by Anne Stuart
“We’ll be out of here by then,” Sam said, no longer looking at her. “See if you can manage a fire to destroy evidence. No, I’m not telling you how to do your job. Just trying to be helpful. Oh, and Danny . . . it’s someone we know. Kempton.”
He hung up the phone, sitting there for a moment, unmoving. His eyes drifted back to hers, and they were dark with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I suppose so.”
“We’re getting out of here. You just stay put—I’ll pack.”
“Where are we going?” She didn’t really care; she just felt she should make an effort not to be so passive.
“Leave that to me. Someplace where the Kemptons of this world can’t find us. That bastard. I had no idea he’d turned. No, scratch that. My instincts told me he had. I just didn’t have anything concrete to go on. You sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“He didn’t touch me.” She watched as he threw clothes in a suitcase. She almost said something when he threw the telltale splash of red in among the khaki and cotton, then thought better of it. She’d thought the dress was the color of blood. Now she knew better. Blood was dark red, thick and viscous, evil in its slow, seeping power. The dress was flame-red, life at its most intense. If she ever got out of this mess she’d wear nothing but bright red.
“Ready?” he asked, and she wanted to shake her head, to scuttle away, to hide. She had no choice. She was going to have to pass the kitchen door, with its ugly mess sprawled into the hallway. She’d have to step over him to escape. It was the only reason she’d still been holed up in the bathroom. If she’d had any other route to the outside she would have been gone into the night, and there would be no one to help her.
“Ready,” she said, shivering slightly.
Without a word he picked her up, and she curled against him as he managed to grab the heavy suitcase. “Hide your face,” he said, and she did, burying herself against his hard shoulder as he carried her through the apartment.
She told herself that she couldn’t smell anything. She told herself that he wasn’t really there, that if she buried her head against Sam’s strong shoulder and concentrated, she could push Kempton’s bloody fate out of existence. Of course, he’d met that bloody fate at her hands. She trembled slightly, and Sam’s arms tightened around her briefly, comfortingly. And Sam Oliver wasn’t a man for comfort.
She felt him close the door behind them, and he set her down carefully on the hall rug. She hadn’t seen the corridor since he’d first brought her there, days ago, and she was vaguely shocked at the bland normalcy of the place. In the distance she could see a couple leaving, and for a moment she tensed.
“I know them, it’s all right,” Sam muttered, only a thread of sound issuing from his mouth. Looking down at her, he brushed the hair from her face. “You look a little the worse for wear,” he said wryly.
She didn’t want to look down. She was certain there was blood on her clothes, and if she saw it she knew she’d start screaming. No, he wouldn’t let her leave with bloody clothes. Looking down, she realized she simply looked rumpled; the khaki pants and peach-colored sweater looked slept in. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve never been one for high fashion.”
“You look fine,” he said, suddenly soothing. “You just look like we spent a busy hour in bed before leaving.”
That stung her. She could feel an unaccustomed heat flood her face, and she would have glared at him if she’d had the energy. She did manage a mild retort. “You mean if we’d spent an hour in bed I’d have tear marks on my face?”
He leaned closer, and his hand reached out to stroke her skin, sliding down the V-neck of her cotton sweater, and his voice was sinuous. “Darling,” he murmured, “there are all sorts of reasons to cry, good and bad.”
The warmth from her face spread to her body. She could imagine it, see it, lying beneath him, wrapped around him, her face streaked with tears as she felt a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She stumbled back from him, shocked at herself for entertaining such a vision so soon after she’d killed a man, shocked at him for deliberately inspiring it.
He grinned at her then, unrepentant. “That’s better,” he said. “Sex is a better thing to think about, anytime. He was a murderer, and he would have killed you without compunction, and then he would have waited and killed me.”
“Would he have?” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine he’d take you off guard.”
“It’s nice to know you have such faith in my abilities. Normally he wouldn’t be able to. But in this case I imagine he would have draped your body artistically in front of the door, counting on my reaction to overwhelm me long enough for him to get me.”
“And would it have?”
“I’ve seen a lot of people die, Elizabeth. A lot of people I cared about. And I’m still alive.”
“So if you’d seen my dead body you would have been wary first, sorrowful later.”
“This is a morbid discussion.”
“Hey, it’s been a morbid afternoon,” she snapped back.
“You want the truth?”
“Always,” she said, not sure if she really did.
“If I’d walked in the door and seen you—and believe me, he wouldn’t have killed you nicely—I probably would have lost it. For one crucial moment I wouldn’t have been able to do anything, and he would have killed me. Ten years ago I could have taken it in stride. Right now I’ve seen too many deaths, too many bodies, too many friends taken out. I’m not going to let it happen to you. And neither are you. Whether you can admit it or not, you want to live. You don’t want some crazed terrorist slitting your throat. You want to live.”
She looked up at him in silence. The long hallway was deserted now, the contents of the apartment forgotten. He was absolutely right: she did want to live again, and that knowledge was almost as hard to take as the memory of what she’d done. She felt a sudden, shocking impulse, one she knew she would never indulge. And then she did, reaching up and kissing him, hard, on the mouth.
She was moving down the hallway before he could reach for her, and by the time he caught up with her, she was standing by the elevator, a blank expression on her face. He took her arm as they stepped into the elevator, a casual gesture that covered its own protectiveness. He punched the first-floor button, and she looked at him in surprise. “We’re going out the front door?” she questioned. “Yes.”
“Won’t someone see us? Follow us?”
“Yes,” he said again. “I’m hoping everyone will see us and follow us, the good guys and the bad guys, even if we can’t tell them apart.”
“I suppose it would be naive of me to ask why?”
“I don’t want anyone around to watch when Danny gets rid of Kempton. I’d rather they were busy trying to see where we’re going and leave the path clear for the dirty work.”
“And what if they catch us?”
“They won’t.” The words were simply spoken, and she believed him.
The elevator descended smoothly, the doors swooshed open and Sam handed her a pair of dark glasses. “Better wear these,” he said.
“I thought you said it didn’t matter that I’d been crying.”
“It doesn’t. But your eyes look terrified. Anyone who took a good look at you would know you were under extreme pressure. I don’t want to get picked up for kidnapping, wife beating or something equally bizarre. Put the glasses on, keep your eyes on me and smile, damn it.”
She bared her teeth in a semblance of a grin. “Lovely evening,” she said in a deliberately artificial voice.
“Peachy,” Sam growled, leading her off the elevator toward the revolving door. “My car is only a little ways down. Unless someone’s towed it, of course. Then we’re up a very nasty creek without a paddle.”
“You parked in front? In a no-parking zone?” she demanded, aghast.
“Smile,” he reminded her, his own cheerful expression a travesty. “I was in a hurry.”
“Why?”
“I knew y
ou were in trouble.”
“How?”
“Don’t ask me, swami. Consult your crystal ball.”
They were just the words she needed to hear. Her shoulders went back, her head went up and righteous indignation filled her even as she realized he’d done it on purpose. The words had done what he’d wanted them to. She was too angry to worry about all the observant eyes following her progress. All she could concentrate on was making it to the car and giving Sam Oliver a piece of her mind.
The silvery-gray Audi hadn’t been towed. After dumping the suitcase in the back seat, he bundled her into the front, leaning over and giving her a showy kiss that landed on her jaw, not her mouth. “Look like you’re enjoying this,” he muttered. “I just hope to hell they haven’t had time to bug the car while I was gone.”
“What if they have?” she asked, smiling up at him with a perfect parody of adolescent passion.
“Bitch,” he murmured genially. “If they have, we’re going to have a damn hard time shaking them. We’ll find out soon enough. If they’re still on our tail after half an hour, we’ll have to be more creative.”
“What if they planted a bomb instead of a bug?”
“I don’t think they had enough time.”
“And if they did?”
He slid into the driver’s seat. “Then I’ll be damn sorry you never wore the red dress.” And without hesitation he started the car.
The car wasn’t rocked by an explosion. The engine began to purr, like a cream-fed kitten, and Sam pulled out into the early-evening traffic with just the right combination of aggression and care. Elizabeth slid down in the sinfully comfortable seat and took off the dark glasses. “Anyone following us?”
Sam was whistling under his breath, something fast and tuneless, as he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Two cars. One a Buick, probably FBI. Another Mercedes. That’s probably Kempton’s confederates. I don’t know if they’re aware of each other, but my guess is they’re not. That’ll work to our advantage.” He kept up his sedate pace, stopping politely for the traffic, still whistling that damn non-song.
“I’m going to sleep,” Elizabeth said, making sure her seat belt was fastened before she crossed her arms across her middle and shut her eyes.
“You think so?” There was an edge of humor in his voice. She’d heard that edge before and hated it.
“I survived that drive down the Colorado mountains when the Toyota was chasing us, didn’t I? I imagine this will be a piece of cake in comparison.”
“Maybe. I’m not as good a driver as Phil was.”
“At least a Toyota isn’t following us.”
“Was Kempton the man in Colorado?” He turned swiftly, unexpectedly, and Elizabeth was thrown against the leather-covered door.
“No,” she said without pausing to think about it. Not that thinking would have given her a more reliable answer.
“Did he have anything to do with Shari Derringer’s kidnapping?”
“Shari Derringer wasn’t kidnapped.”
He slammed on the brakes, and she was catapulted forward, the seat belt restraining her just inches from the windshield. In the distance she could hear the echo of screaming brakes as whoever followed them stopped short. He was moving again, faster than ever, before he said something. “You think she went willingly?”
“I think she was part of the whole nasty thing. I don’t know why—I haven’t seen anything clearly—it’s just a sense I have.”
“You think she knew about Mary Nelson being butchered to take her place?” They were going quite fast by then, and Elizabeth gave in to temptation and looked in the rearview mirror. The Mercedes and the American sedan were keeping pace with Sam’s Audi, but just barely.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I think she knew.”
Sam’s reaction was short and obscene. “No wonder they’re covering up. If sweet little Shari is that deeply involved they might have to do anything to keep things quiet. This administration isn’t in the mood for another scandal. Hold on.” He skidded around a corner, and Elizabeth had the notion they’d done it on two wheels.
She held on, closing her eyes and letting him concentrate. The Audi was extremely comfortable—she wouldn’t have thought a high-speed chase could be so smooth. Of course, the only other deadly ride she’d been in had been down an icy Colorado mountain, with a Toyota trying to run them off the road, so that anything with a decent suspension on a paved road was bound to be an improvement.
“We’ve lost the Buick,” Sam said minutes later. “The Mercedes is hanging tight.”
She stirred, looking over at him. The sun had set, and they were on their way out of the city. She had no idea where they were, or in what direction they were heading, and she really didn’t care. “Will the Buick go back to the apartment?”
“I don’t think so. There’s no need. They know we’re gone, and they’ve searched my place any number of times, whenever the mood strikes them. No, I imagine they’ll go back and try to figure out our destination.”
“Will they be able to?”
“I doubt it.” He was driving at a surprisingly sedate pace for the time being, and she could feel the powerful lights of the Mercedes burning into the back of her head. “In the meantime, Danny’s probably taken care of everything. If they decide to go back to the apartment, they won’t find anything.”
It took all of Elizabeth’s courage to speak. “Sam, he bled onto the hall carpet.”
“It’ll be gone. Every trace, in record time. Danny’s one of the few people left I can trust, and he’ll do what I ask him, and do it perfectly.” He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “And it’s about time to get rid of the Mercedes.” He stepped down on the accelerator, hard, and the Audi shot ahead.
There had been an advantage to that hair-raising trip down the mountain, Elizabeth thought, biting down on her lip and clutching the armrest. There were no other cars involved, just the Toyota and Phil’s car, and the icy highway. The roads in Washington were bare and paved, and there were no dangerous cliffs or hairpin turns. But there were cars of every shape and description and speed. Elizabeth shut her eyes and prepared to die.
The ride in the Audi was no longer smooth, and it certainly wasn’t silent. She could hear the blaring of horns, the squealing of brakes, the occasional crash and tinkle of broken glass as someone, not them, wasn’t able to stop in time. Sam drove his elegant sedan like a race car, downshifting, gunning the motor, sliding through narrow openings in the traffic flow as if he thought he was on a motorcycle. Elizabeth leaned back, still clutching the armrest, and prayed for it to be over.
She was aware of the silence first. Not silence, exactly, just the absence of traffic, of squealing tires and honking horns. The Audi was smooth once more, and slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes.
They were beyond the noise and traffic of the city, heading into the countryside on secondary roads. The traffic had thinned out around them, and there was no ominous black Mercedes looming up behind them. “We’ve lost them?” Elizabeth asked.
“I think so. Unless they planted a homing device, we should be okay.”
“And if they have?”
“Very simple,” said Sam. “They would have had to plant it on the car. Therefore, we change cars.”
“That simple? We just change cars?”
“I could always go over the car and try to check. I couldn’t be sure, though, not in the darkness and with the lack of equipment. Better to be safe than sorry. Hungry?”
The thought of food made her weak with longing, and then she remembered just why her stomach was so empty. “No,” she said.
“Tough. You probably threw up everything in your stomach, and you need sustenance. We’ll stop at a convenience store and pick up something.”
“No red meat,” she said, shuddering.
“No red meat,” he agreed. “Macadamia nuts and ice cream bars for the pacifist vegetarian.”
“Don’t mock me. Unlike professional soldi
ers, I’m not used to killing,” she said stiffly.
“Got something against the military?”
“No,” she said. “I just think warfare isn’t the best career to devote yourself to.”
“Spare me your bleeding-heart liberal garbage,” he said warily. “It would be great if peace just happened, but it doesn’t. It takes armies to work out an equitable peace, like it or not.”
“I don’t want to talk politics,” she said stiffly. “We aren’t going to agree on anything, so why bother?”
“To keep your mind off other things,” he said flatly.
“It won’t work.”
“I realize that. We’ll simply have to deal with it when we get to where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He pulled up to a convenience store and turned off the car. “Keep down. I’ll be out in a minute. If anyone comes near, lock the doors and lean on the horn.”
“I thought you said we’d lost them.”
“If we can change cars, they can, too. I don’t think they’re anywhere around, but the way you stay alive in situations like these is to be aware of all the possibilities.”
“Have you been in situations like this before?”
He paused as he climbed out of the car. “Too many times,” he said wearily. “And, damn it, this is the last.” She watched him go. She could see him through the glass front of the store, watching with an odd combination of disgust and deep-down tenderness as he bought frozen pizza and beer nuts. He seemed to be taking an inordinately long time paying for the food, and the bleached blond teenager with the bubble gum in her mouth was flirting like crazy, staring up at him out of huge eyes like he was some movie star, Elizabeth thought grumpily.
No one slowed down as they drove by; no one pulled in beside her and pointed a gun through the tinted-glass window of the Audi. There was no one near the isolated store but the teenager, Sam and her.