by Sylvie Kurtz
Cecilia smiled. “Oh, no, it’s best you stay.”
“I have work—”
“And this beautiful lady, she needs for you to understand the changes in her.”
He nodded, wishing he could ignore the changes in Olivia. Despite the sunshine in Cecilia’s voice, the litany of expectations was even gloomier than the ones he’d heard at the hospital. In some ways, dealing with Olivia would be like dealing with a child. Repetition, Cecilia said, would create new paths in Olivia’s brain. The old ones wouldn’t reconnect, but the creation of new ones would give her a future—and, eventually, a past.
Fatigue, headaches, dizziness, pain pills, Dramamine, coping mechanisms to deal with her motor problems—they were going to be part of her reality now. Part of his.
When Cecilia brought up the possible loss of desire, altered sensations and physiological problems with sex, Sebastian wanted to groan. Up until now, he’d avoided thinking that far ahead. All that had mattered was getting Olivia home and safe. Sex with Olivia…well, it was as calming as a lullaby, as satisfying as winning a lottery, as important as breathing. Having her so close without touching her was going to be pure hell.
He was caged in his own home. Grounded, he felt as if he was no longer master of his own fate. And to make things worse, he didn’t even have the pleasure of his Olivia.
Kershaw spent the last five years planning his vengeance. So far, it was working perfectly.
NIGHT BROUGHT A DIFFERENT flavor to his frustration. Sebastian walked Olivia to their room. In this room, they’d made love. In this room they’d shared bits of their souls. In this room, they were safe and secure, cocooned. He stood there awkwardly as she looked around at all the things that should be familiar—the ash bureau she’d picked, the sleigh bed she’d fallen in love with and just had to have, the shades of blue from carpet to comforter to sheets that just a few days ago he’d thought of as a nest.
He reached into the second drawer of the dresser and pulled out one of the flannel pajamas she loved and he hated. He much preferred to pile on quilts against the cold and feel her skin to skin. But tonight, she would need the softness and warmth of that flannel. “Here.”
She took the navy plaid bottoms and navy fleece top from him and held them to her chest.
He drew the curtains shut.
“No,” she said. “Leave them open.”
Bright stars on deep purple sky. A thumbprint moon that kissed the tops of the mountains. He couldn’t blame her. The view was spectacular.
He strode to the bathroom and flicked on the light. “There’s everything you need here. Soap, lotions, toothpaste.”
She looked at him with wide eyes and nodded.
“I need to look at your stitches.”
She stiffened.
“For signs of infection.”
She nodded.
He folded down the top to the toilet and gestured her to sit. She did, folding her hands one on top of the other over the pajamas in her lap.
Gently, he pushed aside a strand of hair. She sat ramrod straight, staring at the escape of the door over his shoulder.
“No sign of infection,” he said, and backed away, giving her breathing space. Only of how I’ve hurt you. He took the three prescription bottles from the pharmacy bag, read the labels and shook a pill from each. “Here, swallow these. They’ll help with the pain and nausea.”
She took the pills in one hand, the glass in the other, and did as he asked. With a bit of a shake, she handed him the glass.
“Do you need help?” He gestured at the pajamas in her lap. Not that he relished the thought of her flinching away from his touch as if he were a stranger. “Should I call Paula?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He wanted to believe her, so he pretended she was. “If you need anything, just press this button.” He pointed to the intercom system. “It rings in my office. There’s one beside the bed, too. Just hit talk, and I’ll hear you.”
Pressing the pajamas to her chest, she nodded. “I’m fine.”
He hesitated at the door. “Anything at all.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
Silently, he closed the door and escaped to his office.
Connecting to the outside world with his computer eased the feeling of confinement, of helplessness. He spent hours tracking the possible triggers Kershaw had left behind, hours putting himself in Kershaw’s mind. And all those hours did was confirm his belief that Kershaw was close, that Olivia was still in danger.
BY THE TIME HIS TEAM arrived in the morning, Sebastian had regained a piece of his lost control.
The four men whose presence he’d requested sat in his office, munching on the take-out cinnamon rolls and coffee he’d dispatched Mario to get. Ordinarily, Olivia would have taken care of these details and have had fresh coffee, a plate of fruit and home-baked muffins waiting. He’d seen her do that when she hosted a client or a committee. She’d have charmed each man, making him feel at home, and she’d have had each man wishing he were Sebastian. He’d seen her do that with the old men who played chess on the porch or around the potbellied stove at the general store.
But Olivia wasn’t Olivia, and he’d never brought his business home before.
He’d have to get over it.
Somehow.
He’d worked with each of these men before and trusted them. As Sutton had said, they were the best of the best.
Dominic Skyralov was out of Texas. A former football player, he was the resident knight-errant. Jeans and T-shirts were his favorite uniform. He was fluent in L.L. Bean and could spend hours leafing through sportsmen’s magazines. He fancied opera and Elvis and dabbled in short stories and fly-fishing. The Cowboy appeared to be mild mannered in an oh-shucks-ma’am type of way, but you didn’t want to get on his wrong side.
Grayson Reed, out of San Diego, was Hollywood personified. He looked as if he were off to pose for a GQ shoot. Yet he could fit in anywhere, talk to anybody and make him believe he was his best friend. Day or night, inside or out, he always wore shades. He claimed it was because of his sensitive silver eyes, but Sebastian knew it was because every thought and emotion showed in them—not a good thing in this business.
Noah Kingsley was known as the Boy Scout because of his clean good looks and because he was always prepared. Electronics were his specialty, and he usually holed up in the El Paso Intelligence Center. He wore red suspenders for style—sometimes Sebastian thought it was just to make sure he was seen—and a belt to hold his holster and weapon. Because of his slight build, people tended to dismiss him easily. And that was always a mistake. He had a wolf’s heart in a sheep’s skin.
Sabriel Mercer wasn’t long on words, but he was the model of principles and economy. He was a skilled rifleman, currently working out of Boston. He was a contemplative man with a deep appreciation of Oriental thought and took his martial arts seriously—hell, took everything seriously. Sebastian didn’t think he’d ever heard the man laugh. Unlike the others, he looked dark and dangerous—and was. But if Sebastian had to follow anyone to the gates of hell and expect to come back alive, it would be Mercer.
Sebastian handed each man a packet of information and it felt as if he were airing his dirty laundry. Olivia was his responsibility and, to protect her, he had to expose her, expose himself and his failings. “The prison toasts were IDed. Kershaw is definitely one of the felons on the run. A witness saw an argument between Greco and Carmichael an hour before they were due at Allenwood. The Feebs are looking into that. As you know, they’ve got the scene. One of their techs went over the car and found nothing. They’re putting down the slice-and-dice as a demand for respect.”
The heels of his Gore-Tex hiking boots resting on the lip of Sebastian’s desk, Skyralov chuckled. “Really went out on a limb on that one. Hatred as motive. When has a fugitive ever loved the sight of us?”
Disbelieving shakes of agreement all around.
“I have a problem w
ith the public nature of the murders,” Sebastian continued.
“Why’s that?” Reed asked, foot on the seat of a chair, elbow on his raised knee, other hand on hip as if posing to show off the three-piece charcoal suit that somehow sported no wrinkle despite his red-eye flight.
“They’re on the run,” Sebastian said. “They know the cops are looking for them. Why kill our guys out in the open when they could’ve done it in private and put us off their scent for longer?”
Skyralov chose a roll from the box. “Mutts aren’t known for their brains.”
“Mutts, no, but Kershaw’s on a mission. He’d want to scramble the timeline for as long as he could.”
Reed adjusted his shades. “Unless he was throwing this in our face.”
“Got IDs on the other fugitives?” Kingsley asked, pen poised over his reporter’s notebook—he never left home without it.
“Harvey Rand and John Cupp. Looks like they scattered after they killed our guys. Rand was picked up after he robbed a bar just over the Massachusetts border. Cupp was spotted in Vermont. Looks like he’s trying to make the border. The BOLO’s been altered to show the capture. The Feebs have agents out talking to the usual sources, but so far all their leads are getting us nowhere.” Not that Be-On-the-Look-Out bulletins ever got the fast and full distribution they needed.
Kingsley hooked the thumb of his left hand around a red suspender. “I don’t suppose Rand is talking.”
“Says he was just along for the ride. Pins Kershaw for the murders.”
Skyralov licked icing off his fingers. “Real surprise there.”
“What do you need?” Mercer asked, cutting to the chase. Finding him among the shadows of the wall of shelves filled with electronics took Sebastian a moment.
“Kingsley’s going to be your tech support. He’s going to run the computers. You need surveillance equipment. You need information. You need support. Kingsley’s your man. I’ll trade off manning the command center with him.”
Kingsley nodded as he scribbled. “I’ll need—”
“Make a list and I’ll get it for you.”
Looking at Reed, Sebastian said, “I want you to pay a little visit to this address.” He handed Reed a piece of paper, holding on for a second longer than necessary. He should be the one going out there. He should be the one hunting. He should be the one cranking cuffs on Kershaw. “The kid nearly ran us over yesterday morning in the hospital parking lot. I couldn’t find any ties to Kershaw, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Charm him out of his secrets.”
“No sweat.” Never any sweat for Reed, not even after a five-mile run.
“Skyralov, I want you on the mother.” Sebastian tamped down the twin curls of frustration and envy, and concentrated on dispatching the plan he’d spent all night perfecting. “Flip her if you can. Kershaw has to have some help. Behind the felon, there’s usually a woman. And this one’s been vocal about the cruel and unusual punishment we’ve pushed on her poor defenseless boy.” That brought a round of chuckles. “Check on the rest of his family, too. He has a brother and a sister.”
“You got some flash?”
Flash money helped to grease the way to information. For a twenty, neighbor would rat on neighbor. For the cost of a fix, a junkie brother might sell out his kin. For the price of a john, a sister who worked the streets might let her tongue flap. “I’ll get you some.”
He turned to the man melding with the shadows of the room. “Mercer, I want you to check out who’s been put in lockup for drugs in the last few days and see if we can get a lead that way. Kershaw has a hard time getting laid without a little pharmaceutical help. After five years behind bars, he’ll want a little tail before he nails me.”
“What about Cupp?” Reed asked.
“Let the Feebs get him. It’ll make them feel good.”
Rough barks of laughter erupted.
“You want Kershaw brought in or smoked?” Mercer asked. No emotion colored his tone. There was something unnerving about this man’s unflappable evenness. And if the question had come from anyone but Mercer, he’d have wondered at his choice. But Mercer prided himself on his ability to work a case without drawing his weapon.
Cop killers had a hard time making it safely into custody. No one would blame Sebastian for choosing a permanent resolution to this problem. No one but him. If he chose to gun Kershaw down, then he would be no better than that piece of scum, no better than the creep who’d shot his parents for the seventy-six dollars in their wallets.
But he also understood Kershaw. Kershaw didn’t want to go back to the hell of prison. This was his goodbye, and he was going to make sure it made fireworks worthy of a Fourth of July celebration.
For Kershaw, death was the only acceptable outcome.
And somehow Sebastian had to make sure Olivia was left out of the equation.
“The choice is up to him.”
Chapter Five
Being in the kitchen with the woman who called herself her sister and the girl she was told was her niece was like being trapped in a beehive. The thin woman flitted from the granite counter to the mammoth stainless-steel stove to the walk-in pantry as if she were pollinating flowers. The buzz of her voice was as dizzying as her crooked flight path. Olivia hung on to her teacup with both hands, trying to keep the room steady. What was her sister trying to outrun?
Every touch of her sister’s hand felt like a slap, every word like a piercing whine. Steam from the stove fogged the windows, blocking the steadying view of the mountains she’d so loved yesterday, and closed her throat. A part of her wished for her husband’s solid presence—except that having him look at her and wish for someone else was even more painful than this fretful whir of activity.
The strange creature across the table from her kept staring at her as if she were a monkey in a cage. Red and purple streaks spiked her niece’s short blond hair. A thick line of kohl raccooned her pale blue eyes. Tiny silver revolvers hung from the lobes of her ears. A black dog collar studded with silver diamonds circled her neck. Her clunky shoes seemed to weigh more than she did. The screaming red of her tartan flannel pants and the black leather jacket did nothing to complement her snow-pale skin.
“Eat.” Paula plopped down a bowl of fruit salad next to the plate heaping with scrambled eggs that were an anemic white and sausage links she was told were soy. Had she eaten this way before?
The creature leaned toward her. “Just eat. She’ll nag you to death if you don’t.”
“I heard that, Cari.” Paula put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You’ve been through a trauma. You need to build your strength.”
Maybe she was right, Olivia thought. A strange weakness coursed through her limbs, making them move as if they were made of cement about to set. She picked up the fork and ate a bite of eggs. It went down like crumpled paper. Letting go of the fork, she reached for the warmth of the teacup and thought of the man who was her husband.
She’d half feared he’d climb into the big bed with her last night; she was half disappointed he hadn’t. The dark room had felt like a tomb. She wanted to be left by herself to tiptoe her way through all this strangeness. All their expectant stares made her skin crawl. Yet being alone made her feel like an unwanted baby abandoned on a doorstep.
You can’t have it both ways. Make up your mind. A short, sharp laugh escaped her. Yeah, if you can find it.
“Where is he?” she asked, unable still to make her mouth form any of their names. Was her husband avoiding the alien who now lived in his wife’s body? She couldn’t really blame him. She didn’t much care for the alien body she now inhabited.
“Sebastian?” Paula asked, stilling the spatula above the skillet.
Olivia nodded, holding her breath, afraid suddenly of the answer she might hear.
Paula attacked the eggs in the pan as if she were wielding a bayonet in enemy territory. “Umph! He’s where he always is—doing business. It’s no wonder you were leaving him. You’d finally come to your s
enses and decided to come live with me.”
Leaving him? She inhaled sharply. Olivia had meant to leave him? Why, when she was sure he would have moved a mountain if Olivia had so desired?
Cari slammed the cereal box on the table. A dozen flakes flew out, peppering the red-birch tabletop with small plinks. “Mom, she doesn’t need that right now.”
“She needs the truth.” Paula dumped the eggs on a plate.
Cari sniffed at the milk container, then poured some on the cereal in her bowl. “Yeah, right, like you’re so big on truth all of a sudden.”
“What do you mean?” Paula jammed the plate in front of her daughter.
“Never mind.” Cari dismissed her mother with a wave of her hand.
What was she missing between mother and daughter? The spaces between the words were snakes looking for a chance to strike. Had Olivia known about the tension that clung to her family? Her gaze drifted to the foggy window and, suddenly, she wanted the steadiness of those mountains. “I’m going out.” She started to get up.
“You can’t.” Paula whirled around, sinking both hands into Olivia’s tender shoulders and sliding Olivia back into the chair. She winced.
“Why can’t she?” Cari asked, frowning.
“Because she can’t.” Paula’s features pinched, but her eyes danced with fear. Was she afraid Olivia wouldn’t remember the way home?
Cari snorted. “So much for the truth.”
“I won’t go far, sister.” Olivia tried to pull Paula’s claws from her shoulders.
“My name is Paula.” Paula leaned into her so closely, Olivia could see the thin lines spidering the corners of her eyes. Her sister mouthed her name louder and more drawn out, as if Olivia were deaf. “Pau-la.”
