Making the Rules

by Doranna Durgin

  Time to find Rio.

  ~~~

  Rio gave Sein the most skeptical of looks. "This alley? Right here? The one we're trying not to smell?"

  "This alley," Sein confirmed. "What did you expect?"

  How about a sign post? With an arrow? Rio, this way. Love, Kimmer. But this...

  There wasn't much here at all. Classic alley—narrow, old packed dirt gone weedy against the brick buildings. Just wide enough for a car, with plenty of tire marks laid down to prove it. One area near the street had a definite urinal-of-convenience stench. Near the back, a single ubiquitous black garbage bag hunkered down, abandoned.

  Rio walked the edges of both buildings, scuffing up the old matches and lighters and cigarette butts and condoms, hunting for something newer. Something that spoke to him of Kimmer.

  Yeah, a note would have been nice.

  If they'd actually left her here, the Basajaun would have ended up with her, just as they'd ended up with him. She wouldn't have left him.

  So she hadn't been here at all.

  But those who'd dumped him—those same who'd taken the Etxea—might lead him to some answers. "Somewhere between three and six a.m.," he guessed—knowing when they'd gone on watch, knowing he'd been chloroformed; knowing what he'd been through since then. He turned to Sein. "Someone might have seen them."

  Sein lingered near the street—and if at first he only shrugged, he then suddenly perked up. "Whores," he suggested, perhaps particularly intrigued by the thought of this specific trail. "We'd have to wait until tonight to ask."

  Rio left the alley to look the street up and down. On the edge of the business district, on the way to the docks...a couple blocks down, he thought he saw a mini-diner and coffee shop crammed into a tiny space between two larger buildings of indeterminate office use. Diner. Coffee. He was willing the bet the coffee was black and hot, the pastries weren't fresh, and the eggs were mixed with seafood and spices to start the day right. To start the day early.

  It was worth a try. "There," he said, and started out before Sein had quite understood his intent.

  But he didn't get far. And yeah, this was so much better than a sign post.

  Kimmer.

  Somewhere deep in a body full of ache and fatigue, a spark of energy bloomed.

  For he'd walked only a single block when two pedestrians turned the corner, deep in discussion: a lanky young teen—and a petite form so familiar that Rio could damned well feel the grin spreading across his face.

  Oh, yeah. Petite and curvy and gamine and by God ready to kick ass; he could see it in every movement she made, potential explosions tempered down into merely mortal movement—and her presence here too coincidental to be coincidence at all.

  She argued with the girl, barely watching where she was going; the girl argued back with a familiarity that told Rio that these two had spent some time together—but not enough time for the girl to know better.

  Rio didn't wait for her to notice. "Yo, bay-bee," he said, using his best Stallone Rocky voice. Sein looked at him as though he'd truly gone mad, but Kimmer didn't need to hear it twice. She stiffened, and she turned, and she didn't waste time with any open-mouthed surprise or explanations to her companion. By the time she cried his name in greeting, she was already on the move. Running, in fact.

  Not stopping.

  Rio realized it just in time to brace himself, to hold out his arms—and then she leaped and there they were, turning circles in the street and grinning like fools while she wrapped her legs around his waist and he settled his single working hand firmly on her ass to hold her there, very much appreciating the hard outline of the semi-automatic in her back pocket.

  Only a moment passed that way—long enough to make Rio stagger on legs that weren't up to the task; long enough to see the light glimmer in those luminous blue eyes and know his tough-chick girl was blinking back tears of relief. Kimmer?

  And then she bit him. Not hard but definite, ducking her head to take hold of his ear and apply just enough pressure so it couldn't possibly be called a love bite. "Yow!" Rio said, and would have let her fall if those teeth hadn't still been just a little too attached.

  But only for a moment, and she slid down on her own, hitting every tender rib along the way.

  He must have winced, for she stepped back to give him a more critical eye, and then right there on the sidewalk in front of God and everyone, tugged his shirt up to assess his bruises. "Oh, please," she said, as Sein made a startled noise, keeping his distance. "What were you thinking?"

  Wasn't a whole hell of a lot he could say to that. He held his tongue as she walked all the way around, no doubt getting a good hard look at his back. Yeah...she sucked her breath in.

  He had other things on his mind. "What the hell happened? One moment I was keeping watch, and then suddenly the Basajaun were playing host, and they're really—really—annoyed that they found me in that alley instead of the Etxea." In afterthought, he added, "Oh yeah—I got away."

  "So you did. Me, too." Kimmer's voice held a hard edge as she came around to face him again. "I don't have all the details yet. Chloroform—they left me in the cellar. But it was an inside job."

  Rio's eyes narrowed, seeing her face—seeing there was more to it than that, much more. Sein and the girl eyed each other without welcome, still standing off—and both listening with unfettered fascination.

  She nodded, an unconscious acknowledgment of his reaction, frowning a little at Sein. "The Doña is a fake. She's the inside man—or one of them, along with Larraitz. The real Doña is critically ill and she damned sure isn't making phone calls. Not only that, whoever this is...they want—"

  Her gaze flicked back to his and he knew. "Us," he said.

  "The postcards. Thinking of you. The emails—you saw the first one?"

  He nodded, picking up the pieces. "She asked for us. She insisted on that ridiculous cover. She tied our hands every step of the way."

  "More than that—she had us drugged."

  That final fact fell into place with the giant snick of a perfect fit. "The way I slept—"

  "The way I didn't. That was more than coincidence. That was preying on perceived weakness. You and your back and your meds...me and my—" But she stopped, not finding a word.

  "Intensity," Rio said firmly.

  "The kindness of you," Kimmer labeled that one, wry and self-aware. "Yeah, this is about us as much as it is the Etxea. And none of it is over."

  "Dammit," Rio said. "I should have listened to my gut. I should have turned this job down."

  "You mean I should have turned it down."

  Rio shook his head, decisive and intractable—and eased them back toward the coffee shop he'd been targeting in the first place. "No. Owen played you."

  She snorted. "I would have known."

  "Only if he was doing it on purpose." Rio didn't give an inch. He found dried blood near Kimmer's hair line and reached out to run a thumb across it without thinking, assessing the injury. "He sure as hell took you for granted. He didn't have the time to do the proper groundwork, but he wanted the HUMINT factor, so..." He shook his head. No handler should send his human intelligence in blind. "The next time that man shows up at our house, I'll know better."

  She gave him a startled look, and he realized that somewhere in the middle of all this, she'd lost track of the new home, of her new way of life. Our house. But she recovered quickly. "That goes for both of us. I don't suppose you have your phone?"

  He shook his head, grinning helplessly. "You broke yours, didn't you? You dropped it or you gave it to a goat—"

  "I never gave my phone to that goat!" she said indignantly. "He stole it. Besides, I still have my laptop in the car. We should be able to get a signal. Texting or IMing, what's the difference?"

  "No difference at all," Rio said, straight-faced. As if he could talk; he'd lost his phone entirely.

  And finally, as Sein grew more uneasy—easing some distance away as if keeping watch—and the girl grew more r
estless, the girl finally cleared her throat and said something in Spanish. Kimmer did an oh, right kind of eye roll, and nodded, speaking low enough so Sein wouldn't hear. "This is Danele—the granddaughter of Edorta Ginea, Owen's contact. Now that she's decided I'm not always an idiot, she's using me to make her mark on the world. I doubt she thought the world would be quite so eager to make its mark back on her."

  Rio gave her a little wave. "Rio Carlsen," he said, making his own introduction. "Thanks for your help."

  But the girl had a little smirk as she said something to Kimmer, who snorted. "She says you're a mess, but you're really hot."

  The girl recoiled, horrified, Kimmer gave her a look. "It's time we got her back to her grandfather. We need to talk to him, anyway. Gandiaga throws things wide open early this evening—without a clue as to what's at stake, unless Owen gets through to someone. So Edorta Ginea may be an old man with a single eye in the middle of his hairy forehead, but—"

  "Hey!" The girl swelled up like a puffer fish.

  Kimmer laughed. "Speak English again, do you?"

  Danele didn't respond—at least not directly. She gestured at Sein. "And who's that?"

  "How cute," Kimmer said, taking her attention back to Sein, her first good long look. "We both have new sidekicks..."

  But there was something about the way she trailed off that got Rio's attention; something about the way she stiffened slightly.

  Because she saw what no one else could see. The body language, the expression...she didn't even think about it. A natural.

  And she didn't like Sein.

  "Ah, damn," Rio muttered. "He really had me convinced, too." Affable kid, indignant and fed up with being pushed around, being used, watching his people abused.

  Kimmer grimaced. "Grab him and let's get the hell out of here. Danele, you don't wait. Get to the car." She gave the girl a little push. Not a gentle one.

  "But—"

  And Rio had taken only one step toward Sein, just one, when the young man's body language changed completely. Behind him, Kimmer said, "Now, Danele! Get back to your grandfather—tell him—"

  Danele's little shriek cut her off, and Sein's sudden shout of command. Dammit!

  Movement flashed in the edges of Rio's vision; he spun to discover them flanked, men with rifles on all sides as bystanders melted away. Kimmer cursed low and hard and holy shit the little rat had set him up but good.

  And now they have Kimmer, too—

  Which must have been what they wanted all along.

  But now they knew he and Kimmer no longer had the Etxea, so why—?

  "It's not about the Etxea," he realized, backing up to Kimmer—glancing over his shoulder to the protective hold she had around the girl.

  "Not this time," she said, her voice low, her gaze meeting his with solid certainty. That blue...not sheened with tears this time, but with determination. She'd go down fighting before she let them take Danele. Before she'd let them take Rio. "It's about us."

  For a long moment, they hovered in public stand-off—the men gauging them; trying to intimidate them. Waiting for that moment of the first move.

  Kimmer. "Danele, go!" She pushed the girl, again, harder this time, and suddenly Danele sprinted away and Kimmer ran after her, twisting as she ran to fire covering shots—covering Rio, too, as he ran behind her.

  But she couldn't cover them all. Too many men, too many rifles.

  Rio jerked at a sudden sting in his thigh, no intention of stopping—but his limbs turned suddenly leaden. He stumbled, shouting some senseless demand at Kimmer. Keep going!

  And Kimmer looked back, her gaze both stricken and stunned, one hand on the dart that bloomed from beneath her collarbone. Petite woman, big dart...her eyes rolled up and her knees went out. Rio—big man, same dart—had just enough time to cushion her fall before he, too, went down.

  And the girl ran screaming.

  ~~~

  Kimmer struggled with reality even before she opened her eyes. This time, she remembered it all. She knew why she was groggy; she knew Rio had gone down, and that he was with her now as she lay on her side, restrained back to back in a careless jumble of limbs. She knew Danele had run, but not if she'd made it. She knew it was hot here, wherever she was. Significantly warmer than the afternoon she'd left behind. Hell, maybe.

  What she couldn't figure out was why hell smelled good enough to eat.

  She must have shifted, perhaps just tensed. Rio murmured, "Welcome back."

  Nothing for it but to open her eyes. The jumbled shapes didn't make sense, and she closed her eyes long enough for a mental reset.

  "C-class truck," Rio told her, still low enough to avoid attracting attention—at least, unless someone was babysitting right on top of them, which was possible. They'd already escaped this splinter terrorist group a record number of times in short order. If the Basajaun had learned anything, they wouldn't take chances this time.

  She realized, then, that her wrists—restrained awkwardly behind her and entwined with Rio's—were held with cold, cutting metal. Not plastic.

  Yeah, they were learning.

  Shape and form fell into place when she dared to open her eyes again. The inside of a truck. She and Rio were just behind the cab seats, up against a stiff white wire mesh with an access gap in the middle. The rest of the white interior was fitted out with bays for service trays and food bins and—

  "Caterer," Kimmer said in surprise. "The reception!"

  "Doesn't look like Owen managed to stop it," Rio said, his voice grim with all the implications. "And we wouldn't be here if they didn't have a use for us."

  "We've already taken the blame for the Etxea's theft." Kimmer tested her legs, found she could move them freely. Okay, that was a thugboy mistake. "Why not this?" She gave her head a rueful shake, knowing Rio would feel it even if he couldn't see it—as tangled as they were, elbows interlocking and legs askew, she could feel every move he made, every twitch of pain. "God, whoever's behind this must have peed her pants with joy when I set the stage with that airport cop."

  Rio snorted; she felt that, too. And she was about to ask if he was all right—to see just how deeply some of those bruises ran, and his arm—when the truck shifted.

  Someone climbed into the front cab to crouch between the seats. "About time you woke up."

  Kimmer didn't recognize the voice—but Rio did. She felt it in him, the cording muscles in his arms and back. Anger. That alone told her it was personal.

  And that told her who it was. The sidekick, the nervous young man to whom she should have paid more attention. She might have stopped this.

  Or not. The men with the tranq guns had been waiting.

  She cranked her head around, couldn't quite see him. "That ambush was damned subtle compared to what you people have managed so far. You've got someone pulling the strings now?"

  All he said was, "They're not my people."

  Rio snorted again, louder. "Sein. You were more convincing before you betrayed us to them."

  Sein's shrug was barely visible in the corner of Kimmer's eye—a mere glimpse of movement. "Most of what I told you was true. I have to live on those docks. My family lives there. The more the Basajaun value me, the better."

  "And if you'd been helping, you might have ended up free of them." Rio was as close to snarling as he ever came. "No one wants them here. The ETA and the government are both working for a peaceful resolution to the Basque independence issues, and your Basajaun are getting in everyone's way. You could have ended up a hero instead of a—"

  "—Pretend-to-be thugboy," Kimmer filled in for him.

  "It doesn't matter," Sein said bitterly. "Whatever I do, my family will pay. This way, they pay least. And soon enough, you will be in no position to pass judgment.”

  "But I'm right," Kimmer said, shifting—quietly exploring the limits of their bonds. "Someone else is pulling the strings now."

  "Must be," Rio said. "Last I knew, Ixaka's people were using my ribs for a xylophone becaus
e they found me in that alley instead of the Etxea." He tipped his head back, touching Kimmer's. "The thieves stole the Etxea, stole me—left me, but not it. Used me to get Ixaka's attention...then Ixaka used me to finish the job of grabbing you."

  "We made it all easy for them," Kimmer said, feeling the bite of it. "Predictable. Both looking for each other."

  "And look where we are now," Sein said in that same bitter voice. "Success beyond everyone's wildest dreams."

  "Pure dumb luck," Rio muttered.

  "I beg your pardon," Kimmer told him, quite archly. "You may have been operating on luck, but I was following a lead. A solid lead. With a sidekick who didn't, in fact, betray me. A good sidekick."

  "Pure dumb luck timing," Rio corrected. "What should have happened was that the thugboys followed me around all day while I hunted up a trail. Eventually they would have gotten bored and pulled me in, and then you'd still be on the loose."

  Kimmer shrugged. "We're back together. This way is better."

  Rio tried to turn to look at her—no luck. "Do you believe that?" After what you just said?

  The words had, in fact, just come out. But...

  "Yes." And she nodded, shifted her shoulder against his, the closest she could get to a reassuring touch. Predictable, okay. Maybe more like not thinking smart after too many days of being led around in circles. "Now, we know what's going on. Larraitz and her stupid little dilettantes are at the beck and call of the fake Doña. The Basajaun are being played—but only to do what they want to do in the first place. Kidnap people, get their hands on the Etxea...blow up Gandiaga."

  Rio growled, his easy-going ways making way for rare anger as the facts sank in. "Scapegoats for the Doña."

  "Not that they weren't looking for an excuse," Kimmer said dryly. "So here we are, ready to be scapegoated along with them—must have been what she wanted all along. Worked out great for everyone but us. Hey, Sein, bet there's a bomb in this truck, huh? Bet Rio and I won't be around to defend ourselves, huh?"