McCabe

by Jenna Ryan

  “Tangled webs are hellish, don’t you think, McCabe? Love’s a bitch and a trap. Hatred’s the way to go. Do you hate me as much as I hate you? Do you hate me as much as you love her? Do you love her enough to do what needs to be done? Or will you risk watching her die?”

  When he laughed, the features around the smile reformed in McCabe’s mind. Everything inside him turned to stone when he realized the face was no longer Mockerie’s but his own.

  Chapter Ten

  Carmina was a very small town, barely a village in fact. It wasn’t as far off the highway as Rowena might have wished, but as McCabe had said, it was likely too obscure for James to notice.

  She followed the directions he’d woken up and given her halfway there, driving through a bunch of poorly paved streets to the central square.

  The heart of the town was quaint and rather pretty. There were hacienda-style houses, a handful of what she assumed were shops and businesses and possibly a jail slash courthouse, with eight or ten people meandering aimlessly between them. She heard Mexican music from what looked to be a second-floor apartment and a twangy country-western song coming from a dimly lit establishment that was undoubtedly the local bar.

  “Hotel’s a block over,” McCabe said from under the bill of his cap. “It’s called the Sonora. Tito Vargas owns it. He’s in Palm Springs at the moment. It’s been closed for the past month.”

  “That’s…interesting,” she decided. “How is it you’re privy to this information?”

  “Tito worked for the Justice Department a while back. He lets us use his hotel whenever the need for a safe house arises.”

  “Not sure that makes me feel particularly secure.” Rowena took note of a cockeyed sign suspended over a wooden sidewalk. Her gaze traveled to a tumbleweed that had gotten stuck between two weed-filled planters. “At least the town has streetlights.” Two to be precise, but they were better than nothing. “What’s the population?”

  “Depends on the time of year. Anywhere from 312 to 340 at the height of Snowbird season.”

  “So, an influx of twenty-eight tourists.”

  “That number’s doubled in the past two years, ever since the mall went up over in Santa Rosita.”

  Rowena checked the clock on the Jeep’s dashboard: 3:22 a.m. local time. That would make it 5:22 on Laurel Key. By rights she should be waking up in another half hour, but then, her own internal clock was so screwed up at this point, what difference did the position of the hour hand make?

  “Will there be food inside?” she asked as she hopped out.

  “I’ll find some.” McCabe retrieved her pack. “We can go through in the alleyway entrance. I have a key.”

  “Meaning you’ve used this hotel before.”

  “I stay with what works. Tito’s a friend, and he’s not on Mockerie’s payroll.”

  Rowena nodded. “I’ll go with that.”

  When the door creaked open she followed him inside. He tried the switch. Nothing happened.

  “I hope Tito stocks candles,” she murmured. “Is there a breaker box?”

  “Fuse box. It’s in the cellar. Use your flashlight. Lobby’s straight ahead. There’s a round padded bench in the middle of the room with a big red bird rising out of it. I think it’s a phoenix. Wait for me there.”

  She shivered despite the oppressive heat. “Why don’t I come with you instead?”

  “Do you like rats?”

  “Uh…” She took an automatic step back. “Maybe I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  He grinned. “Good choice. Straight ahead,” he repeated.

  Rowena fingered her lips and watched him disappear through a doorway. One inconsequential touch, and a hundred memories flooded back. Tears would have joined them if she’d given in to the sudden bout of melancholy that swamped her. How different it all could have been.

  Different, yes, she reflected with a sigh. But if she hadn’t been with James, she wouldn’t have Parker.

  “I think that’s what’s called a catch-22,” she said to the surrounding walls.

  Directing her flashlight upward, she studied the architecture of the old hotel. There were definite Spanish flourishes mixed with the classic American West. The Wild West. Untamed and largely uninhabited, a vast desert landscape, just waiting for Bugsy Malone to come along and create a gambling mecca.

  These days, the glitz and glamor of neon seduced and beguiled all comers. She might prefer Paris, but she had no trouble understanding why so many people were drawn to the sparkle of Las Vegas.

  The building groaned a little around her. Old walls, an old foundation—age did that to wood and stone. A gentle night breeze whistled through cracks in the rafters. The hotel smelled like dried timber and something that made her think of time.

  An arched doorway stood directly in front of her. The knob was ancient and pitted, probably brass. It turned loosely and might have come off in her hand if she’d had to yank on it. Luckily, the hinges squeaked but offered no resistance.

  Another scent assailed her. It was familiar enough that she stopped and swung her beam around the lobby, as curious as she was suspicious.

  Marijuana? Seriously? In an empty hotel?

  She spotted the bird ahead of her. It did look like a phoenix rising from the ashes. It winged up from the center of a circular bench covered in worn red velvet.

  “Cool.” Moving forward, she poked the cushion and grinned. “So, tell me, pretty bird. Does Tito have a stash of pot hidden somewhere in this room?”

  Skirting the bench, she continued to walk. The carvings in the lobby proper were fascinating, once again a blend of Mexican and the old west. Native paintings adorned the walls. Turning, she angled her beam downward. And stopped dead she when she spotted something lying on the carpet. No, not something. Someone. A man. And whoever he was, he wasn’t moving.

  Her heart slammed in her throat. Passed out from drugs or alcohol?

  Rowena crept closer, moving the light back and forth over his body. It only took a moment to spot the large knife with the curved handle embedded in his back.

  …

  McCabe was in no mood to play games. Not with people and definitely not with fuse boxes. The one in the basement of the hotel had five fuses missing.

  “What the fuck’s that about?” he muttered and searched the floor with his flashlight.

  All he saw was cracked concrete, cobwebs, and rat droppings.

  It wasn’t in Tito’s nature to leave anything at the hotel unattended. He’d had exterminators in three times in the last year. So, what was going on?

  His phone beeped, signaling an incoming email. He considered ignoring it, but it might be Dancer. Hell, it might even be Rowena.

  “Christ,” he said and opened the text message. The words jumped out at him, cold and black and stark.

  Wherever you are, McCabe, I hope you’re having fun. Just joking. I really hope you’re pissed off and out of clever ideas. Rowena might be with you for the moment, but in the end, you’ll always be alone. We both know that. Alone like me, you’ll be thinking. Except I’m not, am I? I have a compadre, someone who’s just as bad as me. No touching allowed, right? All hands tied in a sense. Even so, you know as well as I do that I’ll be the one to come out on top. It’s inevitable. Like a fly in a web, the more you struggle, the deeper you’ll become enmeshed. I’m going to kill you, and Rowena. Her first, of course. We’ll call it the natural order of things. And to make your torment complete, I’m going to do my utmost to entice Bert to off Robbie. I think it’s past time for Mommy and Daddy dearest to be together. Think of it, McCabe. Blessed relief for all concerned. But not without pain. And blood. And you on your knees begging for mercy. Hope I spelled that last word right. I’ve never been quite sure what it meant.

  Soon, McCabe. Very, very soon.

  M.

  …

  “Who the hell are you?” A man’s thick voice growled the question at Rowena. Before she could turn, he yanked her around in a rough half circle. “You don�
�t belong here.”

  She didn’t think, she merely reacted. A knee in the crotch should have been too predictable, but he was open enough that she went for it. By flashlight, she watched his face go from ruddy with anger to white with pain before he dropped and curled into a ball.

  As he did, a hand clamped down on her shoulder from behind.

  “Hang on, lady,” a second man said. “What are you…?”

  She didn’t let him finish. Using her flashlight, she struck the side of his head. Before he could grab hold of her again, she took off.

  “McCabe!” She shouted his name. Spotting the doorway, she ran for it. “McCabe!”

  The man she’d struck barreled after her. He was making labored sounds, and his breathing sounded like a wheezy locomotive. He didn’t speak any actual words. Maybe he couldn’t. He just lumbered along, thumping the floor loudly with each step.

  Slamming the lobby door, Rowena switched off her light. “McCabe!”

  He caught her by the arms as the door behind her crashed open.

  “Use your light,” he said, and setting her aside went for her pursuer.

  “No, whoa, wait.” The man threw up his hands. He tried to slow down but wound up tripping and falling into McCabe.

  His arms flailed at the air. An expression of shock passed over his face as his knees and torso landed on the floor.

  Startled, Rowena pointed her beam downward. “No, McCabe. Don’t. Look.” The knife still protruded from the man’s back.

  Grabbing him by the shirt, McCabe hauled his face from the floor. “Who are you, and what are you doing here with a”—he pulled the curved handle free—“Christ, a fake knife in your back? Son of a bitch. You’re playing a murder game, aren’t you?”

  The man, in his early twenties and obviously terrified, nodded vigorously. “We wanted to try something different is all. We knew the hotel was empty so a bunch of us brought drinks and smoke and munchies and worked out a plan. We were going to see who could figure out the clues first.”

  “You broke in,” McCabe said flatly.

  “Yeah, well, kind of. It was Jason’s idea.”

  “And Jason is?”

  Rowena pushed a fist into her solar plexus. “Probably the guy I kneed in the lobby. He came up behind me.”

  “Can I get up now?” the young man asked. “I’ve got asthma, and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding.”

  “Murder victims do that, pal. But, yeah, you can get up.” McCabe glanced at Rowena. “How many of you are there?”

  “Seven. Jason and I were setting the scene. The others are at the bar, waiting for one of us to call.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, this hotel is owned by friend of mine. He won’t appreciate knowing someone’s using it without his permission.”

  “We wouldn’t have hurt anything.”

  Recovered now, Rowena asked, “How did you get in?”

  “Jason jimmied a window. It was stuck but not locked.” The young man swallowed. “I don’t think.”

  McCabe stood back while he hefted himself up. “Go on,” he said. “Find your friend and get out. And next time you decide to do something like this, talk to the property owner first. Knowing Tito, he’d have rented you the hotel for a song.”

  The man nodded. He plodded ahead of them into the lobby.

  No surprise to Rowena, Jason had deserted his friend. The young man returned the fuses he and Jason had taken from the box downstairs and with a wheezy sigh of relief slunk out of the hotel.

  “My hair’ll be snow white by the time I’m thirty-five.” Rowena ran her fingers through it, and regarded the ends. “I’m surprised it isn’t already.”

  “You’ll be gorgeous no matter what color your hair is.” Draping an arm over her shoulders, McCabe looked down at her and grinned. “Welcome to Carmina, sweetheart. So tell me, are you still hungry?”

  Leaning into him, she laughed. And for the first time in far too many months to count, relaxed.

  …

  All in all, it wasn’t a bad hotel. The rooms had shampoo, blow dryers, and herbal soap shaped like Mexican sombreros in the bathrooms. They ate canned soup with slightly stale crackers and talked. She told him about Parker, but she couldn’t let herself think the worst about where he might be. McCabe swore to her that her son was safe, that the people watching over him could be trusted. She believed him, but she’d never feel completely settled until she had him back.

  In spite of his reassurances it became increasingly clear to Rowena that McCabe was only half there. He listened to her, yes, but the look in his eyes told her that much of his mind was in another place. Probably on James. No, strike that. It would definitely be on James. For all his demons, McCabe was as obsessed with his former childhood friend as that ex-friend was with him.

  The question “why” echoed in her head long after she climbed into one of the antique four-poster beds. Who was McCabe? Had she ever really known? Or had it been about sex between them from the beginning?

  Well, of course, sex had been a big part of it. His touch haunted her. She could still feel his hands roaming over her body. She remembered him coming to her. Lifting her up in his arms and carrying her to a beautiful feather bed.

  Had either of them had a feather bed in Paris? Didn’t matter. She was lying on one now in memory, with the weight of McCabe’s body pressing her down and his mouth driving her wild with desire. Hunger spiked. She remembered bowing up to meet him. Lights sparkled behind her eyelids, but in the end, she’d just wanted him inside her. She swore she felt his tongue circle her breast, felt her own fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. When she’d been unable to stand it anymore, she’d dragged him back up until his mouth was on hers once again. Plundering, devouring, demanding. Hot and seeking…

  “Jesus!” The memory broke apart like shattered glass. Her eyes opened to fading desert light. She sat upright in bed, her breath heaving. Her skin felt scorched, and she was so twisted up inside it took her several deep breaths before she could think again.

  She spent the better part of an hour willing herself to sleep. Concern for Parker kept running through her mind and terrifying her. Yes, she trusted McCabe, but she wanted to see her son, to hold him and know he was safe.

  She realized she’d slept, because when she glanced over at the clock radio, she was shocked to see it was six thirty. At night. Good God, had she really missed the entire day?

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she reminded herself that Parker was far better off where he was than with her. Hell, she’d be far better off where he was than where she was at this moment. But this was where she needed to be, for everyone’s sake.

  Resigned, she tuned back into her feelings for McCabe. Did it have to be like this between them? Or could some of what they had before be recaptured? He was mystery to her and he always would be. That was a given in her opinion. As for the secrets…

  “To hell with them,” she said aloud. “We’re not done yet, Ace, not by a long shot.”

  But the questions refused to be pushed to the back of her mind. Sex, secrets, man of mystery… Why couldn’t she have met someone normal and nice and settled down in the town where she’d grown up? She could have helped run her grandparents’ ski resort. Let them retire to their fishing lodge higher in the mountains.

  Since there was no answer to that, she slipped from the bed and looked out the window. The sun was almost nonexistent on the colorful desert horizon.

  “I’m starting to feel like a vampire,” she said to the burgeoning twilight outside. “At the very least, I’ll wind up vitamin D deficient.”

  She’d slept naked because, well, frankly because the sheets were cotton and deliciously soft. She knew McCabe never wore anything to bed, either. Except maybe his gun these days.

  The thought made her smile; however, her amusement was short-lived. Seriously, what was wrong with him, and why wouldn’t he tell her what it was?

  Maybe because whenever she asked he simply evaded the quest
ion or gave her a vague answer that told her nothing. Should she push him for more? Absolutely. But making him angry wasn’t her goal. She wanted Parker back. And that was something she truly believed he could help her do.

  With thoughts of Parker and McCabe running through her mind, she moved to watch the crown of the sun dip below the horizon in a spectacular vista of crimsons, golds, and oranges.

  Donning one of the white terry robes provided by Tito, she went into the bathroom and indulged herself in a frothy rose-scented bubble bath. A massage would have worked much better to relieve the tension, that had become her constant companion, but if McCabe felt this place was safe, she had to believe it was. She needed some time to herself, to think about her son and everything that lay in front of her. When she emerged in a cloud of steam and scent, dusk had given way to darkness, soft music was playing on the radio, and there was a white box tied with a silver bow lying on the bed.

  Surprise warred with delight as her gaze traveled first to the door then back to the bed. After all this time, McCabe still knew exactly which buttons to push to soften her heart.

  Smiling, she attacked the bow. Off came the top of the box; out came the tissue, and…

  “Oh my God!” Everything in her mind turned to mush. All her questions vanished when she saw what was inside. “This is beautiful.”

  It was far more than that really. The strapless dress inside was going to fall far short of her knees and cling in all the right places. The fabric was blood red, whisper thin, and there was a pair of matching stilettos to go with it.

  Underneath, she discovered a tiny box. Touched and bemused, she picked it up. With a last glance at the dress, she removed the top.

  “Jesus, McCabe,” she said out loud. “When, how, and why?”

  Although in her heart she probably understood the why. He was doing it partly to distract her. Her son might be safe, but she wasn’t with him. Wouldn’t be with him until this nightmare ended. If it ended. And then there was the other side of it. None of the feelings between them had died. They hadn’t even gone dormant. She’d known that when he’d kissed her back in Colombia. She just hadn’t allowed herself to admit it until now.