by Lakes, Lynde
She was desperate to change the mood and turn them from the danger that threatened to send her reeling over the precipice into the never-never-land of lost loves.
“Was that Buck I heard you talking to earlier?” she asked.
“He wasn’t there. I left this number on his voicemail.” Razor looked searchingly at her. “Our line here blocks outgoing caller ID. When you called Baxter to check in you didn’t give him this number, did you?”
“Is everyone in your line of work paranoid?”
“Those still alive.”
A half hour later, with his words still echoing in her mind, Rusti watched the rain blow against the cabin window. She trailed the droplets with her finger, following their line of drizzle down the pane of glass. The rain was as sudden and unexpected as Razor’s shift in temperament. In a flash he’d gone from charming to distant. Did his concern about her giving Baxter the phone number have anything to do with that, or was it because she had rejected him?
She turned to face him. “I don’t get it. Why are you so upset? What difference would it make if I had given Baxter the phone number?”
Razor didn’t look at her, concentrating instead on shifting the logs. The fire cracked and spit its protest and finally settled into a wall of blue and orange flames. “Anyone with police connections can easily get the address from a cross directory,” he said. “I don’t get it. You say you’re scared, but you constantly stick your neck out.” He put the poker in its stand and sat down on the raised fieldstone hearth.
Rusti poured herself another Irish coffee and knelt on the white wool rug in front of the fire. Razor looked down. Their eyes met. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “I didn’t give Baxter this number.”
His eyebrow lifted, the arch dark and seductive. He joined her on the rug and teasingly forced her down to a prone position. “Then why let me believe—Oh, I get it. Lead me on like that again, teacher, and I’ll kiss you.”
She laughed up at him. “But you said only if I wanted it as much as you.”
“Well?”
“Kiss me,” she said, her voice throaty with longing.
“Careful. You’ll make me want you,” he murmured. “And after what you said on the porch, I promised myself I wouldn’t risk it again.”
She looked deep into his eyes. Instinct and old wounds had made her keep her distance earlier. Her refusal had hurt him, and she could see he was still wary. But some aching loneliness that she didn’t understand kept her from refusing now. He inched closer. His unrelenting gaze was melting her heart, warming her soul. Gently, he pulled her to him. Stormy waves of passion flooded over her. Nothing beyond the walls of this room was important; nothing mattered now but to feel his lips on hers.
“Maybe, just one more kiss will get you out of my system,” he said huskily.
“Please,” she begged, “get me out of your system.”
His lips touched hers so tenderly that tears came to her eyes. He smelled of cedar smoke, and Irish whiskey. She felt his strength, his sensitivity, his passion. He held nothing back. At that moment, she believed she knew him better than anyone she’d ever known.
Like it or not, she wanted him, all of him. It frightened her, but she couldn’t pull away. Razor’s lips and tongue owned her—it seemed she floated on air, lightheaded, desperately wanting to rise higher. He cradled her in his arms, lowering them both until she felt the softness of the rug beneath her head. His chest rested against her breasts, his body heat coursed through her. Their passion was like two streams feeding into a raging river, violently merging—then racing onward, toward disaster. There was only this moment, this man…
Suddenly, Razor released her and sat up, listening.
Dizzy from passion Rusti fought to comprehend and ground herself. “What is it?” she asked.
He sprang to his feet. “Douse the light.”
Rusti managed to do what he said. He ran to the gun cabinet, grabbed a rifle, and positioned himself at the window. Rusti looked over his shoulder. A car was approaching—without headlights. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“Can’t tell. It’s raining too hard. But there’s more than one of them. Slip out the back door. Now!”
“I won’t leave you.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Go.”
Rusti grabbed her purse and ran into the night. A gust of wind caught the door and slammed it shut. The noise echoed through the tall pines. Rain blew against her face and her feet slid crazily on wet pine needles.
She heard footsteps behind her. She looked back. It was Razor, carrying the rifle. His long strides quickly overtook hers. He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him.
Men’s shouts followed them, then the sound faded, and there was only their own hard breathing, their own footsteps.
Dense rain pounded the trees and shrubs. Zigzagging, Razor dragged her up the sharply-sloped hill, his every step controlled, calculated. They reached the top and started down the other side, slipping and sliding. Dripping hair fell into her face.
Abruptly, Razor stopped. He tilted his head, and put his finger to his lips, warning her not to speak. She heard nothing. Still, a shiver slid down her spine. He pushed her against the rough bark of a ponderosa and motioned for her to remain still. Razor stiffened, his every muscle tensed and ready for action. Her heart pounded as he lifted the rifle to his shoulder.
“Have they found us?”
“Shh.”
Voices filtered through the trees—underbrush and dead branches snapped. Her mind conjured up the caped man, his long, black-booted strides crossing the carpet of pine needles, eating the distance between them. Razor’s eyes were hard, cold; obviously he’d killed before. Perhaps many times. He wasn’t only the tender lover she was beginning to know—he was a killer himself. And he could just as easily be killed. Trembling, she touched her lips, cherishing the memory of his kisses. If she lived through this nightmare, there could be no more. She should never have let him into her heart.
He thrust the car keys at her. “Circle back to the cabin and get out of here,” he whispered. “I’ll draw them off in the opposite direction.” His mouth was a determined thin line, his eyes hard as steel.
“I can’t leave you, Razor.”
“Go, dammit! Follow the path along the edge of the lake.”
Rusti hesitated a moment, but when he roughly motioned her away, she ran until she reached the lake. The shoreline path was slippery, and she grabbed onto a seedling cedar to keep from sliding into the black, bottomless water. She regained her footing and trudged up the steep trail.
A shot broke the silence. Razor! She turned and started back toward him, then stopped short. He might be dead. Her throat ached and she fought to hold back tears of frustration.
Uncertain now what she should do, she looked ahead, then behind her. The killers might have doubled back and returned to the cabin. She had to chance it. She’d covered a longer distance than she remembered and wondered if she’d turned the wrong way at the lake. She was about to retrace her steps and go in the opposite direction when she spied the cabin and the car.
She slid into the driver’s seat and with a shaking hand slipped the key into the ignition, then hesitated. Razor might be dead, but if she tried to find him she could be killed herself. Starting the car would surely alert the men who’d chased them through the woods. She’d have no choice then but to leave. What if Razor was only injured, or had injured one of the men and the others were still on the prowl? She had to try to help. She grabbed a flashlight from a clip under the dashboard and ran toward the cabin. The front door stood open.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was dark inside the cabin. And quiet. She waited until certain she was alone before training the flashlight beam onto the phone. Gingerly, she lifted the hand piece. Damn. No dial tone. They must’ve cut the line. The gun cabinet door stood ajar. Her hands trembled. Dane, her policeman fiancé, had taught her to shoot a pistol at the firing range. She’d never fired a rifle, bu
t she knew enough to check the chamber. It was loaded.
Rusti headed into the woods, toward where she and Razor had parted. The rain eased to a foggy drizzle. She ran blindly. Let him be alive, she prayed. Low tree limbs and bushes tore at her clothes, but she didn’t slow her pace.
Suddenly, she tripped over a fallen tree branch and fell to the soggy forest floor with a dull thud. She caught her breath, rolled over, and found she was looking up the long barrel of a rifle into a pair of flinty blue eyes. “Razor!”
He was alive! Joy surged through her.
“Rusti? I nearly shot you. What the hell are you doing out here?”
She frowned. “Did you put this broken limb here?”
“It wasn’t meant for you,” he growled. He helped her to her feet. “Are you okay?” His tone was edgy, but his arms closed around her.
“I couldn’t leave you,” she said softly. “I heard a shot.”
“I fired to draw the killers away from the cabin. Then I doubled back and laid that limb there to trip up anyone who followed me.”
“Where are they?”
“They must all be on the other side of the hill.” He picked up both rifles. “Come on, there’s no time to talk.”
Rusti followed Razor as he ran, but her knee buckled. She’d awakened an old roller-blade injury. Razor handed her the guns and swept Rusti from her feet. When they reached the cabin clearing, he quietly opened the passenger door of their car and deposited her inside. Then he reached under the seat and grabbed a screwdriver from a small tool chest.
While Razor punctured the tires of the gray Mercury, Rusti put the guns in back, within reach but out of her own line of vision. Then she rummaged around in the glove compartment and found a notepad and a pen. She scribbled down the license number of the Merc, then watched as Razor gave a final stab to the Merc’s right front tire.
He looked around, ran to the cabin and then back almost immediately, carrying their still packed bags. He shoved them into the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat.
“I see what you meant earlier,” she said, amazed that no matter what happened he always kept a clear head.
He didn’t answer—just started the car and gunned the engine. Gravel spun under the tires. “Fasten your seatbelt!” He backed around the car blocking them and sped out onto the access road. They followed it through the trees and skidded onto the main highway. Rusti clung to the edges of the seat. At this speed, every curve of the winding road was an accident waiting to happen, but what they’d left behind was far worse.
“That’s the same car that followed us from the cemetery,” Razor muttered.
“I got their license number,” she said, holding up the notepad.
“Good girl. But if it’s a stolen car, it might not help much. Maybe those guys weren’t even the kidnappers. It’s possible that someone else is after us, too.”
She cleared her constricted throat. “Like who?”
“Like a rival gang who got wind of the microfilm. With Terrilla’s records, they could attempt a takeover.”
It didn’t matter which bad guy was after them. As far as Rusti could see, they were all out of control. She shuddered.
Razor turned up the heater. “You’re sopping wet,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of beach towels and a blanket in the trunk, but we can’t risk stopping until we get to the Colton Hub. No telling how soon those thugs will realize we’re gone.”
“But how can they come after us when you punctured their tires?”
“Steal another car. It won’t be long before they pick up our trail again.”
On that cheery note, they settled into a tense silence as they twisted and curved their way through the dark mountains. She could see only the road and the white line, vaguely aware of speeding past silhouettes of pine and knowing that if Razor took his hand off the wheel even for a second, they could end up in a deep ravine.
Finally, she saw the San Bernardino city lights below. They were almost out of the mountains. They had a chance!
A few miles later, Razor left the Mountain Resorts freeway, and at the Colton Hub he took the cutoff to L.A. They would soon be in their own backyard.
“Now what are we going to do?” Rusti asked as they left San Bernardino’s city lights behind them, and were passing the many small strip malls that dotted the outskirts of the freeway.
“Since I have that meeting in the morning, we’ll go to our hotel. The Bond. It should be safe enough now. We don’t want any more surprises.”
“Well, check the surprise on your tail,” Rusti said.
He looked in the rearview mirror at the blinking red light. “Damn. A blasted highway patrol.”
The officer flashed his light into the car and asked for Razor’s driver’s license. Rusti stiffened and was surprised when Razor produced one from a hidden compartment under his dashboard. How many of those did he have? He seemed to be prepared for all emergencies.
“We’ve been looking for this car,” the officer told Razor. Before he could question that, the officer added, “What happened to your windows?”
“Vandals. I’ll report it to my insurance company when we get to our destination. Why have you been looking for my car?”
Rather than answer, the officer leaned over and looked at Rusti. “Is this lady Rusti Collins?”
Razor exhaled, revealing his impatience. “She is.”
“Detective Baxter is looking for you two. He’s worried about Ms. Collins. I’ll let him know you’re okay, Miss.” He put his pen to a pad. “Need your destination.”
“Bond Hotel,” Rusti said, before Razor could stop her. The officer wrote down the particulars, then gave her a salute and returned to his car.
“What’s with you? You gave out unnecessary information. I told you there’s a mole in the P.D., and you just gave the cops our destination. Let them do their own leg work.”
Rusti noticed that the cop was still behind them. Was he going to follow them all the way to the hotel to be sure they hadn’t lied? “You can’t expect me to act like a criminal,” Rusti said, bristling. “I haven’t had your advantages.”
Razor looked over at her and laughed. “You do all right when you put your mind to it. Better than all right.”
“Get serious,” Rusti said. “We can’t keep stringing Baxter along forever. Every time I see him, he asks why I’m hanging out with you, and my excuses are getting very thin.” And her excuses to herself were getting even thinner—and more dangerous.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rusti froze at the sight of Detective Baxter waiting inside their hotel room. Razor seemed to take his intrusion in stride. “You got a warrant, Baxter?” he asked and walked right by him with their bags, as though Baxter’s presence had nothing to do with him.
Baxter ignored him and gave Rusti a quick once-over, shaking his head at her disheveled appearance. “What happened this time?”
“We went to the cemetery and a sniper shot at us…and…and then we had to run for our lives through the woods in the rain. And—”
“Whoa, slow down,” Baxter said. “I can see that you’ve been through hell. But I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are. The L.A. County sheriff and highway patrol has been wasting time and manpower trying to find you.”
Rusti was tired and scared. And Baxter’s attitude irritated her. “From what I’ve seen, protecting people isn’t exactly your forte.”
A flush crept up Baxter’s neck. “Like I said,” he growled, “I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”
He was right, and she felt a surge of guilt; she’d wanted his protection all along. But she couldn’t jeopardize Razor’s life by admitting that and opening them both up to a lot of questions they weren’t free to answer. So, until Razor met with his new contact and got rid of the microfilm, her lips would remain sealed.
Baxter nailed her with a hard look. “You’re living dangerously, Rusti. All Razor’s bad boy machismo can’t keep you from ending up dead.”
“But so far, he’s kept me alive,” she snapped, and put her hands on her hips to give her reedy voice some bite. “Where were you when the kidnapper’s snatched me? Or this afternoon when the sniper was shooting at me?” She was being ridiculous, but she wasn’t skilled at defensive sidestepping like Razor.
He joined them and slid his arm around her waist. He had taken on his tough guy stance, convincingly becoming the gangster Baxter believed he was.
Baxter’s jaw tightened. “Ever occur to you that Razor Jones might know who’s doing this?”
“If I knew that,” Razor growled. “I’d do something about it. I don’t take kindly to someone taking pot shots at us, or shooting up my windows. What about you? Got a line on the killer, yet?”
Baxter directed his comments to Rusti. “We’re still following leads. That caped getup you described is a piece of theater. It could be someone from the Egyptia. And the long, narrow footprint in the shrubs under the condo’s bedroom window confirms your tall-and-lean description of Petra’s killer.”
Rusti took a slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Baxter. “The car that followed us is a gray Mercury. That’s the license number.”
Baxter studied the slip of paper. “Is this on the level?”
She nodded. “Razor thinks it might be stolen.” The detective’s remark that Razor might know who was chasing them had shaken her. But Baxter hadn’t been there with them, hadn’t seen how Razor protected her. Besides, like Razor explained, the shooter had tried to kill them both, had shattered his windows. God, they could both be dead now. Goose bumps rose along her arms.
After Detective Baxter left, Razor said, “I thought he’d never leave. I couldn’t call Buck with him breathing down our necks. And I’m supposed to check in every few hours before my meeting with Captain Harry Noble, my new contact at the LAPD.” Razor gave her a little squeeze. “We’re on the homestretch now.” His voice was strong, self-possessed. “Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and take a quick hot shower.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly 3:00 A.M. and we won’t get much sleep as it is. While you shower, I’ll call Buck.” He paused and shook his head. “He also needs to know what happened at the safe house. Someone has to secure it.”