by Debra Webb
Maybe a guy a lot like Slade. Who was he to condemn anyone else?
No one.
His list of previous existences included dozens of names and twice as many places. None of which had been real.
Slade closed out the nagging memories.
A light appeared in Lavena’s front window. Had she been watching for him to leave? Palming the weapon, he moved toward her door. Two steps from the threshold, the door opened. Lavena, clad in a ratty housecoat, looked him up and down.
He waited. She said nothing. “What?” he demanded.
She eyed him a moment longer. “She’s going to kill you, you know.”
He’d heard that before. “She’ll try.”
Lavena shook her head. “It’s different this time.”
Slade felt his eyebrows hike upward. “You’re getting old, Lavena. And sentimental.”
She laughed, a gravelly sound. “Maybe. Hit sixty-seven this year. Guess that makes me old enough to know what I’m talking about.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
Even now Slade marveled at her perfect English and the total lack of a discernible accent. Like him. Though she had lived here her whole life, she could move anywhere on the planet and no one would be able to connect her with Mexico, not by her spoken words or her looks. She could be anyone’s grandmother, most anywhere. His training ensured him the ability to fit in anywhere, to gain the trust of those around him in most any situation.
Though he hadn’t fooled Lucas Camp. The man was like Lavena. There was something soft, almost out of place, on the inside, but a hard core on the outside. Lucas Camp had sensed some underlying threat to his world as soon as he and Slade met.
Lavena was cunning, too. He couldn’t deny her assessment of his current position. This time was different. The goal of his mission was as much about Maggie’s survival as his own. Maybe more. The realization was startling on some level. Over the past twenty-four hours he had owned that weakness. No use denying it.
To some extent it was different this time because he was different. The extreme black-and-white-only view he had carried for his whole life was now muddied with expanses of gray. “Take care of her. See that she leaves the country in the same condition she arrived.”
Slade started to turn away, but Lavena’s next words stopped him. “You could take her and disappear. You know how better than anyone I know.”
He closed his eyes and brutally dismissed the reckless voice that screamed at him to listen to the old woman. “She has a life in Chicago.” His gaze settled on perceptive brown eyes. “She would never be happy in my world. It wouldn’t be enough.”
“Have you asked her?” Lavena tightened her sash, as if that move would protect her from the cold night air that had her thin shoulders shaking. “She seems to care a great deal about you. You might want to ask before you make her mind up for her.”
Slade hitched the backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “She’ll forget about me in time.” He refused to allow that truth to pain him again. It was time to go. This exchange was unproductive.
Lavena shook her head. Her dark hair had long ago gone gray. It hung over her shoulder in a long, loose braid. “You’ve always been stubborn. She ruined you just like she did the others.”
How did she know about the others? He’d never heard her talk of them before. But opening that door would only delay what he had to do. “Goodbye, Lavena.”
She waved him off. “Go, then, but watch your back.”
“I always do.”
“Just remember,” Lavena called after him, “she’s waiting for you. This time one of you will die. If it’s you, your woman might never be safe. She could decide to hunt her down, Marek, just to be sure that all signs of you are completely erased.”
Slade kept walking, the name she’d called him ringing in his ears.
Marek.
He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.
She had given him that name, Tripp Marek. He was not that man anymore.
He was no one. Nothing.
Except the man who was going to kill the Dragon.
2:45 a.m.
MAGGIE’S EYES FLUTTERED OPEN. The room was dark. And too quiet.
Where was she?
Mexico.
She sat up, the air expelling from her body in a rush.
“Slade?”
Silence answered her.
He was gone.
Emotion welled inside her, stinging her eyes and making her chest hurt.
When she’d gathered her composure, she pushed the covers aside and dropped her feet to the floor. She threaded her fingers through her hair, thrusting it out of her face. She regarded the dark room with a long, slow look.
“Okay, Maggie, what now?”
She had been ready to banish him from her life. The middle-of-the-night trip to the brownstone had been about closure. The end. Instead of following through, she’d followed him here. She looked around the dark room. He’d killed a man to save her life. They’d fled from the police at a murder scene, and that didn’t even count being persons of interest in the explosion. Dear God, what was she going to do? No matter how many times she asked herself that question, the answer never magically came to her.
She got to her feet and straightened her clothes. Sitting here wouldn’t help. She had to do something. Where were her shoes? Maggie felt around the floor with one foot. There. She burrowed her left foot into the shoe, then the right. She frowned and kicked off the right. She clicked on the bedside light and checked the shoe. What the heck? She stared at the wad of cash in her hand. He’d left her more money.
Shelter, food, more cash. He had provided everything she needed but a phone. Maggie dropped back onto the bed. He wanted her to hide out here until it was safe. Just sit here and wait to hear if he was dead or alive. She closed her eyes against the thought of him being killed. But the risk was too great to expect anything else.
Maggie was no cop, but even she recognized that the woman he was going up against was powerful and evil. The explosion and the ambush were proof enough. There was no way Slade stood a chance against resources like that. She would kill him.
Her own son.
Pushing back to her feet, Maggie made her decision. She had to do something more than debate herself about this. Before it was too late.
Victoria and Lucas would know what to do. Maggie had become friends with the folks at the Colby Agency. They were the best.
Slade considered Lavena a friend of sorts. Surely with him gone Maggie could help her see reason. It was three o’clock in the morning and the older lady likely wouldn’t be thrilled about being disturbed, but Maggie couldn’t wait.
She pulled on her jacket and stuffed the money into her pocket. The baby she carried was counting on her for protection. Still, Maggie feared that she might be the only hope Slade had.
Whether he realized it or not.
She peeked out the window and surveyed the street. Dark and deserted. A few cars were parked along the block. There wasn’t a single light on in any of the neighboring buildings.
She wished she had a weapon. A baseball bat like the one she kept under her bed back in Chicago. Or a can of pepper spray like she carried in her purse. A quick search of the apartment confirmed that there was nothing she could use as a weapon. She’d just have to work with what she had—her wits.
Several seconds passed before she had the nerve to unlock the door. The thunder of her pounding heart deafened her. She drew open the door far enough to confirm that there was no one on the second-floor landing. Quiet. Deserted. Whoever lived in the other two apartments on this floor didn’t seem to be home. There hadn’t been a sound or lights earlier and there wasn’t any now.
Moving down the stairs was the hardest part. She felt like an open target. Watching the street for trouble, she had to hang on to the railing to keep from stumbling. Once she reached the ground level, she paused to listen. Quiet. Cold. No shadows flitting around.
L
avena’s flat was the one directly beneath the one assigned to Maggie. She eased toward the door, afraid to stop looking around even for a second. The windows of the flat were dark. She almost hesitated, hating to wake the woman, but there was no time to wait. Maggie steadied herself and raised her fist. One quick rap. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.
Maggie knocked harder. The door swayed inward, whining loudly at the injustice of being disturbed at such an hour. Maggie’s eyes widened. She licked her lips. “Lavena?”
No answer.
If she stepped inside, would Lavena be startled and shoot her or something? These acquaintances of Slade’s weren’t your typical neighbors. Maggie fidgeted with her jacket. She could almost hear the time ticking away as she stood there like a coward.
She crossed the threshold. The room was dark as pitch. “Lavena.”
Maybe she wasn’t home. Where in the world would a woman her age be at this hour?
Maggie felt for a light switch. She couldn’t find anything on the wall near the door. She considered the lighting situation upstairs where the only source was a couple of table lamps, and moved carefully through the darkness in search of one.
Her foot hit something hard. Maggie grunted. Sofa leg. There had to be a lamp near the sofa. She felt across the upholstered cushions. Her fingers encountered a leg. Human. Covered in terry cloth.
Maggie froze. No one moved or screamed or anything. She needed light. Her pulse kicked into hyperspeed. She moved past the pair of human legs and found a table at that end of the sofa. Frantic, she felt across the top until she touched the base of the lamp. She twisted the switch. Light pooled on the table and floor and the sofa.
Lavena sat on the sofa, her head lolled to one side as if she’d fallen asleep. A small round hole in the middle of her forehead had leaked blood in bright crimson rivulets down her face.
Maggie covered her mouth with both hands to hold back the scream. Her stomach revolted, threatened to expel any contents.
Blood and brain matter were splattered over the back of the sofa.
Maggie stumbled back, bumped a chair and crumpled into the seat. She rocked back and forth until the urge to scream or puke subsided. The smell of blood and death penetrated deep into her lungs.
How had someone shot her without Maggie hearing it? Then she remembered the attack at the motel. There had been no gun blasts. The shooters had used silencers of some sort.
Her hand shaking, she reached out and touched the poor woman’s throat. Her skin was still warm but there was no pulse. Fear zapped Maggie. Lavena hadn’t been dead long.
Help. Maggie needed help. She forced herself up and half ran, half staggered to the door. Lavena’s grandson lived in the flat next door. Outside, one hand against the wall for support, Maggie made her way to Ramondo’s door. She knocked, loud. No answer. Fear tightened around her chest. She knocked again. Nothing.
She reached for the knob and gave it a twist. It opened without resistance. Inside, like Lavena’s place, it was dark. Still.
“Ramondo?”
Silence echoed in the room.
She felt for a switch, didn’t find one. Slowly, she found her way around the room by touch until she discovered a lamp. She twisted the switch and light glowed from beneath the shade. No body. Relief made her knees weak. The room was sparsely furnished, but all looked as it should be. No overturned furniture. Nothing broken. No blood. Clothes lay on the floor by the bed as if Ramondo had undressed in preparation for turning in, but the bed was empty, save the tousled covers.
“Ramondo?” The flat was one big room and a bathroom, like the others. She pushed the bathroom door inward and flipped on the overhead light. Empty.
Maggie turned to go, but hesitated. That overwhelm ing feeling of dread started deep in her belly. She inhaled deeply, analyzed the smell.
Blood. Death.
Shaking, Maggie faced the tiny bathroom once more and crossed to the tub. Her hand shaking, she drew back the shower curtain.
Ramondo lay naked in the tub, a bullet hole in his left temple.
Maggie backed out of the room. The urge to scream didn’t come this time. She shook so hard she could scarcely put one foot in front of the other to get to the front door.
She needed a phone. Gathering her courage, she searched the flat. No landline. Her stomach roiling, she turned to where Ramondo’s discarded clothes lay. She forced herself to rummage through his shirt and then his trousers. Her fingers closed around his cell phone.
“Thank God.”
Maggie pressed keys, opened and closed the phone twice. She couldn’t get past the security code. Tossing aside the phone, she raced back to Lavena’s flat. A frantic hunt revealed the same. No landline. If Lavena had a cell phone it was nowhere to be found.
Hysteria setting in, Maggie rushed to the next flat, the one beyond Ramondo’s. She banged on the door and called out for help. No one answered. Taking the stairs two at a time, she checked the other two upper flats. Doors locked, lights out, no answer to her pleas.
She descended the stairs and wandered until she stood in the middle of the street. She turned all the way around. There was no one to help. No place to go. What did she do now? She didn’t speak the language. She had no phone. There were no lights on in any of the buildings. If anyone was inside, they weren’t going to come out and help her.
The distinct sound of a footfall on stone shattered the silence. Maggie whirled around. She looked one way, then the other.
Someone was there.
She’d heard them.
But she could see nothing except shadows and faint patches of light from the moon and the sole streetlamp at the end of the block.
She visually measured the distance between where she stood and Lavena’s flat.
Then she ran.
Footfalls slammed against the cobblestone street behind her.
Whoever was out there was coming!
Maggie burst into the flat and shoved the door shut behind her. Her fingers fumbled with the lock. She jammed it into place just in time for something—a boot or body—to ram into the door.
She backed away. The slamming against the door shook it. A weapon. She needed a weapon. Half running, half stumbling, she rushed around the room. Yanked out a cabinet drawer and searched its offerings, then another and another. She encountered cold steel. She wrapped her fingers around the biggest knife in the drawer.
The wooden door splintered and a scream bolted from her throat.
There was no place to hide.
No back door.
No time to figure out how to get a window open.
She headed for the bathroom.
The front door burst inward as she slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it.
Boot heels echoed on the tile floor just outside the bathroom door.
Like the bathroom upstairs, this one had no window, no escape.
The intruder bumped against the bathroom door and Maggie held out the knife in front of her. She tried to slow her breathing, to calm down. She had to be prepared to fight or she would end up dead just like Lavena and her grandson.
Her baby. Dear God, she hadn’t protected her baby.
Agony swelled so swiftly that spots floated in front of her eyes.
No. She grabbed back control. She had to be strong.
The door splintered menacingly, allowing the lock to give way. The door flew open and a man filled the doorway, the weapon he’d obviously already used to murder two people in his hand.
Maggie went ice-cold.
He leveled the barrel of the weapon on her and said something in Spanish. She didn’t get a word of it.
Shaking so hard she could scarcely remain vertical, Maggie waved the knife. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, her voice so keen and thin it was alien to her ears.
He took a step toward her.
She braced for the worst.
“Drop the knife,” he said in English.
She blinked at the abrupt change in language, th
en told herself to focus, pay attention. No way was she doing anything he said.
She backed up a step and hit the side of the tub.
Another boot length disappeared between them.
The ice that had filled Maggie’s limbs leached into her skull. The fear and panic drained away. She felt nothing except determination.
She would not let this bastard kill her baby.
He took the final step. She charged him and sank the knife into his shoulder.
He roared a string of curses and tried to grab her with his free hand. She kicked. Screamed. Stabbed at him with the knife.
When the gun clattered to the floor, Maggie rushed past him.
She was at the front door before he started running after her. Hope bloomed in her chest. If she could out-maneuver him, she could hide in the darkness.
Across the street she headed for a narrow alley. She ran as hard as she could, the bloody knife still clutched in her hand.
Laughter bubbled up into her throat. Hysteria was overtaking her. She struggled to tamp it down. Keep running, Maggie. Don’t slow down. Don’t look back.
He was getting closer. She could hear him coming.
She pushed herself harder. Ignored the sharp pain in her side. If she let him catch her…
Ruthless fingers tangled in her hair. Jerked her backward and off her feet.
She hit the unforgiving cobblestone.
The knife flew from her hand, bounced on the stone, landing somewhere out of her reach.
The world spun wildly as the spots reappeared, obscuring her vision. Don’t pass out!
Looming over her, the man jammed the muzzle of the gun against her forehead. He growled something crude in Spanish, his teeth clenched in fury. It was too dark to see his face well and she didn’t understand the language, but she fully recognized his intent. He was as mad as hell and she was as good as dead.
“That’s enough.”
Maggie’s mind scrambled to grasp where the voice had come from. Another man had followed them into the alley. The idea that they might have another horror planned for her exploded in her chest. Please, God, don’t let them do unspeakable things to me before they kill me.