by Edie Claire
"He's not usually careless," Mason answered dryly. He was still looking out the rearview mirror, but had suddenly slowed the car to a normal speed. A black and white police car, sirens blaring, passed them in the opposite direction. "He's just really, really pissed off."
Leigh stared at him. If anyone had a good reason to get hysterical, it was him. Instead, he was now signaling politely to make a left.
"But why shoot at Ed?" she asked, the shrieky edge creeping back into her voice again. She would never forgive herself if the bodyguard… She couldn't even think about it. Paid profession or no, whatever happened to him would be entirely her fault.
"I'm no expert, but I don't think the bullet went into his chest," Mason said calmly, seeming to sense her guilt. "More likely the blood was coming from his shoulder, because he was breathing all right. Either way, he won't have to wait long for help."
"Where was Torr shooting from?" she asked, still feeling sick. "I didn't hear anything."
Mason shook his head. "He's fond of silencers, if you haven't noticed. He was probably staked out across the street in a car. The man changes cars like other people change underwear—I've never seen him drive the same set of wheels twice, and every one of them is a danged arsenal."
"But, if he was aiming at you—"
"He wasn't aiming at me," Mason said matter-of-factly. "Sniper shot's too good for a snitch. He wants to look me in the eyes first."
If it was possible to feel sicker, Leigh did.
"Your bodyguard was just in the way. Torr's been after me for six months now and he thought he finally had me—he wasn't going to let some goon spoil things. He would have taken you out too, if he got the chance, then faced me in the alley."
She shivered. "So why didn’t he follow us?"
It was another stupid question.
Mason scanned the streets around them in every direction, as he'd been doing every third second since they got in the car. "I'm not so sure he didn't."
The hysteria thing reared its ugly head again, and Leigh fought it back down with a deep breath.
"Don’t worry," he said gently. "We're going to get you out of this. Just tell me where the nearest police station is."
A warm flood of relief swept through her chest. So. He was going to turn himself in after all. Thank God. "That way," she pointed with a smile, "about four blocks to the right and two over."
He turned the car, and she felt her blood pressure falling. Everything would be all right. For Cara, too. Because as near hysteria as she was, she hadn't missed what Mason had said about being a snitch.
"Torr's out to get you because of that terrorist bomb thing, right?" she asked.
Mason turned his head quickly, eyes wide. "How the—"
She smiled. "I told you my detective friend was good."
He looked back at her with an expression that was hard to read. Two parts relief, one part embarrassment?
"I'm not a snitch," he said defensively, "in general. But those people were crazy. They were going to blow up an elementary school."
Leigh's eyes widened. "How did you find out?"
He shrugged. "Torr and I had some business. Well, I guess you already know about that too, don't you? He wanted to get into counterfeiting. I guess the weapons profession had an off year. Anyway, he'd heard about the plates and tracked me down at the bar."
"The Brindle Blur," she said proudly, feeling better now that the police station was only a block away. "Cute name."
He raised his eyebrows, but went on. "I normally stay away from guys like him, but the money was good, and it was no skin off my nose. All I had to do was give him the plates, plus a little advice about distribution. After that we were through, neat and clean.
"But I was with him when he got a call on his cell—making plans to hand off the explosives. He didn't know I was close enough to overhear, much less listen, of course, but if you're smart you listen to everything, and I've got good ears. I got enough of it to know when and where—and why."
"But the ATF guys didn't get him."
He shook his head. "And I split. I knew it was only a matter of time before he found me. Guys like him can't afford to be generous." He leaned forward and caught sight of the zone station a half block ahead. "Call it the snitch deterrent program."
"Where were you all that time?" she asked, willing them to the safety of the station ASAP.
"I was setting up a place in Florida," he said soberly. "Trude and I have had some rocky times, but the last few years we've gotten back where we used to be. She was moving too—we were going to make a fresh start." A look of pain shot across his face. "But I wasn't quick enough."
He pulled in front of the station and began to scan the streets around them in every direction. Like most Wednesday nights in Pittsburgh, however, both cars and pedestrians were few and far between. "Okay," he said finally. "Get out. And take care."
Leigh's heart dropped down into her feet. "What?"
"Get out," he insisted. "Quickly, before he shows up after all."
She sat still. "But, I thought—"
He exhaled loudly. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm sure Pittsburgh's finest are very nice people, but I pick my own friends, and they're not it. I've been in prison and I'm not going back."
Her heart raced. "But you haven't done anything!"
A flicker of something like sympathy passed through his blue-green eyes, and he tossed his head in the direction of the back seat. "Try possession of counterfeit plates, with intent to sell same." He looked at her with a small, sad smile. "Don't try to make me out to be something I'm not, Leigh. It's been tried before."
She stared back at him, the whole of her insides tying itself in knots. "If I get out," she said quietly, "what will you do?"
He gave her the same look again, the one that seemed like sympathy. "Leave town," he said simply.
Leigh's mind flashed back to when she was fifteen, and a thirteen-year-old Cara had told her she was staying at school late for French Club. Leigh had doubled back just to make sure, and found her cousin heading off with friends to ghost-hunt in a condemned building. Cara had ultimately reconsidered, but one of her friends put his foot through the floor and earned fourteen stitches.
And when Cara had told Leigh about French Club, her left eyelid had drooped, just like it always did when she was lying.
Just like Mason's was doing now.
Leigh crossed her arms over her chest. "No, you're not," she said firmly. "You're going back to confront Torr. And I'm not going to let you."
Chapter 23
Mason's expression turned aggravated. "Get out. Now."
"No."
"Leigh, I mean it. You have to get out."
"No. He'll kill you."
"No, he won't. Well, maybe. Probably not. What does it matter? Get out."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Mason exhaled in frustration and scanned the streets again. "I appreciate your concern, really I do," he said in a softer voice. "But we both know I'm not worth it. It's my fault any of you became targets in the first place, and you're going to stay targets as long as—"
"As long as you're alive," Leigh finished. "Or as long as Torr is free. You keep forgetting the second part."
He shook his head. "They're not going to get him, don't you understand? Torr's given the fuzz the slip so many times… And even if they do get him in custody, they'll never get a conviction on any of the big stuff. He's covered his tracks too well. He'll be out on the street again in no time."
"But he's getting sloppy," Leigh argued. "You said so yourself. We both just witnessed an attempted murder. That's no small potatoes."
"Did you see him shoot?"
She didn't answer.
"No, you didn't."
"My mother saw him shoot at you, though—at my apartment."
That stopped him, but only for a moment. "I can't risk it, Leigh. If he ever gets out again he might come after—" He broke off suddenly. "Are you getting out?"
&n
bsp; Her arms remained folded defiantly across her chest. "I told you, no."
After looking around the area one more time, he peeled the car away from the curb. "Fine, then. I will."
They rode in silence for a block, while Leigh puzzled over what he planned to do—and something else. She studied his face, which had not broken a sweat since they'd reached the car, but was now starting to shine again.
"Why can't you say her name?"
His voice was thin. "Whose name?"
"Your daughter's."
He looked away and swallowed. "Who says I can't?"
"Then say it."
He was quiet a long time, his eyes glued to the road. When he finally answered, his voice was a hoarse whisper. "Cara was my idea. Lydie wanted to call her Susannah."
Leigh's tight mouth lifted into a smile. Nothing else might be going right at the moment, but the look in his eyes made her heart float right back into place. It was all she needed to know. "You should meet her," she said determinedly.
He shifted his eyes away and shook his head. "No. Never. Lydie told me from day one that our daughter would be better off if she never laid eyes on me, and she was right."
"And how do you know that?" Leigh protested.
"Well, look at her!" he answered. "She grew up without me, and she's perfect, so it stands to reason I could only have messed things up. No kid needs a criminal for a father."
"Maybe not," Leigh said carefully. "But you're forgetting something."
"No, I'm not. I've had thirty years to think about what's best for my daughter, and I've done it. Now," he said, his tone changing abruptly. "I'm going to stop this car in a second, and I'm going to get out, and you're not. You're going to drive straight back to the police station. Understand?"
Leigh ignored the last part of the speech. "What you're forgetting is that Cara isn't a little girl anymore. She's a grown woman, and she can make her own decisions about who she does and doesn't want to be a part of her life."
"Well, she sure as hell doesn't want me," he answered firmly.
"You don't know that."
He was about to answer when his eyes, which were looking out the rear view mirror again, suddenly widened. Leigh's heartbeat raced as she turned to look over her shoulder at the street behind. They were being followed by a small blue Toyota whose driver's head seemed to touch the roof.
"Bloody hell." Mason leaned a hand over the back seat and pulled up a green backpack. "Okay," he said seriously, "here's what we're going to do. I'm going to pull into that next alley there and get out of the car. You're going to slide over here and drive straight back to the police station. Got it? No arguments this time. I mean it, kid."
Leigh felt her core body temperature dropping, but her brain was still operational. Or at least she thought it was. She sat up straight and covertly took a firm hold on one of the backpack straps. "Cara needs you," she said forcefully.
"Don't be ridiculous!" he bellowed in frustration. "Just get ready to slide over. I can't swear he won't shoot at the car before I get clear, so you've got to get out fast. Are you ready?"
Panic swelled in Leigh as she watched the blue Toyota closing in quick. What could she do? Could she simply drive away, leaving the lamb to the slaughter? Mason might not be much of a lamb—he was more of an old ram with an attitude. But slaughter was slaughter.
"You can't go!" she cried, clinging to the backpack. She realized she was touching dangerously on that hysteria thing again, but this was hard. "I can't go back to Cara and tell her I just let the father she never met get shot to death! I can't and I won't."
He looked at her heavily as he pulled the car into an alley. "You don't have any choice." His voice turned softer. "Look, kid. I appreciate what you're trying to do for my daughter, I do. But don't fool yourself. Good lucks and charm aside, I'm not much account."
The car began to slow. Leigh's pulse quickened, but she kept her voice calm. "You're ethically challenged, granted. But don't you think Cara has the right to decide for herself whether or not she wants to get to know you?" The car came to a stop. "If nothing else," Leigh finished desperately. "Doesn't she at least deserve the chance to look you in the face and tell you to go to hell?"
A tiny flicker of amusement ran through Mason's anxiety-filled eyes, but he remained resolute. "It's too late. Sorry, kid."
He jumped out of the car in one quick movement, wrenching the backpack out of Leigh's unsuspecting hands. She sat frozen, watching him move rapidly away from the car and toward the wall of the alley. She also noticed for the first time that his left arm was bound just above the elbow with what looked like strips of a T-shirt. So much for seeking medical attention. Evidently, he figured it didn't matter.
And maybe it didn't. The Toyota, which had followed them into the alley from a half block behind, was creeping steadily forward.
It could crush him against the wall, Leigh thought in horror. She stayed low in the seat, trying not to be too much of a target, but she couldn't drive away. Not yet. She just couldn't. There had to be something she could do.
The image of Mason being run down by the Toyota gave her inspiration, and she clutched the steering wheel tightly. Would Torr get out of his car? Could she run him down?
She watched without breathing as the Toyota halted with a jerk, its engine still running. The door opened, and a tall, lanky man unfolded his legs from the front seat. Big lips aside, there was no doubt as to his identity. He was skinny enough to be Ichabod Crane, with awkward limbs, a stooped gait, and an unruly pile of dark hair on his head. He said something to Mason, but Leigh couldn't hear. She cracked the window open.
"—in the car?" Torr was asking, gesturing towards the Tempo. His voice was thin—and unnervingly casual.
"Just a girl I picked up," Mason answered humorlessly, not looking at her. "I told her to take off, that I had business with you and that I'd see her later."
"Uh huh," Torr said lazily. Leigh was fairly certain he had a pistol tucked under his arm, but if he did, he didn't want her to see it. "I don't see her leaving."
"She's just frazzled," Mason said coolly, now giving her a look that could kill of its own accord. "Pimp's on her case."
Under different circumstances, Leigh would have laughed. But her face was as frozen as her hands were to the wheel.
"Now, Mason Dixon, my friend," Torr said calmly, "You're forgetting that I saw that same little piece at that fine apartment building up in the 'burbs. She's not a hooker, is she? Of course not. She's your daughter."
Drive away now. The command was pummeling Leigh from inside and out—screaming at her from the tiny part of her brain that was still rational, and drifting to her telepathically from where Mason stood sweating against the wall. Her plan to run over Torr was useless—she couldn't possibly hit him unless he stepped in between the two cars, which would be incredibly stupid. He was still standing safely to the side of his own car, which, she noted dismally, he could get back into at any moment. Just as soon as the deed was done.
Drive away now.
What she would have done next she could only guess at, and in truth didn't really want to know. Because before she could react to Torr's accusation, another car drifted quietly into the alley, stopping just behind the blue Toyota.
"And who the hell is that?" Torr demanded angrily.
"How should I know?" Mason replied in kind.
Leigh was in the minority, and it was a lousy place to be. She knew exactly who was in the car, and the mere thought was carving an ulcer.
The driver door of the purple Saturn swung open, and Cara leapt out in one fluid motion. She stopped short where she was, looking from Mason to Torr in silence.
Even in the dim light, Leigh could see Mason's face drain instantly of color. Torr gave the newcomer an unabashed once-over, then dissolved into laughter.
"Well, well," he said finally. "My mistake, old boy. Here's the chip, eh? Come to save her papa. Touching. Very touching. But she's an idiot, just like the other one. Now toss
those plates over here. I haven't got much time." He pulled the pistol from its nest under his arm and moved it slowly between father and daughter.
Mason's eyes darted desperately from Cara to Leigh, and Leigh could guess what he was thinking. Torr was going to take the plates and shoot the despised informant dead, that much was for sure. But the Toyota was now boxed in. He would have to make one of them move—or take one of their cars himself.
Neither option was desirable. Yet as Cara continued to stand quietly, not saying a word, Leigh began to see a ray of hope. Perhaps Dan was still with her, hiding in the seat? Perhaps the plan was for him to sneak out and get behind Torr. In any event, the police had to be on their way; she did have her cell phone.
Leigh allowed herself a deep breath. Stalling, that's what they were doing. Stalling until the police caught up. Still, it was terribly risky for Cara to just stand there like that.
"She's not my daughter," Mason said loudly, glaring at Torr and creeping slightly forward.
Torr chuckled again. "Right. Then you won't mind when I kill her, too. Nice Saturn…I've been meaning to get me one of those. Now toss me the plates, dead man."
Mason hesitated. Once Torr had the plates in hand and Mason disposed of, he could easily take off in the Saturn just by flinging Cara to the side—or worse. "Come and get 'em," Mason growled, holding the backpack to his chest. His eyes darted out towards the street, and Leigh surmised his next move with horror. He was going to make a run for it, to try and draw Torr away from the two of them. But he wasn't going to get very far.
Torr seemed to read his mind as well. "Go ahead," he said calmly, aiming the pistol with both hands. "It'd be fitting if you died with a hole in your back. Snitch."
The next second was an hour long, as Leigh jumped helplessly up and out of the car with no plan, hoping against hope that in the very same instant Dan would spring from behind the Tempo and tackle Torr on the fly. It didn't happen. What did stop Torr's trigger finger was an incredibly high-pitched, Carole-Burnett-style Tarzan call, which burst from Cara's mouth and reverberated through the alley like a fire alarm.