Like a Knife (20 page)

His mouth twisted. "You'd see goodness in the guy who marched you to your grave."

"I'm not a fool."

"No. You're just good, so you assume the rest of us are, too. Well, we're not. I'm not. If I were, I'd be a million miles away from here. There are things I should be doing, things I know won't keep. But it's like my legs are lead and my brain is mush. And I don't care." He ran the back of his hand over her cheek. "I'm happy, Rachel. For the first time in my whole shitty little life, I'm actually happy. Call it goodness if you want, but to me it's just plain old-fashioned selfishness."

She slipped her arms around him, laying her head against his chest. She loved the feel of him like this, the smooth muscles of his back under her hands, his chest beneath her cheek, hard and strong. "Didn't Shelley make you happy, Nick, even a little bit?"

He sighed into her hair. "Maybe. I look back on it now, and she just seems like an obsession, a curse. Whereas you-" He kissed her throat, then her jaw. "God, you, Rachel-" He covered her mouth once, then again. And in between, he breathed, "You're like a prayer."

* * *

They met the morning coiled around each other, back outside on the blanket. Sleepy and a little sheepish at his own indulgence, Nick stumbled into the cabin, his arms entwined with Rachel's. A cheerful urge to share the sunrise with Isaac had overtaken them, and they'd rushed inside to wake the boy.

But when they opened the door to the bedroom, Isaac was gone.. The bed was rumpled, but no little boy lay on top.

Panic slashed through Nick. He raced into the kitchen, flung open the broom closet, and grabbed the Uzi.

"Stay here!" But she was already out of the cabin.

Breathless and terrified, he raced after her-and found Isaac happily digging in the sand at the water's edge.

"He wanted to sleep outside, too," Rachel explained, and relief was so overwhelming, Nick swept Isaac up, hugging him tightly.

And like that, everything changed. With a curt command, Nick ordered Rachel to wait outside with Isaac while he restowed the Uzi. When he allowed them back in the cabin, she found him in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the closet where he'd hidden the guns.

Rachel recognized that bleak stare; Nick was thinking about leaving. He was thinking about going after Rennie, and she couldn't bear to watch.

"Get your suit on," she said to Isaac, "and we'll take a walk on the beach."

"No." The hardness was back in Nick's face.

"I want to go out." The boy's brows drew down in a black frown, a small replica of his father's.

"You've already been out. Now you're staying in." He sat the boy in a chair at the rickety kitchen table.

Rachel eyed Nick, a pulse pounding in her head. She had to tell him about the printout If he knew she had Spier's papers, he wouldn't have to leave. He could put Rennie Spier away without killing him or dying in the process.

But Isaac's lips were trembling; they couldn't discuss it now. "We'll go for a walk later," she soothed.

"I don't think so." Nick's gaze skimmed me kitchen, lit on the closet where the guns waited, and flitted away again. The pulse in her head beat harder.
Tell him. Now.

"Nick, we... we have to talk about something."

"Later. I need to think." His eyes drifted to the cabinet again.

"This can't wait. Why don't we take Isaac for a walk, and you and I can-"

"No."

The word was a treatise in implacability, and she bit her lip, trying to hold onto her panic. "You can't keep us trapped in here forever."

"Better here than the morgue."

"That's crazy," She put a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off. "No."

"Nick-"

"I said no!"

A plate crashed against the kitchen floor. Her head turned in time with Nick's. Isaac was pushing a glass toward the edge of the table.

Nick snatched the tumbler out of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Isaac stared hard at the table-top, but said nothing.
"What are you doing?"

"He's telling you he doesn't like it when you yell."

The boy pushed another plate off.

"Don't do that!"

A glass went over.

"You little-" Nick lifted him off the seat. Isaac kicked and pummeled him.

"Give him to me." Rachel said.
"Give him to me!"
She took the struggling boy. His small body trembled against her. Without another word, she rushed out of the cabin.

Nick stared after her, hating himself.

It was over. The whole sweet, wonderful charade was over. He slumped into the chair Isaac had vacated and raked a hand through his hair. God, he didn't want to go.

But Isaac's disappearance, harmless as it turned out, had punctured the dreamy bubble Nick had been living in for the past five days. He'd been negligent, stupid, a careless fool. Did he think Rennie would just go away? He was still out there. And Nick had no doubt the ruthless man was hunting for them.

He left the cabin and walked to the beach. The morning tide had left behind pebbles and shards of seashells that his bare feet pushed farther into the wet sand. Among the debris he spied a small conch shell, whole and untouched by the sea's violence. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, anticipating the look on Isaac's face when he showed it to him. If the kid ever spoke to him again.

He closed his ringers around the shell, wishing he could stay and make things right with Isaac. Suddenly that seemed more important than revenge or justice. Nick didn't want to kill Rennie. He didn't want to kill anyone. He just wanted to live like any other ordinary man. Love his woman and raise his son.

He looked out over the sea, watching the perpetual motion of the waves. Rennie was like those waves, powerful and endless.

And like the sea, there was no bargaining with him.

F rom a table outside an ice cream shop, Rachel sat next to Isaac and fought the compulsion to rub the skin off her wrists. In front of her, vacationers strolled up and down the street. Cars full of rowdy sunbathers zoomed past, bike riders in bathing suits cycled by. All blissfully unaware of danger.

She closed her eyes against the wave of panic and envy that washed over her. They'd been here over five days. If Spier were going to strike, wouldn't he have already tried?

She shivered in the heat. Five days or fifty, he was still a threat. And the only way to neutralize him was the printout.

She gazed down at the boy beside her. He ate his ice cream cone with sober concentration. He was so serious. Would he ever laugh? Would he ever squirm and jabber like other kids?

"Here, turn it around. That's right. So you won't drip."

God, how could she sound so tranquil? Nick was getting ready to kill Rennie Spier, and she was teaching a six-year-old how to eat ice cream.

She pictured Spier's documents lying calmly in the cramped supply closet at the school, and an idea began to form. Heart thrumming, she looked around for a phone but didn't see one nearby.

Giving Isaac a napkin, she helped him wipe his face. "Ready to go?" She held out her hand, but he didn't take it. He clutched the napkin tightly, twisting it between his fingers. Gently, she said, "What's wrong?"

"He's mad." His child's voice was so small she barely heard him.

"Who's mad? Nick?"

"He shouted."

She sighed and lifted him off his chair onto her lap. Her plan would have to wait a few more minutes. She put her arms around his rigid body.

"He's just worried. He wants you to be safe."

Isaac's voice grew even smaller. "Is he... is he going away?"

A rush of sadness sped through her. He had lost so much! "Not if I can help it. Come on."

Taking his hand, she walked him toward the pay phone in front of the grocery store. Once inside, she lifted him up so he could press all the buttons of her uncle's work number. As she waited for the receptionist to put her uncle on the line, she wondered how he felt about blackmail. Not too good, she'd guess. But blackmail was the perfect way to deal with Rennie Spier. And as long as the three of them were safe and alive, she'd turn over one page of the printout to Spier every six months. Otherwise, she'd arrange to have it sent to the authorities. Elliot could handle it, lawyer to lawyer, with whomever Spier wanted to appoint. No one would have to meet Spier or talk to him. Best of all, no one would have to kill him. Almost giddy with relief at the solution she'd devised, she waited impatiently for her uncle to come on the line.

"Rachel, my God, is that really you?" Elliot's voice was strained and upset.

"Of course it's me, who else--"

He cut in. "Where are you?"

His rudeness surprised her; Elliot was rarely rude. "Why, what's the matter?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Elliot." But suddenly her heart began to drum again. "Has something happened? What's wrong?"

* * *

Nick dug his feet into the sand and stared at the waves, trying to figure out how the hell he would find the words to tell Rachel he was going, how he would even manage to make himself go.

"Nick!"

He turned, and there she stood, holding Isaac's hand, poised at the top of the rise leading down toward the shore. It seemed as if she'd sprung whole and beautiful from his thoughts. He forgot about their fight the minute he saw her, forgot that the time had come to leave. Happiness sparked as she dropped the boy's hand and flew down to Nick. Just the sight of her sent a surge of joy through him.

Then he got a good look at her face.

She was pale and shaken, eyes wide with horror.

"What is it?" He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Did something happen?" He shook her, but she couldn't get any words out. Tears spilled over her cheeks, yet she didn't make a sound, just stood frozen, staring at him like a statue in torment.

Then he saw what she was holding: one of the New York newspapers, clutched so tightly, he had to pry it out of her hand. The minute he got it away from her, she sank into the sand. She sobbed as if her soul were breaking up. He. glanced down at the headline and felt the blood drain from his own heart: preschool fire damages CHURCH, LEAVES TEACHER DEAD.

He gazed at the words until the letters blurred, but the name of the dead teacher burned clear in his mind.
Felice.

Rennie had destroyed Rachel's school and killed Felice.

A weight of guilt descended, heavy as a load of cement blocks. He should have dealt with Rennie days ago. Instead Nick had stayed here, clutching at a dream until it was too late, and now someone else was dead. He pictured Felice's rotund form, remembered her sassiness, and the bright colors of the loose dresses she always wore burst into flames before his eyes.

Blame bowed his shoulders and weakened his knees until he wanted to drop into the sand beside Rachel, but he couldn't let himself fall; she was already down, and she needed him. He tried to coax her back to the house, but she wouldn't budge. He was prepared to carry her in, but she fought him with such wild savagery that in the end he left her by the water.

She cried on and off all afternoon. He and Isaac spent the time together. Whether he sensed Nick's neediness, or needed the comfort himself, Isaac didn't stray.

Once every hour, they checked on Rachel. Nick went alone the first time, but Isaac followed him the next, dragging his bear in one hand and slipping the other into Nick's. His heart constricted at the touch of those small fingers, but he said nothing. Hand in hand, they walked together until they'd gone far enough to spot Rachel without her seeing them. Sometimes she was meandering like a forlorn bird at the water's edge; other times she sat in the sand, staring at the indifferent and measureless breadth of the sea,

"Are the bad men coming?" Isaac asked once.

"No," Nick lied. "We're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"Or Rachel?"

Nick swallowed hard, knowing that whatever was still to come, the damage had already been done. "Or Rachel," he said.

She came back to them in the evening, while Nick was slathering bread with peanut butter and jelly for Isaac. One minute the two of them were alone, and the next she stood in the doorway.

Face pale, she stooped to give Isaac a hug as he ran toward her. "It's okay," she told him. "I'm all right."

Nick made sandwiches, and they sat outside at the picnic table to eat. It was a quiet meal. Rachel barely touched her plate.

After dinner, Nick showed Isaac the conch shell he'd found earlier.

The boy turned it over in his hand, examining it carefully. "Where'd you find it?"

"On the beach," Nick told him, "Would you___

would you like to see where?"

Isaac nodded,' and a tiny flare of happiness kindled behind Rachel's eyes as the boy reached for Nick's hand. He kissed her then, a small, warm touch of his mouth to her cheek, and though the sadness didn't leave her face, she leaned against him briefly, and he felt that he'd comforted her.

That night, Nick put Isaac to bed for the first time. When he tucked Isaac in and handed him his bear, the boy looked at him earnestly. "Don't let her be sad anymore."

Nick took his son's hand, squeezed it. "I won't." The words felt like a vow, a promise between them.

Outside the bedroom, Rachel sank into a corner of the couch and waited for Nick. When at last the bedroom light clicked off and the door closed, he sat down beside her.

She shrank away, unworthy of comfort. "I should have been there, Nick. It should have been me, not Felice."

"That's crazy."

"It's my fault." Her voice cracked, and a tear plopped onto her hand.

"Oh, Rachel, honey, how can it possibly be your fault?" He rubbed her back, and she felt the warmth of his hand like an undeserved blessing. "You're as blameless in this as Felice was."

"You don't know." Her voice thickened with tears. "You don't know what I did."

"What?" Amusement gentled his voice, as if she couldn't possibly do anyone harm. "What did you do?"

They say confession is good for the soul, but Rachel wouldn't know. She could hardly get the words out. "I... I switched the printouts."

The comforting motion of his hand on her back slowed to a stop. "What do you mean?"

She couldn't look at him, so she stared blindly at the room instead. "I left Rennie a few... a few pages of his original and substituted the rest with used computer paper from school."

Stunned silence filled the room. For long minutes, Nick said nothing, no word of blame or censure. How could he? He couldn't get his mind around the words she'd just spoken. She'd switched the printout? Is that what she'd said? His brain moved like mud. He'd traded Isaac for... for used computer paper?

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Jackknifing to his feet, he sped to the door and wrenched it open, inhaling the cool, ocean night.

She'd switched the printout. Jesus Christ.

His hand fisted against the doorjamb. "I told you-"

"He would not let this go, Nick." Face pale, she rose, her voice wobbly but resolute. "You know it, I know it. With the printout we had some leverage, something to hold over him. A safety net."

"I told you not to worry about that. I was going to take care of it."

"Yeah, right." Her mouth thinned. "You think I don't know how you were going to 'take care of it'? That's why I did it, why I had to do it. Isaac would be safe from Spier, and you wouldn't have to... you wouldn't have to..." She clamped a shaky hand over her mouth and looked at him with dawning horror. He saw the realization come, saw the pain magnify in her face.

"I wouldn't have to kill him." He said it quietly, flatly. A statement of fact that twisted his gut and wrenched his heart. Because, of course, he had to kill Spier anyway.

She nodded, the full impact of the words finally hitting home. "'Oh, God." She sank down on the couch, tears welling, her face stark with pain.

The sight of her anguish was almost more than he could bear. She'd done this for him, to keep him from doing what he should have done all along. Sweet God in heaven, he wished he could siit his throat where he stood.

Steeling himself against the agony in her face, he strode to the broom closet To the Uzi.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to go. I have to stop him." He flung open the closet door, but before he could pick up the weapon, she wrapped herself around him, pinning his arms down.

"Don't, Nick. Please." '

Christ.
Just the touch of her sent heat spiraling through him, making him weak, making him want to give in and do what he'd been doing the last five days. Stay here with her.

He clamped his jaw down, forcing the emotions away. "Let go of me."

"You can't leave. I won't let you."

He pried her grip loose and picked up the gun.

"If you go, what I did will be for nothing. Please."

He checked the load, deliberately not looking at her. "I'm not sitting around waiting for Rennie to make his next move."

"God, it's all my fault. If I hadn't switched the printout, Felice would still be aKve, and you wouldn't have to go after Rennie."

He swore softly, knowing the truth was anything but. "Switching the damn printout has nothing to do with it."

"But-"

"For God's sake, can't you get it through your head?" He pounded a fist on the closet. "Rennie could have burned down the place anyway-to draw me out. He used you once, why not again?" He grabbed the ammo box and yanked it open. "I'm the one who knew what he was capable of. I'm the one who knew what had to be done." He dumped the bullets into his pockets with an angry shake. "And I'm the one who put it off day after goddamn day."

He pushed past her to the cabinet where he'd stashed the Magnum. Checking the clip, he slammed it home, and she jumped at the sound. He saw her start, knew it meant she was sick with fear for him. Knew, too, mat he had to ignore it, or he'd never leave. And leaving was the best thing he could do for her.

"You stayed because of me. Because of Isaac. And Nick, God, I wanted you to. I never even called to find out how the Parish Council meeting went. I was too busy-" She stopped, a stricken look on her face.

"With me."

She nodded, a hand over her mouth.

He understood that sick feeling, because he'd forgotten everything, too. Rennie, the world beyond this cabin. Enmeshed in each other, they'd ignored it all, and now he had to make amends.

He shoved the .44 into the front of his jeans, slung the Uzi over his shoulder, and headed for the door. She sped ahead of him, barring the way, her face desperate.

"We can run. There has to be some place he can't find us."

"You know that's not true."

The knowledge was there in her eyes, but she balked anyway, pale and wretched.

He hardened his voice. "Get out of the way."

"Please, Nick."

"Get away from the goddamn door! Jesus, don't make me force you."

"Go ahead, force me. You think I'm going to make this easy for you?" Her eyes blazed with the sheen of tears. "You want me to beg, I'll beg, I'll do whatever it takes to keep you from walking out this door."

Christ, he wished he were made of stone. Without another word, he grabbed her arm, jerked her away from the door, opened it, and plunged through.

Rachel gasped when he shoved her aside so easily. A sob broke free, and then she ran out the door after him. "Wait! Nick, please. Oh God, wait!"

But he ignored her, tramping into the moonlit night. She darted after him, running over the rough ground and crying so hard she stumbled, lost her footing, and went sprawling face first in the sand. God, she was pathetic. It was just like then, just like all the times she ran after her father, begging him, pleading with him to stay. He never did. Now Nick was going, and she couldn't bear it She scrambled to her feet, but by then, he was almost at the VW. Panting, sobbing, she flew ahead, catching up just as he opened the door and threw the guns inside. She didn't waste a minute but flung herself at him, holding onto him with every ounce she had. "Please, Nick, please. I love you. Don't go."

For a moment, he stopped breathing. Then, as if she hadn't spoken, he reached up and untwined her arms from around his neck.

"Did you hear me? I said I love you."

Freed, he turned away, staring over the top of her father's car. "I love you, too." His voice sounded sad, sadder than anything she'd ever heard. "I've loved you from the minute I saw you standing in the yard at St. Anthony's."

She knew that. She'd known that all along. She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "So you'll stay?"

He turned and looked at her, his eyes soft, dark pieces of night. "No."

Oh, God.
Tears ran freely again, hot and thick. She swiped at them, but they kept coming. "T-take me with you, then."

He smiled, and for the first time since she'd told him about the printout, he touched her with gentleness, his hand cupping her cheek sweetly. "I need you to stay here, with Isaac."

Isaac. His son.
She uttered a broken sound, half sob, half protest, and slowly he pulled her toward him until she was enveloped in his arms. "Will you do that for me? Will you stay with him and make sure he's okay?"

Her head lay against his chest. She could feel the hard thump of his heart.
Not without you.
She closed her eyes and nodded.

His hand stroked the back of her head. "Thanks."

"Promise me you'll come back," she whispered.

He hesitated and she clenched her hands into fists, hitting his back with desperate fierceness. "Promise me."

"I... I promise."

"Not like my father."

Instead of answering, he kissed her forehead, her cheek, and her mouth. She bit back a sob at the touch of his lips. One last look, and he slid behind the wheel. The car door slammed shut, the sound echoing through all the years of her childhood. She sank to her knees, sobbing. Once again she watched as taillights disappeared into the darkness.