Silent Cymbals

by Lakes, Lynde

  Rusti nibbled thoughtfully on her lip. “Two killers? That might explain how I got away today. My attacker wasn’t all that skilled. I’m no black belt, and I was able to hold my own. Of course, I had an advantage.”

  “An advantage?”

  “I cracked him with the champagne bottle he probably delivered himself. Sent him reeling.” They were back to business, the earlier enchantment broken. A rush of disappointed washed over her. No way would they make love again tonight. It was a sad thought.

  “You might have been killed!” Razor said. His voice was husky and his arms held her like a vise, but as he studied her face, his eyes filled with tenderness. When she traced the fine lines at the corner of his eyes with a light touch, he kissed her until she was dizzy. Then he picked her up, carried her below, and covered her with more kisses.

  “I thought we were off this subject and back to business as usual,” Rusti said.

  “You were wrong,” Razor said unbuttoning her shirt.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After lovemaking that started under the stars and ended up in the master cabin, Rusti slept deeply and awoke to bright sunlight, reaching for Razor. He was gone, and the hollow he’d slept in was cold to her touch. What had she been thinking? Now she ached with wanting him so desperately that when they finally parted, no other man could ever make her forget Razor Jones.

  She’d fallen for the gentle man beneath Razor’s tough-guy façade; the man who knew her like no other had before, knew all her faults and still loved her. With effort, she pushed away her regrets. She had what few women ever experienced, and she would carry the memory of its sweetness with her always.

  Rusti brushed away a tear as the cold reality of their situation took hold. The killer was still on the loose.

  She dressed and went into the main salon, gearing up to take on the day. And the unknown. Razor and Ben sat at the table, their heads together, talking in low, urgent voices. The air sizzled with negative energy.

  Rusti hesitated.

  Razor motioned for her to join them. Ben nodded a greeting, and half rose. It seemed to her they’d been arguing. She scooted onto the settee next to Razor and forced a smile. “What’s going on?” Why hadn’t she heard Ben’s outboard motor? Why was he here?

  Razor filled an empty mug from the thermal carafe and handed it to her. “Don’t look so worried. We’re set.” He paused and raised his mug to her. But he didn’t look happy. “With your friend Baxter, I might add.”

  Pride surged through her. At least her instincts about Baxter were right. But Razor’s demeanor was impersonal, cool, with no sign that their lovemaking was as special to him as it was to her. Not a smile, not even a wink. Didn’t he have any lingering feelings from what they’d shared last night? But what did she expect? It would be unprofessional for him to hang all over her with Ben sitting right here beside them.

  Her face warmed. Did Ben know what had gone on here last night? He was clearly upset with Razor about something.

  “Ben turned in the rental car for me,” Razor said. “After breakfast, he’ll drive us back to L.A. He’s repaired my windows and my trusty Mustang is set to go again.”

  “Go? Are we meeting with Baxter right away?”

  Razor’s eyes darkened. “Soon.”

  That told her nothing. She didn’t like the way things were adding up. It looked like Ben was in with the gangster element and his presence lent credence to the idea that Razor Jones was romancing René’s sister. Was their night together on this boat only part of the plan to solidify Razor’s position with the gang? The idea was so painful to contemplate that she pushed it aside. Besides, she rationalized, Razor was already in solid with Terrilla, or he wouldn’t have felt safe on the boat. But something had changed. What?

  Was Ben telling playing with Razor’s mind? How could Razor speak so freely in Ben’s presence? It always came back to the same question: who was Ben Guerrero?

  “I’ll bet you’re starved,” Ben said, rising.

  Within minutes, he set plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausages down before them. She had thought she’d smelled sausage. “Are you a magician as well as a chauffeur?”

  “McDonald’s,” Ben said, rather gruffly. “It was all in the warmer.”

  Apparently, they’d waited for her before setting out the food, and Ben had risen when she approached. Not the sort of behavior she associated with the criminal element. But what did she know about criminals?

  She was surprised she could eat with all the tension in the room, but something about the salt air made her hungry. Or maybe it was last night’s workout. Her face flamed hotly, but fortunately neither of the men was looking at her.

  Later, while the men stowed the boat gear and loaded the dinghy, Rusti excused herself and went down the companionway to the head. The tension between the two men, and Razor’s almost complete withdrawal, made her more and more uneasy. Ben’s attitude toward her was different too. Stern and brusque. Something was wrong. Could she trust stone-faced men who fought among themselves? Were they really taking her to Baxter? Razor had been so against trusting the police detective that it seemed strange for him to suggest an alliance now. For the first time since she had come under Razor’s protection, she felt totally on her own.

  In the privacy of the bathroom, Rusti made sure the curtain covering the window was in place before opening her bag. Confident no one could see her, she removed the cell phone Detective Baxter had returned to her along with René’s other personal effects. Razor had programmed it so that in an emergency she could reach Buck Williams with one punch of a button. The irony was that he might be the danger. She shook her head, remembering how she had given herself to him so completely.

  Listening to the phone ring, she trembled inwardly.

  “Buck Williams here,” came the deep, comforting response.

  He had answered himself. Thank God. “This is Rusti Collins.” She began to tremble all over and could barely hold the phone.

  “I know…you sound so much like René….” He paused a moment, then cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m on a boat with Razor Jones, and something is very wrong here. There is another man, dark complexion, tall and thin. They plan to take me back to L.A. and Razor says we’re to meet Detective Baxter of the LAPD.” She stopped to catch her breath.

  “I can confirm that, Rusti. It’s all set.”

  “But who is this other man? He’s built like the killer.” He didn’t have long fingernails, she thought, but he could’ve cut them.

  “Try to trust Razor on this,” Buck said in a fatherly voice. “If he’s comfortable with this man, I’m sure it’s okay.”

  “But Razor isn’t comfortable with him. They’ve had a falling out. And Razor seems like a different person. Like Razor Jones. He hasn’t been like that with me since I learned his real identity. I’ve considered mentioning this to you before, but…that is…could he be a double agent? We aren’t in a federal safe house now; we’re on Terrilla’s boat. Maybe I should run away from them when we get to shore and hire a taxi to take me to Detective Baxter.”

  “You’re safer with Razor than on your own. He’ll get you to Baxter. But I’ll look into your concerns. I trust Razor like a son, but in our business we check out everything. Don’t mention this to anyone until I get back to you.” After a lengthy pause, he said, “Rusti?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can set your mind to rest about Ben Guerrero. I know him from way back. He’s all right.” Buck paused. “And I knew you were on that boat with Razor. I have as many eyes as Argus. Call me when you get to L.A.”

  After talking to Buck Williams, Rusti felt reassured. Even if Dr. Jekyll had turned into Mr. Hyde, he was still Dr. Jekyll during daylight hours. Once she and Razor met with Baxter she’d reassess the situation. If Razor hadn’t done the about-face after they’d made love, she probably wouldn’t have followed through on her call to Buck. Now that she’d done it, she tried to convince hers
elf that she didn’t feel the least bit disloyal.

  Rusti jumped at the gentle knock on the door. “We’re ready to go ashore anytime you are,” Razor called.

  “Be right with you,” she called, forcing a light tone. She hesitated a moment to let her cheeks cool down. When she heard his footsteps retreat, Rusti went into the cabin and quickly gathered up her personal items.

  On the pristine deck, she initiated small talk with Ben, who put her things into the dinghy. She ignored Razor, although it broke her heart. If only he would offer some kind of explanation for his coolness, she’d feel better. Even with Ben there, he could make some sign that all was well between them. But he didn’t. There was a well of sadness in her now where the fear had been. It was up to her to pretend last night had never happened.

  Razor had wisely made the transition from lover back to status quo and she should follow his lead. She fixed a smile on her lips and climbed gingerly into the dinghy. The glistening water undulating around them reflected the blue sky but as far as she was concerned, it, like everything around her, had a gray hue. They took off for shore, the outboard motor roaring. She sighed. Things were better this way. No sense hanging onto impossible dreams.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Razor tried to relax as Ben slipped into the midmorning traffic at the old arches and continued up through Costa Mesa to catch the L.A.-bound 405 freeway. But his mind was on what Rusti had said last night about her attacker—tall and slim, with fingernails longer than on most men. The female of the species could be as deadly as the male—example, the black widow spider. Terrilla’s wild daughter immediately came to mind, but all she cared about was becoming a world-famous belly dancer—just another rich kid who liked to choose the wrong men to tee off her old man.

  And what motive could she have? She’d never been a part of the cartel, was never even around when business was conducted. Razor barely knew her, but he knew from the dirty looks she gave him every time they met that she didn’t like him. No doubt because he looked like her brother and enjoyed a pseudo-son’s place in her father’s heart. She’d been jealous of René’s top billing, but she had no reason to attack Rusti. And the attack on Petra had obviously been meant for Rusti. It was clear the murders of Kincaid and Noble were strictly business. No, someone was on to them, but he didn’t see how it could be Terrilla’s spoiled, belly-dancing daughter.

  Razor glanced out the limo window. They were still about forty minutes away from their destination. Forty more minutes of awkward silence—his penance for doing the right thing. Finally. But apparently not soon enough for Ben. Dammit. He didn’t need Ben Guerrero to tell him he’d overstepped the bounds with Rusti. That was a given. He knew without being told if he didn’t cool it with Rusti, he could lose his edge and get them all killed. Jesus, he must have been out of his mind.

  He couldn’t undo what was done. He could only try to repair the damage and move on. First, they’d stash Rusti in a safe place until they brought this case to a close, which would have to be soon or Buck would pull rank on him and call the whole thing off. He’d been straight with Buck on that score—he’d go it alone if he had to.

  Now if he could only figure out what to do with Rusti. The awkward silence they’d shared since leaving the yacht club persisted. Apparently she’d taken her cue from his business-only attitude. But she knew the ropes. He glanced over at her and realized from her stiff posture and the relentless way she stared out the window that she wasn’t just irritated with him, she was hurt. Damn. It seemed he was all thumbs with a woman like Rusti. She wasn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. She didn’t understand it was because he’d fallen so hard for her that he had to back off. He should have explained. She probably thought…hell, he didn’t know what was in her pretty head.

  She hadn’t even looked his way. Not once. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was—even earlier, in the cold light of dawn without makeup. When he saw her sprawled out on the bed, her hair tumbling in waves across the pillow, the urge to claim her one more time and pretend that they could be together forever had nearly shot his good intentions all to hell. But he’d done the smart thing. The right thing. He had to give her up. It would be damn near impossible, but he could do it. For Rusti’s sake.

  For years he’d managed to steer clear of this kind of involvement. It had taken this delicious and troublesome kindergarten teacher to checkmate him. He wanted her. Ached for her. And he knew she felt the same. Last night wasn’t a lie. Their kisses had had equal urgency, and she’d molded her body to his, drawing him closer, staking her claim. He’d had good sex before, great sex, but the awesome thing about last night wasn’t the sheer force of sexual energy alone. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he’d come home. God, the sweetness of her, the soul satisfying wonder of his little school marm….

  ****

  Rusti had hoped when Ben left, Razor would warm up toward her. He didn’t. In an upscale hotel across town from the one they’d stayed in before, Razor led her into a sunny room with a king-sized bed covered with a gray and pink flowered spread. She related to the gray; it matched her mood.

  He opened the door to an adjoining room. “This one will be mine,” he said.

  His words pierced her, deeply like a stab to the heart, and she struggled to keep her face expressionless. He quickly gave both rooms a security check, leaving the connecting door between them open. Apparently satisfied, he placed her bag on the luggage rack. She stared at him with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to explain his distant attitude. But all he said was, “Baxter’s waiting for us downstairs.”

  Five minutes later, in the hotel coffee shop, Rusti stood on her tiptoes, searching for the detective. In spite of the lunchtime crowd, she saw him right away. “He’s here,” she said. “In the back booth.”

  Razor put his hand on her arm, stopping her while he warily scanned the room. Then, he urged her toward the table without releasing her. It was the closest they’d been since last night.

  Baxter stood as they approached. His ill-fitting clothes were rumpled, as usual. But he had manners. Another gentleman—on the law’s side this time. She’d learned that almost any crook might be an undercover agent, any cop a crook. But not Baxter. He’d been cleared. She couldn’t help wondering what that involved? Cleared by whom? How could the good guys ever be sure about anyone? How could the bad guys for that matter? What a way to live.

  “Coffee?” Baxter asked.

  Traces of an early beard shadowed his face. When they both nodded, he gestured to the waitress for two more cups.

  Rusti had been nervous about meeting with the detective and having to explain her attitude toward him. To ease any tension, she quickly said, “I guess you understand now why I’ve been hanging out with Razor Jones.”

  He gave her a look that seemed to say, Yeah, but what about goading me the way you did? Or was her guess about his thoughts her guilty conscience speaking?

  Razor glanced around at the packed booths and tables. “We’d better order lunch,” he said. “It’ll give us an excuse to sit here a while.” He signaled to the harried waitress and then pointed to something on the menu and made a circling motion with his finger, ordering God only knows what for the three of them.

  Baxter bent forward. “The chief says I’m on loan to the Feds until further notice.”

  Razor nodded. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s get on with this. Have you been briefed?”

  “By the main man himself.” He spoke in a highly charged tone like he’d been given a new lease on life. Rusti could hardly believe the change in the detective. The Baxter she knew was about as unflappable as anyone she’d ever met. Today he actually seemed excited by the surprising twist his routine murder investigation had taken.

  He shook his head and looked across at them, a glint in his eyes. “You two sure had me fooled. I knew something was screwy, but I just couldn’t figure it out.”

  “I wanted to tell you,” Rusti said, “but Raz
or…” Her face warmed. She didn’t want to say Baxter had been a suspect. “Razor told me to say only what was necessary.”

  Her embarrassment didn’t seem to faze him. “Good advice,” he said. “I’m happy to see it paid off.” He sat back and studied them for a moment, then abruptly said the strangest thing. “This thing with the Feds will be a twenty-four-seven deal.” He laughed without humor. “And the extra time away from home will either help my troubled marriage—or end it. Either way, at this point, the separation will probably be a relief to my badge-widow.” He gave Rusti a long, level look. “It’s not easy being a cop’s wife.”

  Rusti knew his last statement was directed at her. But he needn’t have worried—marriage to a lawman was no longer an option for her.

  Razor stared at Baxter, his expression deadly serious. “We’ve lost Kincaid. And René and…Petra.” He hesitated and put his hand over Rusti’s and gave it a little squeeze. Her throat tightened. She was surprised and warmed by his gesture of sympathy. “And now we’ve lost Captain Noble,” Razor continued, his look flinty. “I guess you realize working with the Feds bumps up the danger to you, detective.”

  “If I gave a flip about danger, I’d have chosen another profession. And as the investigating detective on those murder cases, I’m the department’s most logical choice. It’s my job to question Rusti from time to time and to fill her in on our progress. And no one snooping around would think it’s strange for me to talk to Razor Jones—a victim of the Egyptia shooting.”

  “That’s why I chose you,” Razor said. Rusti was about to remind him that it had been her idea, not his, but he preempted her with, “After a good deal of relentless pressure from my fiery-haired charge, here.” He squeezed her hand and continued, “To anyone watching, I’m still a suspect.”

  “Petra was mistaken for Rusti,” Baxter said. “What I don’t understand is why Bull? He was one of theirs. Or was he? And you? Why you?”