Book Read Free

COOL UNDER FIRE

Page 20

by Justine Davis


  Whatever they found, she finished, refusing to acknowledge the various horrible images that tried to form in her mind.

  Con drove silently, the window lowered an inch to let in just enough cold air to keep him from following Shiloh into sleep. Not, he thought ruefully, that it was really likely. She had slipped down to lie on the seat and, inevitably it seemed, wound up with her head on his thigh. He spent several miles commenting to himself how sweet she looked, how innocent and trusting. It didn't work. If she woke up and moved about two inches, she was going to be in for a big surprise. And his taut, aching body wished like hell she would.

  Knock it off, he ordered himself. She's not about to think about anything except her father, not now. And now that you've shown her what a fine, upstanding citizen and car thief you are, and put not only her, but her father in jeopardy, you'll be lucky if she'll even speak to you after this is over. Except maybe to tell you to go to hell.

  Don't bother, he told her silently as he brushed a strand of silky hair from her cheek with delicate care. I'm already there.

  She heard his voice calling her name softly, as if from a great distance. She snuggled into her oddly solid pillow, wishing he would just kiss her awake the way he had before. Then his hands would begin to move, to stroke and caress her, until she felt she couldn't take another breath without the full, hard length of him buried deep inside her. Then he—

  "Shiloh, wake up. We're almost there."

  It all came crashing back then, and she sat up sleepily, her face flushed, reluctant to surrender the dream. She looked around and saw the familiar blue roofs of the Miramar Hotel that told her they were indeed almost there. She looked at him in surprise.

  "Did I really sleep for two hours?"

  "Closer to one and a half." He shrugged. "I've been leaning on it a little. But you need to think now. Where can we go that's close enough to get to your father's on foot, but still be completely out of sight?"

  She answered quickly; she'd been thinking about it earlier. "There's a park up the hill, behind the house. If you go to the right place, you can look right into the backyard."

  He nodded, and she began to direct him in. He slowed as they passed the street she pointed out, peering down the roadway that was empty of anything except a few parked cars.

  "The house is just out of sight on that curve," she said. "The park is straight up another block, on the left."

  They found it easily, and he pulled in as close as he could to the spot she pointed out. In moments, moving silently in the chilly, after-midnight darkness, they reached a thick clump of shrubbery at the edge of a rather steep hill.

  "You have to squeeze in behind these bushes," she whispered, doing so easily. Con had a tougher time; the stiff branches of the old, sturdy bushes weren't nearly as kind to his broad shoulders. "There," she pointed when he'd finally made it. "The one with the lights—" She broke off, then went on. "They must be there. Daddy never stays up this late."

  Someone else might have missed the barest of tremors that shook her; Con didn't. He wanted to hug her, to hold her and tell her it would be all right, but it was a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. He only knew he would keep her safe, and her father, as well, or die trying. The letter he'd sent would take care of Joe and his henchmen; he had nothing to lose now. Nothing except the beautiful, brave woman beside him, who had never truly been his, anyway. He settled down to study the house.

  "I wish I knew how many there were," he muttered, searching the yard and the surrounding neighborhood.

  "Four," Shiloh said abruptly. His head snapped around and he stared at her. "The phone number. I just figured it out. Daddy said the number was 1704, not 1700, which it really is. There are four of them."

  Admiration glinted in his eyes. "Like father, like daughter," he murmured, then turned back to look at the house again.

  Shiloh's eyes never moved from him. Understanding was beginning to dawn in her mind. His earlier comments about things being in the blood and the look that came into his eyes when she talked about Linc or her father … and now this. "Like father, like daughter…"

  Was that really it? she wondered. Did he believe in the old "blood will tell" theory so much? Was that why he'd been so sure she could never want him? Because, deep down, he thought he was like his father, a cold-hearted, callous man who would walk out on a helpless teenager pregnant with his child? Did he hold himself apart from everyone so that he would never have to face the fear that he might be right?

  She studied the rugged planes of his face, thrown into stark relief by the moonlight. She'd known people who never let people get close to them for fear of being hurt; Mandy had been one until Shiloh had introduced her to Jimmy. But she had never known anyone who kept away from people for fear of hurting them. It was bad enough that he had so little belief in his fellow man; that he had so little in himself made her ache inside for him.

  The words spoken by Sam West's secretary came back to her then. "He who hasn't taken a day off in seven years." Of course not, she thought. Not when his work was the only certain thing in his life, the only thing that gave him any faith in himself; he was good at it, and he knew it.

  "—your father?"

  Shiloh came back to the present with a thud. "What?" Con looked at her a little oddly but merely repeated his question. "Who's there besides your father?"

  "Nobody should be."

  "Your mother?"

  Her delicate jaw tightened, but she said evenly enough, "She won't be there. They haven't lived together since she ran off with the local high school football coach."

  "Football coach?" Con stared at her.

  "Sure." Shiloh shrugged, and only the faintest undertone of bitterness touched her voice. "You know, young, handsome … whole."

  Con winced visibly.

  "Your father doesn't have the corner on callousness, you know," she said softly, "and I'm no more like her than you are like him."

  Even in the moonlight she could see him go pale. He looked quickly away, but not before she saw the stunned look that told her how close to home her words had struck. He concentrated on the house, and it was a long time before he spoke.

  "We need a distraction so I can get inside."

  Shiloh thought for a minute. "I could start some kind of disturbance out in front, or go to the door—"

  "No." It was short, sharp and final.

  "But—"

  "You're not going down there."

  "It's my father, and my house," she argued. "Besides, they won't know who I am—"

  "You're trying to tell me your father doesn't have a single picture of you in that house?" he asked dryly.

  "Okay, okay," she muttered, then brightened. "I know! I'll tuck my hair up under that baseball cap in the car and put on a big shirt over my jeans. They'll think I'm a boy, just some neighborhood kid who—"

  "No man with eyes is going to think you're a boy, Shiloh Reese."

  For the briefest second, the merest flash of time, the man from the island was looking at her from those icy blue eyes. It left her breathless, stunned by how much she wanted that man back—permanently. That was what he should be, not this cold, controlled—

  She nearly laughed out loud as she interrupted her own thoughts. How many times had she been accused of that very same thing, of being so coldly, unshakably controlled? It was only then that she realized she not only wanted that man back, she wanted the person she was when she was with him back, as well.

  She felt suddenly light, free. Only now did she realize the full truth of her own words. If he wasn't like his father, she wasn't like her mother. She'd known the one was true but hadn't fully accepted the other. Until now. No more would she worry that somewhere, buried inside her, was the grasping, selfish woman her mother had been. In her own way she had been as wrong as Con had been, and if not for him, she might never have seen it.

  Suddenly, uncontrollably, she threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. She felt his arms automatically return the em
brace, then felt him stiffen.

  "Everything's going to be fine," she exclaimed in a jubilant whisper that made him look at her a little tensely. "I'll explain it all later. Right now we're the cavalry, so we'd better get moving. How about if I throw a baseball through the front window?"

  A little taken aback at this sudden whirlwind that had materialized, Con stared at her blankly for a moment. "And just how," he said slowly, "do you propose to explain what you're doing playing baseball at one in the morning?"

  "I'm a juvenile delinquent?"

  "A delinquent, definitely," he growled. "You're not going down there."

  "I'm not asking to storm the house," she said reasonably. "I'll leave that to the pro. But you said you needed a distraction. I can do that, at least."

  "Tell me about it," he muttered under his breath. He looked back at the house. If he could get down this hill to the backyard and make it to the house without being spotted…

  "That big tree in the Baxters' backyard—" she gestured to the house next door "—has a lot of good, solid branches that go over the wall. It would put you right at the corner of the house. There's a sliding glass door a few feet away."

  He leaned forward, seeing what she meant. "Aren't they going to call the cops if I start prowling around in their yard?"

  Shiloh shook her head. "They aren't here yet. They live in Washington and don't come here until December, when winter really sets in there."

  He nodded. "All right. Can you draw me a floor plan of the house?"

  "Sure."

  Without another word he pushed his way through the bushes, strode back to the car and got in. Still floating on the ebullient cloud of self-discovery that had released her, she followed meekly, not really concerned. When this was over and her father was safe, she would show him, would somehow convince him, and everything would be all right. The first chance she got, she would make him see. She wasn't going to lose the only man who had ever made her feel like this.

  Con was aware of her movements as he studied the quickly sketched, detailed floor plan she had drawn, but he didn't look up until he had the drawing committed to memory. When he did, his jaw tightened.

  "What do you think? In the dark, without—"

  "No."

  She had tucked her hair up under the cap, baring the slender column of her neck. The bill was pulled halfway down her forehead, throwing her face into shadow, but he could see the wide green eyes, the sassy nose and pert chin as clearly as if she'd been standing in a spotlight. And her mouth. That soft, warm mouth that set him on fire with a speed he'd never known. Stop it! he ordered himself harshly.

  "You're not going up and knocking on the damn door," he said gruffly.

  "Okay." He looked at her suspiciously; that had been too easy. "I had a better idea, anyway."

  "I knew it," he muttered; she ignored him.

  "I'll just set off Mr. Kowalski's alarm."

  "What?"

  "I should have thought of it sooner, after the car at the airport. Mr. Kowalski from across the street has a car with an alarm. A horribly loud alarm. If I set it off, that should I get their attention, shouldn't it?"

  He considered that. "What if the car's not there?"

  "It is. I saw it when we drove by. It's that red BMW parked just before the curve." Her brow creased at a thought. "But it might bring the police, too."

  "That doesn't matter anymore."

  "What about Sam?"

  "He'll know everything as soon as he gets back, no matter what happens. All I have to do is keep these clowns from blowing the whistle to Wilkens."

  Shiloh heard the rest of his words, but her mind was back on that ominous little phrase, "no matter what happens."

  "The letter," she breathed. He shrugged, and she knew she was right. He had written to Sam about what he'd found out and sent it to some secure post office box, just in case. Just in case he didn't make it back to tell him himself. She wondered with a shiver if he did that on every case.

  She had thought she knew about this business, but the simple mailing of that letter brought home the ugliness of it with grim finality. A brief, vivid picture flashed through her mind. Con in her living room, more intimidating than either of the hulking men he fought despite his nakedness.

  Or perhaps because of it, because of the sculpted lines of his powerful body. And the scars. Only now, in this last desperate moment, did the realization that he could die just as his predecessor had done hit home; she'd come to think of him as invincible, untouchable, as she had thought of her brother and father as a child.

  "Con," she began urgently, suddenly aware that things just might go wrong, and she might never get the chance to tell him—

  "Let's go," he said suddenly, decisively. He tugged back the sleeve of his jacket. "One twelve?"

  Knowing it was too late to tell him now, she looked at her own watch, a slim gold band that had been a gift from her father. She nodded.

  "Can you get to that car in five minutes?" She nodded again. He reached into the large canvas bag and pulled out her .45. "Will your father recognize this?"

  "Yes."

  He was all business now, cool and deliberate. "I'll take it, then. After you trigger the alarm, beat it. Stay out of sight till I come for you." He stuffed Moose's revolver in his pocket and handed her the weapon that had been Moose's partner's. "Use this if you have to."

  She took the gun without a word, mentally crossing her fingers as she neither agreed nor disagreed with his instructions.

  "Five minutes," he repeated, glancing at his watch again. "From now."

  She nodded and climbed out of the car. They walked to where the path split, one trail leading down the hill, and Shiloh had to bite her lip fiercely to keep from blurting out the words she feared she might never get to say. Then, as she turned to go, he suddenly gripped her arm. She lifted her head to look at him, and with a muttered oath he pulled her into his arms and kissed her swiftly.

  "Be careful, Green-eyes," he whispered.

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Shiloh thought her heart must be hammering as loudly as any alarm, both from tension and the run down the bill. She had reached the red car with a minute to spare, a minute that had lasted at least an hour. She watched the second hand on her watch crawl around the dial in the glow of the streetlight. And waited.

  The instant that the hand hit the number she'd been waiting for, her hand swept down to the door handle and gave it a yank. True to form, the blaring Klaxon warning signal split the night. Shiloh backed up out of the circle of light to wait, her eyes fastened on the slice of white wall that was all she could see of her father's house.

  As usual, she thought ironically, Mr. Kowalski possessed the inherent ability to sleep through his own chaos; his house remained dark. But others would awaken soon, and, irritated with what they saw as their neighbor's paranoia, would be on the phone to the police about the noise.

  Then she heard running footsteps and moments later saw a large man running rather awkwardly down the hill from the direction of her father's house. Awkwardly because he was both heavy and obviously out of shape, Shiloh guessed; she could hear his gasping breathing even from where she stood.

  From her hiding place in the shadows, she saw him pull open the door and start poking nervously at any button within reach, trying to shut off the noise that was echoing off the walls of the surrounding houses, many of which were now adorned with lit windows. Giving a tug to her cap, she strolled casually out into the street.

  "Hey, mister," she said in a raspy tone she hoped might pass for a young boy whose voice was changing, "if you yank the battery cable, it'll shut up." The hefty man glared at her intimidatingly, and she shrugged negligently beneath the shirt, borrowed from Con, that hung loosely on her. "So don't. Don't matter to me if the cops show up. I didn't do nothin'."

  She sauntered past him and on down the street, not daring to head toward the house and h
ave the man ignore the car and go after her. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder in time to see him fumbling with the hood, then ducked out of sight behind Mr. Kowalski's hedge when she saw another car coming up the hill.

  A police car. She grinned, not quite able to believe their luck. And there was Bluto, with his head stuck under the hood. He'd have a lot of explaining to do. Her grin widened when she heard the thunk of skull against metal as Bluto jerked upright and hit the hood the moment he saw the blinking red light atop the patrol car.

  A smile tugged at one corner of Con's mouth when he heard the clamor of the car alarm; right on time, Green-eyes, he thought. He was hunkered down in the shadows of the big tree at the corner of the house. He'd barely seen the movement at the sliding door in time; from up on the hill, the man just inside hadn't been visible.

  As he'd hoped, the man had left his post at the first piercing blast of the alarm. Con edged over to the door and slid it open about three feet. He considered going in right then, but the chance of taking one of them down outside, silently, was more important. He leaned forward until he could hear bits of talk over the background racket.

  "What the hell…"

  "…think … a car…"

  "Charley … get … shut it up!"

  "…damn cops … over the place…"

  "Charley'll handle … get back … door."

  That's my man, Con thought, backing up to press himself flat against the wall next to the door. He heard steps on what sounded like a tile floor, then a muttered curse.

  "What the hell? I didn't open—"

  The words turned into a startled gasp, then a muffled groan as the man sank limply to the ground. Swiftly Con dragged him around to the side of the house and tied his hands behind him with his own belt.

  Two left, he thought as he eased into the house. As long as that alarm kept going, he had two left to deal with. He hoped. And Shiloh was safely hidden, waiting, somewhere secure. He had to believe that. If he let himself think anything else, he would mess this up for sure.

 

‹ Prev