Like a Knife (6 page)

"Remember, Rachel. Next time you're willing to risk your life, you remember what this feels like." And with that, he flung her away.

Breathing hard, she tried to get the saliva back in her mouth. She rubbed her arms where he'd held her. "You bastard."

"Yeah. And I'm the good guy."

Her heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder it didn't fly out of her body. Legs shaking, she stumbled away from him. Out the alley. Down the street. As far as she could get.

Nick watched her go, forcing back the bile that threatened to spew out of him.

Rennie would have been real proud of him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His hand was shaking. Sweat glued his shirt to his back. What he wouldn't give for a drink.

He peered out the mouth of the alley and saw her get into her car. Forcing his legs to move, he sprinted to his own and managed to turn it around in time to follow her. No matter what she thought, no matter what he said, he would keep her safe.

Between the city traffic and the tie-ups on the expressway, the sun was almost down by the time she made it back to her apartment. Guilt stalked him as he inched forward. He shouldn't have grabbed her, shouldn't have frightened her.

It was for her own good.

Yeah, the way a whipping was for your own good.

From across the street, he watched her park her car. She got out and disappeared inside the building. He timed his watch for a minute, ten seconds, the length it always took her to reach her apartment and turn on the light. Raising his head, he focused on the fifth-floor corner window.

A minute and a half.

Two minutes.

Still the apartment stayed black.

When five minutes had come and gone, and the window remained unlit, he reached underneath the seat and pulled out the Beretta Rennie stashed there.

A hundred scenarios flooded his mind as he slammed the car door and raced across the street. Someone could have been waiting for her inside. Someone who'd put his hands on her, touch her, hurt her. He dodged speeding cars. Braking tires squealed; horns blared. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning them out He concentrated on one thing only: getting to Rachel as fast as he could.

No time to wait for the elevator. He took the stairs, two at a time.

Faster. Go faster.
She could be dead by now.

He burst through the door at the top of the fifth-floor staircase, took half a second to orient himself.
Left. Go left.
He didn't waste time knocking on her door. The sound would only warn whoever was inside. Holding the gun so he could fire it instantly, he kicked in the door.

Nothing. No sound.

The apartment was dim, but light spilled in from the hallway. He spun around, both hands wrapped around the gun, which he held in firing position. From the doorway, his view covered most of the living area and kitchen. Empty. Hugging the walls, he slid down the hallway toward the bedroom and bathroom. "Rachel?"

No answer. Panic rose. He tried again, louder this time. "Rachel, where are you?"

"What are you doing?" The voice came from behind. He whirled. She was standing in the apartment doorway. "Pushing me around wasn't enough? Now you're going to shoot me?"

His gaze searched the doorway and the area over her shoulder. "Are you... are you okay?"

"Not if you keep pointing that thing at me."

He looked down at the weapon trained on her heart, and his gut clenched. The first time. The first time in six years he'd held the cold ice of a gun in his hand. And he hadn't even thought twice about picking it up.
This is what you are, who you are.

Repulsed, he lowered the Beretta. She stepped into the room, leaving the door partially open so the hallway light could illuminate the apartment.

"What do you want?" Her voice was harsh and unwelcoming.

"Your lights didn't come on." The gun weighed heavy in his hand. He stashed it at the small of his back, beneath his jacket, where neither of them could see it.

"The power is out. And the phone isn't working either. I had to go down to the manager and tell him." Her eyes narrowed. "How did you know about the lights?"

Caught, he couldn't think of an excuse fast enough. "I... I followed you." Delayed relief at seeing her whole and alive was making his legs quake. He leaned against the wall until they stopped.

"You followed me? Why? According to you we're not supposed to see each other."

"I... I wanted to make sure you got home okay. You were upset..." God, that sounded lame. "When the lights didn't come on, I thought-"

"You thought your friend Rennie Spier had gotten to me? Sorry to ruin your day, but it was just a bunch of kids on the first floor."

"Kids?"

"Yeah, a stupid prank."

A prank? Not likely. Senses on alert, he scanned the large living area. "Is it only your apartment?"

"Seems to be. My lucky day. Manhandled by you, then by a couple of twelve-year-olds."

"And the phone is out, too?"

"Perfect ending to a perfect day." She went into the kitchen. He heard her riffling in cupboards and drawers. "I have a flashlight here somewhere."

While she was gone, he calmed himself enough to take a quick look at the phone in the living room. He felt around the wall; the wires were intact. Whoever had done this had done it at the control box, which meant a knowledge of communications beyond most twelve-year-olds. Then again, any twelve-year-old with a good pair of wire cutters could have randomly snipped a few connections. Maybe it was just coincidence that Rachel's apartment had been blacked out.

Except he didn't believe in coincidence.

She came out of the kitchen with a couple of plates holding lit candles. "Flashlight batteries are dead. Figures." She placed one of the plates on the coffee table, the other on an end table next to the couch. The flickering lights cast a soft glow on her face. A glow that didn't hide the animosity clouding her normally gentle expression.

"You can go now."

"In a minute. I want to check-"

"No. The last thing I need is some tough guy whose lifestyle can get me hurt, or worse. Get out. Now."

Well, he'd wanted her mad enough to stay away, hadn't he?
Be careful, what you wish for.

"When do they expect to get your power back?"

A flicker of panic flew across her face. She swallowed hard. "Maybe tomorrow."

All night in the dark, no phone, no way to call for help. And idiot that he was, he'd seen to it that the door was half off its hinges, the lock broken. After what Ren-nie had done to her, she must be terrified.

"Maybe you should stay somewhere else tonight."

"I'm not the one leaving. You are." Sheer bravado, but she had guts, he'd give her that.

"Don't you have family who'll put you up?"

"Not without a lot of questions."

"A motel, then."

She studied him. The candlelight turned the wisps of hair around her face into strands of gold that he itched to touch. But he kept his distance. He had to.

She said, "What's going on here? As long as you do what Spier wants, I'm safe. A hostage for your good behavior, maybe, but safe. Why would your precious Ren-nie Spier renege on your deal?"

"I don't know. I've been asking myself the same question and haven't come up with an answer." Except who else would want to hurt her?

"There is no answer. Like the manager said, it was a prank."

"Maybe." He shrugged out of his suit jacket. "And maybe not."

"What are you doing?"

"Where's your screwdriver? I'll fix the door."

"No, you won't." Her chin was up, her mouth a grim line.

"You can't stay here with a door that won't lock."

"I can do whatever I damn well please. It's my home, my life. Now get out." She threw his jacket at him and shoved him toward the door. He let her push him out and close the damaged door as best she could. It didn't matter. He wasn't going anywhere.

The minute he was gone, Rachel sank to the floor. Had he seen her hands shaking? Just the thought of staying in the dark apartment sent waves of terror through her. She hadn't slept with the lights out in weeks.

But that didn't mean she wanted Nick to keep her company either.

Liar.

She could go to her aunt and uncle's. Or to Felice. They'd put her up for the night.

But she didn't trust herself. She'd probably blurt out everything about Spier and the kidnapping, and then where would she and her kids be? Without a school, for one.

Besides, she wouldn-'t let anyone chase her out of her own home.

She stood, planting her feet on the floor. She could do this. It was just a temporary power outage. No one was hiding in the closets. Remember: victimized, but not a victim.

So why was her heart thudding?

A knock. Her body jerked. She sucked in a breath.

Take it easy. It's just the door.

"Who ... who is it?"

"It's me." Nick again.

God, go away.
She swung the unlocked door open. "I thought I told you to-"

"Here." In his outstretched hand he held a cellular phone. "In case you need to talk to someone."

Why did he do this? First he made it seem as though he were the last person on earth she should be around, and now ...

Why did he have to be so rotten?

Why did he have to be so nice?

^M
And here's my pager number." He picked up her hand and scrawled a number across her palm with a ballpoint. "If anything happens,
anything,
call. I'll be here in five seconds."

Five seconds? She said dryly, "Where you staying these days-outside my door?" ,

He did that avoidance thing he liked to do-he looked away, looked down, looked back up at her. Then didn't answer her question. "Don't worry about it. I'll get here."

She nodded, too irritated to press him. "Whatever." And closed the door again.

She scraped together a cheese sandwich by candlelight, and drank the last of the milk to keep it from spoiling. Since the air-conditioning had gone with the electricity, she opened all the windows before going to bed, hoping the cross-ventilation would cool down the apartment.

Too hot in the bedroom, she lay on the couch wearing only a tank top and panties. For some reason, she felt safer in the living room, where she could keep her eye on the damaged door.

It was only a prank. Nick was wrong. He had to be. He was trying to scare her. He
liked
scaring her.

The candlelight made monsters of the furniture. She knew she should blow out the flames, but couldn't bring herself to.

I won't let fear control my life. Rennie Spier used me once. I won't let him keep on abusing me.

She focused on the things around her. This is the couch, this the armchair, over there is the basket of magazines. Everything the way it should be, everything in its place, everything safe.

Everything safe.

Her hand strayed to her wrist, but she caught herself.

They won't come back. They won't.

Curling her body around Nick's cell phone, she memorized the number on her hand. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

Scanned by Coral

It was after two when Nick heard Rachel scream. The sound sailed through the partially opened door and outside into the hallway where he'd stationed himself all night. Gun drawn, he shouldered himself through the door, expecting two men, three, God only knew what... and saw her writhing on the couch, eyes closed in sleep, hands fighting off an unseen assailant.

He tucked the Beretta beneath his jacket, in the waistband at his back, and knelt by the couch. What to do?

In the shaft of hallway light that pierced the darkness, she was nearly naked. She wore a shred of cloth that bunched up, so he could see part of one round breast The sight sent blood straight to his groin. God, he couldn't touch her. Not like this.

But he had no choice, She cried out again, her voice shot through with hysteria. He got between her arms, letting her hands slap at him. "Shh, it's all right. It's just a dream." He shook her, but she became even more agitated. Finally, he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight against his chest. "Shh, I got you. You're safe."

He rubbed her back and whispered sounds of comfort. She felt small in his arms, her shoulders round and soft, her bones delicate, fragile. She smelled so good. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the sensation. Her breasts pressed against him, her legs, long and bare, and close enough to touch.

He knew the minute she woke up. The moaning died out. She tensed, and a pang went through him, knowing she would pull away. She did.

"What happened?" She rubbed her eyes, looked at him accusingly. "Why are you back here?"

"I heard you scream."

"You heard me scream?"

"You were dreaming." He stood up. Better get as far away as he could. "Have you been dreaming a lot lately?" He knew a thing or two about nightmares, and it killed him to think of her suffering because of him.

"You
heard
me...?"

He sighed. "Look, I-I've been outside. In the hallway."

She stared at him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Are you okay now?" No answer, but he didn't need one; he could see she was fine. "Good. I'll just go-" He thumbed over his shoulder, then turned in that direction. Her voice stopped him.

"You've been outside my apartment. All night." Like she was trying to get it straight.

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not gonna make a habit of it."

"Come here, Nick."

He reached for the doorknob.

"I said, come here."

He swore silently and turned.

She sat cross-legged on the couch in her underwear, her hair wild, her eyes demanding. She looked vulnerable as a child, sexy as the most alluring woman. He swallowed. How could he resist? Reluctantly, he stepped over to the couch.

"Sit"

"I better-"

She grabbed his hand and tugged him down next to her.

"Look at me." When he didn't, she took his face in her hands and turned it so he couldn't avoid her. Her eyes were wide and gentle. The eyes he'd missed. The look he thought he'd never see again. "Thank you."

"It's just for tonight." He couldn't breathe. Her hands bracketed his face, her mouth so close.

"Thank you."

"One night. Just in case."

"In case Rennie Spier comes for me again?"

"In case it wasn't a prank."

She smiled. Soft. Kind. "Thank you."

"You're... you're welcome."

She let him go, and his heart started beating again. Then she stood, and once again, his lungs clogged up.

"If you've been out there all night, you didn't have dinner. If it hasn't gone moldy yet, I can make you a cheese sandwich."

She lit a candle, and in the flickering light he could see her nipples outlined against the thin fabric of the sleeveless shirt. Her panties didn't come anywhere close to covering her navel. Between the bottom of the shirt and the top of her panties, a band of skin gleamed smooth and tantalizing.

"Sure. Whatever." Anything to get her out of the room. "And maybe you should-" He cleared his throat. "Maybe you should put on some clothes."

She looked down at herself, men up at him. His face heated. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth, but she said nothing, only disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom, candle in hand.

God, had he blushed? Had he actually blushed? Christ. He was a grown man. Grown men didn't blush.

Thirty seconds later she was back, wearing the same undershirt thing and a pair of denim shorts. A very tiny, very tight pair of shorts. He groaned inwardly. No way would he be able to choke down a sandwich.

But if she realized the effect she had on him, she didn't say. She glided into the kitchen and lit another candle.

Under cover of gathering ingredients, Rachel watched Nick strip off his jacket, loosen his tie, and roll back his shirtsleeves in an effort to get comfortable in the heat of the un-air-conditioned apartment. She hadn't been blind, she'd seen the hungry look on his face when he'd told her to put on some clothes. Some mischievous sprite had made her reach for the shortest, tightest pair of shorts she owned. Not that it mattered. He raked his fingers through his hair, looking as though he'd rather be any where but here. And when he turned, she saw the gun at his back. The best reminder out there that she shouldn't be trying to entice the guy who carried it.

"When do you have to report in?" She put a couple of cheese slices between two pieces of bread, opened the cupboard for a glass. At least the water would be cold.

"I don't punch a time clock."

"Rennie lets you come and go as.you please?"

"As long as I get the job done."

She put the sandwich and the glass of water on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. "What job?" And then immediately wished she hadn't asked. She had her own problems to worry about; she didn't need to take on his. especially if they had anything to do with Rennie Spier.

But he plucked his jacket off the couch. From the inside pocket, he took out a battered photograph and slid it on the counter toward her. "Shelley had a son in secret. Rennie wants me to find him."

Shock skittered through her as she picked up the picture. A sober, dark-haired boy stared back at her. "What's his name?"

"Isaac."

She came around to join him. "He looks so serious. I wonder if he knows what happened to his mother." The memory of her own loss created an instant connection with the boy in the picture. "He must be suffering terribly. Do you have any idea where he is?"

He shook his head. "I've been tracking down the playground in the picture, but so far, no luck."

"His mother must have left him with someone she trusted. Friends, family."

"Shelley's only friends were green and had pictures of presidents on them. As for family, she had an aunt out on the island who took care of the kid until she died a few months ago."

"But why would Shelley hide the boy from Rennie?"

"Who knows? She was crazy." He stared at the sandwich moodily, and like so many times before, she sensed he was holding back painful memories.

"Hard to tell what she was like from the stories and pictures in the paper," she said quietly. "Except that she was beautiful." She shook her head. "So sad. All that potential, wasted."

"Potential?" He snorted in disdain. "The only potential she had was for being manipulative and selfish."

His voice was so vehement it surprised her. "You didn't like her very much, did you?"

He stared over the counter into the darkened kitchen for a long time. Then softly, "I didn't say that." Something crossed his face. Wistfulness? Regret?

"You told me once that someone adopted you when you were a kid. You meant Rennie Spier, didn't you?"

He tensed, almost imperceptibly. "So?"

"So, I wouldn't want Rennie to get his hands on my son, either."

He turned his head, meeting her gaze. A pinprick of hurt flared and died in his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Face impassive again, he shrugged. "Blast away. I'm sure I deserve it"

Did he? "I just meant she might' ve had a good reason for what she did. Maybe she was thinking of him." She nodded toward the picture of the dark-haired boy.

"Maybe." But from the tone of his voice, he didn't believe it.

Sliding the candle nearer, she studied the face in the photo. "He doesn't look like Rennie, does he?"

"How would you know?"

"I did some research. Besides, Rennie Spier's picture was all over the paper." She peered at the boy more closely. "There's something about his eyes, though. Something familiar."

Before she could figure out what, Nick swiped up the photograph and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing. I shouldn't have shown you the picture in the first place. It's not your problem."

She searched his face, but he avoided her gaze. Just as well. He was right; it was none of her business. Or at least, she'd like to think so. Hard to do when a child was at risk.

Picking up the glass, he pressed it to his forehead. "Man, it's hot in here."

Abruptly, he put the gun on the counter and tugged his shirt over his head. Underneath, a sleeveless undershirt sculpted his smooth chest. A thin film of sweat oiled his dark skin. His shoulders rolled broad and powerful, the muscles in his arms firm and well defined.

Her breath caught. Why did he have to be so beautiful?

Desperate for distraction, she worked to keep her gaze on his face and not the muscles that rippled every time he moved. "So is that why you think Rennie killed her? Because she stole his son?"

"He's done it for less."

She could believe it. "Do the police know?"

"The police have wiped Rennie off their suspect list. He has an airtight alibi, and so does Frank."

"Frank?"

"Rennie's partner. His rainmaker."

"What's a rainmaker?"

He leaned toward her to recapture the water glass. The sudden closeness sent her heart swerving. "The guy who drums up business. Twists whatever arms need twisting. Although I don't imagine Frank's much muscle these days. Martin probably handles most of the rough stuff."

"And who's Martin?"

"You met him. At the school." He rubbed the glass with its cool contents over the center of his chest. Her mouth went dry.

The, uh... the linebacker who looks like an overgrown teddy bear?"
Stop that. Stop doing that.

He smiled grimly. "Yeah, that's him. A real lovable guy. Supposedly, he was in Sweden buying a boat for Rennie's marine division."

"Supposedly?"

"He could have sent someone in his place. Or used a fake passport to sneak back into this country. The only trouble is, his story pans out so far. I checked."

"So you have no proof?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"What's your next step?"

"Keep digging." He brought the glass of water to his mouth and swallowed half the contents, his powerful, tanned throat working smooth and strong.

Tearing her gaze away, she escaped into the kitchen. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe Rennie didn't do it? Plenty of people must want to get back at him. You don't get to the top in your line of work without making a few enemies."

"Yeah, that's the theory the police are working up. But I say the answer is closer to home. A lot closer."

She ducked her head, busying herself by pouring water into another glass. When she finished, he was walking into the room.

"I'll admit a hit-and-run isn't Rennie's style," he said, refilling his glass from the sink. "The outcome is too unpredictable. And he likes to work up close and personal, Frank used to tell these stories of what Rennie could do with a stiletto-" He stopped, as if suddenly remembering where he was and who he was talking to. He stared hard at the glass in his hand. "It doesn't matter anyway, Rennie just pays the bills now. He's not too fussy as long as no witnesses turn up and the job gets-"

His head snapped up. Slowly, he placed his glass in the sink.

"What is itr

He put a finger to his lips and mouthed the words, "Stay here." A fast glance at the gun on the counter that clearly said, No time. He was already moving out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Then she heard it, too. A noise. At the front door. Her heart began to pound.
They won't come back. They won't.

But they had.

A hulking shape entered the apartment. Backlit from the light in the hall, he had no features, and before she could better define him, Nick dove, knocking the other man off his feet.

She watched in helpless terror as the two men fought They rolled over the floor, half in and half out of the apartment. In the dark, she couldn't see much, but she could hear everything. The sickening thud of bone meeting flesh, the grunts and muffled cries of pain.

Stop. God, please stop.

But what if they did, and Nick didn't get up?

In answer to her question, the two men crashed into the doorway, slamming the door against the wall once, then twice. She jumped each time, her heart racing.

Finally, Nick had the hulk by the throat, smashed against the doorjamb.