Survival Instinct (23 page)

Because she had no intention of going anywhere with the subhuman son of a bitch Longsford.

She removed Dave’s head from her lap, wincing when he set his mouth against pain. “You’ll be okay,” she said, as if she could feel so casual about his fate, and she tried to catch his gaze again but found he wasn’t focusing any longer.

But Longsford shifted impatiently, and something crashed beyond the freezers as the search for Atilio continued. No more time to send silent messages to a barely conscious man who wasn’t even certain of their alliance.

Now it starts.
She made a show of wiping her hands free of Dave’s blood, and in the process pulled her jacket cuff over her good hand to protect it as she palmed glass onto the heavily cracked cast. Swift, decisive, no lingering. She stood, shook her shoulders out, and joined Longsford with a matter-of-fact demeanor, cocking her head to say
your ball game…now what?

Interruption, that’s what. The errand boy came around the freezer and said with irritation, “There’s no sign of him.”

Longsford sent Karin a swift glare of impatience…possibly even disappointment. “I thought we were through playing games. Where is he?”

Karin applied a contemplative expression. “We-ell,” she said, drawing out the word until she gave a decisive shake of her head. She let him wait a moment longer, and said, “Nope. You can’t have him.”

His surprise was beauteous. It left him open to her attack, and she held nothing back as she shoved her handful of glass shards and splinters into his face, grinding her cast against his skin and crying out from the pain of her wrist, pushing until her hand skidded up over his eye and brow and then she wasn’t the only one bellowing.

Longsford’s hands clapped to his face as he whirled away from her, and Karin didn’t linger, didn’t cradle her wrist to her chest or bend over it to curse her own pain. She dove for the stairs, reaching between the plain wooden steps to snag her gun—
Dave’s
gun—already knowing she’d have to choose between Diffie above her in the doorway and the guy at the freezer. Both were armed; neither would hesitate to shoot. Stretching, she fumbled her grip on the pistol, tugged it out by a fingerhold and scrambled for the wall beside the stairs to make herself an awkward target for Diffie.
Damn fool woman. What made you think you could handle a gun?

Braced against the wall, she flinched at the impact of a bullet into the drywall beside her head. But she took a breath, held the Ruger out and sighted it as though it were a rifle, and reminded herself about that long trigger pull. Something plucked at her sleeve; she ignored that, too. She aimed low and took the shot.

The Ruger discharged with a strange double explosion, and her target flinched. The gun rose with the kickback and the second time she pulled the trigger, the sights rested on the man’s breastbone.

The second time she pulled the trigger, the man went down.

She whirled to take aim at the doorway, but only in time for her target to tumble down beside her, yet another body taking a fall on those stairs. A startled glance showed her Dave propped on his side and already sagging, eyes rolling back in his head. She leaped for him, catching him before he could clonk his head on that concrete. “Some guys are so predictable,” she told him tenderly, but there was none of it on her face as she looked up at Longsford. She cradled Dave to her with her forearm while holding her gun steady. “Changed my mind, Longsford,” she said, her voice loud enough to reach him over the sound of his own unending stream of curses. “Price was too high.”

One hand still pressed to his bleeding face, Longsford finally groped for his own gun. Only belatedly did he realize she had him covered, and even then he hesitated, hand still halfway to his weapon.

“Nope. Sorry. You lose,” she told him. “And let me tell you…you’re just gonna love prison. Total loss of control.” The guards would control every tiny little part of his life, and he would control…

Nothing.

Not even himself.

Most especially not himself.

She watched the realization cross his face. She watched as he took the full impact of the press, the courts…all before he even got to prison. He looked at her with his one working eye and he said, just as coldly as ever, “You’re wrong. I can control it all.”

She’d never seen that look before, but she knew it. Utterly calm, totally defiant…and totally in control. Ready to win by losing.

She knew, even as he snatched for the gun at his side, what he intended. But she couldn’t take the chance he wouldn’t change his mind—and change his aim. She pulled the trigger on a body shot even as he jammed the barrel of his little semiautomatic against his chin and blew off the top of his head.

The building stayed silent for a long moment, or maybe it was just the ringing of Karin’s head, providing silence for her. She lowered the gun, then deliberately set it down on the floor. No one else moved. Longsford, most certainly dead…the two errand boys not likely to survive. Dave, pale and sweaty and his eyelids fluttering as he tried and failed to pull himself out of unconsciousness. Damned hard blow he’d taken, and she needed to get him help. She patted her jacket, hunting the cell phone, and discovered she’d ground a good deal of glass into her hand at the edge of the cast. “Crap,” she muttered, but she found the phone and pulled it free. The call to 911 was short and sweet, and she ignored the operator’s request that she stay on the line. She folded the phone up and tucked it into Dave’s front jeans pocket, hooking a finger into his car keys while she was at it.

By then Atilio had crept out from hiding, and she gestured him over. She hated to leave him…but then, she hated to leave Dave, too.

It wasn’t like she could stay. If she hadn’t been a killer before, she could quite rightly carry that label now. She sat Atilio beside Dave and folded the kid’s small hand over Dave’s fingers.
“Ayuda viene,”
she told him.
“Espera.”
And then, a little frantic, “Don’t tell anyone I was here!”

She bent to kiss Dave again, willing him to remember the imprint of her lips.

And then she ran.

Karin took the Maxima. She hit a drugstore in the Freddie end of the city and picked up tweezers, a magnifying glass, a wrist brace, ibuprofen and first-aid supplies. Back at the hotel she cleaned herself up, popped four ibu, took a wistful sniff of Dave’s Cardhu flask and gingerly lowered herself onto the bed to ponder her totally questionable future.

She fell asleep.

When she woke, she drove to the shore in early-evening darkness and pulled out the phone Dave had left in the Maxima. She’d turned it off as soon as she found it, figuring it would be the latest thing…figuring it would have a GPS. Its directory put her straight through to Owen Hunter, who answered the phone with startling directness. “This must be Ellen.”

It gave Karin a pretty clear picture of just how much Dave hadn’t told his brother. “More or less,” she said, tired of games, not ready for explanations. “How’s Dave?”

“Why don’t you come and see?” Owen’s voice had a dark edge to it.

She caught the implications immediately. The invitation to come forward, the threat of it—and the fact that he was here with Dave. “You came,” she breathed. “God, is he okay?”

“I’ve got a lot of questions.”

Karin took a deep breath, biting her lip on hasty words. She managed to say evenly, “Dave never mentioned that you were a cruel man.”

Owen gave a short laugh. No humor there at all. “Hairline-skull fracture. His CAT scan was normal, but his neuro exam isn’t and he sure as hell isn’t all there. He’ll be hospitalized for a few days at best.”

Karin found she wasn’t breathing; she struggled with herself. When she finally drew air it was in a hiccup of a gasp, and she moved the phone away from her mouth, tucking it against her neck.
That’s not fair. It’s not right. He was only ever trying to do his best to save those kids.
She heard Owen’s voice only vaguely, but knew he wouldn’t wait forever. She held the phone up and said, “I’ll call back tomorrow.”

And the next day, and the next day. However long it took.

Chapter 20

O
wen drove his all-too-sensible rented sedan down the dead-end street to the safe house, letting Dave sit in grateful silence. Owen had finally acknowledged that Dave wouldn’t discuss Karin’s role in the Longsford case. Not the newly gathered evidence; not the man’s death. None of it mattered so much anyway, given the small skeletons recovered from the graveyard beneath the broken concrete. And the second Ruger at the scene had been wiped clean; as skeptical as the feebs were about Dave’s claim to have had two guns, they couldn’t prove he hadn’t fired the weapon—not at the dead errand boy and not at Longsford.

He’d have to do something about Karin, but it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make while he still sometimes saw double and when he still wasn’t quite sure where his feet would end up at each step. Walking on land wasn’t supposed to feel like navigating heavy seas. “Give it time,” the doctors had all said. And meanwhile the world had gone on without him—tying up the legal ends to Longsford’s activities, ignorant of Karin’s role in the whole thing. Owen said the feebs had interviewed Dave. Evidently he’d said the right things.

“Earth to Dave.” Owen’s tone was light, but his hard-featured face was worried as he turned to Dave, the keys already out of the ignition and his seat belt released. Owen had gotten the Hunter nose, but little else of his features reflected those of his siblings. If Dave was the sleek potential clothes horse, Owen took up the other end of the spectrum. Fullback material. Always the responsible one, the compass for the Hunter world. Dave tried to remember when his older brother had given him that particular look, that worry.

“I’m here,” Dave said. “I’m okay. The doctors said so, remember?”

“Just…” Owen paused, also not a common thing. “Reconsider my suggestion to stay at the home place for a while, okay?”

For once, Dave was able to hear the genuine concern behind one of Owen’s
suggestions.
“I will,” he said. “I just have a thing or two to get straight in my head first. If you can give me a day or two—”

Owen nodded. “I’ll return the rental and we’ll drive your car back home.”

Dave snorted—carefully, because the dizziness still hit if he did anything too abruptly. “Which of us took that hit on the head? The car’s AWOL.”

In reply, Owen nodded toward the safe house.

Only then did Dave realize they were parked at the curb of the cul-de-sac. Only then did he realize there was already a car in the driveway. His car.

That someone sat on the porch, waiting.

Karin.

“What the…”

“Let’s just say we’ve been in touch,” Owen told him drily, then gave Dave a gentle push, unlatching his seat belt as though he were a child. “Go on. I’ll talk to you later.”

No more prodding necessary. Dave pushed the car door open and pulled himself out, still careful with uneven surfaces and still nearly overpowered by his light overnight bag. Owen’s watchful gaze was nearly a palpable thing; Dave did his best to ignore it. He did his best to grapple with a sudden wash of mixed emotions as Karin waited, motionless on his steps. The one thing he suddenly understood very clearly was the overwhelming nature of his relief. Only then did he realize he had a stupid grin plastered on his face.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at him with her chin in her hand. “You greet all your witnesses like this?”

“Only you.” Damn, he was breathless already.

She looked little like she had a week ago, vibrant in her Maia persona. Her eyes were bruised and strained. Her newly blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that should have been unflattering but instead drew his eyes right to her wide, unusual mouth, to the strong structure of her face. She kept her wrist cradled in her lap. Somewhere along the way she’d ended up in a flimsy drugstore brace. Her clothes looked familiar, though. Black jeans, newly stained with something that hadn’t quite come out. Tight black T-shirt under a field jacket that had definitely seen better days and now bore something that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole.

In response to his inspection, she held out a credit card. “Here,” she said. “I suppose Owen could have canceled it any time this last week. I probably owe him for that.”

He turned the card over in his fingers. The Hunter credit card. “You took this when you left?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

His balance faltered. “Okay. Sitting down now.”

She took it as a response to her confession. “I know. I’ll go—”

“No,” he said, a
you’re not getting it
voice. “I mean, I’m sitting down
now.
”

Enlightment widened her eyes; she jumped to her feet and helped him make a graceful landing. “Owen said you still weren’t right. I’m surprised he left you alone.” The car, at some point, had disappeared.

Dave grinned. “I don’t think he figured he
was
leaving me alone.”

She gave him a squint. “I already ran out on you once. And I’m still wanted by the law, and my stepfather’s all stirred up. It won’t be long before the whole Ellen-Karin thing falls apart. I figure my best bet is to sell the farm as fast as possible and go deep. Unless, of course, you turn me in for the California warrant right now.”

Dave hesitated so long that Karin thought maybe he’d already called the California cops.
Dear Ellen: no stupidity goes unpunished, right?

But when he shook his head there was frustration in the gesture. “I don’t have all the details about that day,” he said. “But I have this distinct memory of being on a very hard floor with my head turning inside out, and hearing your voice talking about killing two old people, and thinking to myself,
I don’t believe it.
”

“You don’t?” Her mouth quirked rebelliously, unable to decide between a smile and a quiver of hope.

He shook his head. “No. Not you. I guess for a while I thought it was possible, but you can chalk that up to fear.”

She blinked.

He reached over and took her good hand. “Yes. Big brave investigator. Scared of being involved with someone who doesn’t live in his black-and-white world. Scared of someone who comes in infinite shades of gray.” He took a deep breath. “I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have driven you away like that.”

Another blink. Some hidden hurt place inside her filled with warmth.

He sighed. “I’ve spent my life holding on to what I do—having to be unreproachable just to defend my choice to break from the family business. I couldn’t—”

“I get it,” she said, and she did. Owen Hunter, so strong, so exacting. She’d felt the force of his personality this past week. She knew what it was like to live under someone’s expectations…and what it was like to break away. And he’d been doing it for years.

“You did an amazing thing,” he told her, and reached out to her cheek with an unsteady hand, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You did what I couldn’t. Maybe it’s time I learned there’s merit to those infinite shades of gray.”

Karin shook her head. “There is a line,” she said. “Rumsey crossed it. That’s why I left.”

“Convenient for him, apparently. You made quite the scapegoat.” He caught her gaze, watching her with one of those long, silent looks that always made the backs of her knees tingle. “We can fix that, you know.”

She almost said,
My knees?
but at the last moment, understood. “Fix what? The warrant? It’s already
fixed.
That’s how Rumsey took care of things—he’s got friends where he needs them. I learned a long time ago that the people who are supposed to come through for you, the people who are supposed to see justice done…don’t.”

He cleared his throat. Then, when she didn’t respond, too lost in bitter thoughts of how futile it would be to buck the warrant, he did it again. More meaningfully. She looked at him in surprise. “I did,” he said. “I pulled you off that mountain. I found you in that factory.” Then he grimaced, and said, “Okay, maybe I didn’t actually do much there after I found you. But I
meant
to.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak for a long moment. The big damn fat lump in her throat might have had something to do with it. He waited, looking paler than anyone should, his hair in ultimate chic scruff mode and his thrift-store T-shirt tight enough to emphasize that gorgeous line of his shoulder. She couldn’t look him in the eye any longer; she stared at the notch between his collarbones. Finally, she managed, “I’ve got to do more than fix the warrant. I’ve got to see Rumsey behind bars for killing those people.”

He gave a minute shrug, a silent
and?

“You really think—”

He put a finger to her lips. “Fixing things is what I do, right?”

She looked down the street. Owen had really gone. In spite of all his suspicion these past days, he’d left his vulnerable brother here in her company. In her care. “Hey,” she said suddenly, more than ready for a change of subject. “How about Atilio?”

“Back with his family.” Dave relaxed a little, as though the conversation had been a little intense for him, too. “They were recent immigrants, their papers still in transition. Longsford sent some men their way to suggest that under the circumstances, the authorities would take all their children away and reconsider their immigrant status.” He snorted, shaking his head in a gingerly fashion. “But Atilio hadn’t been at the dry-ice place for long. Longsford never had the chance to—”

“Good,” Karin interrupted him. She added more pensively, “I saw the newspapers. That broken concrete…I should have known it meant something. They’ve found all the boys now?”

“All of them,” Dave said, and closed his eyes, tightening his mouth on pain. His head or his heart, she wasn’t sure. He opened them with obvious determination. In spite of his paleness, he gently bumped her shoulder with his own. “What’s with your wrist?”

She looked down at it. “Longsford’s guy smashed my cast. I didn’t figure it was safe to go to any of the city hospitals. If you’d—well, if you’d told them—”

“Nothing,” he said. “They don’t even know you were there. Atilio kept your secret. But
I
know you were there. Among other things, I remember an excellent kiss. I remember screaming, and then this guy in the door was coming for you….” He shook his head, his gaze going vague as he hunted for more. “No, that’s as good as it gets.”

“You played the hero,” she said, and laughed at his frankly skeptical look. “No, seriously. It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“It could be what you do, too.”

She laughed, loudly enough that he winced. “Sorry,” she told him, shifting her aching wrist to a more protected position—a gesture that hid her sudden longing. The rush of being the rescuer had been so much more intense than the jazz of any scam. The rush of doing it with Dave…yow. But she shook her head. “You’ve forgotten which side of the law I’m on.”

“Were on.” He said it firmly. “We’ll take care of the warrant. And after that, what’s the problem? I liked working with you. I want to do it some more. I’m the black-and-white guy, you’re the creative gray. We’ve got it all covered.”

“Creative.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a term that’s been applied to me before.”

“Let’s go inside. Talk about it.”

“Trying to lure me into your lair?” she asked, but her words were teasing and her hand ached to hold his.

“My butt’s cold,” he said. “I’m wounded. I want the nice soft couch. I want you on the nice soft couch next to me, telling me that you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about thinking about it,” she corrected him. “There’s a lot about my life to straighten out first.” But she stood, and she extended her good hand to help him up. “Come on. Let’s go sniff some Cardhu together.”

He took her hand, but his lean face with its wide jaw and lurking early smile lines reflected nothing but confusion as she hauled him to his feet. “
Sniff
it? Is this something new we came up with that I don’t remember, or—”

She held the screen door open so he could fumble with the key and unlock the front door, and gestured at him. “You, head injury. Me, not drinking without you. That leaves sniffing. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at it this last week.”

“I’m touched. You waited.” He opened the door and made it just exactly as far as the couch.

She shrugged, and gave him a wicked grin. “Or maybe I just wasn’t sure you hadn’t drugged it.”

He regarded her with horror. “Drug my
Cardhu?
”

No. Not Dave. Not the Cardhu. Her grin turned genuine, enough so he realized he’d been had. She dropped his overnight bag at the side of the couch. “Hold on,” she said. “I’ll get the flask. We can sniff a toast.”

He still looked bemused when she pulled the flask from her courier bag, uncapping it. “Sniffing requires a silent toast,” she told him, sitting down beside him. “Like this.” She closed her eyes, dared to hope that Dave was right about clearing her name, and toasted their chances. Then she moved the flask under her nose, breathing deeply of the peaty essence of scotch. When her sinuses reached the stinging point, she opened her eyes and passed the flask over. Dave imitated her thoughtful silence and was purely a natural at the scotch-sniffing.

And when he opened his eyes and caught her gaze, she had no question about his silent toast. About his beliefs…or about his wants.

Good thing the couch was comfortable.