by Debra Webb
That grin he’d been holding back broke loose. “If looks could kill,” he suggested.
“Don’t give me any ideas,” she retorted.
Raine reached out and took her chin in his hand. “Now that’s not very sporting of you, Kate. Where’s your gratitude for the man who saved your life more than once?”
Kate turned away from his touch, refusing to look him in the eye. That intense, protective feeling overwhelmed him again. Along with it came desire so strong that it shook him like nothing else ever had.
Every instinct told Raine to walk away from this lady and never look back, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He brushed his knuckles down her soft cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Kate.” Again she drew away. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told her, then closed the door. Since he couldn’t prop a chair under the knob as he’d done before, Raine slid his belt off and looped it around the side-by-side identical knobs. He tightened the cinch he’d made and checked its hold. That would do, he decided. This way he didn’t have to worry about her making any unauthorized calls or slipping out.
Raine jerked on his coat and cursed himself all the way out. He locked the door and double-checked it. What a fool he was. Letting a damn female get to him like this. He’d thought if he scared her off, he’d be safe from the relentless physical attraction. All he had managed to do was strengthen this insane need to protect her.
He was a fool. If he kept going at this rate, he’d be a dead fool very soon.
KATE STAMPED her foot and blew out an indignant breath when she heard Raine shut and lock the door. She called him every bad name she could think of and a few she made up as she went. If he hadn’t locked her up like an ugly stepchild, she could have called that number again. She still hadn’t remembered anything else and she felt like death warmed over, but she’d been hoping to get the chance to call again.
Damn Jack Raine. Maybe she would be better off trying to get away from him. All she had to do was make herself scarce until all this whatever was over. She frowned. But how would she know when it was over? And what if something happened to Raine?
Kate gave herself a mental kick. She didn’t care what happened to him. She shifted and took a deep breath. Well, maybe she cared a little—but not a lot.
The door to the room opened. Kate stilled. Was he back already? He fumbled around in the room for several minutes. Had he forgotten something?
Yeah, by God. He had forgotten she was locked in the damn closet. Kate balled her fists at her sides and glared at the slits of light angling upward through the louvered door in front of her. “Raine, what are you doing? Let me out of this closet this instant!” She muttered a couple more of those inventive expletives as she waited for him to obey her demand.
She heard him at the closet door then. Three seconds later the doors folded open. “It’s about—” Kate’s outrage died a swift and total death as she stared into the eyes of a stranger.
Chapter Seven
Raine cursed himself a dozen times over as he walked across the hotel parking lot. He had known this would be a mistake, and he’d been right. He should have left Kate Roberts at the hospital emergency room back in Gatlinburg as he’d originally planned. But he hadn’t. He’d foolishly thought he could protect her. His need to play protector may very well have put her in even more danger. Raine blew out a breath and slowed a moment to stare at the bottle of pills clutched in his hand.
Inderal. Most common usage: heart conditions.
The pharmacist had said that the medication in the bottle could be prescribed for a number of ailments ranging from migraines to serious heart problems. And, if the patient was taking it for a heart condition and suddenly stopped, the result could prove life-threatening.
Raine swore again as he double-timed around the corner and down the stretch of sidewalk that led to their room. The pharmacist had also given Raine the name of a doctor who ran a clinic in his home just outside town. The doctor had gone into semiretirement some years ago and didn’t carry much of a patient load these days, so he should be available. Of course, at 7:00 p.m. it was well past office hours, but Raine didn’t intend to let that stop him. He needed to know if there was something wrong with Kate’s heart. And there was only one way to confirm or rule out the possibility. He needed a doctor to examine her.
Raine swallowed hard when he considered the trip they had made on foot. Kate had held up pretty well, but he knew that the journey had been tough on her. He cursed himself again for being a stupid bastard. He should have taken her waxy complexion and complaints about being tired a little more seriously. But this was all new to him. He’d never really had to take care of anyone but himself. The flip side to what he had just learned was that he now had little reason to suspect Kate of having an ulterior motive for showing up at his door. No one in this business would send in an unreliable player—not in a game this serious. And a medical condition, especially one involving the heart, would definitely be a risk.
Raine paused at the door to their room. He took a long, deep breath and, key in hand, reached for the knob, then frowned when the door swung inward at his touch. He’d locked the door, no question about it. Raine reached beneath his jacket, drew his Beretta and automatically released the safety.
Cautiously he entered the room, his gaze swept from left to right and then shot back to the open closet doors.
Kate was gone.
He didn’t have to step over to the closet and look inside. He didn’t have to check the bathroom or look under the bed. He felt the answer in his gut. Emptiness echoed deafeningly in the room.
She was gone.
Adrenaline surged, sending his senses into a higher state of alert. Tension vibrated through every muscle as he crossed to the closet and checked the belt he had used to secure the doors. The belt had been loosened and removed, then tossed aside.
Someone had let Kate out. There were no obvious signs of a struggle, he noted as he slid his belt back into the loops of his jeans. Raine inhaled deeply and considered the possibilities. If Kate had decided to scream her head off and a passerby heard the cries for help, it was feasible that the hotel manager had been alerted. Raine glanced again at the open door to the room. If that were the case then the police would have been notified by now. But the parking lot remained dark and quiet. Maybe he had jumped to the conclusion that she was innocent too soon. Maybe she was involved. She had shown up rather conveniently at his cabin. Raine shook his head. Her injuries were real, her amnesia was real. The medication, he touched the pocket containing the prescription bottle, was real. She couldn’t be involved. Could she?
A cold chill skated down Raine’s spine as he contemplated the only other alternative.
Dillon.
The shrill ring of the telephone sliced through the silence. Raine jerked around to glare at the infernal instrument. It rang again. He didn’t take the time to wonder who would be calling, because he already knew.
Raine retraced his path, kicked the door to the room shut and strode to the table between the two beds. He waited two more rings, then snatched up the receiver. “Yeah.” Raine kept his voice low and steady. There would be no hint of the degree of tension he felt for Dillon to enjoy.
No one else would play it out this way.
“Hello, Raine. Long time no see.”
The hair on the back of Raine’s neck bristled at the sardonic sound of Dillon’s voice. The Puerto Rican roots he’d inherited from his mother still surfaced in the lingering accent Dillon had worked hard to lose. The image of the face that went with the voice filled Raine’s head, taking his senses to another level of tension.
“Not long enough,” Raine replied as he dropped onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. He planted his left foot on the floor and pulled his right knee up to brace his firing arm. He kept the closed door sighted, just in case Dillon’s henchmen showed up for seconds. “Can’t say that I’ve missed you,” Raine added when the silence on the other end stretched too l
ong for comfort.
“Have you missed Kate?”
A trickle of fear managed to slip past Raine’s brutal hold on his emotions, his heart rate increased to accommodate the uncharacteristic sensation. Raine swallowed the scathing response that formed in his mouth. Dillon already knew too much, no point giving away just how badly Raine wanted to keep Kate safe.
“She’s quite a pretty lady,” Dillon continued, his tone slick and coolly menacing. “Such beautiful dark eyes. I can’t imagine why anyone, even you, Raine, would let such a lovely creature out of your sight. Whatever possessed you to lock her in the closet? Have you finally happened upon one you can’t handle?”
Anger flooded Raine, drowning that tiny glimmer of fear. “What do you want, Dillon?”
“Why, I thought you knew.” He chuckled, a harsh, emotionless sound. “I want you, Raine. Are you willing to trade yourself for this sweet young thing?” A frightened shriek from Kate punctuated Dillon’s question.
It took Raine two full seconds, but he cleared his mind, banished all emotions. “Don’t yank my chain, Dillon, just give me the details.” Raine wished he could reach through the telephone and strangle the ruthless son of a bitch on the other end, but that would have to wait. Right now he had to focus on playing out this sick little game.
“There’s a quaint place on Route 29 called Chances. Meet me there at midnight. I’ve reserved the proverbial room in the back.”
A resounding click ended the conversation. Raine dropped the receiver back into the cradle. He should have killed Dillon months ago. The world would certainly be a better place without him. Raine couldn’t bear the thought of Dillon touching Kate, but it was Dillon’s specialty that worried him the most.
Juan Roberto Dillon specialized in killing. He was one of Sal Ballatore’s right-hand men and he had no qualms about taking human life. Race, sex, age or circumstances never entered the picture. Dillon enjoyed killing. The only thing he liked more was the hunt. And that’s what tonight was all about.
Raine replayed every move he had made in the last seventy-two hours and could find no mistake. He didn’t know how Dillon had found him. No way Lucas could have traced Raine’s call. But somehow he’d been found. Dillon could just as easily have stormed the room and taken them both, but he hadn’t. He had waited until Raine was out and taken Kate.
Dillon wanted to play. He liked the thrill of the chase, the sudden twists of fate. Everything was a game to him. Raine gritted his teeth against the rage that rose in his throat. This whole business was just one big walk around the Monopoly board to Dillon. Toss the dice and see where the game takes you. In the end, the player with the most money, and still breathing, wins.
The man was a real opportunist too. Rather than going to Ballatore after discovering Raine’s true identity, Dillon had seized the opportunity for another, more self-serving purpose.
Raine allowed the vivid images to reel through his mind, his heart pounding harder with each passing frame of memory. Raine, Dillon and Michael, Sal’s son, had picked up two million dollars in cash from a major cocaine distributor working for Ballatore. They had done it together numerous times before, but this time was different.
After the exchange went down, the three of them were alone in the warehouse. Vinny and Danny had waited in the car like always. Dillon was slapping Michael on the back one minute and praising his ability to close a deal, then putting a bullet through the kid’s head the next.
Dillon had then turned to a stunned Raine and said, “I know who you are and why you’re here.” He’d pressed the barrel of his Ruger against Raine’s forehead. “The only thing I don’t understand,” he continued with a sadistic smile, “is why you killed Mr. Ballatore’s son.”
The momentary distraction of Danny entering the warehouse was all that had kept Raine from winding up on the cold, hard concrete floor next to Michael with blood pooling around his shattered skull. Raine had barely escaped with his life, but he had managed to snag the briefcase containing the money on his way. It was his only security, and he’d hidden it safely away.
When a mob-ordered hit went down or a play for power took place, it rarely happened without warning. The one thing that could be counted on in this business was murmurings in the ranks or, at the very least, a gut instinct that something was about to go down. Raine had not once anticipated Dillon’s move.
He had gone over and over every minute of the seventeen months he had worked with Dillon and found nothing to indicate that such a hit was in the plan. Raine had come to the conclusion that it hadn’t been planned. Dillon had somehow learned who Raine was and used the information for an opportunity to kill his boss’s only son and make himself two million dollars richer in the process. And, by simultaneously eliminating Michael and placing the blame on Raine, Dillon had put himself in the position of second in command to the grieving father. The perfect move—swift and efficient. Too bad for Dillon that Raine had escaped with the money.
Every perfect plan had its flaw. Raine hadn’t played along and died for Dillon. Of course, when Dillon told his version of the story, Ballatore had ordered Raine found and brought to him personally for punishment. Then the feds had joined the party and decided Raine had turned. All in all, Raine had been left between a rock and a hard place.
But he’d been in tight spots before.
His plan was simple—he’d use the money as bait to entice Dillon. Dillon was a greedy bastard, he would want the money back. If Raine’s plan worked, the mole who had blown his cover would eventually make a move to tie up his loose ends—including Dillon. So Raine had had to act fast. Luring Dillon would be easy, staying alive when the good guys as well as the bad guys were after him was a little more complicated. If Raine was lucky, Lucas would keep the feds distracted. Then Raine could concentrate on the old man. Ballatore wanted him brought in alive, but Dillon would try everything in his power to prevent that from happening. Dillon wanted Raine dead.
Dead men tell no tales.
And Kate…
Well, Raine scrubbed a hand over his bearded chin, Kate was still a wild card at this point. But he would soon know whose side she stood on.
KATE COMMANDED her trembling body to still as she watched the man named Dillon end the conversation with Raine. Her chest ached with fear and her heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in her rib cage.
“Well, Kate, it looks as though everything is going to work out perfectly,” Dillon announced to her, his voice dark and evil, his thin lips sliding into a sinister smile.
Kate swallowed the fear and blinked furiously at the moisture burning behind her lids. She lifted her chin and glared at the man who had forced her from the hotel at gunpoint. “He won’t come. Raine won’t trade himself for me. He hardly knows me,” she said, surprised at the strength and challenge left in her voice. “He’ll be long gone before midnight.”
The idea that Raine would walk purposely into his own death trap to rescue her was absurd. What did Dillon take him for? A fool? Kate didn’t know much about Raine, or fully trust him for that matter, but the one thing she felt certain of was that he was nobody’s fool.
At least Dillon’s proposition had given her a few more hours to live. Kate wasn’t kidding herself. This was bad. Very bad. Raine had been right, at least about this much. These guys were killers and they intended to kill both of them. She should never have made that call. Kate had no proof of her suspicions, but instinct told her that it had been a mistake. A mistake that had brought the devil himself sweeping down on her like a hawk after a frightened field mouse.
Kate surveyed the private room Dillon had bribed the bartender into renting him for the night. It was small, maybe twelve by fourteen. Kate supposed the Thursday-night guys used the place for poker games or small private parties. The decorating enhanced the doom and gloom of her circumstances—circa early seventies with dark paneling, shag carpet and a wagon-wheel chandelier. A round table with eight chairs sat in the middle of the room, and a smaller one sat against
the far wall. The only color to break the monotony was a large, rather garish, framed print of huge blue and gold flowers.
Country music blared from the jukebox on the other side of the paper-thin wall that separated her from the crowd of patrons drinking beer and having a grand old time. No one out there would pay any attention to the events taking place in the back room tonight.
Kate swallowed the fear and panic bubbling in her throat. Tonight there would be no poker or party. Tonight people were going to die and, unfortunately, she appeared to be one of the unlucky candidates.
Kate’s gaze flitted back to Dillon’s. His sick smile widened into a grin at the fear she knew he saw in her eyes. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail, giving a clean, unobscured view of his sharp hawklike features. High cheekbones dipped into hollows on either side of his thin lips. A straight blade of a nose, and a dark ledge of eyebrows that hovered over beady eyes. Excitement sparkled in those black depths as he watched Kate’s chest rise and fall too rapidly.
The bastard got his kicks from watching his prey squirm. A jolt of anger shot through Kate and she suddenly wished for a weapon. A Glock nine millimeter, her weapon of choice. That would put a nice, clean little hole smack in the middle of his forehead, while taking off a large portion of the back of his skull.
Kate started. Her attention instantly focused inward. How did she know all that? Why would she have a favorite gun? She had never killed anyone, had she? She shuddered at the thought.
“Oh, he’ll come,” Dillon said, drawing her attention back to him. “You see, Kate—” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his Ruger against his jaw. Kate flinched. Why would she recognize the brand of gun he carried? “Unfortunately for him, Raine fancies himself a good guy. It goes against his nature for the innocent to suffer.” Dillon licked his thin lips as he screwed a silencer onto his weapon. With blatant challenge, he placed it on the table in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s his way of justifying what he does the rest of the time. My stealing you away and forcing him to come to me is an insult he’ll have to answer.”