Don't Look Down

by Jennifer Crusie

  Shit. A man, head covered just like his was. Nash? Pepper's ghost? Whoever it was, he was much closer to the damn Irishman than Wilder was. He pressed forward as his mind churned. Was Nash making his own move on Finnegan? Or was it the CIA? Had Crawford lied and the Agency was going to bring in Finnegan and squeeze him?

  That didn't make sense. Fuck, nothing had made sense since that first night on the bridge except for the all-too-brief interludes with Lucy. That and Pepper; she made sense, too, in her own way, more than all the adults around her.

  Mission focus. Or else there wouldn't be another interlude with Lucy or conversation with Pepper.

  The fucking gator was still keeping pace. Wilder knew he wouldn't make it to Finnegan before the other person did. Hell, it was going to be a close race beating the gator there.

  He almost felt sorry for Finnegan. But he never slowed for a moment.

  Tyler glanced to his left rear. Gator. He smiled, wondering if it was his one-eyed buddy. He could feed the fat Irishman to her. There'd be enough food there for all her babies.

  The glow of the cigar was like a beacon. Dumb fuck. The ground was sloping up now and Tyler could move faster. He wasn't worried about the old man spotting him-without night-vision goggles there was no chance.

  Tyler reached the embankment, less than five feet from the Irishman, and paused. He drew the High Standard.22 pistol and quietly drew back the slide, chambering a round.

  Then he paused and looked back to the north. He could see the V in the water from the gator's wake, coming this way. But beyond it was something else. Someone else. Close to the gator and closing. Which meant he had less than two minutes.

  Tyler sprinted up the embankment, weapon at the ready, and drew a bead on the Irishman, who must have heard something because he spun about, sliding his fat ass off the hood of the car.

  "Who goes there? That you, Connor? I don't know why you needed to meet-"

  Tyler fired, the small round hitting the old man in the kneecap. The Irishman made a surprised sound and the leg went out, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  "Johnnie-boy!" the Irishman screamed. "Peter!"

  This was not a time for subtlety. Smash and grab.

  Tyler ran up to the writhing figure and aimed. He put a round through the man's other kneecap and the Irishman screamed again.

  "Who the fuck are you?" he gasped through clenched teeth.

  "Your security's dead. Scream all you want. No one's coming."

  Tyler realized that wasn't quite true, but he figured whoever else was coming through the water wasn't there to help the Irishman, either.

  Tyler holstered the pistol and drew his knife. He put his knee on the Irishman's chest. He placed the tip of the knife against the man's left eyeball. "Lie and lose it. And that's just the start, old man, so make it easy." With his right hand, he reached into the old man's coat and retrieved his cell phone.

  "Listen," the Irishman gasped. Tyler noted that there was no longer a hint of brogue. Just a heavy dose of fear. "Listen, we can deal. We can-"

  "Two things. The container number and the coordinates where you're supposed to meet Letsky."

  "I'll cut you in." The Irishman's face was gray with pain and terror. "I'll make you a partner-"

  "You want to be my partner?" Tyler asked with a chuckle. "You want to cut me in, but you and that bitch pilot are cutting everybody out. How's that gonna work?"

  "You need me," the Irishman argued desperately. "Without me, the deal doesn't-"

  "There's been a change," Tyler said and slapped him on the side of the face with the flat side of the knife, getting his attention, as he put the point less than a quarter inch from the old man's eye. "Coordinates and container number."

  "Fuck you."

  "Wrong answer," Tyler said and pressed down with the knife.

  Wilder stopped when he heard the second scream. Every damn thing in the swamp for a long way around had to have heard that scream. There was no brogue to it, but he had no doubt from whose throat it had emanated. And he knew the other stalker knew he was coming. He'd seen that pause at the base of the embankment. He'd also heard the cry for Johnnie-boy and Peter. With no response.

  And the fucking gator was moving even faster, enticed by the scream.

  Wilder knew it was too late for Finnegan, but he pressed forward anyway. Another scream. Wilder could have moved faster, but there was no way he was taking the MP-5 out of the ready position. Because someone was causing those screams and someone who could do that was not someone to be underestimated. Wilder was pretty sure old Rogers would be with him on this one, even though being in a swamp with a screaming Irishman and a gator had not been covered in the Rangering Rules.

  Another scream. Wilder was close to the road.

  Silence.

  Wilder froze. His eyes swept back and forth, searching through the goggles, the muzzle of the submachine gun following his gaze. Nothing moving. But whatever had happened was over. And now it was time to watch one's own ass.

  Because whoever had made Finnegan scream was close. Damn close. Waiting for him to do something stupid. And the silence from Johnnie-boy and Peter meant they, too, were probably not among the living.

  It was the hardest lesson he had learned in combat: Do nothing.

  He stood perfectly still, chest-deep in the swamp. Finger on the trigger. Listening. Watching. Sniffing.

  A body came tumbling down the berm and splashed into the water and Wilder swung the muzzle to the left as it was met by the alligator, which snatched it up in its massive jaws.

  Wilder knew the 9-mm bullets in the submachine gun would only piss off such a large alligator, and besides, he really had nothing against the critter. It was just doing what came naturally to it. Wilder dropped the MP-5 into the water where it came to rest on its sling and reached to his back where the Glock with the hot loads was holstered. He knew those rounds could punch through most body armor, so he hoped it would penetrate the gator's hide if need be. Shooting gators had not been taught at Bragg during Special Forces training, a serious oversight, Wilder was beginning to believe. If Pepper had had any say, it would have been.

  Wilder drew the pistol out, water pouring out of the barrel, and fired a warning shot. The gator began to thrash, but he shifted up and fired several rounds toward the berm, trying to ensure that whoever had thrown the man in would have to take cover. If he went up there in chase, there was a very good chance he'd take a round right between the eyes, if the other person had also learned the same hard lesson of being able to wait. Wilder was willing to wager good money that the other person had indeed.

  Wilder shifted back to the thrashing in the water. Then suddenly there was silence. He took an involuntary step backward, realizing the gator had gone under with its prey. He remained still, cognizant of predators all about. Finally, after five minutes, he waded forward toward the berm.

  That's when he saw the flicker of movement to his left, along the road, flitting between the trees. A ghostly figure moving away at a sprint. Nash? Wilder aimed the Glock but he couldn't get a solid sight picture. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared and for a moment Wilder wondered if he'd been mistaken.

  No.

  Wilder considered pursuit, then decided he'd really like to see Lucy again before he died-which he was now hoping would happen when he was very old and in bed with her-and deep-sixed that idea.

  There was something floating in the water. A piece of cloth. Wilder scooped it up. Part of a Hawaiian shirt soaked with blood and swamp water.

  Finnegan was sleeping with the gators.

  Chapter 18

  Lucy had taken Pepper back to Daisy, listening with half an ear to Pepper's enthusiastic recount of her time spent with Major LaFavre.

  "He is a very good person," she told Lucy.

  "I'm sure he is," she said and knocked on Daisy's door.

  Daisy opened it, looking bleary-eyed. "Hey, pumpkin," she said to Pepper. Then she looked at Lucy and her smile faded. "What?"r />
  "Don't come to the bridge tonight," Lucy said, as Daisy stepped back to let them in the room. "Pack your things and I'll pick you up as soon as filming is over. We're leaving right away."

  "To go to New York?"

  "Maybe. I don't know." Lucy sat down on the bed and almost knocked over Daisy's pill bottle. There were only four left. Good. "For right now, just away from here."

  "What do you mean, 'maybe'?"

  Lucy took a deep breath. "I mean, maybe we'll stay here. Maybe we'll start over here."

  Daisy sat down beside her. "Really?"

  Lucy looked at her. "J.T. knows we were in a foster home."

  "So?"

  "I've never told anybody that."

  Daisy blinked. "Why?"

  "Nobody's business."

  "I agree. Why did you tell J.T.?"

  "I didn't. He guessed. Well, he guessed we weren't sisters and then the rest… just came out."

  Daisy nodded. "And what does this have to do with us staying in the South?"

  Lucy swallowed. "I think J.T. is the rest of my life. I know I move too fast, but I really think he is. And that's a new life. And you want a new life. And I want to be with you, I want to play Barbies with Pepper until she's too old to play Barbies and then I want to talk about boys with her."

  "Cool," Pepper said.

  "So I think tonight after the shoot is over, we get in the camper and we drive to Charleston or Atlanta or someplace, I don't know, and we find a nice hotel and we sit and we figure out what we both want, and we pick a place and we start over. Together. Both of us. Partners."

  Daisy drew a deep breath. "I'd like that very much."

  Lucy nodded. "Yeah. So would I."

  "What about your career?"

  Good question. "Well, Atlanta's a big advertising town," Lucy said, trying to sound more positive than she felt. "And I'm sure they have many talented dogs there. Gloom can run the business part from New York. He loves my loft, he can move in." Actually, the more she talked about it, the more it all made sense. Something new. Brand-new start. Brand-new day. Brand-new love. "This is what I want to do, it's what you want to do, it's good. We'll have to figure things out together-"

  "We can do that," Daisy said eagerly, and Lucy saw tears in her eyes. "We can so do that."

  Lucy felt her own tears start. "You sound like Pepper."

  Daisy swallowed. "I feel like Pepper. It'll be the three of us."

  ''And J.T.," Pepper said, watching them wide-eyed, as if waiting to find out if the crying part was good or not.

  "And J.T.," Lucy said firmly.

  "And Rene," Pepper said.

  "Who?" Daisy said.

  "Rene," Pepper said. "He's J.T.'s best friend. So we will cook dinner and they will come."

  "Cook dinner?" Lucy said, not sure.

  "I'll show you how," Daisy said and then grinned. "Yeah. I'll show you how to do something."

  "Cool," Pepper said.

  Lucy nodded. "Cool."

  Daisy took a deep breath. "And we will have such a good time."

  Lucy started to laugh. "Okay, so you pack and I'll go finish up this… movie…" Oh, hell. The CIA and the Russian mob. "And then we'll have a new life."

  "Okay," Pepper said and went to drag her pink Barbie rolling carry-on out of the corner.

  Lucy stood up. "I'll call you after the shoot."

  "We'll be ready." Daisy stood up. "We will be so ready. Lucy, thank you."

  "Hey." Lucy slung her arm around her and kissed her cheek. "This is good for me too. Everybody wins."

  I hope.

  Lucy had finished packing her duffel and put it next to J.T.'s case when someone knocked on the door.

  Nash, she thought. He's found out we're stripping the crew off the bridge. "Who is it?"

  "It's me," J.T. said. "Who were you expecting?"

  She unlocked the door and threw her arms around him so that he had to drag her with him as he came in. He kicked the door shut behind him and kissed her, and she hung on tight, so relieved to see him, she was speechless. Damn LaFavre, making her worry.

  "I could get used to coming home to this," he said into her neck.

  "Never leave me again," she said, and he pulled back.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," she said. "Well, I was worried. And Nash came by after you left."

  His face turned to stone and she said, "No, nothing happened. Hey, you'd have been proud of me." She gestured at the Beretta on the nightstand. "I pulled a gun on him."

  He shuddered and then wrapped his arms around her again. "He's not a good person to pull a gun on, Lucy. Don't do it again unless you're going to kill him. If you hesitate, he'll take it away from you. And then…" He held her tighter.

  "Well," Lucy said, trying to breathe, "if he'd come any closer I would have killed him."

  "Lucy, you didn't even take the safety off. I can see it from here. So could he."

  Hell. "I forgot."

  "Yeah." He kissed her cheek. "Don't pull a gun on him. On anybody, but especially not him. You only point a gun-"

  "If you're going to kill somebody. I know, I know." Now that she was calm, she noticed he was soaking wet. And smelled like swamp. She pulled back. "Where have you been?"

  "In the swamp," he said, letting her go. "Finnegan is dead."

  Lucy felt sick. "You killed him?"

  He looked insulted. "No. Jeez, Lucy."

  "Sorry." She sat down on the edge of the bed. I'm sleeping with a man I know could kill people. She should have found that disturbing, not comforting, but there it was.

  He kept talking as he unbuttoned his wet shirt. "I thought Nash did it, but if he was here with you…"

  "He was here with me part of the time." Lucy crossed her arms. She was going to have to change her shirt, too. It smelled of swamp, thanks to her taste in men.

  Well, J.T. was worth a little swamp stink.

  "He wouldn't have had time to see you and get to the swamp," J.T. said as he stripped off the body armor. "You okay?"

  Am I okay? Lucy considered the situation. "We still shooting tonight?"

  "No," he said, and the way he said it made her pay attention.

  "What happened?"

  "I'm pretty sure Finnegan was tortured."

  "Oh, God." Lucy swallowed. "I don't believe Nash would torture. He's crazy but he's not an animal."

  "I think it was the ghost."

  "Who?"

  "The guy who Pepper's been seeing in the swamp. She was right. He's been there all along. He was there that night with Pepper and the gator."

  "The ghost." Lucy swallowed.

  J.T. pulled off his wet pants and got a fresh shirt out of the case. "But if he's moved up from shooting out helicopter skids and crashing a van to torture and murder, then anything could happen. You're getting out of here."

  "Me?" Lucy straightened. "W'hat about you?"

  His cell phone rang before he could answer. He clicked it on and said, "Wilder," and then he sat down next to her on the bed, turning the phone so she could hear, too.

  "What the fuck is going on?" Crawford's voice crackled.

  J.T. looked unimpressed. "Reference?"

  "Two bodies in the Savannah Wildlife Refuge and a missing Irishman."

  Two bodies and a missing Irishman? Lucy looked at J.T.

  "Two bodies?" he said.

  "Some fat guy and another guy with tattoos, looks like a weight lifter."

  J.T. relaxed a little.

  He knows who they are, Lucy thought. Jesus.

  J.T. said, "Finnegan is dead, not missing."

  "How the hell do you know that?"

  "Uh-" J.T. looked at her and Lucy thought, Something else he didn't tell me. "Well, I found part of his shirt. An alligator got the rest of him."

  Not Moot, Lucy thought, and felt ill.

  "Why the fuck were you out there?" Crawford said.

  "Checking on things."

  "Did I tell you to check on things?" Crawford didn't wait for an answer
. "So much for the bug that was going to lead us to Letsky."

  Oh, you're a real humanitarian, Lucy thought, and the look on J.T.'s face said he was thinking the same thing.

  J.T. said, "Did you have him killed?"

  "Oh, yeah, sure," Crawford snarled. "I killed the one link I had to my priority target. We noticed the bug wasn't moving for a while and went in to check. Found it on his cane. But no Finnegan."

  "Why would Letsky take him out?"

  "Letsky wouldn't take him out," Crawford said, clearly fed up. "Letsky wants his fucking Viagra art. And Finnegan was going to get it for him."

  J.T. straightened. "I thought Finnegan already had the art. He just needed to deliver it."

  "I do the thinking here."

  "Then think," J.T. snapped, and Lucy thought, That's my boy. "Who do you think took out Finnegan?"

  "Nash."

  "Nash was here at the hotel when Finnegan was getting chomped up."

  "How do you know that? You just told me you were in the swamp."

  "Take my word for it," J.T. said. "I've got no reason to protect Nash. So who took out Finnegan if it wasn't Letsky or Nash?"

  "Fuck."

  The look on J.T.'s face told Lucy that wasn't the answer he wanted. The CIA had no idea who'd murdered Finnegan. We're definitely not filming tonight, Lucy thought.

  "Okay." By his tone, Crawford was making a big attempt to regroup. "Here's the new plan. You bug Nash. If he makes the meeting with Letsky, we've got them."

  "Does Nash have the art?"

  "Uh. No."

  "Then why would Nash make the meeting?"

  "You just do as ordered. Bug Nash. Let this thing play out. If he gets the art, we'll let him make the meeting."

  "Where is the art?"

  "Just finish your goddamn movie. Do you understand, Captain?"

  "How were the other two killed?"

  "One shot each, in the head."

  "Close range?"

  "No. Looks like seven-point-six-two. Rifle."

  J.T. looked at Lucy and smiled what he probably hoped was a reassuring smile. Pathetic, she thought and loved him more for trying.