The Right Kind of Trouble (40 page)

She saw Moira and the fear on her face, the terror …

Gideon stared at her.

She stared back.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Charles was the one who shattered the silence.

“I should have known you'd hunt us down. It's like she's a bitch in heat and you can't stay away. Even after I spent three years shagging her, you still can't stay away.”

Rage was a hot, greedy monster in Gideon and all he wanted to do was grab, rip, rend, tear.

But Gideon smiled. “Hey, maybe if you'd been any good at it, she wouldn't have wanted me.”

Charles just laughed. “I'm not going to trade insults with you, you stupid Yank. You're not as thick as you might let on so don't bother with me. I know you, probably better than you know me.”

“Is that a fact?” Gideon nodded slowly. “Okay. Tell me something, since we're being honest here. When you changed your name a few years back, was it because you were just keeping your cards close to your chest or because you were ashamed of being a Whitehall?”

The single eye Gideon could see narrowed, and the skin around it went a dull, ugly red. He went to straighten, but abruptly, he froze. “Good one … like I said, you're not so thick. But I'm not about to stand up and make myself a target for whatever fool cop you have hiding in the trees over there. How did you get onto my island, Marshall? Was … wait. The old man. You had him bring you. Didn't you?”

“You're not so thick yourself, Georgie.” Gideon smiled at Moira, keeping it smooth and calm. “He was named after his dad, you know. Charles George Whitehall Hurst. Changed it when he was twenty. I guess you could say he's been planning this little get-together for a while.”

“All my life.” Charles' voice was silky and smooth. He slid one hand up Moira's throat and started to squeeze. “What did you think when you saw the bruises on her, Marshall? Were you angry? Did you want to kill? Do you want to kill now?”

Her breath released out of her in a burst while Gideon fought now to lunge for him.

Next to him Frost was quivering and snarling.

He gripped her harness but she was started to tug and jerk.

“Better shut that soddin' dog up or I will.”

“Might be hard,” Moira said, her voice rough. “Your hands are full.”

“Be…”

A shot rang out.

Blood spurted and Charles howled.

Moira screamed.

Gideon swore.

Charles stumbled back a few feet, but didn't let her go. He'd straightened only a brief second, too brief to really make a good shot. What was Zeke …

Make him move or I gotta move …

He lowered his eyes to Charles' empty hands.

He had a weapon, yeah. But right now, he wasn't carrying it. One reason why a cop should never work a case involving somebody he loved. They got stupid.

Gideon let go of the dog.

Frost darted forward and sank her teeth into Charles' wrist.

His bellow echoed throughout the noontime sky and he let go of Moira, unable to hold on with the huge shepherd clamping down on him. He tried to shake her off, but it wasn't happening.

Gideon saw him going for his weapon, the action slow and awkward because Frost had gone after his right hand. “Don't go for that gun, Charles, I'll shoot you right here, so help me God.”

He heard movement behind him, but he didn't dare look.

“I'll keep him covered if you want to get her off so you can cuff the son of a bitch.”

Gideon took a step forward, uncertain about how to do that. Oh, he'd seen handlers pull their dogs off people before, but he wasn't a handler and this dog wasn't K-9 trained. She was trained to protect and that was what she'd done.

He hesitated and that fraction of a second cost him.

Charles swung out with his left fist, brutal, hard and fast, punching Frost in the throat.

She made pained noise but didn't let go.

Not the first time.

But the second time …

“Stop!” Zeke bellowed.

Charles was like a man possessed though and he smashed his fist into the dog's skull. Frost went limp. Moira screamed like a demented banshee and lunged between Gideon, Zeke—and their weapons—to get her dog.

She came nose to muzzle with the gun Charles had pulled from an ankle holster.

“Not so thick indeed, Marshall, eh?” He gestured to Moira. “Up you go, pet. We're going for a walk. After all, I'm not done with you. We've talking yet to do. I'm here for a reason, you see. You're going to help me find what was taken from Whitehall.”

She stayed by the dog.

“I'd rather you just shoot me,” she said flatly. “I can't help you find something that doesn't exist.”

“Then I'll shoot him.” Charles knew her well enough to know she wasn't going to bluff—after all, he couldn't force her to do anything if he followed through with his threat, and she was too smart not to think about the fact that if he shot her, Gideon and the old man with the rifle would take him down in the next blink.

Charles' mouth twisted in a smug smile and she knew he'd already thought all of that through as well.

He had the gun aimed at Gideon's head.

Not at his chest, protected by his vest, but at his head.

Moira slid a look at Gideon. Slowly, she stood.

“Don't even think about it,” Gideon growled.

Her mind spun at a million miles an hour. “I can't let him shoot you, Gideon. You know that.” She reached up to touch his cheek. Behind her, Charles got to his feet. There was a grunt of pain and she saw the older man's eyes narrow.

“Point it elsewhere, you old git, or I'll shoot her in the back, here and now.”

“Knew you for a coward the second I saw you.” The old man spat on the ground.

“Truly, my feelings are shattered. Moira.”

“Don't,” Gideon said again, grabbing for her.

She backed away. “Gideon, I'd much rather see him gator bait…” She slid her eyes to the side, wondering if he'd understand. “But you know I can't let him hurt you.”

Gideon's eyes flickered.

Did he know?

“Damn it, Mac!”

She backed away another step and turned, walking swiftly to the south.

“Ah, she's in a hurry, my darling wife.”

“
Ex
-wife,” Gideon snarled.

“Lower that weapon, Chief. See? I'm turning around. You want to shoot a man in the back?”

*   *   *

Gideon swore as Charles did just that and then sprinted across the small clearing just as Moira disappeared behind a tree.

He heard her startled cry, followed by a furious yell.

Snarling a low command into his radio, he met Zeke's eyes.

“Think she knows about that gator Marvin mentioned?” Zeke said, his voice low.

“I don't know.” Gideon nodded at the dog. “Take care of her.”

“Marshall … you know why we have dogs…”

“I know Moira will be heartbroken if something happens to her dog. She's a pet, not property. That's what Moira will think.”

“They are my family,” Zeke muttered. “But—”

“No buts. Take care of the dog. Hurst isn't going to shoot Moira yet. He wants something from her first.”

And he wanted it enough to die for it.

He slid through the trees, falling back on the stealth tactics he'd learned so long ago, using the shadows of the trees and the natural camouflage of rocks and fallen limbs as he made his way down the hill, not moving in a straight path. He'd silenced his radio, not wanting to risk any noise distracting him—or alerting Hurst.

He could see them now, Charles' tall frame and Moira's disheveled red hair.

She stumbled once.

When she braced a hand on a tree, Hurst smacked on the back of her head with his hand—the weapon hand since his other one was all but useless, dripping blood and hanging limp at his side.

Gideon began to cut through the trees, moving at a diagonal line, placing each foot deliberately and rolling it down heel to toe, his department-issued weapon held in a loose two-handed grip as he kept his eyes on the people he could only see intermittently. Charles kept shooting looks up the hill.
Smart boy … you know I'm coming after you,
Gideon thought.

But Charles didn't realize how precarious a position he'd placed himself in, and it had nothing to do with a gator that Gideon wasn't entirely sure was down there.

Moira was a Mississippi girl, born and bred, and she knew all about living in gator country. Charles … well, he might have lived in Treasure for a few years, but it wasn't like they often had them coming up out of the bayous. It happened, but it wasn't a regular occurrence and they sure as hell weren't seen around winter.

While he was almost positive Charles didn't know that Moira might be leading him right in the jaws of a potentially pissed-off mama gator, he wasn't going to risk that he and Zeke were inferring more into her comment than what was there.

And that was
Moira
.

He wasn't going to let
her
near a fucking gator either.

Especially a mama with young.

Charles, though … well. Moira had mentioned him being gator bait.

Breathing slow and steady, Gideon continued his deliberate trek through the heavy growth, never once taking his eyes from Moira and Charles.

Each time Charles stumbled, Gideon weighed his options.

Each time, the son of a bitch steadied himself before Gideon had the chance to decide if he could safely get in a shot.

Keep her safe
. This time, he wasn't praying. He was demanding. He knew it didn't work that way, but he didn't care.

*   *   *

Moira's head bobbed and swayed and the red seemed to blur in and out of focus, but Charles kept his eyes focused on the one that seemed most … well, real.

Every once in a while, there would be three of her and wasn't that a pisser.

One Moira McKay was quite enough, thank you.

The shock had long since faded and Charles thought briefly of making her stop and do something to tie off his arm. He was losing blood and quite a bit of it, but it was no longer pulsing from him in a steady flow, so there was no arterial damage. He remembered that much from university, back before the stupid fucks had decided he wasn't quite up to snuff.

Not that he'd wanted to be a bloody doctor anyway, but it would have been useful. Had proven useful anyway in the long run, hadn't it?

He could make it to the jon boat and once he did, he'd figure out what to do with his arm.

Bugger, but it hurt.

That dog.

He should have killed it when he had the chance.

Moira stumbled ahead of him and he snarled. “Fuck me, Moira. You're all cack-handed. Can't you stay off your bloody arse?”

She turned her head as she rose to her feet, giving him a chilly smile.

Perhaps that smile should have warned him.

But he'd seen that icy smile before.

It was the one she wore when she was brassed off and he hadn't expected anything less from her. He truly
hoped
she'd be angry. Because it would be that much more enjoyable to crush her to nothing.

She caught a tree when her foot slid on something and she gasped.

Swearing, he shouldered past her. “Stop your bloody whinging.”

“You're not the one stomping around in the winter barefoot, you dumbass,” she said from behind him.

“There's my dear wife. So eloquent and elegant.” He said it mockingly as he squinted into the bright sunlight. The tree line had ended some yards back but they were just now breaking free of the shade. He squinted into the light as he turned to look at Moira. “Come along, love. We've got so much to discuss. You cannot possibly understand how long I've waited for this.”

“Sure.” Moira took one slow step toward him, her eyes flicking past him. “Ah … Charles? You might want to be careful.”

He gestured at her. “Enough with the games, pet. Come
on
.”

She took one more small step forward, her eyes still on the ground. “Know what I said I'd do to the man who put these marks on my neck? I told Gideon I'd turn him into gator bait.”

“Yes, I'm sure you did.” He dipped his head and gestured toward the riverbank—and his boat. “Let's
go
.”

He took one step.

There was a strange hissing sound.

“Charles … did you know that alligators don't hibernate in the winter? They go torpid, but if it warms up enough…”

Moira's eyes were narrowed and she was no longer looking at the ground. She was staring at him with cold practical calculation. Slowly, Charles lowered his gaze.

His breath froze.

His very blood froze.

The knobby eyes protruding from the top of the skull looked up at him with nothing more than pure, predatory intent. There were smaller ones around the big one and dimly, Charles had some vague memory of his father talking about his mum—it would have been Charles' gran. He'd never met her. But his father had talked of her often …
She was something, Charlie. Would have fought the devil for me. Would have taken on ol' Paddy McKay himself too.

The alligator hissed. Charles threw himself toward Moira, grabbing her. “Not so fast, you little cunt,” he snarled. She drove her elbow into his gut. A shot rang out. It hit the dirt near his feet.

“Try it again and I'll throw her to that fucking monster over there!” he roared.

Moira sank her teeth into his hand, fighting like a wild beast. She kicked at his shins and swung back with her head.

“I'll fucking do it,” Charles said, wheeling around to look for the alligator.

It was back in its spot, staring at them as they struggled. He hauled Moira farther into the trees. It took them closer toward where the gunfire had come from, but he had a feeling the shooters would easier to rationalize with than a prehistoric eating machine.