Dark Waters (2013) (2 page)

He was boiling under his jacket, shirt sticking to his skin like warm wet tissue. His stomach growled. He placed a hand on his belly—plenty of time to eat in protective custody.

There was a mailbox on the corner of the street. He opened the flap, dropped the letter in, and hovered on the curb at the crosswalk. He turned in time to see two men run out of his building. They pointed at him and his blood hit his toes.

How the hell did they know so fast? Someone must have tried to move the money and realized it was gone.

He felt smug for about half a second.

Oh, shit
. Frantically, he searched for a cab or a cop. Nothing. He looked back over his shoulder—they were only a hundred feet away, hands diving under jackets as if they were reaching for guns. He dashed into traffic, dodging a blue truck and a bus. Horns blaring. Across another lane and brakes squealed. Shouts. The awful crunch of metal on glass as someone got rear-ended.
Sorry
.

He scrambled in his pockets for his metro pass and ran into the Clark/Lake station. He grabbed his cell in his other hand and dialed 911 with ice-cold fingers as he ran full speed.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Someone is trying to kill me.” He had no doubt they would kill him just as soon as they got those account numbers out of him.

“Where are you, sir? What’s your name?”

“Davis Silver.” Ex-con. Thief. Righter of wrongs. First-class idiot. “I work for the Holladay Foundation. Someone’s been stealing from the company so I took it back before it disappeared forever. I want to come in. I need police protection.”

“Did you just say you stole money from the Holladay Foundation? Are you confessing to a crime, sir?”

“No! Yes.”
Just help me!
There was no time to explain. His feet felt pinched from running in cheap, too-tight shoes. He dashed through the turnstile. Headed for the subway. He searched for the next train arrival as he ran. Two minutes. Fear poured over his skin in a crackling wave. He swallowed as he heard sounds of pursuit behind him. Two minutes was too long. Why couldn’t it be like in the movies when two trains arrived at once and he darted between them at the last minute? He looked up, still talking to the emergency operator, searching for cameras. “I need assistance. I’m at the Clark/Lake ‘L’ and someone is trying to kill me.” He waved at the cameras and something whipped past his ankles. He hopped.

Shit!
That was a bullet.

The distant rumble of a train shook the ground.
Hurry
.

He hung up as he hit the platform and ran, dodging behind the big square columns. His heart pounded as people scattered. He pulled up behind the last column, sank to his haunches in the grime. Clutched his hands to his chest almost in prayer.
Anna
. He had to explain this to Anna. Desperate, he speed-dialed her number. Swore when it went to voice mail.

Sweat pooled on his skin as he spoke into the phone. He could feel his pursuers creeping closer and closer. He squeezed his eyes closed. Oh, sweet Jesus, what if they went after Anna? She had to get out of there!

“Dammit. I’ve done it again.” Screwed up her life. Quickly, he told her where to run. Whom to trust.

Someone grabbed him by the shirtfront and hauled him to his feet. He dropped the phone, which landed with a clatter on the pavement. Wind and noise thundered through the tunnel as he stared into the cold black eyes of a predator.

Those eyes told him he was going to die.

Slowly.

Painfully.

No cops were going to rescue him. No feds would shake his hand or thank him for his service. He was going to be beaten and tortured. Then he was going to hand over those account numbers and die. They’d frame him just like they’d always planned. The same way someone else had framed him and stolen his life, his family, all those years ago. His actions had barely made them break a sweat. But a cornered man with nothing to lose was the most dangerous.

Some primal force had him driving both fists up into the man’s iron jaw. Surprise earned him enough freedom to stagger away, but momentum kept him going—straight into the oncoming train. The whole world went black.

Rand’s lips tightened and he picked up the cell phone from the worn-out floor and pocketed it while catching the eye of his partner. The situation had morphed from a shitfest to a total Charlie Foxtrot. He and Marco faded in separate directions, keeping their heads down as they exited the station. The General wasn’t going to be happy, but they couldn’t exactly put Davis Silver back together again.

Where was the envelope?

Davis had had it leaving the building, the little weasel, but not during the chase so he must have dropped it or mailed it. Hopefully it contained details about where he’d stashed the money. Sixty
goddamned million swiped from right under their noses. Petrie was trying to trace it. From the sweat on the guy’s brow when he’d screamed at the computer in the office, Rand knew he wasn’t feeling optimistic about his prospects.

The General was not someone to screw with and neither was the US government.

He walked swiftly down the street, away from the offices in case some would-be hero decided to follow. Rand could get the fuck out, walk away, and sink himself into some dirt farm in Mississippi. But after all these years of blood, sweat, and bullets, where was the fun in that? He’d earned his money the hard way. Five GSWs to various parts of his body, a knife in the gut, malaria, dysentery, and a broken ankle from a piss-poor landing in the African jungle. Definitely earned every fucking penny.

He pulled Davis Silver’s cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to see who he’d been calling. Nine-one-one and a woman named Anna Silver. Wife? A muscle twitched in his cheek. He pressed redial and cocked his head to one side as it went straight to voice mail. He stared into the street for a moment before heading into a coffee shop and getting himself an espresso while he did a quick Internet search on her name and number.

Cauldwell Lake, just outside Minneapolis.

He slugged back his coffee and checked his wristwatch. They needed to know where Davis had funneled their money; otherwise they could forget their plans of early retirement. Never trust a goddamned thief.

Anna let Peter take her hand and swing it gently as he led her up her curved garden path. It was dark, but her porch light shone with welcoming warmth. School had broken up and she was more than ready to start summer. She loved being a teacher, but without a much needed summer vacation she’d be a total raving lunatic.

They’d been to the movies to see the latest romantic comedy. The story line had been comfortably predictable, mildly amusing. Peter didn’t seem to mind chick flicks, which was a bonus, although she wasn’t really sure their relationship was going anywhere.

He was cute, though. Auburn hair cropped short enough to disguise the natural wave most women would envy. Guileless blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. He wasn’t particularly athletic or tall, which suited her fine because at twenty-six years old and five feet three inches she didn’t need towering height or abs of steel—at least not outside the movies.

The evening breeze swished her cotton dress around her knees. The scent of roses drifted heavy and succulent on the breeze. A robin sang.

She sighed. It was perfect. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“It was my pleasure.” He raised her hand to his lips and gave her a look that told her he really wanted to kiss her somewhere else entirely.

Maybe it was time to take a chance. What the heck. They’d dated for six months and she’d been taking it slow, even by her snaillike standards. But experience bred caution, and she was exceedingly cautious. She took a step closer. His eyes widened as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up to press her lips to his. His arms tightened for a moment before he returned her kiss.

There were no fireworks, but that was OK. She didn’t want uncontrollable passion—she didn’t want uncontrollable anything. She opened her mouth under pressure from his firm lips and tried to calm her pulse that pounded for all the wrong reasons.

Sweat on his palms seeped through the thin cotton of her dress, then his fingers dug into her skin. She pulled back, uneasy.

“Anna, come on. Let me in.” His voice was deep and gruff. He dove for her lips again and crushed them in what was probably supposed to be an ardent kiss, but was wet and full of hard enamel.

Fighting for calm, she tried to gentle the exchange, but he was having none of it. His hand cupped her bottom through her skirt, bunching up the material, exposing her legs to the summer breeze. His knee pushed against hers. She grabbed his biceps, digging in her nails in a message to slow down and back off. His hand rose to smother her breast.

No, no, no
. She clamped her lips and legs shut. He groaned, oblivious, consumed by lust, which might have been flattering had she reciprocated. His scent enveloped her. His heat washed over her, making her nauseous. Willing herself not to panic, she tried to turn her head away, but he used his other hand to grip her chin and then pushed her up against the door, his arousal obvious against her stomach.

For a moment fear made her freeze. Her heart hammered, lungs imploded as she struggled to escape. She finally tore her mouth free, blood sharp on her tongue, and shoved against him. “Let go of me, Peter. Now.”

He released her immediately and took a step back. A flush rode his cheekbones, confusion and frustration rushing over his features. “We’ve been dating for months but we don’t…that is…we never…” He ran agitated fingers through his springy hair. “We don’t make out, let alone have sex. So I thought maybe you were waiting for me to make a move. You know, take charge.”

“No.” Revulsion curled around her body like a constrictor. “You thought wrong.”

“Sorry.” He grimaced, then his lips curved into what was supposed to be an endearing smile. “I’ve messed up, haven’t I?”

Shudders ran down her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself and wished she was someone else. Someone stronger. Someone unbroken. “You need to leave.”

“Is it because I can’t have kids? You said it wasn’t a problem but—”

“It’s me, OK, Peter?” Her voice was loud. Shrill. “It’s
all
me. So just get your perfectly normal butt off my deck and leave me alone.”

“You’re overreacting.” His expression darkened and he moved forward an inch, but she shoved her palms against his chest and forced him back. “I made a mistake, Anna. You have to give me the chance to make it up to you.”

She turned her face away. “I want you to leave.”

He frowned and she thought she saw anger in his eyes. She braced herself for violence, but all she got was mild censure. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll talk about it, when you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

Because she was unreasonable…

Rage shot through her, so intense she started to vibrate, but she held the fury inside. She didn’t want to antagonize or fight,
she wanted him gone. He hopped down the two steps and walked backward, almost tripping over the brickwork. “Just sleep on it.”

Sleep on it?

He went through the arched gateway and closed it gently behind him. The arch was covered by a pink climbing rose that flowered all summer long and brought a beauty to her life—a beauty she’d always craved. That rosebush and the white picket fence had made her fall hard for this little house, and she’d bought it on the spot. It was amazing how easily the darkness could force its way back to destroy the peaceful illusion she’d worked so hard to create.

“Good night, Anna. See you tomorrow,” he called.

As if she didn’t know her own mind.

“
No one will believe you. They hate you so much they’ll just laugh. You weren’t even any good.
” Memories echoed inside her head.

Peter climbed into his silver Volvo and drove slowly away.

Was she being too harsh? Cruel?

Probably
. But she’d rather have a reputation for being a coldhearted bitch than be with a guy who stuffed his tongue down her throat because he thought she needed him to
take charge
.