by Lori Foster
It was all Zane could do to keep from lunging at him. He wanted to tear Boris apart for leering at her that way, but he had to ensure that Tamara wouldn't be hurt by his actions.
Then Boris shook his head. "I had hoped to get close enough to you to simply steal the book. Otherwise, I assure you, I'd have no use for a Gypsy fraud with cheap tricks." He sighed with regret. "Now I'm afraid this little conversation is over. Both of you, into the bedroom. It'll be a fitting place for you to die."
Zane planted his feet apart, let his arms hang loosely at his sides. "I don't think so, Sandor."
"You refuse to cooperate?"
Zane shrugged. "Why should I make it easy on you?" Damn it, he needed more time to think.
The gun aimed past him. "Fine." Boris grinned again. "I'll shoot her first, and then you. Everyone will think it a murder/suicide, that you acted out of jealousy, perhaps even jealousy of me. Her relatives are in my favor, so that would seem logical to them."
"Luna will know you came up here."
Zane was proud of how brave Tamara sounded. He could hear the quivering in her voice, but she wasn't going hysterical on him.
"Your fine assistant, my dear, bid me adieu and watched me leave in a fit of annoyance over your delay. She thinks I'm at home by now, brooding over being scorned."
Zane's last hope vanished. There was nothing left for him to do but take Boris by surprise—and hope for the
best.
Twenty
Bare-chested and short on temper, Joe sat stewing behind the register. Two female customers, the only ones in the store, continually favored him with funny looks—admiring looks—but it did nothing to lighten his mood. He still couldn't believe what had happened. What he'd allowed her to do. Why, if he ever got within three feet of her again, he'd... .
"Joe!"
He looked up when the same crazy broad came barreling in. He quickly stood, a demonic grin spreading over his face as he prepared for battle.
"Back so soon?" he drawled, gaining the attention of the other two women who watched in frozen fascination. "You should know I let you get away with flinging food at me once, but I'll turn you over my knee if you try anything like that again. Don't think I won't."
She kept coming, moving at a fast clip. There was a harried, nearly panicked look in her big golden brown eyes that took him by surprise.
Joe backed up. Not sure what the hell to make of her, he muttered, "That was one of my favorite shirts, you know."
Luna grabbed him by the chest hair, and he howled. Using her secure hold, she brought his face down to hers over the counter and hissed, "I don't know what the hell is going on, but Boris Sandor just snuck up the outside stairs to Tamara's, and she and Zane are both up there."
"Ah, shit." Joe leaped over the counter in one smooth move. Thank God Luna let go of his chest hair when he did, otherwise his chest would have sported an impressive bald spot. He didn't have his gun on him, but before he even realized it, his knife was in his hand and open, the razor-sharp blade gleaming under the fluorescent lights. "Go call the police."
"Already done. They're on their way, but I was afraid to wait."
"Good girl." He was aware of her clipping along behind him, out the door and across the lot.
"Tamara and Zane went upstairs," she whispered, very close on his heels. "When they didn't come back down, Boris said he'd reschedule his appointment. He'd never done that before, so I peeked out the window when he left and I saw him go around the side of the building. I got there just in time to see him pry the door open and waltz in."
"The alarm didn't go off?"
"She only sets it at night."
"Shit." Joe stopped to push her flat into the brick facing of Tamara's building. "Stay back."
"No."
A string of near-silent curses tripped off his tongue. "Damn it, woman, do as I say."
"Go," she urged him, and gave him a shove to get him moving again.
Not seeing any hope for it, Joe muttered, "You make one single sound and so help me God, I'll throttle you." He didn't wait to see if she heeded his warning. On light feet, ignoring the stiffness of his busted knee, he dashed up the metal stairs. The door there was closed, but not locked. It let out a tiny squeak when he opened it. Luna was so silent, if it hadn't been for her breath on the back of his right ear, he wouldn't have known she was still there.
Voices carried to him, and he crept forward, his knife at the ready. He peeked around the kitchen door to the hallway, and he saw Boris standing there with a gun. A simple thirty-eight, but hell, they were deadly if you had a decent aim. And at that close range, how could he possibly miss?
Fingers spread, Joe reached behind him and flattened his free hand on Luna. As attentive to the current situation as a man could be, he still realized that his hand was on her belly, and that she felt very nice. Damned irritant.
Luna immediately stilled, not out of intimidation, he was certain, because a herd of wild buffalo wouldn't intimidate that one, but out of common sense. She knew he was about to act, and didn't want to get in his way. Joe gave her points for intelligence, if not for discretion or moderation.
"Once I have the journal," Boris said, disgustingly smug, "my aunt Felicia's disgrace will be forever dead, buried with her where it belongs."
Joe drew back, his body perfectly balanced. A balsong knife wasn't really meant for throwing, but the distance was short and he was good, very good. He'd locked the knife open and had not a single doubt that'd he hit the mark.
In that final moment before the blade would have sliced through the air, another voice intruded, screaming, "Bastard!"
Joe paused, senses heightened, and stared, incredulous, as a slim man threw himself at Boris. Both bodies tumbled. The next few seconds were chaos.
Boris cursed, Zane yelled, and the gun went off with a deafening roar.
"Stay here." Joe pushed Luna back just to make sure she knew he meant business, and a second later he entered the fray. If he hadn't been so worried for Zane and Tamara, for innocent bystanders, for Luna, he'd have actually been having fun.
Zane couldn't credit his eyes when Arkin Devane opened the stairwell door and crept forward. Jesus, he thought, were they working together?
Then Boris made his threat, and the meek and mild Arkin went into a red-hot frenzy. His screech of fury nearly drowned out the blast of the gunshot. Zane bore Tamara down to the carpet and covered her with his body, his arms over her head, protecting her as best he could.
She made a muffled sound that might have been a protest. Zane tightened his hold while Arkin and Boris wrestled for control of the gun, but since Boris was insane and much heavier than Arkin, Zane knew where he'd put his money.
"Stay down," he instructed Tamara, and started to rise so he could ensure Arkin's success.
Tamara rolled to her back and clutched at him, her voice desperate and high. "Zane, no!"
"Shh. It's all right, baby." He pried her fingers loose and bounded to his feet. To his right, he saw Joe lunge forward. The gun went off again, and Zane caught his breath. Arkin slumped back with a painful groan.
Boris lumbered to his feet. "Miserable little ..." He aimed at Arkin, who writhed on the floor while a sluggish flow of blood pulsed from the top of his right arm.
Grinning evilly, Joe kicked out and the gun went flying. Zane grabbed Boris by the shoulder, flung him around, and did what he'd wanted to do since he'd first met the man. He drove his fist into his face.
Cartilage gave way with a satisfying crunch.
Boris yowled, grabbing at his nose and staggering drunkenly under the impact of the blow. Tamara, disregarding orders as usual, scurried on her knees to the gun and picked it up. She aimed it at Boris.
"You broke his nose," Joe remarked to Zane in a barely winded voice. He sounded impressed.
Ignoring his cousin, Zane motioned to Boris. "C'mon, Sandor. I'm not done."
Boris shook his head. "No, no." Blood poured from between his fingers, made his word
s choked and garbled, and already his eyes were turning black.
Flabbergasted, Joe said, "You're quitting because of a bloody nose?" Then with utter disdain, "You big baby, that's pathetic."
Slowly. Zane shook his head. "Oh, no, he's not quitting." He grabbed Boris, hauled him forward. You held a gun on her," he said, and punctuated his words with a hard punch to Boris's midsection. Boris doubled over, spewing more blood.
"Eeuw. " Luna made a face as she sauntered into the room. "That's disgusting. What a mess."
Joe, after giving Luna a sidelong glance, laughed and bent down to Arkin. "You okay, buddy?"
"I'm shot!" Arkin clutched at his upper arm and rolled back and forth, his knees pulled up in the fetal position.
"Yeah, well, I can see that." Joe held him still with one hand, and lifted away the bloody edge of his sweater to peer at the wound. "Doesn't look too bad to me. Luckily he hit your arm and not your chest."
"Luckily?" Arkin quit wailing long enough to fry Joe with a look. "It hurts like hell!"
Unconcerned, Joe shrugged. "Gunshot wounds are a bitch."
Luna edged closer, looking over Joe's naked shoulder at the fallen man. "You've been shot before?"
Joe glared at her. "None of your damn business." She lightly touched a mark on his shoulder. "Here?" Shuddering, Joe rasped, "Yeah," and then he shook his head, cursed, and scooted out of her reach.
Zane wrapped a fist in the front of Boris's shirt and hauled him close yet again. His anger was a live thing needing release. He'd get that release with Boris.
But, proving what a coward he was, Boris held both hands up to cover his face and began pleading. He wasn't much sport, Zane thought in disgust, and flung him away. Boris dropped to his knees, moaning.
"Zane?" Tamara trembled, causing the bells on her ankles to chime musically, and the gun in her hand to jerk. But she managed to keep it pointed at Boris.
Gently, Zane covered her hand with his own. "Let me have the gun, honey."
"Oh no." She shook her head hard, making her blonde hair fly. "You're going to shoot him."
Joe cocked a brow at that, interest lighting his eyes. He looked almost . . . hopeful.
"No I'm not." Zane kept his tone as even and calm as possible, especially since he knew Tamara was likely experiencing her own feelings, and his as well. It was a lot for one small woman to deal with.
She turned to look him straight in the eye. "Yes, you are. You can't lie to me."
Zane smiled. "I'd like to," he specified. "But that's not the same as I would." And he added, "You can trust me. honey."
Her big green eyes stared up at him, and she blinked. "Oh, Zane. I know that." The gun went limp in her hand, and Zane took it. He held Tamara close with one arm and handed the gun to Joe. "Here, you can shoot him."
Tamara stiffened, but Joe only laughed. "Very funny." He palmed the gun and squatted down by Boris. "You hear that, old man? I get to shoot you."
"No!"
Tamara curled into Zane. "He won't really ... ?"
"Nah." But Zane added as an afterthought, "At least, I don't think he will."
Joe agreed. "I won't. Shooting him would only add more mess to Tamara's place, and he's caused her enough trouble."
Tamara relaxed, leaning into Zane and turning her face his shoulder.
"That is," Joe went on, "I won't shoot him as long as he just lies there and stays quiet. Give me a reason, any reason, and I'd be glad to give him a little taste of what he gave your buddy there."
"Arkin Devane is not my buddy." Zane reached for Luna, dragged her next to Tamara, and told them both, "It's okay now. I can hear the sirens. The cops will be here in just a few minutes."
Luna patted Tamara. "Being females, and thus weak, we're supposed to comfort each other, right?" She smiled. "Well, don't worry. We're fine."
"Tamara?" Zane wanted to hear her speak to him before he put even three inches between them.
"Yes." She smiled. "I'm okay. Just a little . . . shook-up"
"Adrenaline," Joe remarked. "Comes in real handy when you need it, but it's tough to shake off afterward."
Zane squatted down next to Arkin. ` What the hell are you doing here, Arkin?"
Arkin moaned, putting his head back and letting it loll on the carpet. "Tamara didn't show up, so I came to see why. I saw Luna follow Boris, and I followed her." He swallowed hard. "I figured something was up when she ran up the stairs with that other fellow, and he had a knife."
"How are you involved in this, Arkin?"
He moaned again. "Please."
"Jesus," Joe said with loathing. "They don't make 'em very tough in Thomasville, do they? All this pleading and whining is about to make me puke."
"He saved us," Tamara protested, ready to defend her number-one client.
"No." Zane narrowed his eyes. "I have the feeling Arkin was saving the journal."
"It's true." Arkin opened his eyes long enough to look at Tamara. "I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry."
Pulling away from Luna, Tamara went to him. She knelt down next to Zane and slipped her hand in his. He clasped her fingers warmly.
"Sorry for what, exactly?" she asked.
"I...." He choked, swallowed hard, then continued. "I'm the one you saw that night in the ski mask." In a rush, he added, "I wasn't chasing you, I swear. I was just looking for the journal. But then you came back early and...." He managed a shrug and a self-conscious smile. "We both had quite a shock."
"And the other night?" Zane asked. "You're the one who cut the electricity?"
"Yes." He turned his head away, hiding his shame and shutting out Zane's contempt. "I heard her tell Boris she was going out. I didn't think anyone would be at home. I'd already checked everywhere downstairs and couldn't find the journal."
"So," Tamara said, "you realized I'd taken it upstairs and you were going to steal it from me?"
"Yes. You told me you had it upstairs, when we talked about...."
"The lady you're in love with," Tamara said as the truth dawned.
"How the hell did you get in?" Zane wasn't over the edge enough to batter a man already shot, a man with tears in his eyes, a man curled up like a damn baby. But—he wanted to.
"The Realtor selling her place. I stole the key from him, had a copy made, and then returned it."
"You wanna tell me how you managed that?" Zane tried to keep his tone even for Tamara's sake. She looked more shocked than ever.
"I know him. The Realtor, I mean. We went to college together."
Somewhere behind Zane, Joe laughed. "Tidy."
"Do you mind?" Zane wondered how the hell Joe could be enjoying himself now, but it was plain to see he was having a ball. He always had been a man who thrived on trouble.
"My rearranged books." Tamara whispered the words more as a statement than a question.
"That was me." Arkin added in a heartfelt rush, "The journal should have been mine. Felicia was such a dear friend, such a lovely woman. I taught her piano, you know."
Zane and Joe shared a look, but Tamara had all her attention on Arkin. "You were friends?"
"Yes. She told me about her journal, and promised to share it with me. Like you, she understood me."
Zane turned. "You said there was a note in her safety-deposit box, Sandor. Is that who she left it to? Arkin Devane?"
"I don't remember, damn it."
Joe said, "My trigger finger is twitching. Look at that! Damn, I can barely keep from—"
Discolored eyes opening wide, Boris said, "Yes! Yes, it was Arkin Devane."
Arkin's pain-filled expression softened, his body relaxing for the first time since he'd been shot. "She knew I was falling in love," he whispered to no one in particular, "but that I needed some . . . help. She promised to give me the journal. Then she died and Boris"—Arkin managed to raise his head enough to glare at the other man —"had all her things sold, everything, even her most prized possessions. Suddenly everything she valued had been handed off to strangers."
"Th
e estate sale," Tamara said.
"Yes. I tried to buy the journal, but it had been packed away with the rest of her library, and you bought it all."
"Like Sandor, you got that information from the estate sale company?"
"Yes."
"And that's why you sought me out, why you started coming to me."
He nodded, looking more miserable by the second.
"Why didn't you just ask me for it outright, Arkin?" And then, with some hurt, "I thought we had become friends."
"We are friends!" He gulped, and more tears gathered in his eyes. "You're one of the kindest women I know. But Felicia had kept the book private. If I started asking about it, if I mentioned it to anyone, others might have discovered it. The scandal she'd so hoped to avoid might still have come about. She didn't deserve that. She'd already been so badly mistreated by her family."
"Boris and his relatives?" Zane asked.
"Yes. They never understood her. She'd shamed them merely by being her own woman, and they'd disowned her. I almost had a heart attack when you had that flood"—Boris got another glare, this one even darker—"and you threw away all those boxes of things. I was so afraid it was gone forever, and then you mentioned it to me and you were sharing it with me. I knew it was upstairs, and I tried one last time to get it. But then we talked more, and I . . . well, I realized that I didn't need to steal it, not from you. I didn't use the key again after that."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "You understood. You read Felicia's journal with the same emotion and acceptance as I'd have given it."
Zane dropped back on his behind with a curse. "I don't believe it. All this over a journal."
Boris groaned. "She was a blight on the family. I had to recover and destroy that damn book before my in-laws found out, before good men got ruined, before—"
Joe nudged him with the toe of his boot. "I hear the police coming up the stairs. Looks like you won't have to worry about any of that after all."
