Heart of a Hunter

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Sk8Thor: The info U gave me is no good.

  Okie: What do U mean?

  Sk8Thor: There’s nothing there.

  Okie: What did U want?

  Sk8Thor: U can’t b that stupid.

  Okie: Up yours!

  Sk8Thor: Where’s the rest?

  Okie: The rest of what?

  Sk8Thor: The $.

  Okie: U didn’t tell me U were looking for $.

  Sk8Thor: What did U think I wanted the @%*&! acct. #s for?

  Okie: Scramble.

  He swore. That’s what he got for trusting. He kept having to learn that lesson over and over again. First Nadine. Then Bernie. All the way down to this piece of worthless flesh. Everyone, everyone, had cheated him out of his due. Maybe you’re the one who’s stupid, he thought. He dismissed the notion with a jerk of his shoulder. Well, he’d show them he wasn’t out for the count yet. He cracked his knuckles and typed.

  Sk8Thor: Where is it stashed?

  Okie: He doesn’t have much.

  Sk8Thor: What about the house?

  Okie: A wedding gift.

  Sk8Thor: The rest?

  Okie: Hers.

  Swerving as he swore, he punched the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall. Pieces of plaster pinged on the dirty tiles of the floor. He signed off the stolen laptop and paced the confines of the room.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  “Get lost!”

  Just as he was about to take his frustration out on the hapless customer waiting to take a leak, an idea came to him. “Of course.”

  If he couldn’t get it one way, he’d get it another. He’d aimed right the first time. Now all he had to do was see it through. It didn’t matter much how he got where he wanted to go—as long as he got there.

  As he yanked open the restroom door, he saw himself sipping beer from an open bar. Palms trees swaying in the background. Bikini-clad girls promenading on the beach with the eye-hurting blue of the ocean behind them. That’s the ticket. Key West. A nice place to start over. He’d heard a man could be himself there and no one would bother him.

  LIV AWOKE IN A SWIRL of black and nausea that coated her like dry black acrylic on white pine. She could not move her right arm. She could not move her right leg. She could not feel anything except the hammer pounding at her temples. Lost and alone, she was flaking to pieces, and she didn’t know how to hold herself together.

  Then arms embraced her, held her tight. Sebastian’s sure voice lifted the veil of darkness and dizziness and brought her back to the nest of quilts and flannel sheets that was their bed, back to her body. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re all right, Liv. I’m here.”

  She hung on to him, afraid of losing what she’d found since Olivia had died and Liv was born. If she kept looking for the tracks Olivia had left behind, she would get stuck in the dark. And she didn’t want to end up alone in the blackness of her own mind. She needed a home to belong to. She needed the security Sebastian offered her. She needed him.

  This skin-to-skin connection was real. Everything else was illusion. This relationship, this marriage, was more important than finding the things that were dead anyway.

  With the steady beat of Sebastian’s heart beneath her hand, with his body warm against hers, she relaxed. She would put the past away for good and look only forward.

  This was her home.

  This was her husband.

  This was the life she chose.

  Nothing else mattered.

  AT SIX THE NEXT MORNING, Sutton called, a frantic edge to his voice. “What the hell’s going on? Why are Reed and Skyralov in Denver? Why are they getting our guys out there involved in a bust? Why are they talking to the FBI?”

  Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed. He’d spent the night analyzing Liv’s every movement after the nightmare that left her quaking against him like a scared rabbit. She was getting worse, and he’d never felt so helpless. “I sent them there.”

  “I told you to stay out of this.”

  Sebastian felt Liv stir beside him, her hand clasped the notch between his hips and thigh. He groaned silently as her touch had the inevitable result. Hot and heavy, he slid out of bed, tucked the quilt around her shoulders, and mouthed, “Go back to sleep.” To Sutton he said, “I couldn’t ignore a good lead. Greco was dirty. That’s what you were trying to bury.”

  Sutton swore. “We’ve got to talk about damage control. I don’t need a scandal like this right now.”

  Not with D.C. as his next stop. Sebastian reached for jeans and stepped into them. “You can bury everything I’ve found.”

  “I want you down here now.”

  He glanced at Liv. She’d been clingy all night. He’d felt her fear, sensed her subtle fight to regain control of her body. There was no way he could miss their appointment with Dr. Iverson this morning. “I can’t—”

  “You’re already on my bad side, Falconer. Don’t dig yourself in deeper. I want you here now.”

  “My wife—”

  “I told you this would happen. You started this. You finish it.”

  “I’ll be there after her appointment.”

  “You’ll get here now or I’ll have your badge.”

  Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his face. It always came down to this—a choice between Olivia and work. He needed them both, and each demanded he sacrifice the other. “Right.”

  The line went dead as Sutton slammed down his receiver.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Liv sleep. Her face was pale. Too pale. The bruise along the left side was still a reminder of how he’d failed her. He fingered one of the soft curls of hair that couldn’t quite hide the damage. She turned her cheek to meet his palm, and a small smile curved her lips. With a satisfied sigh, she buried deeper into the pillow, taking his hand in hers and holding it to her heart.

  “I love you,” he whispered, then kissed her temple and slowly slipped his hand free.

  One last time, Liv. He had to leave her one last time. He needed the protection of his badge until whoever had killed Kershaw was caught. It was the only way to keep her safe.

  After that…. He shook his head.

  At least this time, he wasn’t leaving her alone. Kingsley was here. He could call Mercer back from surveillance. Paula and Cari would take her to her appointment. She wouldn’t be alone. Not for a minute.

  And he’d return in time to hear the results.

  BY THE TIME SEBASTIAN reached Sutton’s office in Boston, Weld was in custody and Sutton was wearing a groove in the industrial carpet of his office.

  Unlike most paper pushers, Sutton hadn’t given up his membership at the gym when he was promoted. He believed physical fitness made for a sharp mind. And he believed that a marshal was a symbol. The way he presented himself at all times was a reflection not only of himself, but of the Service. More than that, he lived what he believed. Dressed in a custom-made charcoal suit, square-faced, square-shouldered, with just enough gray at the temples to look distinguished, he was a poster boy for what a marshal should look like.

  “Do you know what those Bureau pricks did?” Sutton asked before Sebastian had closed the door.

  Sebastian knew better than to answer. He stood at ease, a brick wall ready to bear the bluster of Sutton’s anger.

  “They agreed to meet our guys across the street from the bar where Weld was,” Sutton said. The vein at his temple throbbed purple. His neck was an unhealthy shade of red. “Our guys waited. But the Bureau guys never showed up. Do you know why they didn’t show up?”

  Sebastian shook his head, but Sutton, caught up in the steam of his fury, didn’t notice.

  “The Feebs went straight to the bar and popped him.”

  “And took the credit for the arrest,” Sebastian said. “At least we got him.”

  Sutton stopped and pinned him with a look. “You understand we can’t have him talk.” His steps were slow now, deliberate. “I want something done fast. Before everything hits the fan.” H
is eyes blazed. “I want you to do the transport. It’s a short drive from jail to the airport. One man is enough. No follow car. This mutt doesn’t have any friends out here to help him. Stay out of traffic.” Sutton balled his fists on his desk and leaned into them, spearing Sebastian with the fervor of his intention. “I want Weld to make a break.”

  What Sutton left unsaid turned Sebastian’s insides to ice. Sutton wanted him to kill a man in restraints to preserve the image of the Service.

  When Sebastian said nothing, Sutton added, “I’ll make it right with Internal Affairs. And we can put your disciplinary action behind us.”

  Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, but Sutton put up a hand. “Don’t say anything now. Sleep on it. I’ll have my secretary make the arrangements.”

  As he made his way back to his SUV, an oily nausea settled in his stomach. The less afraid you were to kill, the less afraid you were to die, the better chance you had to survive. That all went toward longevity. He’d killed before. But only when there was no other alternative. Only when he’d explored all other options. Survival this time meant going against instinct.

  As he drove along Route 3, he felt as if he were watching himself on a wide screen. All his flaws showed up magnified. Some dark part of him didn’t care whether Weld made it to court alive or not. Some part of him only cared about himself—his self-appointed mission in life, his future with the Service, his future with Liv.

  He’d made a lot of sacrifices for the Service, but it seemed the more he gave, the more they wanted. Now they were asking for his soul.

  And the worst part was that he was even considering it. A man like Weld had no future. He’d be in and out of the system for the rest of his life. Society would be better off without the likes of him staining its face.

  But for all his faults, Weld wasn’t violent. He was a nuisance, but not a killer.

  The road was a blur in his window. His body responded to the rubber band push-and-pull of traffic automatically. The flap of windshield wipers flicking snow from the glass became a backbeat to the pounding of his thoughts.

  All of his life he’d sought justice for the innocent. He’d wanted to do the greatest good for the greatest number. He’d wanted to make the world safe for people like his parents. For Olivia. For the family he’d once planned.

  If he did as he was asked, what did that make him?

  No better than the scum he hunted.

  If he didn’t?

  Then he’d be as lost as Olivia.

  As he crossed into New Hampshire, the snowfall lightened. The Everett Turnpike curved near exit 4. Snow-covered mountains, white and granite gray against the steel of the sky, came into view. He thought of Liv. He thought of the Aerie. He thought of all he’d done to protect them. And something inside him settled.

  He picked up his phone. Skyralov answered. “Sutton’s sending orders for a transport. You and Reed are on it. Make sure nothing happens to Weld on the way home.”

  When he got to the Aerie, no welcoming light greeted him from the front porch. The kitchen windows were dark. So were all the others.

  Sebastian frowned as he pressed the remote to open the garage door. Were they still at the hospital? Was something wrong? He glanced at his watch. Why weren’t they back? There’s no point panicking before you know the facts, he told himself as he parked the SUV.

  A smiling Kingsley greeted him when he entered the office. “How did it go?”

  Sebastian grumbled. “Where are the girls?”

  “Cari called and said they were going out for an early dinner before coming home. They’ll bring back take-out.”

  A snake of apprehension wound itself around his guts. He didn’t like the idea of Liv being out there, open and vulnerable. Paula and Cari were no protection against whoever had killed Kershaw. Why had he thought she would be? For someone like that, life held no meaning.

  “I’ve got the lowdown on Weld.” Kingsley passed over a sheaf of papers. “According to him, all he did was bring a car to the rendezvous point. He says he didn’t do any of the killings.”

  “Weld’s greedy, but he doesn’t have the stomach for blood.”

  Kingsley nodded. “He passed the polys. He didn’t want to talk, but he finally cut a deal. He says Greco was in on Kershaw’s escape, that Greco was being paid for his cooperation.”

  “How about Carmichael? Was he in on it, too?” That was more manure than even Sutton could bury.

  “Wrong place, wrong time.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair and hooked both thumbs around his red suspenders.

  Sebastian couldn’t believe Greco had sacrificed one of his own men to feed his greed. It’s your own kind that turned on him. “Pull up Carmichael’s jacket. And I want to take a look at the pictures taken at the scene of the murders.”

  “What’s up?”

  “A hunch.”

  “Going to let me in on it?”

  “I think Greco chose Carmichael for a reason. What he didn’t count on was that Kershaw would do to him what he was doing to Carmichael.” Felon loyalty didn’t stretch far. And Kershaw had good reasons to hate everyone associated with the Service—even someone on his team.

  Sebastian grabbed his keys. “There’s still something missing. Has Mercer checked in yet?”

  “No.” Kingsley glanced at his watch, then double-checked the time on the computer. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.” Sebastian headed for the door. Mercer wasn’t much on procedures, but he understood the value of having someone know where you were. If he hadn’t checked in, something was wrong. “Pull up the jail phone records we have in Kershaw’s file, the phone records for his mother’s house and Weld’s phone records.”

  “Where are you going?” Kingsley asked.

  “To check on the take-out. Olivia always forgets to order Ma La Lamb. Golden Pagoda?”

  Kingsley nodded and eyed Sebastian’s run through his equipment. “Need back-up?”

  “I need you here. Try to locate Mercer. Pull up those records.”

  Once more, Sebastian had let the job win over Liv. Once more, he’d made the wrong decision. He should never have let her out of his sight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liv sipped green tea from a small white cup without a handle and ignored the moo shu vegetables on her plate, even though she was told the dish was her favorite. Cari ate her chicken fried rice as if she hadn’t seen food for a month. Paula mostly stirred her shrimp lo mein around her plate with chopsticks as if doing so would prevent anyone from noticing she wasn’t actually putting anything in her mouth.

  The tinny music playing in the background picked at Liv’s headache like a hen at crushed corn. The scent of grease and soy sauce stirred the cauldron of nausea in her stomach. All the tests they’d put her through at the hospital seemed to have sapped what little energy she had, leaving her disconnected from the world as if she were halfway to being a ghost.

  She didn’t look impaired—even her bruises were fading fast—so everyone expected her to act as she had before the accident. It was as if she was living a secret. But Liv couldn’t let anyone see how close to disappearing she really was. Fear was shaking the small sense of self she’d recently discovered, making everything seem uncertain.

  You are more than your pain. She tried to remember Cecilia’s words of wisdom, but they were getting harder and harder to believe. Six to eight weeks, Dr. Iverson had told her, for the bruised tissues in her brain to heal. Six to eight more weeks of this subtle but constant pain. It seemed such an impossibly long time to wait for the dizziness, headaches and weakness to ebb.

  She wanted Sebastian here, now. She wanted to see the dark of his eyes shine at the sight of her—the way they had last night when she’d come out of the shower. She wanted the solid feel of him to anchor her before she floated away. What had happened in Boston? Why had she told him not to worry about her, to concentrate on his business? She should have gone with him. If he had found something new, would he leave her out
just as he’d left Olivia in the dark?

  “We should go shopping,” Cari helped herself to a shrimp from her mother’s plate. “There’s a quasi mall in Keene, isn’t there?”

  Paula sighed wearily. “Olivia needs to rest.”

  “I am tired,” Liv agreed. The day had been long for all of them. Cari had tried to keep them entertained with a monologue of her job search, but Liv couldn’t quite recall any of it. Paula had remembered to ask the doctor, nurses and technicians all the questions Liv forgot. And Liv had begun to see that her sister’s tough crust was an act of self-protection. She hurt easily, adding the wounds of the people she loved to her own as if her sacrifice would lessen their burdens and thicken her skin.

  Paula shooed away a fly that wasn’t there. “Sebastian will worry if he gets home before we do.”

  “Since when do you care what he thinks?” Cari stabbed at the chicken in her fried rice as if it wasn’t quite dead yet.

  Paula sighed again. “He loves her.”

  “Like that’s news.”

  And in the downcast resignation of Paula’s shoulders, Liv saw that it was a new realization. Did Paula feel as if she’d lost whatever tug-of-war for her affection she and Sebastian were playing?

  “We’ve been cooped up forever in that stuffy house.” Cari signaled the waiter for a refill of her Coke. “And we need to get the hospital smell out of our noses.”

  “Bubble bath.” Liv thought of sinking into a tubful of bubbles and could imagine the tightness in her muscles unwinding. Peppermint and rosemary. Or maybe lavender for a good night’s sleep.

  “Yes,” Paula agreed with a long draw of breath.

  They both smiled over their cups of tea. Cari looked at one then the other, then settled on Liv. Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, accusing. “You’re turning into an old lady.”

  “I’m just tired,” Liv said, feeling as if she’d somehow disappointed her niece. “We’ll do something tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” Cari stabbed at her food. “Hey, remember that gallery I told you about?”

  “The one in the pink Victorian?”