash. “I know, baby. You weren’t meant to be a surveillance car.” Not that the car wasn’t comfortable, but blending in wasn’t one of its virtues. Especially in this high-class Old Town neighborhood.

At least it wasn’t red.

He’d been here since midafternoon, not far from the Potomac waterfront—outside Longsford’s redbrick home, waiting for the cocktail benefit to start. Like many homes in Old Town, the house was tall and narrow and beautifully landscaped. The neighbors were close on either side of the tight property, and those attending knew better than to expect parking in the tiny driveway.

Then again, few of those attending did their own driving.

The day was gorgeously springlike, over seventy degrees and already humid. No doubt the event would spill into the backyard, a considerable stretch of land in this tightly developed area. The first hour or so Dave had slouched to observe arriving caterers, florists, the environmental beneficiaries with their
give me money
materials and the event coordinator who fluttered out to hurry the worker bees along. Now the guests were arriving, and Dave straightened to see who’d come to the party.

And if Karin was among them. Or if he was wrong, and she’d just plain skipped out on him.

Sunshine splashed down through the long, narrow sunroof; Dave shifted to keep the glare of it from sneaking in behind his sunglasses, and almost missed her.

She’d found a driver—one who hopped out from behind the wheel to open the back door of the dark blue Cadillac Catera and offer her formal-looking assistance as she disembarked. They’d pulled over behind several other cars, and she had half a block to walk before reaching the house.

Dave could intercept her, and he did. He slipped out of his sedan and jogged across the street, into the shade of the giant maple in the lawn adjoining Longsford’s.

If he hadn’t been looking for her…if he hadn’t seen this dress when she first tried it on…

She was all class this afternoon, the cocktail dress short and swingy and just the right combination of traditional and original. Midnight blue cut a diagonal swath across the skirt and bodice; she’d covered the spaghetti straps with a light, sparkly shawl she wouldn’t need once she hit the sunlight. Her hair was gathered in a perfect updo with just the right amount of loose fringe at her nape to make it look casually chic; her earrings dangled just so. Even the wrist cast was covered with a gauzy scarf.

She was Karin, and yet not Karin at all.

She stopped short when she saw him, her hand clutching down on a fashionably small purse. And then, by apparent sheer strength of will, she relaxed. “Took you long enough.”

“Took me way too long,” he said shortly. And told himself,
don’t be an asshole.

He just hadn’t expected to be affected by the sight of her. Or the sound of her. Or even the awareness that snapped into place between them. Fool, to have forgotten the strength of it, in defiance of all that had now separated them.

She cocked her head. “You here to stop me?”

“Stop you? I said I’d
help
you.”

“You did,” she agreed. A slight breeze shifted the sunshine-blond wisps of hair over her forehead—not enough there to be called bangs, but they softened her hairline and in some strange way brought out the fullness of her lower lip, made the unusual straightness of her upper lip into something sexy. He felt suddenly as though he didn’t know her at all, and at the same time as though she’d become part of his life. But she brought him down to earth quickly enough, and so did the quick flash of hurt in her eyes. “You offered to help, and then something changed.
You
changed. You didn’t really know what you wanted, I think. Do you now?”

“No,” he told her.
You, but…not what you are.
“And yes. I want Longsford.”

“Any way you can get him?” She gave him that look, the one from beneath her lashes, the gray of her eyes still piercing even through that veil.

He couldn’t bend that far. “Within the limits of what we talked about earlier, yes.”

Sudden frustration crept into her voice. “Then why the hell are you blowing my cover?”