Behind Closed Doors m&f-1

by Shannon McKenna

  “Shit” he hissed. “I can't believe it. I cannot fucking believe it”

  “I hear you, man” Sean said sympathetically. “She's a handful. Have to say, though, that chick sure does get around. Wonder what she did to Connor. Jesus. I hope she didn't hurt him, or anything.”

  “Shut up, Sean. Davy, how’s hunting?”

  “I've bagged some real beauties “ Davy responded promptly. “Trussed up and ready for dressing out.”

  “How close are you to the house?”

  “About a hundred meters “ Davy said.

  Seth tried to crowd emotion out of his mind, to get back to that perfect realm where instinct ruled. But it was hopeless, it was pure hell, with Raine popping up, getting nabbed, blocking his line of fire, fogging his brain with her beauty. That was her special gift, to turn something that was supposed to be as clear and simple as a rifle blast into something hellishly complicated.

  “Get closer” he said. “Listen up. This is what I have in mind...” Kurt Novak stared at the screen that showed him the library where Victor Lazar was waiting. The man was seated comfortably on an overstuffed Victorian armchair, smoking a cigarette. At his ease. Daring to think that he had checkmated the master of the game. How gratifying it was going to be, to watch him grovel and beg.

  It was risky to hold the meeting here, but he'd been cowering in windowless holes for too long. Enough. He dialed Riggs's number, one last time. Still nothing. Riggs had failed in his simple mission, even with the assistance of one of the most talented assassins in the area. The girl's lover must be very skilled.

  The timing of the game was off. How annoying. He had the cellar room all prepared, and he had wanted the girl right here, so he could play Lazar like a fish on a line. As it was, he would have to improvise. But uncertain outcomes created space for unexpected flashes of genius.

  In any case, Riggs would pay for his incompetence. Or rather, his daughter would pay. He began to punch in Georg's number. He wanted Georg to be particularly creative with the Riggs girl.

  A radio transmitter beeped. He picked it up. “Yes?”

  He listened to what his man had to say, and began to laugh. He turned to the monitor and enlarged one of the images.

  Within seconds, Karl appeared on the screen with the Lazar girl. He said something sharp, and wrenched her hair back until she looked up at the camera, her lovely eyes full of defiance.

  She looked a bit the worse for wear, but still mouthwatering. Those mil, trembling lips. That pale skin that would show every little mark. He hadn't needed the worthless Riggs after all. He had wasted his best assassin for nothing. The girl had come to him on her own.

  “Bring her to me,” he said. He could hardly wait to conclude this tedious business with Lazar.

  Then it would be playtime.

  She hated feeling stupid, as well as terrified. Novak wrenched her wrists up behind her and twisted. A blaze of agony flashed through her nerves, and she hovered for a second on the verge of fainting before Novak forced her onward.

  Karl, the thug who had jumped her, opened a heavy, carved mahogany door and stood aside to let them enter. He leered horribly as she passed. She could still feel his damp, clinging hands on her body. She wondered if she would ever be able to wash the feeling away.

  More to the point, if she would ever have the opportunity to try.

  Victor was waiting in the big, shabby library. His face was grim, and he looked unsurprised to see her. Karl and another of Novak's men took up their positions on either side.

  “Hello, Kurt,” Victor said. “Is this unpleasantness necessary?”

  “Most unpleasantness is, Victor,” Novak replied. “Please bear in mind that you put me in this position. You have only yourself to blame.”

  Victor's eyes met hers. A faint smile touched his lips. “Good morning, Katya “ he said. “I am distressed to see you here, but not surprised. You have to be at the center of the action, no? You simply cannot stay to the side, where it is safer.”

  “You saw me on the monitor, didn't you?” If there was one last useful thing she could do, it was deflect their attention from Seth.

  “Yes.” Victor looked her up and down. “Your sense of personal style is evolving at a lightning pace, my dear. What's this new look you're sporting? G.I. Jane? It has a certain wild, scruffy charm, but I prefer the Dolce & Gabbana, myself.”

  “I look like this because I've been fighting off Ed Riggs,” she said.

  Victor's ironic smile froze into a mask. “Riggs attacked you?”

  “Everybody attacks me,” she muttered sourly.

  Novak wrenched her arm up, and she arched back with a hiss of pain. “Stop whining,” he said. “Riggs is my man now. He spilled the entire sordid tale to me last night. Seduction, blackmail and murder. What a family, eh? When it comes to squalid secrets, it rivals my own.”

  She met Victor's eyes. “So it's true.”

  Victor shrugged. “A small part of a much larger truth,” he said coolly. “Congratulations for fighting him off, Katya. I'm sure you were more than a match for that imbecile. You did kill him, I hope?”

  White-hot fire flashed through her arm as Novak forced her slowly to her knees. “No,” she croaked. “Not my style.”

  “No?” Victor looked disappointed. “One must make allowances for inexperience, I suppose. For heaven's sake, Kurt, let the poor girl up. There’s no need for such theatrics.”

  “Squeamish, hmm?” Novak pushed Raine's chin up with the gun barrel, forcing her to look up. “You and I are going to play such exciting games,” he crooned. “Get used to this position.”

  She barely managed to shake her head. “Not,” she hissed.

  “Enough.” Victor's voice rang out sharply. “This is vulgar and unnecessary. Let us discuss terms.”

  Novak pulled her onto her feet with a smug smile. “How unlike you to get right to the point, Victor. Usually you talk in circles for hours. You must be nervous. Ill at ease. Was it something that I said?”

  “Enough,” Victor repeated, in a stony voice. “What do you want?”

  Novak leaned towards Raine and sucked her earlobe between his teeth, biting hard enough to make her yelp. “Everything, my friend,” he said. “The gun. The videotapes—all of them. Your niece. Your pride, your peace of mind, your sleep at night. I want it all.”

  Victor made an impatient sound. “Don't be melodramatic. We've done business amicably for years. Why this sudden hostility?”

  Novak assumed a hurt expression. “But you betrayed my friendship, Victor. You played with my most tender sentiments. And now, I am going to play with yours.”

  Victor did not break eye contact with him. “Katya, I am very sorry,” he said, very softly. “You do not deserve this.”

  Raine wiggled, trying to evade Novak as he thrust his tongue in her ear. She froze suddenly into place when he stroked the underside of her jaw with the gun. “That's for damn sure,” she said fervently.

  “Your niece is even more exiting than Belinda Corazon,” Novak crooned. “Wilder, more challenging. I will be curious to study this videotape, Victor. To see what feelings are aroused, so I can compare.”

  Their conversation in the vault suddenly flashed back, word for word, and with it, sudden comprehension.

  Victor had been bluffing this monster with a dream. He had no videotape to bargain with. She met his bleak gaze, and read the terrible truth in his eyes. There was no need for words. There was no way out of this chamber of horrors.

  “Is this what you meant when you told me that the Lazar dreaming could be useful?” she asked.

  'This is a fine time to criticize me,” Victor said curtly. “I made this deal before you came back into the picture “

  “Shut up!” Novak shrieked.

  Raine flinched as spittle sprayed across her face. Novak swung the gun around and pointed it at Victor. “Listen carefully, Victor. These are the terms. I have a secret room all ready for your lovely niece. For every hour that you make me wait
for those videotapes, I intend to—”

  A high, arched library window burst and shattered inwards. One of Novak's men flew through the air and slammed onto the dusty floor, clutching his chest. Then the whole world seemed to explode.

  Novak was screaming, Victor was yelling. Novak flung her away and whirled to face the new threat, which seemed to come from all sides. She spun through the air and hit the wall, hard. Karl shot wildly towards the library door. A single blast responded, and Karl pinwheeled his arms and fell to the ground, clutching the red, viscous mess that had once been his throat.

  Another blast, and Novak grunted, knocked to the floor. Time warped into silent, syrupy slow motion as he struggled up onto his elbows and glared at Victor, his face twisted into a gargoyle's mask.

  Novak lifted his pistol and aimed it at her. Victor leaped in front of her. The force of the shot slammed him back against her, pinning her against the wall. She felt a hot sunburst of pain in her back. Victor sagged, sliding down against her body. She caught him beneath the armpits. Novak lifted the gun and pointed it at her again, his lips stretched out in a gruesome death's-head grin.

  Another deafening explosion, and the gun flew out of his hand. A horrible spray of red fountained out Novak bent over the ragged mess of his hand, mouth open in a soundless scream.

  Another blast. He jerked, clutching his thigh and thudded facedown to the floor.

  No air. Her lungs were a vacuum. Her heart a burning coal. And the earth was dragging Victor down with a force she could not resist.

  Too late. He'd failed, he'd missed. Raine was sliding down the wall behind Lazar and the world had ended, here and now. He skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees in the spreading pool of blood. “Are you shot?” he demanded.

  She stared up at him, uncomprehending. He tried to pull Lazar's body away from her so he could see how badly she was hurt.

  “No!” Her arms tightened around the wounded man.

  “I need to see if you're hurt, damn it!”

  She shook her head. “He took the bullet for me,” she whispered.

  Seth stared down into Lazar's face. His lips were blue. His eyes glittered, still sharp, still conscious. Lazar's lips twitched, but Seth couldn’t hear him. He leaned closer. “What?” he snarled.

  “You were supposed to protect her,” Victor exhaled.

  A harsh laugh burst out of him. “I tried. She's hard to protect.”

  “Try harder,” Victor said “Idiot.” He coughed. Blood bubbled from his lips.

  “Don't, please, Victor.” Raine's voice was shaking. “Try not to move. “Well get help, and—”

  “Shhh, Katya. Mackey ...” Victor's eyes beckoned him.

  He didn't understand why he should bother listening to the dying words of one of Jesse's murderers. But the man had taken a bullet for Raine. He leaned forward again.

  “Strength is worthless if you have nothing to protect with it.” Victor's voice was a wispy thread of sound.

  Seth stared into the dying man's eyes and saw in them all the bleak, empty cold that was waiting for him. He recoiled, enraged at the sheer, flicking nerve of the man.

  “Pearls of wisdom from a murderer. Thanks, Lazar. I'll have that printed up on my letterhead. Better yet, I'll have it inscribed on your tombstone. You know what? This is a better death than you deserve.”

  He just managed to catch the faint, amused smile on Lazar's lips before Raine shoved him away. “Get away from him,” she hissed.

  He watched her bend over the dying man, murmuring something. Long, tangled locks of her pale hair straggled through his blood. She cried without making a sound, tears streaking through the blood and grime smeared on her face.

  Lazar's eyes grew glassy and fixed.

  Novak lay facedown, twisted and sprawled across the floor like a pile of discarded, bloodstained clothing.

  Seth felt neither triumph, nor satisfaction, nor peace.

  He felt nothing at all. Raine stared into Victor's face, using the old eye spell. If she didn't blink, he couldn't slip away from her. She'd only just found him.

  But she was crying too hard. She couldn't help but blink. He was slipping away anyway, and no child's spell could hold him. She touched his face, a timid caress that left a smear of his own blood across his high, sharp cheekbone. “I guessed your password,” she whispered. “That was how I found you.”

  “Clever girl.” She could barely hear him. “You didn't guess the password. You are the password.”

  “I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you want.”

  She saw the barest twitch of the corners of his mouth. “Yes, you did. Peter can forgive me now. If you can.” His eyes bored into hers.

  She gazed back, and nodded. “I can,” she said simply.

  There were no more secrets or lies between them, just the stately finality of dying, tike a boat drifting out into a vast emptiness.

  It was like her dreams, and yet different This time, when the boat drifted away, she didn't panic or blubber or beg to be taken along.

  She just held Victor's limp body in her arms, let the tears flow, and quietly watched it go.

  Seth was crashing. No way to halt the downward trajectory. Lights flashing, people talking in loud voices, faceless uniforms asking him questions on which he couldn't focus enough to answer. The McClouds were dealing with it, and he was numbly grateful to them.

  At some point, he realized that Novak wasn't dead. Close to it, from the looks of him, but medics were sticking tubes into him. They wouldn't bother to do so if he were a corpse.

  Great. He'd failed at that, too. Jesse was still not avenged.

  But the part of him that cared was buried under a hundred tons of broken rock. He sat on the bloodstained floor and watched Raine cry. There was a yawning expanse between them. Huge and echoing and endless. She was still crying as they zipped Victor into a black body bag, and he couldn't figure out why. The guy was an icy-hearted murderer who had put out a contract on her father and ruined her life. It baffled him so much he had to stumble closer and ask her. “Why?”

  She scrubbed at her wet eyes with grimy hands. “Why what?”

  “Why are you crying for the man who killed your father?”

  The medic was fussing at her, but Raine ignored him. The two of them were utterly elsewhere, locked in a glass bell of frigid silence. Her wet eyes glittered at him with an unearthly silver brilliance.

  “He did not kill my father,” she said. “He is my father. I'll grieve for him if I damn well please.”

  She reached inside his jacket, rummaging around. He stared down, numb and unresisting. Whatever. She could shoot him or stab him if she pleased. He didn't have the energy to knock her hand away.

  Her grubby hand emerged, clutching the glittering opal pendant. “I'll keep this,” she said “As a memento of my father.”

  He stared down at the blue-green fire that flashed beneath the milky surface of the stone. “That was how they found us,” he said.

  She nodded and stuffed the necklace into her pocket. “I didn't plant it on purpose. And I followed you because I wanted to warn you. Of course you'll never believe me. Really, I don't know why I bother.”

  He shook his head. “Raine—”

  “Believe what you want. I no longer care what you think,” she said. “You're a cold, vicious bastard, but I'm glad you're not dead. I wouldn't want that on my conscience, along with everything else.”

  The medic draped a blanket around her shoulders and led her away. She didn't look back at him. They must have given her a shot of something really strong, because everything floated away, leaving her all alone in the white mist. Once she thought she saw Seth, but that had to be a dream, because Victor and Peter were standing on either side of him. She reached out, but her hand fell short and flopped down onto the sheet, limp and useless. “Are we both dead then?” she asked him.

  “No,” he answered. His eyes looked hollow and sad.

  She tried to capture him with the eye spell, as always,
but her eyes wouldn't stay open, and it was she who was floating away, not him. She lunged for him, trying to lasso him with words. “I love you. Don't die.”

  “I won't,” he said. She drifted back out into the white mist, clutching that promise like a life raft.

  The next time she woke, she knew she wasn't dead, because her mother was sitting by the bed. Her expression was that of a cat lying in wait outside a mousehole. Nothing was more earthly and concrete than Alix when she had that look on her face.

  “It's about time you woke up, Lorraine. You scared me half to death. You look terrible. Black eyes, scrapes, cuts, sprains, cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, torn cartilage. You are a mess. You just had to run out and do every single thing I've been telling you not to do your whole life! Contrary. Just like your father.”

  “Which one?” she whispered.

  Raine drifted away before she could enjoy Alix's shocked expression.

  Chapter 28

  He ran the clip back, and played it again. It was from the Colbit that overlooked the floating dock at Stone Island. He'd sneaked out and collected this batch last night. Ninety-six hours of footage. He'd spliced all the pieces with Raine in them into a montage. This six-minute clip was his favorite bit.

  She emerged from the trees and walked slowly down onto the dock. The bruises on her face were almost gone. Her hair flowed long and loose around her body. She was wearing a soft, clingy white shirt. No bra, he noticed. Her nipples jutted out. She needed a jacket. It bothered him that she didn't think to put one on. She never took care of herself. If he were with her, he would insist on a jacket.

  A gust of wind blew her hair away from her face. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out over the water, her face faraway. Like she was waiting for something. Or someone.

  He heard a car coming up the driveway. He leaned out the open door of the Chevy and peered down the road It was Connor's car. He clicked away the video clip and snapped the laptop shut. Comments from Connor about his obsessive pastime were the last thing he needed.

  Connor got out of his car and limped over to the Chevy. He leaned on his cane and nodded. “Hey.”