COOL UNDER FIRE

by Justine Davis

  "No." She was a little confused by the look of pain in his face. "I … you have a job to do. I'd just be in the way."

  He stared at her. "You really do know this business, don't you?"

  "I cut my teeth on it," she said simply. "So don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'll just—"

  "You'll just nothing," he cut in. "I got you into this, and I'll see that you get out of it. In one piece."

  "And get the job done at the same time? Isn't that spreading yourself a little thin?" He only shrugged. "Look, they want you. They won't bother me—"

  "You're damned right they won't." His jaw was rigid.

  "Stubborn," she murmured, barely audible.

  "Look," he said, grabbing her arms to turn her to face him. "It's my fault they came here. You could have gotten hurt, or worse. I'm not taking any more chances on them getting a shot at you."

  "You're going to have enough to do just to stay alive yourself, without me along. You don't have to protect me."

  An odd gleam came into his clear blue eyes. "Maybe I need you to protect me. You did a hell of a job tonight."

  Shiloh flushed, pleased at his praise, but stuck to her guns. "Then you know I'll be fine. Just take care of yourself." He didn't move. "Go on."

  "No."

  "Why?" she asked impatiently, not understanding why he was being so obstinate about it. He had to see that it was for the best.

  He didn't understand it himself. He only knew that he could no more walk away and leave her to the winds of fate than he could fly. No matter what common sense told him, no matter how high the odds were that she was right, no matter how clearly she had just shown him that she was no helpless female, he couldn't turn away. He had neither the time nor the nerve to analyze why, so he turned to the only reason that made any sense to him.

  "I can't let anything happen to you. I owe it to your brother."

  She felt an odd sensation that, absurdly, seemed almost like disappointment. Then his words penetrated.

  "I got the idea that he owed you." He looked at her questioningly. "Which scar is it?" she asked softly. "The one you took for him?"

  Con stared, startled. "You … know about that?"

  She nodded slowly. "I didn't put it together until last night. That you were the one, I mean. He told me you took a bullet that was meant for him."

  He lowered his eyes, his fingers going in a reflexive motion to the scar at his hairline. "Did he also tell you that he carried me out of there?"

  Shiloh went suddenly still.

  "No, he wouldn't, would he?" he said softly. "I was out the whole time. One hundred ninety-five pounds of dead weight, and he carried me over a mile to the jeep. Got me to the navy hospital." He dropped his hand from the scar. "I owe him, all right."

  Shiloh thought she heard him add, "And for more than that," but the words were so low she wasn't sure.

  Con came out of his reverie to find her watching him intently. He let out a long breath, wondering what would convince her that she had to come with him for her own good. When she spoke, it was to ask the last thing he expected.

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "What?"

  "You were going to leave, as sick as you were … but all you had to do was tell me who you were, what you did for Linc. Why didn't you?"

  "I told you. I didn't want to come here in the first place. I never meant to drag you into this."

  "I know. But you were already here."

  "Yeah." His voice was tired, dull. "I don't even know how. I don't remember much, after the crash."

  "Con—"

  "Let's get going. Only about three hours until dawn. We don't have time to waste. When the boss doesn't hear from them, he'll send reinforcements."

  He expected a protest, but she merely gave him a look that told him she was only postponing the rest of the conversation, then disappeared into the bedroom.

  Well, he thought as he took the keys he'd found in Moose's pocket and went out to search for his car, you wanted her to ask questions. You should have known she wouldn't ask the ones you expected.

  Two blocks away he found a near twin to the car that had run him over the cliff and wasn't surprised when the key fit. He got in and drove it up to the house.

  When he went back inside, he heard her in the kitchen. He noted with some surprise that there were already a small nylon suitcase and a large canvas bag on the floor of the living room, then wondered why he was surprised.

  When he walked into the kitchen he saw she already had several things out on the counter. She looked up from where she was kneeling in front of a cupboard.

  "You found their car?" He nodded. "Are we taking it?"

  "Yes. But we'll take yours, too. I want to dump theirs somewhere. It might throw them off."

  Shiloh nodded, relieved. She somehow didn't relish the idea of riding in the same car with those two. "I'll load this up, then." She reached for one of the bags she'd filled.

  "Leave it. I'll do it after I get them in the car."

  "Are you going to … dump them with it?"

  "No." He smiled crookedly. "I'm going to check our guests into a motel, with orders not to be disturbed. With any luck, nobody will find them for a couple of days."

  "You're going to leave them tied up?"

  He let out a short breath. "Have to. It's the only way to buy us some time. I know it sounds—"

  "—like less than they deserve," she cut in smoothly. "They came here to commit murder, didn't they?" And it would be a long, long time, Shiloh thought, before she would forget the image of Con going up against those two thugs and their guns armed with only a comb.

  She followed him out to the living room and watched while he hauled Moose to his feet.

  "Where are we going?" she asked, looking thoughtful.

  "I don't know yet."

  "Well, I was thinking, I know this beach house down in San Diego—"

  "Later!" he snapped, cutting her off, then regretted his tone. She'd been so calmly efficient that he'd begun to forget she wasn't a pro at this.

  When he had his two unwilling passengers stuffed into the back seat, still chewing on their own socks, he came back and helped her pack up the rest of the food. Setting aside the first full bag, he looked at her.

  "Any other weapons in the house?"

  "No."

  "Bring the .45, then. I'll take theirs."

  She merely nodded. He sighed, searching for words. "I'm sorry I jumped on you. I didn't want to talk in front of them." He gave her a conciliatory smile. "What house?"

  She paused, humor glinting in her green eyes as she looked at him. "There isn't one."

  "What?" He looked blank.

  "There isn't one. I just said that for them."

  Con stared at her, mouth open. A chuckle broke from him, and then he was laughing, full-blown, roaring laughter, as he hadn't let loose in more years than he could remember.

  Shiloh grinned, a little lopsidedly. Lord, he had a wonderful laugh, even if it did sound a little rough, as if it had beep stored away unused for a long time. She guessed it had been; not much remembered joy shone in those blue eyes.

  "I will never," he promised, "underestimate you again, Ms. Reese."

  If he was surprised that her car was in fact a bright red four-wheel-drive Blazer, it didn't show in his face as he loaded the food while she tossed her bags in the back. He turned to look at her.

  "I didn't mean you had to travel that light," he said; based on the glamorous woman who had come home that night, he'd expected twice as much luggage.

  "I've got all I need."

  "I don't know how long this is going to take before it's … okay for you to come back."

  "Safe, you mean? You don't have to sugarcoat it for me. I've had escape plans drilled into my head ever since I was old enough to understand, in case something went sour in my father's work, then my brother's." She stopped, the first sign of worry he'd seen coming into her eyes. "Con…"

  "What?"

  "M
y father…"

  She didn't have to explain. "Where is he?"

  "Santa Barbara. He's still in our house there."

  "He should be fine. Like you said, they're after me."

  "But they knew you might be at my house."

  "Yes."

  She studied his expression. "And you know how they knew."

  It wasn't a question. He sucked in a breath, his lips thinning out as his jaw tightened.

  "I don't know how they knew, but I have a good idea who told them. The same guy who's had somebody on my tail since the beginning." He tossed a box of food in the back of the Blazer with considerably more force than necessary. "I just don't know who's running him," he muttered.

  He slammed the back loading door shut, then looked at her. "Your father will be all right. For a while, at least. They're going to be looking for me and trying to figure out just where you come in." She looked at him silently. "It's the lesser of two evils, Shiloh," he said tautly. "If you go off by yourself, they just might think you had nothing to do with it. But it's doubtful, and you'd be too damn vulnerable alone. Besides, they'd probably grab you, anyway—"

  "To get to you?"

  He nodded.

  She wanted, ridiculously, to ask if it would work. She didn't.

  "As soon as I can, I'll get someone to your father's place to make sure nothing happens. I just need a little time to sort things out."

  "To figure out who the black hats are?"

  He didn't deny it. "There's a joker in the deck somewhere. I just don't know where yet. And until I do…"

  "We're on our own."

  "Yes."

  "In what?"

  He blinked at her.

  "In what, exactly, are we on our own?"

  "Shiloh, I can't."

  "You mean you won't."

  He sighed. "If you like."

  She studied him for a long moment. "You still don't trust me."

  The words were flat, emotionless, but Connor didn't miss the pain hidden beneath them. He couldn't stand it, and the words broke from him.

  "I'd trust you with my life."

  "But not the truth."

  "Shi—"

  "Never mind. What I don't know can't get me in trouble, right? I recognize the protective streak. My brother has one a mile wide, just like my father." Her voice was cool when she went on. "We'd better get going." She walked to the driver's door. "Am I following you?"

  After the moment it took him to absorb the change in her, Con said, "No. I don't know how good a look they got at this—" he jerked a thumb toward the Blazer "—but there's no sense giving them a second chance. There's a motel just off the freeway in Oceanside. I'll drop them there. Maybe it will add some more punch to your little diversion about San Diego." He spared a brief second to flash her a smile of salute. "Can you get to the marina there?"

  "Sure. But I've done a lot of work there. I might run into someone I know, even at this hour."

  He seemed about to ask something, then shook his head. "Okay, somewhere else, then."

  "The mission?" She grinned, the coolness vanished now. "I won't find anybody I know there!"

  He couldn't help grinning back. "What a place to leave their car. Okay, that's it." He glanced at his watch. "Give me two hours." He looked suddenly serious. "You will be there?"

  "I'm in this now. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "I'm not sure I'd blame you if you weren't."

  "I'd rather at least have a clue about what's going on," she said dryly. "You're stuck with me for now, Mr. McQuade."

  "Maybe my luck's changing." It slipped out before he thought. "Two hours," he repeated abruptly.

  She looked at him for a moment. "And if you don't show up in two hours?"

  He looked away from a pair of tiger-green eyes that knew far too much about this ugly business. Too much for him to lie and deny the possibilities. "If something goes wrong … don't wait. No later than five." He lifted his gaze to hers, his voice taking on that brisk, businesslike tone again. "Get out of here. Don't go back to the house, or to your father, or anywhere they'd expect, in case … they don't believe you don't know anything."

  You mean if you can't convince them before they kill you, she thought grimly, wishing, not for the first time, that she'd had an ordinary childhood, without the knowledge that there was an ugly side of the world that made people no more than tools in a twisted, crazy game.

  "Stay low until Linc gets home and you can get to him." His gaze turned suddenly intense. "But only to him. Don't talk to anyone else. Even on the phone. Got it?"

  She raised an eyebrow, her mind racing, but after a moment she only nodded. His eyes went soft and warm. "You're quite a lady, Green-eyes." And then he was gone.

  Shiloh drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous action that belied the even expression on her face. She fought the urge to look at the clock on the dash for the fifth time in as many minutes; she knew it was after five.

  He'd had trouble. There was no other explanation. Damn, she should have asked him which motel. Oceanside wasn't that big, but it would still take time to check them all. Too much time, if he was in trouble. A vision of Moose standing over Con's lifeless body flashed through her mind. She shuddered.

  No, damn it! She would not fall apart, would not sit here shaking helplessly, not as long as she could still move. She reached into the canvas carryall she'd moved up to the front seat and pulled out the .45. She checked the safety, then set it carefully on the seat, hidden by the bag. She reached for the ignition.

  "You were supposed to be gone ten minutes ago."

  She jumped, but managed to stop the startled cry that rose to her lips. Relief flooded her as he pulled open the passenger door and slid in, but she spoke coolly.

  "Do you mind reserving the silent Indian act for the Mooses of the world, please? What happened?"

  She saw amusement flicker in his eyes, but his voice was stern. "Moose didn't like the accommodations. Why are you still here?"

  "I was just leaving." To her disgust, she sounded defensive.

  "For where?"

  When she didn't answer, he reached beneath the canvas tote and pulled out the .45.

  "Never mind, I can guess. I told you to get the hell out of here, Shiloh."

  "Do you always do what you're told?"

  His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "About as often as you do, apparently." He thumbed the safety on, then looked over at her. "Just what were you going to do, Green-eyes?" he asked softly. Her lowered eyes and the slight pink tinge in her cheeks told him what she wasn't saying. "Just like that?" He repeated the words in a wondering tone.

  Her chin came up. "What was I supposed to do? Go on my merry way and not look back? You could have been hurt, or dead…"

  "Would it have mattered so much?"

  His voice was husky and sent a little shiver through her. Get a grip, she snapped inwardly.

  "Only if I wanted to sleep nights," she said, only raising her eyes to his when she was sure he would read nothing in them. "I owe you, too. For Linc."

  A shutter dropped over his blue eyes, cutting off that odd intensity. "You owe me nothing," he said shortly. "Let's go."

  "Where?"

  "Start north."

  Without another word she started the Blazer and wheeled it out of the parking area. They were on Interstate 5, all the way past the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, before he broke the silence with a muttered "Damn."

  She glanced over at him. He was staring out the windshield, brows furrowed. That rugged jaw was set, his mouth tight, but she found herself looking instead at how the thick, dark mane of hair brushed the back of his neck and softened the chiseled lines of his face.

  "Con?"

  He looked up. He took a quick breath and shook his head.

  "We'll have to dump your car soon. Sooner or later they'll figure out and start tracing what kind of car you have. They're too damned good not to have access to DMV."

  She paled a little, but only nodded. T
hat silent assent clawed at him.

  "This stinks," he said succinctly. "I can't do a damned thing but wait."

  "Wait?"

  He let out his breath in a disgusted sigh. "The whole thing could unravel…" He swore softly again. "It's right in front of me, it has to be, so why the hell can't I see it?"

  "Maybe you're too close to it right now."

  He shrugged. "If Sam was here, he could start from the other end."

  "Sam?"

  "My boss." He looked a little startled, as if he hadn't meant to let the name slip out. "I'll just have to stall until he gets back."

  "Stall?"

  "Yeah. Do nothing." He spat the words out. "Except stay out of their hands."

  "Yeah." He chuckled grimly. "So where are we going?"

  "I don't know." He sounded bleak. "Until I figure out what—or who—went wrong."

  He didn't have to explain. Shiloh knew he meant he couldn't trust anybody, couldn't use any of the resources he normally would.

  "What about the loft?"

  "The what?"

  "The sail loft. Where I work. It's empty on Sunday, and there's a stove, a bathroom, even a place to pull the Blazer in out of sight."

  He looked doubtful. "They found out where you lived, they would find that place, too."

  "Maybe. But the office is in a different place, down at the marina. That's the address that's listed on everything. Not many people know where the loft itself is. It might give us at least a little time. There's not even a name on it. Jimmy likes to work in privacy."

  "Jimmy?"

  "My boss." She glanced at the freeway signs. "Now or never," she said, indicating the next off ramp. "That's the exit for the harbor."

  Abruptly, he nodded. She changed lanes smoothly, heading for the lane marked Beach Cities. In the distance the Pacific glistened in the morning sun, and he saw the massive black bulk of the breakwater. Then he saw the sign with the arrow indicating Dana Point Harbor and Doheny State Beach, and soon they were down on the old Pacific Coast Highway

  . She drove with the sureness of someone long familiar with the area, making the turn off the highway onto a narrow, unmarked alleyway without hesitation.

  "The marina office rent is ridiculous," she explained as they neared a long, low building, "and there isn't nearly enough room anyway, so Jimmy uses this place instead. It used to be a warehouse for a marine hardware store that went out of business."