Survival Instinct

by Doranna Durgin

  He wondered if she was an innie or an outie.

  He closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly. “Dave Hunter,” he said. “I spoke to you about fourteen months ago.”

  “Did you?” She said it negligently, as if it wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other. Okay, now that stung. If she didn’t remember him specifically, surely she’d remember why they’d spoken.

  “About the missing boy? Terry Williams? It was right before you moved.” Not that he’d had any trouble tracking her down. It was what he did, after all.

  She hesitated. He took the opportunity to ease a few steps closer. Not so close as to set the dog off again, but close enough to see she did indeed have Ellen’s eyes, a piercing gray-blue. Those distinctive brows drew together, leaving her with a disturbed expression. Finally she said, “Shortly after I moved here, I was in a car accident. I’m afraid there are some things from that period that I just can’t remember. You seem to be one of them.” At his surprise, she added a sardonic, “Don’t take it personally. It was a pretty bad accident.”

  Held at bay by a mutt, lost for words before he even started…and a faint hope fast turning into a fading hope. If she didn’t remember…

  But he had to try, or it’d be Terry Williams all over again, lost and never found. “I do consultation work with various legal authorities—FBI, most often. Missing persons cases. Kidnapped children.”

  The eyebrow went up. “Not kidnapped adults?”

  “These days,” Dave said, somewhat reassured to hear the familiar dry tone in his own voice, “kids can use all the help they can get.”

  Her eyes widened but went so quickly back to normal that he almost missed it. Her assertive stance softened slightly, and he didn’t miss that, either. “I see. And you were asking me about—?”

  Finally. “Terry Williams—an eight-year-old who disappeared in Melton Run Park. You were there, not far away. We discussed who you’d seen there, and you looked at some mug shots for me.”

  She nodded vaguely; he wasn’t sure if that meant she remembered or simply that she understood. When she looked at him again, it was with such an intense expression that it took him unaware. “Did you find him? The boy?”

  Ah. She really didn’t remember. Regret tightened his chest. “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and this time she wasn’t sardonic or assertive or distant. Her honest response created a sudden connection between them, one strong enough to make Dave blink. And then it was gone, and she added, “But I don’t know why you’re here now. I do know you’ve interrupted my work and upset my dog, and that you’ll gain nothing from it.”

  Upset her dog. Right. Even now the damn dog eyed Dave, looking for an excuse to start it up all over again.

  But at last, they’d come to the point. “I’m here because I still think you might have seen something in the park that day. You might not even know it was of importance—”

  “What does it matter now, if he’s dead?”

  “Because now seven-year-old Rashawn Little is missing. I think the same man has him, and I need your help to find him.”

  “You must be desperate.” That’s what Karin had said to Dave Hunter, but she might as well have said it to herself. Why else would she have let him on the porch, suggesting he have a seat on the picnic-table bench while she fixed some sun tea?

  Yeah, she was desperate, all right. Desperate to pull off her Ellen role in front of someone who’d known Ellen. Not someone who’d known her long or well, but a trained investigator. A man who drank in details—and remembered them.

  She’d seen his hesitation. He’d known she wasn’t the same woman. She’d managed to overcome the doubt with pure brazen bluffing, but deep down he still knew. He’d figure it out if she let him stick around, and then he’d figure out there was a California warrant out for her arrest.

  Problem was, she knew too well what it was like to be a child in trouble with no one to turn to.

  Problem was…she couldn’t afford to draw attention. To give Rumsey any excuse to contact her again—or to realize that Karin lived, in spite of the information the police had given him when he’d called after the accident.

  A year ago, maintaining Ellen’s identity wouldn’t have been so much of a problem. Ellen hadn’t known anyone here long enough to have close friends—and Karin had been careful to emulate every subtle thing Ellen had been. Finally she’d let the Karin side of her nature blend in. And she’d never intended to connect with anyone from Ellen’s city life, people with whom Ellen had cut ties so sufficiently that no one even called her in the hospital.

  You might have warned me, she told her sister. All that time in the car, and you couldn’t come up with one little word about something like this? About someone like this? She dropped a few ice cubes into a tall plastic cup—very classy—and closed her eyes. Broad shoulders meant to carry a suit, elegantly lean build, gold-glinting blond hair just long enough to get mussed, expression all business…

  At least, until he’d seen Dewey. She smiled, dropped ice into a cup for herself and smiled again. He’d tried so hard to look casual, standing there doing all the wrong things.

  But her smile was gone by the time she returned to the porch. She pulled Ellen’s sweatshirt closer and leaned against the house beside the bench on which Hunter sat. The bright March sun wasn’t enough to touch the chill of warning along her spine. She couldn’t afford the interest an investigation like Hunter’s could stir up. But she couldn’t send him away with a simple refusal; it would be like throwing away a boomerang.

  If he wasn’t the persistent type, he’d have gotten right back into that car when Dewey Lake showed those capable teeth.

  “Look,” she said, finding just the right note of reluctance, “I’d like to help you—”

  “But you won’t,” he finished for her.

  “I don’t think you were listening.” She kept her voice quiet. She couldn’t backstep all the way to Ellen-ness, not after the greeting he’d gotten, but she could lean that way. “What makes you think I can remember anything about that day?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and he sounded so reasonable, sitting there on the hard picnic-table bench in his suit, that she became immediately wary. “You could look at some pictures. You could talk about it. Maybe you don’t remember because you haven’t tried.”

  Karin’s natural reaction was to snort. Wouldn’t it be nice if the world worked that way. If only you try hard enough— She covered it by quietly clearing her throat. “I’ve never been able to recall any of the things I forgot. And you might well imagine I’ve tried—there are things I still haven’t been able to find since the move.”

  “Well,” he said, and smiled in a most charming way, “that happens to all of us.”

  Karin didn’t roll her eyes. Instead she let Ellen smile back, and decided that she’d just keep saying no. No, no, no…for as long as it took. Besides, that smile of his didn’t charm her one bit. She knew when she was being played. She ought to. “It’s been over a year,” she said, and took a sip of tea. “What’s gone is really gone. Even if I did remember a moment or two, I’d hardly be your best witness.”

  She hadn’t realized his eyes were such a piercing ice blue, not until he turned them on her so directly. “I don’t need a witness,” he said, and he held everything in that gaze—the conviction, the determination…the commitment. “I need to find that little boy. I need your help to do it. He needs your help.”

  Holy crap. She’d been a kid in need, once. What if a man like this had been looking out for her then? Maybe Ellen would have stayed…maybe Karin would have made something of herself. Something more than living her sister’s life. If only for now.

  Dangerous thoughts. Regret only got in the way of survival choices.

  And besides, they were only eyes. No matter the emotion behind them or how that emotion touched her…they were only eyes. And the eyes of a stranger at that.

  Eyes that still watched her, waiting for react
ion. For decision.

  The decision was made long before you got here, Dave Hunter.

  That she didn’t kick him right off the porch was Ellen’s doing. She restricted herself to the slightest shake of her head. In return she saw only a flicker of disappointment, followed close on by determination.

  “Look,” he said. “Let’s give the subject a break. I’ve got to eat—why don’t you come into town with me, have a late lunch?”

  She took a deep breath. And she was about to shake her head, more emphatically this time, when an unfamiliar car came around the curve just beyond her house, moving slowly. “Cree-ap,” she muttered. She took three long strides and tucked herself in behind the nearest porch post. It meant standing straight and tall—and it meant that Dave Hunter would give her away if he so much as asked her what the hell she was doing.

  He didn’t ask. He took a gulp of tea and rested his elbows on his somewhat spraddled knees, looking out over the little farm. Only when the car had moved out of sight did he say, “That was interesting.”

  “They don’t belong here.” As though that were explanation enough, she clicked her tongue at Dewey. It was enough to call the dog from his snooze, and she opened the screen door for him.

  “Probably not.” He’d straightened from his relaxed posture, setting the drink aside on the bench. “No dust on the car, that’s for sure. Should I be grateful you didn’t hide from—”

  By then she’d followed Dewey inside the house, hesitating in the mudroom to slant the blinds. The first car, not a big deal, especially not when she’d scoped Dave out from the dormer before greeting him. But two strange cars on this road in the same day? This wasn’t a main road; it wasn’t even a shortcut between here and there. It was the kind of road on which Karin could recognize every car she saw.

  She shouldn’t have hesitated. By the time she turned away from the window, Dave Hunter had invited himself inside after her. There wasn’t enough space for him to keep his distance; he was right up close when he trained those sharp eyes on her. “Ellen. What’s going on?”

  Some of the Karin in her sparked out. “You tell me,” she snapped, and gave him a little push back, remembering only at the last moment to moderate the force of it. Ellen might well push, but she wouldn’t shove.

  But he didn’t step back. He moved up on her, so quickly she didn’t realize she’d given ground until she was already backed up against the washing machine. He didn’t cage her in his arms, but she found herself just as trapped. Just as startled, looking up into his face with her mouth open in surprise.

  In that instant, everything changed. She saw it hit him—saw his eyes widen slightly, his jaw hardening and his shoulders going tense beneath the perfectly tailored suit. The air between them solidified into something alive; it tingled off her skin. Her chest ached and—breathe, Karin, breathe.

  He shook his head as though waking from a daze and shifted back slightly, a scant inch of relief.

  Because a normal tone of voice felt oddly as if it would come out as a shout, Karin whispered again, “You tell me. How often do you think two strange cars travel this road?”

  He didn’t whisper, but his voice stayed low. “So you hid. Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”

  She shrugged. It was much more casual than she felt. The sweatshirt slid off her shoulder. “I like my privacy.”

  He gently tugged the sweatshirt back into place.

  She closed her eyes and pretended not to notice. “They’re looking for you, aren’t they?”

  He responded evenly. “It’s just a car, Ellen.”

  Right, and this is just a conversation. Just any old conversation between two people who’ve just met and God, I can’t believe how much I want to—

  She overrode all those impulses to say, “I’m right, and you know it. You just won’t admit it, in case you lose one last chance at my cooperation. Well, there isn’t a one last chance.”

  “I can’t accept that.” But he turned away, leaving a tangible absence.

  Dewey took this first opportunity to get between them. Karin put her hand on his head. “Did you see that slow crawl? They’re looking for someone. They saw you on my porch, and they’ll be back for you.” Or for me.

  He shook his head with finality. “I’m not exactly hard to find. There’s no reason for anyone to come here looking for me. But…” He looked out the door, and his unfinished acknowledgment was clear enough.

  So was the sound of a slowly approaching car. An instant later, Dewey growled. Dave Hunter muttered softly, “Son of a bitch.”

  Karin pushed past him to confirm she’d heard someone making the turn into the driveway. “Son of a bitch,” she repeated, in a voice much sharper. “Dewey, let’s go—basement.”

  “Basement?” Hunter asked.

  “Damn straight, basement. I’m going to deal with these guys on my own terms.” That meant scoping them out before they saw her. Not dealing with them at all wasn’t much of an option, not with Dave’s car in the driveway. She led Dewey through the kitchen, toward the little shelf-lined reading den in the front corner of the house. “You’re welcome to come, if you don’t mind getting that suit messed up.”

  “Your dog has already seen to the suit.”

  She gave a little laugh. “He told you not to come any closer.” She pulled open the den’s closet door even as she glanced out the window. The car had stopped behind Hunter’s, and the occupants seemed engaged in conversation, but the driver already had his door open.

  “Charming,” Hunter said from behind as she reached down to the small rectangular rug on the floor of the closet, pushing aside winter clothing. “Your stairs are in your closet?”

  “It’s an old house.” Karin teased a tab out from beneath the edge of the rug and when she pulled it, up came a big square of the floor. “It didn’t come together all at once. And I’m not sure I’d call these stairs.” More like a ladder. She’d had it put in shortly after she’d taken Ellen’s name—and her house, and her dog, and all the rest of the things that came with her life. She might have picked up where Ellen had left off, but Karin never forgot she was a woman in hiding—a woman who might one day have to go on the run.

  Having a rug-covered floor hatch suited her dry sense of humor. She told Hunter, “I’d rather you came down than stay out where you’ll give them more to think about, but it’s up to you.”

  Again, she’d surprised him. The car accident had changed her, all right…and it suited her.

  Or maybe it just suited him.

  He met her gaze, saw the impatience there. Reasonable impatience, given that they had only moments to get out of view. “You just want to keep an eye on me.”

  “You could say that.” She crouched, knees open, and held her arms out. Damned if the big mutt didn’t walk right up and put his front legs on her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around him and stood, staggering slightly under the weight. Undismayed, the dog wagged his tail.

  And here Dave stood, looking at the dog. “Do you want me to—?”

  She laughed, a short sound but with true amusement. “Do you really want to?”

  Hmm. Maybe not.

  But she didn’t wait for a response backing down the ladder. For a moment, Dave hesitated—he had no reason to duck these men, and plenty of reasons to ask blunt questions of them. But as the crown of her sun-streaked hair disappeared into the dim hole, he found himself compelled to follow. He pulled the rug-topped door closed as he descended, and by the time he hit the uneven dirt floor, she’d put the dog down and left him to scent the air at the front of the basement.

  Dave took in the lay of the basement—ceiling low enough so he had to duck the joists, a hodgepodge of pier supports, steel shelving and a big workbench along the back. Some of the walls were dirt; some were concrete block. The furnace and water heater sat up against a surprising stone interior wall, one that closed off a small room. Hand-set stone. Older than old.

  But most importantly, there were two doors. One at the back corner
, and another on the front.

  Dave fought the sudden impulse to climb right back out and approach the men head-on. So far he’d kept a low profile as a special consultant in the FBI’s investigation—in truth, the feebs were putting up with him. Don’t make waves, he’d been told. And he needed to know more before he could define just what might make waves.

  Ellen went to the front of the basement, where a dirt wall ran next to the porch itself, offering a small crawl space. She looked back and gestured to him—come on over—and he did, just as the men mounted the steps to the porch. It was eavesdropping of a most creative sort.

  Dave leaned close to Ellen. “You’re sure a simple conversation wouldn’t do the trick?”

  One man went to the front door, and another to the mudroom; both knocked. She said, “Aren’t you the trusting one?”

  He muffled his short laugh. “Far from it. But I think you’ve got me beat. You’re sure nothing’s happened to you besides that car accident?”

  She closed her eyes, took a sudden sharp breath…let it out slowly. “The accident was enough.”

  A second thought sobered him. “Your former boyfriend hasn’t made any threats, has he?”

  That drew her gaze, hard and sharp, the blue-gray a haunting shade in this dim light. He could have sworn she was going to say, “My former what?” But then she gave a short shake of her head. “Not that I know of.”

  “You didn’t—” He stopped, cocked his head slightly. “Or maybe you did. Watch me when I first got here.”

  “Upstairs window.” And then she held up her hand. Listen.

  “I’m not sure this is the place,” one of the men said, a gravel-toned voice full of doubt. “He said she was the mousy sort. This place…someone’s working it.”

  “So maybe she hires out.”

  “He said she had a little money. What woman would live like this if she could afford a decent lifestyle?”