Like a Knife (7 page)

Breathless and still struggling to maintain his hold, Nick called out, "The gun, Rachel, throw me me gun."

She hesitated for half a second. A gun had been the source of her life's greatest wound. Could she pick one up«ow, even in her own defense?

'Throw me the goddamn gun!"

Not in her defense, maybe, but in Nick's. Swallowing her revulsion, she leaped to retrieve the weapon. Too late. The hulk used Nick's momentary distraction to break his hold and run down the hallway.

A curse, and Nick raced after him.

She followed, running out of the kitchen, through the front door and down the hallway.

Nick disappeared through the stairwell door. Heart in her throat, she ran after him. A flight below, he stopped, turned toward her and then back toward the escaping man.

"Go back!" He pounded halfway down the steps, then slowed again when she didn't stop. "Dammit!" He raced back up, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her the rest of the way down the stairs with him.

The man was gone by the time they reached the lobby. Still holding on to her, Nick ran outside. They searched the grounds, but found no sign of him.

Teeth chattering, though the summer night was warm, she asked, "Who ... who was he?"

He ushered her into the building, stabbed the elevator button with one sharp, furious finger. "I don't know. A day man, probably." His face was turbulent, his voice hard with repressed rage.

"D-day man?" She had to stop this shaking.

"Day man," he practically shouted. "Free agent. Hired hand."

"Hired by who?"

"Who do you think?"

He dragged her back into the apartment, where she wet a washcloth and tried to wipe away the blood dripping from the cut over his eye. He pushed her hand away. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine!" Grabbing the cloth, he threw it against the wall over the couch. She picked it up and threw it back at him. It hit him in the face with a smack and fell to the floor.

"Clean yourself up, then." She stormed down the hallway into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Jerk. She plopped down on the bed, trying to subdue the shakes.

A knock on the door. "Go away."

He opened the door. In the streetlight that filtered through the window she saw the blood on his face was gone. "Look... I'm sorry." He stood in the doorway, shifting the wet washcloth from one hand to the other. "If I had been able to catch him, talk to him..."

She glowered at him. "Go ahead, rub it in. If I hadn't hesitated, if I hadn't slowed you down on the stairs..."

A kind of bleakness seeped into his face. "It's not your fault, Rachel. None of this is your fault." He swallowed and looked down at the washcloth in his hand.

Her heart twisted. Gently, she said, "It's not your fault either. You didn't send that man tonight You didn't send anyone to hurt me."

He threw her a sad, bitter smile. "That doesn't change the fact that none of this would have happened if not for me."

There was truth to his words, but she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not when the larger truth lay at someone else's feet. "If not for Rennie Spier," she said quietly.

She took the washcloth from him and laid it over the sink in the bathroom. When she came out, he was sitting on the couch, elbows on knees, head in his hands. The pose accented his strong neck and the smooth expanse of his broad shoulders, making him look both powerful and powerless at the same time. She had a sudden urge to put her arms around him, hold him, comfort him.

But she didn't. She might not blame him for what had happened, but tonight only proved that getting close to him was dangerous.

"Nick, something still doesn't make sense to me. You said Spier brought you back to find his son. Won't threatening me only drive you away?"

He took his hands away from his head and stared out at the room. "No, he's pulling the chain, forcing me to heel. Making me do what
he
wants. Find the kid and forget the rest."

"What rest?"

"Proving he's a goddamn murderer."

A shiver of fear raced through her. Nick didn't notice. Face grim, he scooped up his shirt and jacket and stood. "Let's go."

A new kind of fear began to percolate. "Go? Go where?"

"Anywhere. Your family. A hotel. Arizona. Mexico."

She swallowed. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"But that was before-"

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving."

He stared at her, black brows drawn in a frown. "Are you crazy? You can't stay here. Not now."

"Fm not leaving."

"Why the hell not? It's hot as an oven."

"That's just for tonight."

His jaw clenched. "What about the door?"

"I'll get it fixed."

"This is ridiculous. You can't stay. I won't let you."

"You
won't let me?" She glared at him. "What are you going to do-haul me over your shoulder and drag me out?"

"Of course not, but-"

"No one is chasing me out of my own house, Nick. I did that once. I lost my mother, then I lost my father and my home. Every familiar tiring, every beloved memory. Never again."

"This is different. It's just for a little while. A few weeks. Until I can prove Rennie-"

"After my mother died, my father dumped me at my aunt and uncle's. He swore it would only be a few weeks, too."

"For God's sake-"

'Those few weeks lasted the rest of my life, Nick. The rest of my life!" She was trembling again, but this time as much in anger as fear. "Well,
I
choose now. Me. Not you or Rennie Spier or anyone else. And I choose to stay. No one is pushing me out of my life again."

"Look at you, you're shaking,"

"I'm scared. You think I'm an idiot? I'm scared spit-less,. But I'm still not leaving."

"Christ." He shot her a black look that was lethal as a bullet. "Then neither am I."

Nick spent the rest of the night on the floor, leaning against the couch, gun drawn, guarding Rachel and the broken door. Even if he wanted to rest, he wouldn't have been able to. Not with her asleep on the couch behind him.

All night long, her nearness teased him. Her bare legs rested against his back, skin to skin; her breasts lay inches from his hand with only a thin film of material covering them. Once, she rolled over so her arm embraced the width of his shoulders. He swore and moved away.

In the morning, he stood over her while she woke like an angel, smiling and sleepy-eyed. For half a second he imagined watching her wake up like that for the rest of his life.

Dream on, pal.

Arms behind her head, she yawned and stretched, pushing her breasts out "Morning."

He suppressed a groan. "It's late. Better hurry up."

She opened her eyes and saw him, and he watched the memory of what had happened the night before flit across her face. Her sleepy smile faded, her shoulders tensed.

She sat up, bare legs dangling over the edge of the couch. "Is everything all right?" He eased away, needing distance between them, but she grabbed his wrist. "Nothing else happened last night, did it?"

He looked down at her fingers on his wrist. Every nerve ending lit up. "No," he snapped, pulling his arm away. "We don't have much time. Let's go."

She sat up, worry plain in her face. ""What's wrong?"

What wasn't? He hadn't-slept, she was practically naked, and he couldn't think for staring at her. And Ren-nie was still out there. "Nothing's wrong. Except your insane idea to stay here."

Her beautiful mouth frowned at the snarl in his voice, and she looked down at her hands. "Look, I'm grateful for what you did last night, and for keeping me company-especially since you can't possibly understand why I wanted to stay." She lifted her face and her eyes were soft and pleading. "I... I don't want to fight about it. Not first thing."

He let out a long, exasperated breath, feeling himself cave. But if he let go of his irritability, he might have to grab onto something he wasn't ready for, and certainly couldn't have. "There's no point hanging around more than we have to," he said flatly.

"I know that." She stood up, and he fixed his gaze on a spot just above her head so he wouldn't gape at her barely clad body. "Look, I'll be ready in twenty minutes." She headed for the bathroom and shut the door behind her, and a moment later he heard the shower turn on.

To keep his mind off what she was doing in there, he made a few phone calls to see if he could arrange a replacement for the broken door, but it was too early to reach anyone.

Fifteen minutes later, she came out of the shower wrapped in a towel and drying her hair.

Was she
trying
to drive him crazy?

"Nick, I... I appreciate everything you've done for me," she said softly. "And I don't expect you to baby-sit me. I know you have ... things to do. Murderers to catch." Her mouth formed a thin smile. "And there's the boy. You have to find him. Can't do that if you're stuck to me like glue."

Her face was flushed, and she smelled like freshly cut flowers. A dewy film made her graceful shoulders and neck glow. He buried his gaze in the phone books "Get dressed."

"Nick-"

"If you want to get to school before the
kids
do, you have two minutes."

Silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pivot and march down the hall to the bedroom.

Thank God.

When she reappeared, she wore another skimpy dress that bared her shoulders and showed her legs. In pale orange, the sundress set off the peachy rose in her cheeks and the highlights in her braid. He smothered a curse and. turned toward the front door, ordering her inside while he scouted the hallway. Determining the corridor was safe, he let her advance to the elevator, then checked it before letting her enter.

Rachel watched the James Bond moves with increasing apprehension. "Nick, you're scaring me."

"Good." He bit off the word the way he'd been biting off all his words since she'd woke up. As though he wanted to bite off her head.

But the thing was, she didn't need him to underscore the danger. She was scared enough already.

Outside, he guided her away from the parking garage.

"Where are we going?"

"My car is across the street."

"Your
car? But-"

"We don't need two, and mine is in better shape."

When he led her to his car, she understood why. The silver Porsche was sleek and shiny in the early morning light. "Better shape is an understatement," she said dryly.

"It's Rennie's," he snapped.

"Uh-huh. Part of that... standard he requires of his associates."

She shouldn't have needled him, but she couldn't resist. At least sarcasm might break through the aloof shell he'd grown overnight. She knew her decision to stay in her apartment had been incomprehensible to him, but this morning he was like a bear with a burr up his butt. Was it fear for her, or something else?

She didn't know, and she wasn't going to risk losing a finger or toe, or some other tender part of her, by asking. She laid her head against the seat and bottled up the surge of dread when be took the gun from his waist and stuck it in the glove compartment. He pulled away, and she looked out the window, forcing her breathing into a normal rhythm.

He dropped her at St. Anthony's, pulling up to the front steps instead of the yard. "Go through the church. It's more public. I'll pick you up at six. Stay inside until you see the car."

Despite her best efforts, her heart started thudding. "Do you think he'd do something at fee school?"

"If I did, I wouldn't leave you here."

"Then why-"

"Because it makes me feel better." Another biting reply. Her distress must have shown because he cursed softly, clearly struggling with his temper, his patience, or whatever else was bothering him. '1 have an errand, and I don't want to worry about you while I run it, okay?"

"Are you going to look for the boy?"

"Maybe. Look, just do me a favor, okay? Keep the kids inside, or let Felice take them to play in the yard. Send out for lunch, and stay away from windows and doors."

She bit the inside of her cheek, anxiety making her skin tight. "All right." She slid out of the car and walked up the steps to the church doors.

Nick watched her disappear into the church. She hadn't asked him to go in with her, and he hadn't offered. Hell, the last thing she needed was him showing up again. But he got out of the car and hung around the street, keeping an eye out until the rest of the teachers arrived.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Yesterday, he would have done anything in his power to keep her away from him. Now, he was doing everything he could not to let her out of his sight.

And the bridge that went from there to here was Ren-nie Spier.

Just then, his cell phone rang. It was one of the carpenters he'd called earlier.

"I need a security door installed in an apartment in Forest Hills," Nick told him. "Steel reinforced with an electronic lock and two heavy-duty deadbolts."

"No problem. How about two weeks from Thursday?"

"I need it done today."

The man laughed. "Good luck, pal."

Nick got the same answer at all the other places he'd called.

After six more tries, he asked, "How much does a job like that go for?"

The repairman said, "Depends. I come out, give you an estimate."

"Whatever it costs, I'll triple it. Cash. If you can do it today."

The man whistled. "I don't know. Triple? Geez. Let me see what I can work out." He put the call on hold and returned a few minutes later. "Today is impossible, no matter how much you offer. But I can move things around for tomorrow, first thing."

"Done." He gave the address and hung up. That left only tonight to worry about.

He slid into the car and twisted the ignition key. At the moment Rachel was safe, surrounded by the kids, teachers, and the church staff. Now he had to make sure she stayed safe.

He drove to Manhattan and parked on the street a block from SATCO headquarters. Before he got out, he opened die glove compartment and stared at the Beretta he'd stashed inside. He didn't want to start feeling as though he couldn't go anywhere without the 9mm, but he also didn't want to get caught short.
Fuck it.
He wrapped his hand around the grip and slipped the gun under his jacket.

Entering Spier's compound, Nick took the glassed-in elevator to the top floor. In the weeks since he'd been back, he'd avoided the corporate levels, as if staying away made working for Rennie less real.

Now he headed straight for Spier's office. Memories assaulted Nick as he took the familiar route. He'd been sixteen when he'd completed his first big job for Rennie, smuggling twenty tons of explosives to the airport in Atlanta, where it was shipped to Germany and then on to Libya. A pinch of that stuff could have blown him to hell and beyond, but he sweated the hundreds of miles because he wanted to impress the man who'd been both God and father to him.

His stomach clenched. He'd been so young then. That was long before he understood the connection between what he did and the headlines. Before the booze and Shelley. Before Panama.

Steeling himself, Nick plunged into Spier's office. Quickly, he scanned the spacious room. The bank of television screens banding the walls hung dark. No one sat in the plush conference area with its hidden bar. He walked to the desk, knowing someone in the security office was watching his every move. Well, he wasn't keeping it a secret. He was looking for Rennie; if they alerted him to Nick's presence, he'd see him that much faster.

The curved desk, carved out of a single piece of smooth, white birch, sat empty. Rennie didn't leave papers lying around, but the secure-line button on the phone was lit. Was Rennie using someone else's office? Carefully Nick depressed the line. A voice flooded the room, but it wasn't Rennie's.

"... tonight," Frank was saying. "Two men," He paused. "I know Martin usually makes the calls. Now I'm making them."

Nick stilled. Frank was putting a crew together. A small crew. Small enough to handle a lone woman?

Anxiety spiked in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. Ignoring the whirring cameras that followed his every move, he strode down the hall and slid into Frank's office.

He was still on the phone at his desk, his round, beard-heavy face concentrating on whoever was on the other end. He held up a stubby hand, signaling Nick to wait, but Nick's fingers were already tight with the urge to punch something. He depressed the line button, cutting off the call.

"What the-" Frank jerked upward, but Nick pushed him back into his chair.

"I hear you're setting up a meet," he said, not wasting time. "What's Rennie up to?"

Frank looked as if Nick had lost his mind. "What the hell's got into you? Jesus." Frank tried to retrieve the call, but Nick tugged the cord out of the wall.

"Is Rennie going after Rachel again?"

"Who?"

"You know damn well who, but if you want to play games"-he drew the Beretta from behind his back-"I can play games."

"Whoa, hold on." Frank retreated into the chair and held up his hands. "Slow down. Put the gun away, for chrissakes."

Nick's hand tightened on the weapon; he struggled to keep his voice pleasant as he neared Frank. "Someone cut the power to Rachel Goodman's apartment and tried to attack her last night."

Frank's squinty eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Goodman. That's your girl, isn't it? The teacher."

Nick almost lost his tight-lipped control. "She's not my girl. She's the director of the school at St. Anthony's."

"And someone tried to get into her apartment?" Frank shook his head. "Wasn't us."

"Who the heU else could it be?"

"On my life, Nicky, it wasn't us. Lose the piece."

"Convince me." He pressed the barrel deep into Frank's head, Beneath the muzzle, a sweaty film slicked the older man's skin. He was breathing hard, and for a long while, he said nothing.

"I could've crushed you, Nicky." His voice was low, the words halting. "I had your life in my hands, and I let you live. I'm asking you to do the same."

Nick remembered that long-ago day in the kitchen, when Frank had held an old, rusted weapon to a boy's throat. "If you're talking about that Luger, you know damn well the thing wasn't loaded and wouldn't have fired even if it was."

"I'm not talking about the Luger. I'm talking about you. I know more about you than you think, Nicky. I know more than anyone, except-" His eyes flicked up to Nick's, then slid away. "Except maybe Shelley."

An icy draft slid up Nick's spine. Was Frank saying he knew about the affair Nick had with Shelley? Dumbfounded, he let his hold waver.

Frank reached up and eased the gun away from his head. "But I believe in peace in the family. I don't like to see hearts broken... or heads." Slowly, he rose. "So I keep things to myself. That's why you can trust me when I say we had nothing to do with whatever happened to your girlfriend."

Head high, he stood, pushed past Nick, and walked out of the office. Nick stared after him. If Frank knew, if he even suspected... but he couldn't know. He would have told Rennie, and Rennie would have... But Nick wasn't dead.