To Trust a Stranger

by Karen Robards

  Actually, that was probably going to work out all right, too, Basta reflected, although it had been hairy there for a few minutes after the boss had arrived. Basta had been running down the dirt road in hot pursuit of his escaping prey when the boss’s car had pulled up, catching him in its lights, and then he’d had to think fast.

  What he’d come up with was that McQuarry had shot Sid while rescuing Julie.

  Now the situation was dicey. But the plan was still in effect. The key was to keep his head. The boss’s men would be loyal unto death, just as he himself had been once, and all would be armed to the teeth.

  If he wanted to survive and prosper, he had to take out the Big Boss, Mac McQuarry, and Julie Carlson.

  Then he would vanish into the woodwork, and be home free.

  34

  “I’M ALL RIGHT,” MAC SAID, but it was clear that he wasn’t. He got up and kept going, but it was obvious that he was finding it harder with every passing minute. The mud sucked at their feet, making each step an effort. Breathing hard, Julie clung to his hand, for his support now rather than hers, and tried not to panic as she felt his fingers growing cold where earlier they had been reassuringly warm. She was afraid he must be losing a lot of blood; when she’d put her hand on his back, it had seemed like the entire back of his shirt was covered in stickiness. Suddenly she was terribly, horribly afraid that he might lose consciousness. She couldn’t carry him—but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave him, either.

  She prayed he was able to stay on his feet.

  Behind them, the flashlights were drawing ever closer, sweeping the darkness in what looked like a systematic search effort. There were no voices, no sounds of pursuit, but only the slashing lights. On her own, or with Mac his usual hale and hearty self, Julie realized that she probably would have been hyperventilating with fear.

  But Mac was depending on her now. She had to be strong for Mac. Sloshing through the marshy water, she held to that thought like a talisman.

  Keep moving, she told herself as her heart pounded with fear and exertion, her legs trembled with effort, and her feet slipped and slid on the mud that squished up between her toes. She was wet to the waist, and had been bitten by so many mosquitoes she no longer even felt the welts. The swamp was alive with splashes and plops and things that seemed to slither past her legs. Tall cypresses grew all around, their rough bark a welcome resting place for her hand as she waded past, their sturdy trunks tiptoeing out of the water on roots that were like six-feet-tall high heels.

  Mac was clinging heavily to her hand for support. Julie could hear the harsh sound of his breathing, see the slump of his spine. He stumbled from time to time, although he always regained his balance before he went down; but after each near fall his movements were more ragged than before.

  They weren’t going to make it. Not the way they were going. The knowledge grew steadily within her until it was a certainty.

  Suddenly Julie realized that the swamp itself was their best, no, their only, hope.

  “We need to hide,” she whispered.

  “Leave me.” His words tacitly confirmed her judgment of his state.

  “If you think I’m going to draw them off for you, you’re wrong.” She strove to lighten the moment. He made a sound that could have been a groan or a laugh.

  “Julie . . .”

  “Don’t argue.” Her voice was the merest breath. “There’s no way I’m leaving you. Everything else aside, do you think I’d stand a chance out here on my own?”

  He didn’t reply, so he must have felt that there was some truth to that. A glance over her shoulder told Julie that the flashlights were gaining on them at a terrifying rate. The glowing disks were now the size of baseballs, where before they had been the size of quarters. As she watched them arc through the darkness, her heart started beating like a drummer in a heavy metal band. Her skin prickled. Her breathing grew ragged. She took a deep, calming breath, and prayed Mac was right: their pursuers would be reluctant to wade through the swamp.

  “The cypressess. We could squeeze up under the roots.” The idea came to her as she touched another one.

  “Good plan.” His voice was so faint now she could scarcely hear it.

  They had to do it almost entirely by feel, but they managed to squeeze between the fingerlike roots. Inside was a hollow dome, affording them perhaps four feet of air above the surface of the water. Julie tried not to think about what might call the cavelike place home. Her hip bumped something, and she discovered that it was a gnarled knot of roots sticking up above the surface of the water. They were able to sit on it and rest against the curved inner trunk of the tree. Mac was crowded next to her, his breathing harsh in the confined space. The trunk was close and airless. The smell was mildew to the max. Julie could see nothing beyond their small shelter.

  Which was almost more terrifying than anything else, she realized. It allowed her imagination free rein. Deliberately Julie blocked out images of Basta creeping up on them, slithering through the swamp like a poisonous snake. Unless he had wings, they would know he was coming. They might not be able to see, but they could hear.

  Mac was shifting around uncomfortably next to her, and Julie could sense, from the tension in his body, from his breathing, from his restless movements, that he was in pain.

  “How badly are you hurt?” It was a whisper; she was ever mindful of the butchers hunting them through the night. She turned toward him, reaching out to touch his arm, his shoulder. He was wet and muddy, like she was, but his skin was cool to the touch, whereas, in the clammy heat, she was sweating buckets she was so warm. Again she worried about blood loss.

  “It hurts like hell, but I think I’m going to live.” His rasping voice made the words less reassuring than they might have been.

  “Are you bleeding a lot?” She touched his face.

  “Some.”

  “Okay.” She wet her lips, afraid he was grossly understating the case. Whether he was or not, the blood loss needed to be stopped. Julie pulled off her T-shirt—the only relatively dry article of clothing either of them possessed—and folded it into a tight little rectangle. “I’ve made my shirt into a pad. Show me where to press it.”

  “The right side of my back, just under my shoulderblade.”

  With some difficulty—the space was tight—Julie reached around him to find the spot. It was warm and sticky with blood, impossible to mistake. She pressed the makeshift bandage over the wound. She did not dare lift his shirt—she feared it might dislodge any clotting and increase the bleeding—but she pushed down firmly to try to stop the bleeding. Mac shuddered and made a slight sound.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.”

  He was clearly trying to ease her fears about his condition. Determined to do what she could to keep him alive and conscious, Julie pressed harder.

  “Ouch! Now you’re hurting me.”

  “Sorry. I think it’s probably really important that we get the bleeding to stop.”

  His reply was a grunt, which she took as acknowledgment that she was right. For a couple of moments after that they were both silent. Julie kept her hand tight over the pad, and listened for all she was worth to the sounds of the swamp. If Basta should come, or his friends with the flashlights, their only recourse would be to stay very still and quiet, like a mouse with a hawk flying overhead.

  And pray they wouldn’t be found.

  The water lapped, warm and faintly slimy, around her legs. The tree creaked as the top of it swayed. There was a small plop nearby—a frog jumping in, she devoutly hoped—but nothing that sounded remotely human.

  Julie realized her pulse was thundering, and her breathing was quick and shallow. To be able to do nothing but sit and listen for their pursuers was more nerve-racking than fleeing would have been.

  “I’m so scared,” she whispered, the words coming out before she could stop them. As soon as they left her mouth, she wished she could call them back. Saying it aloud didn’t help; if anything,
it made them both feel worse.

  “We’ve made it this far. We’ll make it the rest of the way.”

  He moved, and his lips brushed her mouth. The kiss was hot and sweet, and Julie closed her eyes and kissed him back and felt her fear recede a little as the familiar electricity coursed between them. Thank God for Mac, she thought. Without him, she would have been dead back there in the car with Sid. No, she would have been dead long before.

  “You seem to be making a habit of saving my life.”

  “Maybe I think it’s worth saving.”

  There was a loud splash out in the swamp. Julie tensed. Beside her she could feel Mac stiffen. But, though they listened intently, the sound was not repeated. Gradually they relaxed.

  Mac said, “The police should be on their way. I called my old captain while I was haring around after you. They’re going to get here sooner or later.”

  It was meant to comfort her, Julie knew. But unspoken between them lay the truth: Basta might well find them first. And even if the police came in time, could they trust whoever showed up?

  Julie shivered.

  “How did you find me, anyway?” She’d wondered about that.

  “I put a homing device in your purse this morning.” He sounded as if he were smiling. “In case you tried to give me the slip.”

  If she’d heard that a couple of hours earlier she would have been mad. Now she was profoundly thankful.

  “Mac,” she whispered after a moment, desperate to get her mind off their plight. “Did you have a brother named Daniel?”

  A beat passed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Why?”

  “In the car, Basta said he killed him. He said he killed Daniel and Kelly and my father, too.”

  Another beat.

  “Ah.” Mac sounded as if he were expelling a breath he’d been holding for a long time. “Did he say how? Why?”

  Mac’s voice was expressionless. Too expressionless. Julie realized that there was a lot of emotion connected with the death of his brother. “No. Sid said my father had stolen something from him and his father. He wouldn’t say what. But I got the impression my father was killed because of it.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Sid?” Julie gave a bitter little laugh. “Nothing much. Only that he never loved me. That he basically just married me because he thought I knew where the thing my father stole was. That he was planning to have me killed one day from the time he married me.”

  There was the briefest of pauses. Then Mac snorted. “Sounds like Sid. He always was the biggest idiot I ever met.”

  Julie smiled a little in the darkness. “You really are a sweet man, you know that? Thank you for that.”

  “Hey, like I said before, sweet is my middle name.”

  A sudden roar from just beyond the stump was followed by a high-pitched cry and a sharp snap. Julie was so startled she almost fell into the water.

  “Gator,” Mac, sounding as if he was speaking through gritted teeth, answered her unspoken question. “Must’ve caught something. Don’t worry, the roots are too narrow to let one get in here.”

  Great. Now she didn’t only have to worry about ruthless murderers, she had to worry about alligators. Julie shuddered, then deliberately forced her mind on to other things.

  “How do you know Sid, anyway?”

  “Sid?” Mac shifted uncomfortably, and drew a deep breath. Julie had to move, too, to keep the pad pressed to the wound. “He was Daniel’s best friend. Daniel was my big brother. Our dad was a cop who was killed by a prick trying to rob a convenience store of sixty bucks. That left my mom and Daniel and me. I was only five when it happened. Daniel was thirteen, and getting ready to go to high school. On behalf of the community, John Carlson—Sid’s dad—funded a scholarship for Daniel to the same expensive private school Sid went to. Daniel was a player with the girls, a jock, a never-ending good time. Sid wanted some of Daniel’s reflected glory, and they started hanging out. As a result of being pals with Richie Rich, Daniel began appreciating the finer things in life. The things Sid had and we couldn’t afford. They stayed friends even after high school, and one thing led to another and Daniel ended up working for Sid. One night Daniel went to work and never came home. He was twenty-five.” Mac took a deep breath, and Julie ached at the psychic pain she heard in the sound. Mac’s next words were slightly uneven. “I think Daniel’s disappearance killed my mom. She didn’t live long after that.” Another deep breath. “I always suspected—no, I always knew—Sid had something to do with Daniel’s disappearance. With his death.”

  Mac’s voice was raw, and Julie cuddled closer in a silent gesture of comfort.

  “You loved Daniel a lot, didn’t you?” she asked softly.

  She felt rather than saw him shrug. “He was my brother.”

  That stark statement made a lump form in her throat. She turned her head, meaning to kiss him consolingly. Her lips brushed his cheek before moving on in search of his mouth. His head turned and his lips found hers again, and suddenly he was kissing her as though he would die if he didn’t. Julie kissed him back just as desperately. With the small part of her mind capable of focusing on anything beyond the kiss, she sensed his grief and anger for his brother as well as his fear and frustration at their current situation, and realized that those were fueling the kiss along with his elemental need for her. She felt a tremendous swelling of emotion, an almost primeval urge to give him comfort. Then she knew, and pulled her mouth from his.

  “I love you, Mac,” she whispered against his lips.

  For a moment he didn’t move. She could feel his breath on her lips.

  “I love you too,” he said after a moment, in a deep husky whisper drawl that made her heart start to slam in her breast. “More than anything or anyone in my life.”

  Then he kissed her again, a soul-shaking kiss that made her forget that she was supposed to be pressing a bandage to his back, made her forget that they were hiding in a swamp from a conscienceless killer who had already murdered who knew how many people, made her forget everything in the whole world but Mac.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  He broke off the kiss abruptly, stiffening and lifting his head.

  “Shh,” he said. “Here they come.”

  Julie listened, and heard it: the faint squelch, squelch of somebody walking through the swamp. It was a rhythmic sound, far different from any they had heard before. Julie broke out in a cold sweat. Her stomach clenched. Her heart began to pound.

  Then, beyond the encircling roots, she saw the slashing beam of a flashlight. Suddenly Julie realized that she was about as safe as a rabbit frozen in place while the hounds close in, and began to shake.

  35

  IN THE DISTANCE BASTA HEARD JULIE SCREAMING. His senses went on high alert. He was standing near the edge of the clearing looking out over the lake, in the high spot where they’d had to move so that the one remaining flunky who was playing bodyguard to the boss could get his cell phone to work properly. It was a beautiful sight, with the moon shining on the surface of the water and tiny twinkling stars just beginning to put in an appearance. In fact, it was just about his favorite place in the world—or, at least, his favorite killing place.

  “Sounds like they found them,” he said to John Carlson, who stood beside him, his face etched in grief, tears glistening in his eyes. He almost would have felt sorry for the man, had he not been absolutely sure that the next item on the Big Boss’s agenda, after Basta dispatched his pesky daughter-in-law and the supposed killer of his son for him, was Basta’s own demise.

  The rule was as old as the playground: first one to the finish line wins. He meant to abide by it.

  He had hoped to get Carlson alone, but it looked like he was out of time. The flunkies who’d been searching the swamp had obviously struck pay dirt. They’d be turning up in a few minutes with the captives, like dogs bringing their master a bone. Basta knew how it worked. He’d been a dog with a maste
r, too. But no more.

  The dog was about to bite.

  “Call the rest of them in,” Carlson said, his back now to the lake as he stared vindictively toward the woods. A step or so beyond him, the flunky fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, obviously meaning to pass on the boss’s order. Basta realized that Julie wasn’t screaming anymore. He didn’t even waste his time wondering what they’d done to shut her up. He didn’t care.

  “Funny how things work out,” he said to the boss, as though he was just making conversation. At the same time, he took a step back. Just as quick as that, he raised his gun, aimed it—the man was still looking toward the woods—and blew a hole through the Big Boss’s head. The body dropped like a felled tree, dead before it hit the ground. The bodyguard dropped his cell phone like it was suddenly red-hot, going for his gun. Basta shot him in the head, too.

  Nice and easy and quiet. Couldn’t ask for a hit to go down better than that.

  Humming softly under his breath, Basta scooped up the fallen cell phone, stuck it in his pocket—it would never do to leave evidence like that lying around for one of the flunkies to find and wonder about—grabbed the bodies by the ankles and dragged them the few feet to the dropoff over the lake, then rolled them off. The Big Boss was still twitching as he went over the side.

  * * *

  “This guy’s fricking heavy,” the thug carrying Mac’s ankles grunted. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just kill him back there and leave him in the swamp, instead of lugging him all this way.”