Mask of a Hunter

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Curtis flopped into Millhauser’s booth, ordered coffee and held his head between his hands until it arrived, along with the two breakfasts Millhauser was told to order. “This better be good.”

  “I’m in trouble,” Millhauser said, and his drug-hungry voice sounded desperate enough to make anyone believe he needed help.

  When Rory’s breakfast arrived, the eggs were over easy instead of scrambled, the pancakes were white toast and the sausage patties were two strips of bacon. He was about to catch Meg’s attention to fix the mistake, but Rory shook her head. “Not worth it.”

  Millhauser leaned toward Curtis. “There’s a guy I gotta do, but, you know—” He looked around, scared-rabbit jerky. “The body…”

  “What kind of mess d’you get yourself in?”

  Sweat poured from Millhauser as if he were sitting in a sauna. “Bad. I gotta do him before he does me.” Millhauser licked his lips and slurped coffee. “You said you did someone. How’d you take care of the evidence?”

  “I’m not saying I did or I didn’t.” Curtis perked remarkably well. His grin was a shade too smug. “But if I was to, I’d find me a nice deep well. And if he’s driving something, I’d get rid of that, too.”

  Rory gasped and dropped her fork. Hannah started to whine. Ace handed her another triangle of toast. She gummed it noisily.

  Millhauser scratched at his forearm with a dirty nail. “But how d’you get the body out of the house?”

  Curtis had found his appetite and shoveled eggs into his mouth. He was enjoying being the wise professional with an answer for every concern. “Wrap it in a rug. Nobody can tell what’s in there.”

  Rory scrambled the over-easy eggs into a mess with her fork. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Shh. I can’t hear.”

  “What about the blood?” Millhauser’s throat bobbed.

  “If you hit the right spot, there won’t be much.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Aim for the neck.” Curtis made a bone-cracking sound.

  “I don’t want to get too close.”

  “Take him from behind with a baseball bat.”

  Rory swallowed hard. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What?” Ace frowned, straining to hear.

  “This job. Why are you doing it?”

  “Because. Shh.”

  Meg refilled Ace’s coffee cup and skipped over to the next table before Rory could ask for more. Ace traded cups with Rory and waited for Meg to glide by once again for a refill.

  Millhauser wiped a hand under his nose. “What about the car? I don’t have a brother who can chop it up.”

  “Sink it.”

  “Where?”

  “Pond, river.” Curtis shrugged. “Plenty of places around these parts. Better do it before the summer people get here.”

  “Do you drive it in? Push it in?” Millhauser’s gaze darted around like a cockroach caught in lamplight.

  “Jam a stick in there. Holds the pedal down. Put it in gear. Then aim and let go. Gravity does the rest.”

  Rory shredded her toast into mouse-size bites. “You must have a reason.”

  Frowning, Ace stared at her. He hadn’t pegged her for a talker. Why did women always want to talk at the most inconvenient times? “I thought you wanted to hear this.”

  “I’m just trying to understand how you got here.”

  “Motorcycle.” He turned his attention back to the two stooges in the booth.

  “Not funny.” Rory hacked at the bacon until it was bits. “What happened to make you choose this?”

  What was wrong with her? “Nothing. Shh.”

  “You grew up like them—”

  He slanted her a questioning look. What did she know about him? Why was she bringing it up now?

  “Background check.”

  He shook his head. Give a woman a little knowledge and she’ll abuse it. “Shh.”

  “I need to know.”

  “Later.”

  She pushed her plate away, and Hannah slammed a tiny fist into the bacon, sending the bits scattering all over the table. “You could’ve taken the crooked road like they did. Why you’d choose the straight one?”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I need to know.” Her voice faded, and he looked at her, really looked at her, and saw what he’d feared. The bright golden color in her eyes had blackened to that of neglected silver. And there between him and her, that dreaded wall of separation. Stay with me sweetheart. He touched her hand. She snapped it away to her lap. He wished he could hold her. He wished he knew how to comfort. He wished he could reach into the booth and pound the living daylights out of the scum hurting her.

  Millhauser cleared his throat. “Where’d you stash yours?”

  Curtis laughed. “I’m just saying that’s how I’d do it if I needed to.”

  They had the probability. They had the method. They even had the culprits. But because Felicia’s name had never come up during the conversation, and Curtis hadn’t confessed so much as described a hypothetical crime, they still had no case against Mike.

  And that, he knew was why Rory was acting so weird. Pretending Felicia was still alive had become much harder.

  THEIR TRIP TO MANCHESTER was a bust.

  Karla Leach turned out to be Caroline Simmons, Felicia’s best friend in high school. Rory remembered her as a small girl with drab brown hair, a face that was too long and a mouth that was too wide. Rory had discouraged the friendship because each seemed to talk the other into more trouble than they could have found on their own. Of course, the more she’d discouraged, the more Felicia had sought out Caroline’s company.

  Leach was Caroline’s married name, and Karla was the name she’d adopted as her professional name. According to the landlady at Karla’s Spring Street apartment, the divorce had come not a minute too soon. Good riddance to bad garbage. Karla taught at a beauty school on Elm Street, but she wasn’t home right now. She was at some sort of hairdressing teachers’ conference and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week.

  From there the day hadn’t much improved. No one in Claremont seemed to have seen Felicia. Or at least they all pretended they’d never seen the woman in the picture Rory flashed about. As the day grew longer, Hannah got fussier. Nothing seemed to make her happy. By the time they got back to Summersfield, she was howling and Rory was ready to join her.

  All the information in the world could not give Rory the one thing she wanted—her sister’s location. All of her knowledge, all of her intelligence, all of her observations were completely useless. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed Felicia whole.

  She was being too emotional, that was the problem. She was thinking with her heart instead of her head. And that would get her nowhere. What she needed to do was leave her own petty feelings at the door and really get down to business. Felicia was somewhere. She had to be. The earth didn’t swallow people whole.

  Back at the apartment, Rory changed Hannah’s diaper, tried to feed her, even attempted to rock her. Nothing worked. The baby’s cries just got louder and more strident.

  “Here,” Ace said, reaching for Hannah. “Give her to me.”

  Rory handed the baby over, but kept rocking in the chair. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Ace stuck a finger in Hannah’s mouth and felt her gums. Hannah chewed on his finger as if she’d found the Holy Grail. “She’s teething.”

  He rummaged through Hannah’s belongings and came up with a couple of teething rings. He gave Hannah one and put the other in the freezer. “You might want to get some Baby Orajel.”

  Rory nodded and closed her eyes. Well, there went another strike against her. The signs were all there. Why hadn’t she concluded Hannah was teething? She’d read all the information. She had the knowledge. And still it had done her no good.

  She tried to ignore Millhauser and Curtis’s talk of the hypothetical murder, but the conversation trickled through her brain like a leak in a dam. Felicia c
ouldn’t be dead. Not when she was so close to making a clean break. The wave of feelings that came over her about Felicia’s possible demise—murder, call a spade a spade—threatened to overwhelm her.

  Just then Ace’s finger brushed her cheek. He crouched beside the rocking chair. His knee bumped into hers. “Hannah should be okay for a bit. I’ll run out and get some dinner.”

  Turning her face away from his comforting touch, she nodded.

  “Any preference?” he asked. Behind him the door stood ajar.

  “Whatever you feel like.”

  His finger hooked her chin and cranked it back to face him. She opened her eyes and nearly drowned in his dark gaze. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”

  The back of her throat burned. She nodded and tried to look away, but his finger was firm on her chin. “Rory?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ace cradled her legs between his and the heat he generated blanketed her as warmly as a quilt. She wanted to wrap it around herself, let it cushion her, pretend it could keep away the rush of pain speeding toward her. But how could she when Felicia might be somewhere in pain? Might be— No. She couldn’t believe Felicia was dead. Wouldn’t she know it? Wouldn’t she feel it? There was too much to think about to let herself be lulled into false comfort. Not by him. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if this was part of his cover or part of his person.

  His arms molded the rocking chair’s. He set the chair in motion. Even with her arms tight against her sides his fingers brushed her elbows with each small forward pitch of the chair.

  “Mrs. Rennick,” he said so softly, she was tempted to lean forward to hear him. “She used to live next door. She looked about a hundred years old, but was probably only forty. She made the best cinnamon buns. Every Sunday without fail. I’d go over, read the color comics and eat my fill of those sweet cinnamon rolls. Her kitchen is one of the best memories I have.”

  She opened her eyes, tried to read where he was going with his trip down memory lane. Wished she hadn’t when her heart did a funny flip. Where was his mother on Sunday mornings? Why wasn’t she feeding him cinnamon rolls, while he read the funnies?

  “Mrs. Rennick had half a dozen kids and lost them all to gangs or drugs or both. Still she managed to get up every morning with a smile and keep going. Once I asked her how she could with all the sadness around her. She just shrugged and said that everyone does the best they can.” He stopped the chair’s movement. “You did the best you could.”

  And it wasn’t good enough. Rory tried to smile, but like an overburdened scale, it tipped. “Thanks.”

  He shook his head, then canted the rocking chair forward until his lips connected with hers. Her mouth opened in surprise and he took advantage, tasting her gently. She tried to object, but he insisted. His lips were full and soft and he tasted warm and wonderful, and she was so cold, so splintered she needed something to hold her together. One kiss. It couldn’t do any harm. Not when she was so close to falling apart.

  Her arms lifted to his shoulder. Hard muscle. Solid bone. So big. So strong. She let him hold her, support her. She tilted her head back to deepen the kiss as if by doing so he could absorb all the hurt threatening to tear her apart. Her heart hammered. Her head pounded. And she could have sworn her very blood was on fire.

  Cuffing her wrists with his fingers, he tugged her up until they were both standing. When their bodies touched, a zap of something primitive jolted through her. She wanted him, she realized. And there was no mistaking he wanted her.

  A new unnamed fear sprang through the storm of desire. She came up for air, to clear the fog his touch seemed to spawn in her brain. And, as she rested her chin on his shoulder to sort through the tug and pull of a million different reactions, she saw Mike standing in the open doorway.

  He leered at her. “Don’t stop on my account.”

  Keeping an arm looped around her waist, Ace turned to face their unexpected guest. “Mike.”

  Mike pushed himself off the doorframe. “We gotta talk.”

  Ace nodded, then looked at her. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Okay? She’d be just fine. Really. Mike had saved her from making a big mistake. She’d just about talked herself into believing Ace honestly cared about her. But he hadn’t seemed surprised by Mike’s presence. Had he seen him? Heard him? Was the kiss just another part of the game? Ace was working under cover, for heaven’s sake. What had she expected? This wasn’t affection. It was simply role-playing.

  And what had she done? Stupid, stupid her had gone and let herself half fall for the guy just because he could kiss like the devil and make her forget why she was here. The fact he’d managed to tame Hannah’s tears had temporarily scrambled her thinking. Yeah, that was it. He’d caught her at a weak moment.

  She should have known that her physical instincts would lead her astray. A man like Ace was never out of control. He knew exactly what he was doing. She’d learned to trust what she could see, not what she felt. What she’d just experienced was master role-playing.

  He brushed a kiss against her lips. It shivered all the way down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rubbed at the goose bumps pebbling her skin.

  “I’ll bring back some dinner,” Ace said and walked out the door.

  He was leaving. With Mike. The cold hard look in Mike’s eyes told her it wasn’t for mechanical maintenance. More likely the profitable side of Mike’s business. To make another drug deal? The thought nauseated her. To the lab? God, what she wouldn’t do to have this over and done with, to get back home to her nice condo, her desk at the library, her predictable life. Like a fool, she went to the window and leaned against the glass in the corner.

  She watched Ace and Mike straddle their bikes, heard the growl of the two motorcycle engines coming to life. Her heart gave a hard thud. Don’t go. Ace looked up and waved. No doubt trying to reassure the poor crazy woman Sebastian had saddled him with. Then he and Mike sped away.

  Ace was going out there somewhere with Mike. She didn’t know where. She had no idea when he’d return. If he’d return. And there was nothing she could do about it. It was his job.

  Hannah started to whimper.

  With a jerk, Rory pushed herself from the bay window.

  She did not like risk. She did not like uncertainty. She didn’t like the crazed stir of feeling eating her up inside.

  As she picked up Hannah and hugged her, a cold realization numbed her.

  Allowing Ace into her life had slammed her right back into the situation she’d run from seven years ago.

  “No, it’s not the same.” She didn’t care for Ace. It wasn’t the same as when her parents left for one of their “trips.” Once she found Felicia, she would never have to see him again. He would go on to some other undercover adventure, and she wouldn’t have to know a thing about it. It wouldn’t matter. Not one bit. No, other than the lies and the false masks, the two situations had nothing in common. Tightening her hold on Hannah with one arm, she grabbed her tote bag with her free hand. “I have to go to the grocery store, Hannah. We’ll get something for your teeth. We’ll get some food. And we’ll find your mother. You just wait and see.”

  And she won’t have a hole on the side of her head.

  Chapter Ten

  Kissing Rory was a really bad idea. Ace couldn’t believe how easily she’d wormed her way into his senses, dulling his survival instincts. So involved was he with consoling her that he hadn’t heard Mike walk in. Not good for the health of either of them. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone—not in his line of work. Certainly not with the woman he was supposed to protect from harm.

  It was bad enough his responsibility toward his sister gave him vulnerability. He had no doubt Mike would use Bianca’s weakness for meth against him if he found out who Ace really was. And Bianca’s escapades had made keeping her a secret impossible—especially when he had to run to the Cheshire Academy every other week to talk the principal into giving Bianca
another chance.

  Falling for Rory would not only make doing his job more difficult, but it could make her a target if things went sour.

  Ridding the world of scum like Mike had been important to him since he’d beaned a bully in third grade and learned that physical power brought respect, and respect in turn brought admiration. After his mother had fallen prey to the poison trash like Mike peddled, then his sister, he’d turned his drive for beaning bullies to law enforcement. He couldn’t allow Rory to interfere with completing his task.

  But still, as he followed Mike down Spruce Drive, he could not shake away the sight of Rory’s sadness-darkened eyes, the feel of her fiery response to his kiss or the sting of her cold withdrawal. She wasn’t okay, and she needed someone. Why did leaving her behind feel like failure? Because in this mess, he was the closest thing she had to a friend. Ties were always messy.

  Mike led him to a pond outside of town and parked in the scraped-out, two-car dirt spot that served as a parking lot. The waterfall feeding the stream into the pond raged with snowmelt. A woman sat on a park bench, tossing hunks of bread at ducks while her Jack Russell terrier strained at its leash. A boy dangled a fishing line over the concrete retaining wall separating the park from the pond.

  After shutting off the engine to his Harley, Mike leaned both forearms over the handlebars. He studied the ripples kicked up by the breeze on the pond’s surface. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

  Ace mirrored Mike’s pose. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got a hard enough time keeping the feds off my back without mixing business with pleasure. Now that you’re a prospect, I can’t have you at the shop.”

  “Yeah, I kind of expected that.”

  “I’ve got another job lined up for you.”

  Ace grunted. “What kind?”

  “Taz runs a printing press down by the sewer treatment plant. It’s not the same, but it’s a job.”

  Ace shrugged. One step closer to Taz. One step closer to the cook site? The last six months of swimming with scum was finally paying off. “A machine’s a machine.”