Hidden Sins

by Selena Montgomery

  “Told you to calm down,” Guffin chided. He glanced out the passenger window and spied a sheriff’s car at the next intersection. “There’s police up ahead, Arthur. Be nice to the man or Mr. Conroy’s going to be pissed. Apologize and let’s be on our way.”

  In response, Rabbe reached for his Luger on the seat beside him. The chamber was loaded, he knew, and faster than a dead man’s shotgun. “He should’ve stayed inside,” Rabbe warned. “I ain’t gonna be punked by a cowboy.”

  Recognizing the tone, Guffin pleaded, “Shoot him and we’ll have to deal with the cops. Mr. Conroy won’t take too kindly to that.”

  “This will only take a second,” Rabbe promised tightly. “Keep an eye on the girl.” He swung the door open and leapt out, pistol at the ready.

  Which was Mara’s cue. Using the flat of her hand, she chopped Guffin in his throat and elbowed his gut. While he gurgled for breath, she released the seat belt and scrambled for the door lock. Guffin gasped for her to stop. Rabbe heard the back door open, but his eyes were glued on the angry cowboy.

  “Get her, Guffin!” he yelled in strangled frustration. “Don’t let her get away!”

  Irritated, Guffin snatched up his gun and burst out the side door. Mara heard the metal creak with the force of his motion, and she ducked between two cars. Like Guffin, she’d seen the police car parked outside the luncheonette. Behind her the shotgun blasted its report and she could hear the shattering of glass. More ominous, though, was the thud of Guffin’s feet as he chased her.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Ms. Reed!”

  Mara didn’t bother to point out that he’d already shot her once. Instead, she focused on the dull tan and black paint of the Lorimar County Sheriff Department sedan. Plowing through the passersby on the walkway, she murmured her apologies, head down, legs churning.

  Because God had not completely abandoned her, the glass door of the diner swung open to expel the sweetest sight Mara had ever seen. She skidded to a stop and threw her arms around her high school nemesis. “Linda DiSantis? It’s so good to see you!” The pristine white uniform with its familiar shield signaled safety. As did the gun holstered at her hip. Mara had never been so happy to see a cop. Or two.

  A short, squat man exited the restaurant behind Linda, a cigar chomped between his teeth and a gold star flashing on his lapel. He stared at the disheveled woman who had her arms wrapped around his wife. “Linda, honey? This a friend of yours?” Prepared for any answer, he inched his stubby fingers toward the gun that rode low on his hip.

  Nonplussed, Linda took Mara’s arms and gently pushed them away, then scanned the young woman, her eyes widening in recognition. “Mara Reed?”

  Relief nearly collapsed Mara. “Yes. You remember me?”

  “Of course.” Linda nodded briskly. “How could I forget the girl who embarrassed me in front of the entire junior class?”

  Oh, the devil. Mara was preparing a fulsome apology when she caught Guffin’s reflection in the window. “Get down!” she shouted as she tackled Linda and bowled them both into the diner.

  The sheriff jumped clear of the falling women. He jerked his firearm from its holster and leveled the weapon at the giant who came to a lumbering halt in front of him.

  Guffin glared down at the little man, then swiveled his head to check on Rabbe. At the moment, the cowboy was busy braining Rabbe with the business end of the shotgun. Quicker than most gave him credit for, Guffin swiftly changed tactics. “Sheriff, there are two lunatics brawling down the street.” He pointed to the intersection where Rabbe had regained some control and was systematically slamming the Expedition door into the man trapped inside its frame. “I think they’re gonna kill each other.”

  The sheriff swore softly and reached for his radio. From her sprawl on the diner floor, Mara could hear the operator connect. “Donna, I’ve got a 245 in progress. Looks like Tyler Vines and an out-of-towner. Both damn fools have guns, but they’re just beating each other senseless. Send Evan out here with the wagon.” He disconnected and grabbed Guffin by the elbow. “You’re a big man. Come be my deputy and help me break these fools up.” Without waiting for a reply, he tugged Guffin, who followed meekly, but not without shooting Mara a silent warning.

  “Sorry about that,” Mara offered as she lithely gained her feet. She extended a hand to Linda, who reluctantly accepted the help. Assured that Linda was unhurt, Mara scanned the diner for a back exit. Spotting the swinging door leading to the kitchen, she flashed a rueful smile at Linda. “I’m also sorry about eleventh grade. I was insensitive.”

  “And I was a snot.” Linda grinned. “I was sixteen and in love with Ethan. He was in love with you. We were bound to hate each other.”

  Mara laughed and angled her head to watch the sheriff and Guffin. She had precious few seconds to escape. “Well, I’m glad I had a chance to run into you. I’ll see you later.” She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

  She didn’t expect a sturdy, feminine hand to snag her arm. Looking at the clear, unpolished nails, Mara mumbled, “I’ve got to be on my way, Linda.”

  The grip didn’t loosen. Instead, her old classmate angled her head to catch Mara’s eyes. “What did that man want with you, Mara?” She gestured out the window to the scene. Guffin had Rabbe in a headlock, and Mr. Vines was being handcuffed against his hood. A crowd had gathered, and all traffic on Shahar had come to a halt. “Did you have something to do with the car accident?”

  “No. I’m just on my way out of town.” Mara inched closer to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Linda again.

  “My husband is the sheriff, Mara. But I’m the chief of police.” Linda tightened her grip on Mara’s arm and tapped her gold shield. “You pushed me into the diner because you saw that large man rushing at us. Want to tell me why he’s still keeping an eye on you?”

  Mara stared out the window, and sure enough, Guffin and Rabbe were both watching her through the glass front. A deputy had arrived on the scene, but she had no doubt Rabbe would smooth-talk his way out of handcuffs. Panic arced through her, and she tried a rusty trick her grandpa taught her. The truth. “Those two men kidnapped me and they plan to kill me. I need to get out of sight before they come back.”

  Linda DiSantis considered herself a fair judge of character. From her reading of Mara Reed, she was getting as close to the whole story as she was likely to. For now. “Fine. Go hide in the kitchen. I’ll go out to Bob and tell him to place the whole lot of them under arrest. Then I’ll meet you around back. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Mara lied without compunction. Honesty was a rare commodity in her world, and she felt it should be used sparingly. For dramatic effect, she allowed her eyes to well up, knowing how the amber magnified the tears. “I’m so afraid, Linda. Please help me.”

  Her voice quavered on the plea, which she considered a nice touch. Amateurs would have been tempted to emit a quiet sob, but a professional never overdid a bit. Blinking once, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.” She paused near the doorway. “Thanks, Linda.”

  The police chief hurried out to help her husband. The instant she was out of sight, like a bullet, Mara shot through the kitchen, dodging waiters carrying laden trays. She skirted past a disgruntled chef and sprinted out into the alleyway. She could hear the shouting on the street and the strong alto of Chief DiSantis winding its way between the hostile male ones: Rabbe, demanding that he be released, and the twang of the innocent Mr. Vines in search of his purloined shotgun.

  Mara ducked behind the restaurant Dumpster and cut through the shop next door. Soon she was away from the center of town. With nowhere to go. Obviously, she couldn’t return to Ethan’s place, not after that stupid kiss. Plus, Rabbe and Guffin, and their mysterious employer Conroy, knew about that hideout.

  “Bullocks,” she hissed. If the Bobbsey Twins found her there once, they’d probably try again. Only this time they’d encounter dependable, safe, law-abiding Ethan. The man she’d put into harm’s way.

  Sh
e needed to find a pay phone and warn him, Mara thought wildly. Once again she began to jog the streets of Kiev. At intersection after intersection she poked her head out in search of the once ubiquitous phones that had lined the city’s streets. But there weren’t any today. Not a single, solitary pay phone that could eat her money and refuse her call.

  After ten minutes she slowed down to ease her labored breathing and rethought her strategy. In this day and age, even a hick town like Kiev was awash in cell phones, eliminating the need for phone booths.

  Unless, Mara thought dully, a person didn’t own a cell. Like friendships, cell phones required contracts and commitments and ties. And, she realized as the thought occurred to her, knowing a person’s phone number.

  She was losing her touch. Ten blocks before this lack of vital information occurred to her? Inexcusable. Mara hid beneath a massive orange awning promising pedicures in one hour. Hell, she didn’t even know where he was working, and she doubted the phone at the loft was in his name.

  There was nothing for it, except to go back and warn Ethan.

  The insistent buzz of the doorbell yanked Ethan out of his reverie and into the present day. With a bitten-off oath, he pushed away from his laptop and jogged down the stairs. He had no idea how long the buzzer had been signaling him; he tended to become engrossed in his work. The mystery of the symbols he’d found seared into the flesh of some and tattooed onto other bodies had captured his imagination to the exclusion of all else.

  Except the woman who stood at the door when he swung the metal frame open. “You’re back.”

  Mara thrust Ethan inside and muscled the door closed behind her. Turning to him, she instructed, “You need to get out of here.”

  Ethan watched her closely—and tried to dampen the pleasure that welled up inside him. He hated the reflex, nearly as much as he wanted to hate her. Needed to hate her. “I don’t take instructions from you. This is my place, not yours.”

  “In a few hours it will be your tomb if you don’t listen to me.” Mara surged past him and sailed up the stairs. “Do you have a car? Is it parked nearby? Where do you keep your suitcase?” She hurried to the closet, flinging open the doors. “Can you go anywhere besides Austin? That’s the first place they’ll look.”

  Grabbing the valise, she tossed it onto the futon and began gathering clothes. Lucky for her, Ethan was obsessively neat. No issues with color coordination here, she thought dryly as she stacked khakis with solid, printless shirts. His closet didn’t contain a single frivolous item, except for a miniature tower of silly T-shirts. She lifted one and opened it fully to read aloud. “‘No bones about it…Forensic Anthropology does a body good.’” Groaning, she peeked over at a flushing Ethan. “Tell me this was a gift.”

  “It was a gift,” he mumbled, snatching the article from her. When she reached for another garment, he grabbed her hands to hold them still. “Hold on, damnit. What’s going on here?”

  “I told you. You need to get out of town. Fast.” Mara tugged at her captive hands, but he didn’t relent. “I can’t pack if you don’t let me go, Ethan.”

  “I don’t want you to pack for me, seeing as how I don’t plan on traveling today. Or anytime soon.” He slid his hands along her arms to clasp her shoulders. For the second time in a week he found himself holding what he thought had been lost for good. His voice clouded with temper and a pounding relief. “You’ve been gone for hours, and now you show up out of the blue—again—and tell me that I have to leave. I need more.”

  Mara tried not to notice the warm weight or how her skin pulsed eagerly under his touch. Instead, she deliberated about how much to reveal. “When I left, Rabbe was waiting for me.”

  His grip tightened spasmodically. “Rabbe? The man trying to kill you?”

  “One and the same. This time they caught me. Right outside the warehouse.” Mara met Ethan’s startled gaze. In for a penny, she decided. “They’ll come back, and this time they won’t stop until they get what they’re after.”

  “You.” It wasn’t a question.

  Mara nodded. “Yes, me.”

  “Which doesn’t explain why I have to flee like a criminal.”

  She tried not to wince at the accurate description. Criminal. Con artist. Grifter. She’d been called worse. But to hear it from Ethan stung more than she would have expected. “I am a criminal, Ethan. And a liar. I told you that before.”

  “What do these men want?”

  “Rabbe wants $50,000 that I stole from him a few weeks ago.” And a diary I stole.

  “Then give it to him.”

  “Can’t.” Mara thought about the hospital bills she’d paid off. The $18,000 for tests and treatment. Another $25,000 to pay up the bill at the nursing home for another quarter. And the $5,000 anonymous donation to the H. A. Brown Memorial United Methodist Church in Wiggins, Mississippi, where the good Reverend Abrams allowed her to camp out in her car last spring. She’d spent the rest of the money trying to escape Rabbe, but none of this was any of Ethan’s business. “I spent it.”

  “You spent $50,000 in a month?”

  “I’m a frivolous harlot, Ethan. Keep up.”

  “So because you’re greedy, I’m in danger.”

  “You’ve got it. So believe me when I tell you to run.” When Ethan merely stared at her, Mara recognized the expression. It was his no way in hell look. At this point, she reasoned, he had a right to know more. Not all, but more. She rolled her shoulders lightly, preparing for the explosion. “I also stole a journal.”

  “You’re being hunted for a journal?” Ethan spoke softly, in a cool, faintly disgusted tone.

  She’d heard it before. Generally, right after the look.

  “Our lives are in danger over a journal?”

  “That belonged to one of my grandfather’s partners.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes. “You told me all you had were notes. You lied to me.”

  “Hear me out.” Mara held out her hands pleadingly. “I conned Rabbe into taking me to his room and showing me his stuff. His journal,” she corrected quickly. “Actually, the journal of a man named Virgil Bailey. One of my grandfather’s partners. Rabbe had been hired by someone to come to Detroit to find it. Probably heard the same stories I had. Diary of a man who claimed to have stolen gold coins in the 1930s.”

  “And you stole it from him. Why am I surprised?”

  “Rabbe raped and killed the owner. Before I got to her to steal it.” She screwed her eyes shut, the better to avoid the look of bitter disappointment sure to follow. Much harder to bear than the no way in hell face. “Inside the journal there were Greek symbols. Similar to the ones you found on the bodies. My grandfather and Poncho.”

  “You knew.” His hand clamped around her collarbones, firm and unyielding. “And you ran.”

  Defensively, she countered, “I’m not sure what I know. But I am certain that you’ve got to get out of here. Rabbe has a bead on this location, and he’ll be coming with reinforcements.”

  “If you’re not here—”

  “Then they’ll kill you to keep you quiet. It will be my fault. I led him to you. To your home. I won’t be responsible for you being hurt.” With that she shrugged off his hard grip and reached into the closet. She snagged a set of shirts on hangers, all neatly pressed. Gesturing to the far side of the room, she told him, “You’ll probably want your computer and your books. I don’t know what to do about the morgue downstairs.”

  “Mara, stop it.” Unwilling to touch her, Ethan stepped into her path. “Stop it. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Because you want to die?”

  “Because Lesley is coming in tomorrow. I can’t slink out of town and leave her here alone.”

  Mara had forgotten all about Ethan’s girlfriend. The woman he was willing to die to see. In stormy response, she stalked over to the telephone and yanked the receiver off the hook. Shoving it at him, she commanded, “Tell her not to get on the plane. If you care about her, you’ll make her stay in Austin.”


  “I can’t. She’s on an overseas flight. There’s no way to reach her.” He took the phone and replaced it on the cradle. “This place is impenetrable. As long as we stay inside, your gun-toting friends won’t be able to get to you. Or me.”

  “Do you plan to teleport your girlfriend inside?” Mara sneered. “Fancy trick, college boy. Rabbe and Guffin will stake this place out and they’ll have your lady before she makes it to the front door.”

  Ethan said nothing for several seconds. Mara assumed his silence meant that she’d finally convinced him. She quickly returned to her furious packing, trying to outpace the guilt and fear. Once Ethan was safely on his way out of Kiev, she would still have to contend with the specter of Rabbe. Not to mention his employer, Conroy.

  She’d never heard of him, but he was probably Arthur’s silent partner who paid for Detroit. Maybe this Conroy was more amenable to a deal than Rabbe had proven to be. Perhaps she could bargain with him, or maybe get a job on his payroll. She was slick with numbers and cards, and she could do a long con with the best of them. She was nothing if not patient.

  “We’ll have the police bring Lesley here.” Ethan folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll call tomorrow and have the morgue van rendezvous with Lesley and transport her here in the truck.”

  “Which will require that you open the door.”

  “No, it won’t. There’s an underground passage that leads to the basement of the warehouse. Where deep cold storage units are kept. That’s where I keep the bodies until I need them.”

  “And this tunnel isn’t public?”

  “No. The former owner of the warehouse sold bootleg whiskey during prohibition. The police have used the tunnel to deliver the bodies to me. Chief DiSantis can arrange it.”

  “You’ve been working with Linda?” Oh, the day kept getting better and better. “All right, Einstein. Set it up.”