Gift of Gold (34 page)

It was nothing more than a shadow that merged almost immediately with the right-side wall of Emerson’s cottage. Too high off the ground to be a stray dog hunting for open garbage cans. Too motionless now to be anything but a man. No tree branch would be so still.

Jonas did not break his stride. The last thing he wanted to do was broadcast the news that he had been warned. The front door would be unlocked—Emerson would have left it open for him—but Jonas could hardly approach it now.

He kept moving toward the cottage but then suddenly veered to the left, using the trees as shelter. The back of the cottage, where the window with the broken lock was, would be shrouded in darkness, unlike the front door, which was lit with the pale glow of the porch light. As he moved, Jonas kept every available object between him and the shadow.

He walked behind Emerson’s rented Buick, stayed to the left of his own Jeep, and put a few richly branched trees between himself and the cottage.

Jonas made it to the shelter of the left side of the cottage and halted. If the intruder was simply a vagrant who had been nosing around, he would probably choose this moment to flee into the trees, unseen. However, if he had more interesting intentions, he might wait until Jonas was in the cottage before making his move.

Jonas found the open window and raised it quickly. It squeaked with protest. The sound echoed loudly in the night. Emerson stirred on the bed as Jonas swung one leg over the sill.

“Coming through the window is a good way to get your throat slit. Ask me, I know.”

“Emerson,” Jonas whispered, “I think we’ve got company outside.”

“No shit?” Emerson sat up, fully alert. “Where?”

Jonas explained, keeping his voice low. “If he’s going to invite himself inside, he’ll probably use a window. If he’s already checked the place out, he’ll know this one has a broken lock.”

Emerson rolled out of bed wearing only his briefs. “Should be simple enough. There’s two of us and one of him.” He went to stand in the shadows to the left of the window, moving with surprising quiet for a man his size.

Jonas went over to his duffel bag, unzipped it, and slipped his knife out of its sheath. He was heading toward the opposite side of the window when the front door slammed open without any preliminary scratching at the lock. The intruder must have tested it earlier and found it unlocked.

Almost simultaneously light splashed the room from the overhead bulb as the man in the doorway hit the switch. He crouched there in a gunman’s stance. He was dressed in a camouflage shirt and dark pants. There was a death’s-head grin on his all-American farmboy face.

The .357 magnum in his hand did not look like it had come off the farm. It looked very big-city. It also appeared that its owner knew how to use it. The gun was pointed at Emerson, who did not so much as blink an eye. As if he suddenly realized that there were two people in the cabin, the intruder started to jerk the barrel around toward Jonas.

But Jonas’s knife was already in the air, sailing toward its target with the eagerness of a lover. The gunman’s finger spasmed on the trigger as the blade hit home.

Chapter
Fifteen

The
sound of the gunshot brought Verity awake with an adrenaline rush. She sat up in bed as if she had been struck and listened to the awful silence that followed the shot.

Perhaps she had dreamed the crack of the gun. There were other explanations. A car might have backfired.

But Verity was
a woman with a well-rounded education. She had heard the brutal roar of a gun before.

She scrambled out of bed and raced to the window, wishing Jonas had spent the night with her. A sickening thought followed on the heels of that vain wish. The shot could easily have come from the cottage. She realized with a start that the lights were on in the other cabin.

Verity grabbed her jeans and yanked them on, stuffed her feet into a pair of loafers, and reached for a blouse as she passed the closet. By the time she opened the front door she was almost dressed.

Fastening buttons frantically, she raced out into the night, heading toward the cottage at a dead run. Jonas and her father, the two most important people in the world to her, were in that cabin and something was terribly wrong.

Verity rushed along the path, the crisp night air stinging her cheeks. As she neared the cabin she saw that the front door stood wide open. A triangle of light poured out into the darkness, revealing the crouched figure of a man. He was bending over a man who was lying crumpled and unmoving on the threshold.

“Jonas!”

Jonas glanced up and in the glare of the cabin’s overhead bulb his face was a cold, dangerous mask carved in stone. The man on the floor groaned but did not open his eyes. The plain, frighteningly utilitarian handle of a knife protruded from the folds of his camouflage shirt. A dark, slowly spreading stain circled the area around the point where the blade had entered his body just below the left shoulder.

“It’s all right, Verity,” Jonas said in what was probably supposed to be a soothing voice. “Emerson is fine.”

Emerson stepped into the light and said reassuringly, “All in one piece, thanks to Jonas here. This is one very handy dishwasher you’ve hired, Red. Maybe you ought to give him a raise.”

Verity flicked a glance at her father, assuring herself that he was telling the truth about his condition. Then her attention went back to Jonas. She eyed him searchingly. “What about you?”

He appeared mildly surprised by her inquiry. “I’m fine. But it’s time to call the law and an ambulance. Since there’s no phone in this cabin, Verity, you’re elected to run back to your place and make the call.”

“What about him?” Verity swallowed silently and stared down at the man on the floor. He appeared to be about her age. His light brown hair was cut so short that it looked almost a parody of a military cut. The camouflage shirt, heavy boots, and web belt could have been a costume if it weren’t for the blood and the gun lying on the floor in the corner.

“The bleeding’s under control as long as I leave the knife where it is. I’ll let the medics remove it.” Jonas’s narrowed eyes went over the man’s ashen face. He leaned across and put two fingers against the carotid artery. “He’s going into shock. Better get moving, Verity, or we’ll lose him, and if we lose him we won’t ever get any answers out of him.”

Verity closed her eyes and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll be right back.” She whirled and started to run back the way she had come.

“Verity?”

She paused, turning back. “What is it, Jonas?”

“Right now, all we know is that this joker tried to break in to the cabin. Probably thought it was an empty tourist cottage. When he found it occupied, he panicked and used his gun. Don’t volunteer any more information than that to whoever takes the call.”

“What other information is there?” she demanded with asperity.

Emerson chuckled. “That’s the ticket, Red. Just play innocent. You’re good at that.”

“For God’s sake, what are you two talking about? What’s going on here?”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Jonas promised.

Verity longed to dig in her heels until she had some answers but somehow she didn’t think the tactic would work. For the moment Jonas was in charge and Emerson was backing him. A stranger was slowly bleeding to death on the floor. That left her without a lot of options. The situation confirmed her long-held opinion that it was never a good idea to put men in charge of anything.

It seemed a very long while before things settled back to a state resembling normal. By the time the sheriff’s men had left and the unconscious man had been taken away on a stretcher, Verity had finally figured out what Jonas and Emerson had concluded earlier.

Scowling, she paced the small cabin, her arms folded under her breasts. Jonas and Emerson lounged at the table. There was a glass of straight vodka in front of each of them. Both tracked Verity’s restless progress with hooded expressions. They looked as if they half-expected her to go up in flames in front of them at any moment.

“Let me get this straight,” Verity said coldly. “You think the man who broke in here tonight was sent by that loan shark you’re dealing with, Dad?”

“There’s a distinct possibility Yarington sent him,” Emerson said blandly.

Jonas thoughtfully tapped one finger on the scarred wooden table. “Except for one thing: sharks don’t normally kill the client who’s just a little late in paying. What’s the point? You can’t collect from a dead man.”

Emerson shrugged. “He probably wasn’t sent to kill me. He probably had orders to impress me with a display of mayhem.”

“Why the gun?” Verity snapped.

“A man who makes his living as a collection agent for a loan shark doesn’t run around unarmed,” Jonas pointed out dryly. “The gun was probably for effect. But when he realized there were two people in the cabin he panicked. He didn’t know what he was up against, so he decided to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Verity shook her head despairingly. “Why didn’t you say something about this to the deputies? Why let them think the man was just some unknown thief? What will happen when the guy wakes up and starts talking?”

Jonas rubbed the back of his neck with a weary gesture. “Probably not much. Why should he say anything? His boss has undoubtedly issued standing orders to his collection agents about what to do if they get picked up, and those orders probably cover such issues as keeping their mouths shut until a lawyer arrives to take over.”

Verity glared at her father. “And I suppose you don’t want to say anything because it will open up a can of worms. You’ll have to explain about the gambling debt, the man who gave you the pistols, the deal that was made for the pistols, which, it just occurs to me, did not include California State sales tax, and heaven knows what else.”

Emerson sighed. “Like you said, Red, a can of worms. I can handle it if it’s necessary, but I’d just as soon not go into all the fine nuances of the thing if it can be avoided.”

Verity came to a halt and confronted both men with her hands planted on her hips. “This is an inexcusable debacle. You both realize that, don’t you? It’s crazy and it’s stupid and it’s dangerous. Not to mention shady to the point of being illegal. And none of it would have happened, Dad, if you’d had the common sense to avoid a piece of lowlife like that damn loan shark Yarington.”

“I know, Red.” Emerson gave her a woeful-eyed spaniel look that didn’t fool Verity for a minute.

She swung her attention to Jonas. “As for you, do you have any idea what could have happened here tonight? You and my father might both have been killed. Instead, you nearly killed a man, and there you sit, calm as can be, drinking vodka and acting as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.”

Jonas shifted uneasily in his chair. “Now take it easy, honey. I know you’re a little upset about all this…”

“A little upset? You and my father nearly get blown away by some hit man who works for a mobster, I find you with your knife stuck in a man’s chest, you make me a party to the deception you’re perpetrating on the authorities, and then you have the nerve to tell me not to get upset? Are you out of your mind, Jonas, or just totally insensitive?”

“Now, Red,” Emerson began soothingly.

“Don’t you ‘now, Red’ me,” Verity hissed. “I’ve had as much as I can take for one evening. While the two of you celebrate your machismo, I’m going home to see if I can get any sleep at all before morning. Unlike certain members of the assembled company, I have a legitimate business to run and I need my rest. The two of you go right ahead and enjoy your vodka. I’m sure you have a lot to hash over. You’ve certainly got enough in common to keep a conversation going for the rest of the night.” She spun around and slammed the cabin door behind her.

There was a long silence in the small cottage after Verity’s noisy departure. Jonas stared broodingly at the closed door, his fingers locked around the small glass of vodka. On the other side of the table Emerson sighed again and took a healthy swallow of his drink, draining the glass in the process. He
reached for the bottle.

“She always did have a bit of a temper,” Emerson said apologetically. “Tends to be assertive.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“My fault. I raised her to speak her mind.” He brightened. “Don’t worry about it,” he advised more cheerfully. “She’ll calm down and come around. She always does. You’ll see.”

“Wishful thinking,” Jonas said. “Did you see the look on her face when she saw my knife in that jerk’s chest? She looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

“Verity doesn’t approve of violence,” Emerson explained carefully. “Maybe I accidentally exposed her to a little too much of the rough side of life while she was growing up. I tried to protect her from the really bad stuff, but you know how it is in some of the more interesting places around the world. And besides, I didn’t want to be overprotective. She witnessed her share of barroom brawls and once or twice a knifing.”

“She says I’m like you,” Jonas said.

“Well, hell, that’s a dumb comparison. I don’t even have a master’s degree, let alone a Ph.D.”

“I don’t think that’s quite what she meant.”

Emerson nodded gloomily. “I was afraid of that. She thinks you’ve got the same wanderlust I’ve got, doesn’t she?”

“Among other things,” Jonas agreed dryly. “She also thinks I’m irresponsible, unreliable, and incapable of long-term commitment. She thinks the only reason I’m here is because I want to explore the effect she has on my psychic abilities.”

“So why does she let you hang around her cabin until three in the morning?” Emerson demanded shrewdly, obviously striving to make a point in spite of the vodka.

Jonas tipped his glass and poured the last of his drink down his throat. “Damned if I can figure it out. I guess she thinks I’m hell on wheels in bed. We have to face the possibility that your sweet, innocent, puritanical, prissy little daughter is using me for cheap thrills, Emerson.”

“I don’t have to face that possibility,” Emerson corrected. “You do. Good luck. In the meantime, I guess I’d better get cracking on getting that money wired to Mr. Reginald C. Yarington before he does anything else rash.”