Eye of the Storm (7 page)

Reece.

Damn it, while she'd wasted valuable time trying to decide what to do, the decision had been made for her. Beginner's mistake.

Only she wasn't a beginner.

She fought a wave of frustration. She'd been out of the game too damn long. If she was going to survive she had to hone her instincts. React first, think later. Her training would do the thinking for her.

Suddenly she felt old.

Reece stepped into the room, his expression a mixture of fury and relief as his gaze met hers. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I ASKED YOU what was going on. Why are you under the table?" Tightly controlled anger glittered in Reece's eyes.

Simone slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans, grateful for the shadows that hid her movements. Waiting another beat, she stood up, searching for an explanation he could believe.

"I dropped something."

They stood for a moment facing each other, the crackling electricity between them the product of anger and other emotions she wasn't about to try and identify. The bond they shared had been severed. The final cut—the papers lying on the kitchen table.

They were divorced, her life officially no longer a part of his.

"Like hell." Reece said, closing the gap between them. "You were hiding. From who?" He blanched as a thought occurred to him. "From me?"

"No." She was quick to shake her head, reaching out to touch his arm in reassurance. The contact had been a mistake, and she jerked her hand back. "I just wasn't sure who was at the door. That's all."

"Right, an odd knock at the door always sends you scrambling for cover." He took her by the shoulders, his eyes dark with emotion. "Not to repeat myself, but what the hell is going on?"

"Someone was trying to kill us. Earlier at the house."

"I knew something was wrong." She could see the wheels turning in his head as he assimilated the information. "I saw the signs.  But there wasn't anything concrete."

"It was probably sanitized." She spoke more to herself than anyone.

"What are you talking about?" He broke contact, stepping back to study her as if he'd never seen her before tonight. Which in an odd sort of way was completely true.

"The killer obviously cleaned the place. He must have gone back after I lost him. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would be enough to stall things. He had to have known he'd shot Martin." The words came out as an afterthought, and she immediately regretted her insensitivity. She hadn't meant to break it to him like that.

"Where's my brother?" He moved to shove past her, his eyes flashing fire. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine. " She held up her hands, as if physically trying to stop him. "The bullet didn't do any major damage. I removed it and cleaned the wound. He's asleep in the bedroom. I was about to call you." She nodded toward the cell phone on the table.

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital?" Reece looked as if he'd fallen down the rabbit hole.

"I thought it would be better if I handled it."

"Better for whom?" There was an edge now, a tone she recognized as suspicion. Her ex wasn't a fool.

"At the moment, all of us." She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Martin. Dealing with one Sheridan at a time was about all she could handle right now.

"What the hell does that mean?" His explosion was contained to a whisper, but he might as well have screamed the words.

"It means she knows what she's doing." Martin leaned against the doorjamb connecting the living room with the bedroom. He was still pale, but he seemed steady on his feet. "You've never been able to see that."

Simone marveled at Martin's insight. The eyes of the innocent, or some such nonsense.

Reece had always been a ride-to-the-rescue kind of man, never stopping to consider that maybe the rescuees could have handled things just fine on their own—given the chance. She'd loved the trait in the beginning. It had made her feel safe. And God alone knew she'd needed that. But later, it had only proved to be suffocating. And with the pattern of their lives already in motion, she hadn't known how to break free.

But she was chasing water down a drain. It was too late to fix the past. Better instead to concentrate on the here and now.

"I hardly think we're talking about the same thing." Reece frowned, the action giving his expression a sardonic twist. "Someone shot you, for God's sake. How is anyone supposed to deal with that?"

"Simone saved my life," Martin said, glancing down at his bandaged shoulder, suppressing a shudder. "It's as simple as that. If she hadn't been there, I'd be dead."

"Maybe so. But my guess is the gunman wouldn't have been there at all if not for Simone. Which sort of evens the score." His expression was hard, almost condemning. "So what the hell have you gotten us involved with?"

"I'm not sure. There hasn't exactly been a lot of down time for me to think about it." She walked over to Martin and lent him her shoulder, helping him to the sofa so that he could sit down. "I've been kind of busy dodging bullets."

"So you don't have any idea where this is coming from?" His laugh was harsh. "Kind of like the fact that you don't know where exactly you were born?"

"Oh, I know where I was born. It just wasn't Ohio. And if you'd bothered to ask me outright, instead of delving into my past without my permission, maybe I'd have told you the truth."

"Like hell." It was a whisper, but she heard it anyway. God, they always seemed to fight the same battles.

"Look. I don't know who it was." The list of possibilities was pretty damn long. "But I do know it was a pro."

Reece's eyes narrowed. "And you know that because..."

"Trajectory. Weapon choice. His method of approach. The guy knew what he was doing."

"Apparently so do you." Reece sank down onto a chair.

"I've had some experience." She paused, tightening her hand on the edge of the breakfast bar. "A long time ago."

"So, what, you're wanted for robbery? Drug trafficking? Murder?" Reece wasn't a prosecutor for nothing.

She flinched but tried to keep her face impassive. "How about all of them? Might as well go for the gusto."

It was his turn to blanch. "I don't know what to believe."

"Hey, it fits the scenario. No police, no hospitals." She opened her hands and shrugged. "Look, I told you I was about to call you. That's the best I have to offer."

"And if I want to call the authorities?" He was baiting her. And doing a damn good job of it.

"I'd have to ask you not to." The words were low, almost a whisper, but Reece heard her, the muscles in his jaw tightening in response.

"Actually, it's too late." He frowned.  "I already did.  They should be at the house now."

"Then I've got to go." There was no condemnation.  Only resignation.

"Don't you think maybe you owe me an explanation first?"

"I probably do." She leaned back against the breakfast bar, the butt of her gun digging into her back. The feeling familiar and yet foreign.

"But you're not going to give me one." His face tightened with anger.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There really wasn't anything to say.

"Just like always. You're shutting me out."

His words hurt, but she swallowed the pain. She'd made her choices long ago, accepted the risk, the danger. But Martin and Reece were only involved by association, and the quicker she ended that the better. Let him think what he wanted.

She steeled herself. "I'm doing what's best for all of us. It's as simple as that." She reached for the cell, and then her shoulder bag, dropping the phone inside. "I'm going to leave now. And you're going to take Martin home."

"And how am I supposed to explain your disappearance? I told you, I've already talked to the police."

"You tell them whatever you have to. That I've run off with the gardener." She checked her words at his wince. "Look, just do whatever it takes to distance yourself from me. You'll think of something."

"But when will we see you again?" Martin's face was full of confusion now. Vicodin and adrenaline wearing off at the same time.

"You won't." Just saying the words ripped at her heart. They'd been her whole world—Reece and Martin. But nothing lasted forever.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her gaze locking with Reece's. "I want you to stay here tonight, and then go back to Corpus. Tell the police that I signed the divorce papers and walked out. That Martin took the boat, and you found him here in Port A. Keep it simple. You know the drill."

"I'm not going to let you walk out that door." He took a step toward her, and she reached for her gun. His surprise was almost comical, except that her heart was being torn to shreds.

"You can't stop me."

"Simone..."

Tears pressed against the back of her eyelids but she held them off, wanting only to get the hell out of there before she lost her nerve.

"Move, Reece. This is for the best. Believe me."

There was a moment of indecision, and then he stepped aside, his face a mirror of her pain. She pulled open the door, the fog-drenched night enveloping her as she stepped onto the porch. Her instinct was to turn around. To go back inside where it was safe and she was loved.

But the idea was a fallacy.

Just like her life with Reece.

The screen slammed behind her as she sprinted up the driveway, the finality of the sound underscoring her decision.

It was past time to go.

*****

"YOU LET HER GO?" Martin stared at the doorway, as if waiting for her to come back.

"She had a gun. What the hell was I supposed to do?" Reece glared at his brother, still trying to make sense of the situation.

"I don't know." He shook his head, his bewilderment giving way to dismay. "I just can't believe she left."

"Well, she did. And we'd best get used to it." Reece wasn't sure who he was talking to, his brother or himself.

"You didn't really believe what you said...about her being a murderer?" In that moment, Martin looked a hell of a lot younger than he actually was, and Reece was reminded of the somber boy he'd come home to after his parents' car wreck.

Martin had taken the news of their deaths with a stoicism that had belied his tender age. And it had been almost a year before Reece had seen his brother smile again. Theirs had been that rare kind of family where everything worked, their mother and father more in love on the day they died than on the day they'd met. And the boys had simply basked in the glow.

It had been a
Happy Days
existence that had allowed Reece a carefree independence. But the accident had taken his center—his rudder—and until he'd met Simone, he'd thought that perhaps he'd never feel whole again.

"No, Martin. I don't believe Simone is a murderer." At least he didn't think so. God, none of this made any sense.

Reece walked over to the window, moving the blind aside, almost expecting to see her on the porch. They'd fought so often in the past few months of their marriage that the movements had become routine. They'd argue, yell, throw insults, until Simone couldn't stand any more. Then she'd slam out the door, damning him to hell. Only she never went anywhere. She'd just sit on the front porch and wait for him to come and find her.

But this time she hadn't waited.

"Do you see her?" Martin asked, pulling Reece from his memories.

"No." He let the blind fall and turned back to face his brother. Sometimes the end came with a bang. Sometimes with a whimper. He'd never understood that poem before, but suddenly, heartbreakingly, he did.

"So what do we do?"

"We do what she said. We wait here until tomorrow. And then we go home."

"And make up a sto—" Martin's words were drowned out by the sound of shattering glass.

"Get down." Reece dove for his brother, the two of them skidding across the floor as a second volley shattered more glass.

Reece rolled to a crouch and grabbed a poker as the door crashed open.

"Don't think that's going to do a hell of a lot of good." Simone motioned them toward the door with the gun in her hand. "Better to fight fire with fire, eh?" Her smile was weak, but just at the moment he'd never been happier to see anyone. "Come on. I'll cover you guys while you make a run for the car."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Believe me, I'll be right behind you."

He searched her face to be certain she was telling the truth and then nodded, his gaze falling on his brother. "Can you make it?"

"I think so," Martin said.

"We've got to go now, before he has time to reposition himself." Simone motioned.

As if to underscore the thought, a third volley of bullets ricocheted through the room, the trajectory the same as before.

Simone crawled to the window, crouching just beneath the sill. "On my go," she said, as they moved into place near the door.

"You're coming." It was a statement, not a question, but Reece looked to her for confirmation.

"I promise. Now go."

He nodded and, looping an arm around his brother for support, headed out the door. Behind him he heard shots, and knew that Simone had engaged their hunter.

It seemed to take forever to reach the Jag, but in fact it had only taken seconds. He fumbled with the key and then slid it home, Martin settled into the back. Without flipping on the lights, he hit the gas, traversing the gravel drive until the passenger side faced the front door.