Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

  “What a horrid name,” she said. “Sounds like an undertaker’s.”

  Chris smiled. “Off you come,” he said.

  She tried, but nothing would move.

  Chris lifted her from the bike and held on while she waited to feel her legs. “That happens,” he said. “Stamp your feet.”

  Obediently, she did as she was told. “Is this where they went?” She took off the helmet and hooked it on the handlebars.

  “This is where they turned in.” Chris chuckled. “You’re right about the name. I thought the same thing. We’re going to find somewhere out of the way and see if we can figure the place out. Can you handle that? Being cold but keeping quiet?”

  “Of course I can.” He might have asked if she could also keep quiet when she was really, really scared. She could do that, too. “You’ve got to be cold in your suit. At least I’ve got this awful leather stuff on.”

  Chris held her hand and they slipped along close to a hedge that smelled like fir trees. “I don’t feel the cold,” he said. The darkness was complete now.

  Lighted windows showed through an opening in the hedge. Chris stepped to the other side of the gap, pulling Olivia after him. They made a rapid tour around a building with a coffee shop and office at the end nearest the road, and a single story of rooms that formed an L shape.

  Chris didn’t like anything about this. Too many unknowns. “We stay here,” he told Olivia when they’d reached the cover of some prickly bushes near the last unit. No lights showed there, and there wasn’t a car parked in front. Occupancy looked to be low tonight.

  “That’s it,” Olivia said, pointing. “The truck Fats and the other man were driving with that woman. With Aiden and Boswell in the back.”

  Only one vehicle matched the description she’d given. It stood in front of a room where light glowed through an orange print curtain. “Stay put,” he told Olivia.

  “No.” She made a grab for his sleeve and held on.

  So much for even one thing being uncomplicated. “Yes,” he told her quietly. “I won’t be longer than it takes to see if Aiden’s in the truck.”

  She released him immediately. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.

  Chris took off, blessing the darkness. He kept his lapels folded over his white shirt, but prepared to fall back on being a civilian motel guest on his way to the café if he walked into someone. There was no need. He got a good look into the empty truck and made it back to Olivia without incident.

  “He’s not there, is he?” Olivia said. “I don’t know if I’m relieved.”

  Neither did Chris. “The Cadillac’s still near the office, which means those guys aren’t checked in yet.”

  She went to her knees in the dirt and huddled against the wall. “We don’t know if Aiden’s here at all,” she muttered. “They could already have killed him.”

  Chris crouched beside her and patted her back. “I think it’s far more likely they’ve got some good reason for wanting him alive.” In truth, he shared her fears. “I need to get into that room without shooting the place up—and possibly hitting the wrong people. From the description you gave me, the man who ambushed Aiden had to be Ryan Hill. I didn’t know him well, but what I did know, I didn’t like. Cold son of… Cold guy.”

  “I keep forgetting you’ve got a gun, too,” she whispered, not wanting to think about guns or what a cold man Ryan Hill might be.

  “Cops carry guns,” he said with as little inflection as possible. “That doesn’t mean we all love ’em. They’re part of the job.”

  A sense that something was gliding through the darkness nearby instantly became a conviction. “Hold still,” he told Olivia. “Do not move a muscle until I tell you it’s okay.”

  She didn’t squeal, or even draw in an audible breath. His opinion of her began to climb.

  He drew his gun, but before he could even line it up on something, a panting shadow barrelled forward and slunk rapidly toward Olivia.

  “Boswell,” she said, much too loudly. “Chris, it’s Boswell.”

  “Keep it down. Hey, you old reprobate. Remember me? I met this good guy before I left NYPD. Aiden had a thing for him even then.”

  “He’s so sweet,” Olivia crooned, hugging the big, muddy dog.

  Chris said, “Sweet? I don’t suppose anyone else ever called him that. Let’s give him a look-see.”

  Olivia said, “I’ll do it. You are a good, pretty, and very faithful dog. Let me look at you.” She ran her hands over him. Boss suffered the indignity until she seemed almost finished. Then he yelped. “Help me see what this is,” Olivia said.

  Chris hooded his small flashlight with a hand and trained it on the back of the dog’s neck.

  “He cut himself,” Olivia said. “Poor boy. I’m sorry.”

  Chris looked more closely. “Bullet crease, I think,” he said. “Winged the back of his neck, but it’s superficial. We’ll get him taken care of as soon as we can.”

  He felt Olivia watching him and met her eyes. Darn, he wished she weren’t so pale.

  “Aiden’s not in the track,” she said and swallowed. She passed a hand over her eyes. “He could be anywhere. Boswell was with him, and now the dog’s here, alone, and with a—well, a bullet wound. Aiden could have been shot, too.”

  She was echoing his own conclusions, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “He could also be just fine and in that room over there. I’m going to ask you to stay here again. Boss will follow orders and stay with you. He obviously relates to you. I’ll call him if I think he could be useful.”

  “I don’t want to stay,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please let me come. I want to find Aiden.”

  If Aiden was okay, there could be interesting days ahead. This woman had a big-time case on him. If Sonnie liked her, and he thought she would, his wife would be ecstatic. “Listen to me, Olivia. There could very well be shooting, fighting, all you could do is get in the way. You could jeopardize the outcome we want. D’you understand?”

  “Of course I do,” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “That wasn’t called for. Please do whatever you can. And be careful.”

  Chris didn’t waste more time before starting off. He hadn’t made more than twenty-five yards when the door next to the orange-curtained window opened. It wasn’t difficult to recognize Fats Lemon, even after at least five years. The guy walked as if his feet were on springs, and he had a way of jerking his head sideways as if his neck hurt. With him was a woman whose silhouette suggested she was well built and liked to show it off. She had a lot of blond hair. They trotted toward the opposite end of the building.

  Chris slipped away from the building and walked, bent over, next to a hedge. When the couple went into the café, he crossed back and stood close enough to see everything that went on inside. They went to join two men at a window table. Fish and Moody.

  Chris knew what he had to do now. Go into that room. Once more he stayed close to the walls.

  There was only one way to play this one. Arriving at the appropriate door, he squared off, used a foot to send it crashing open and followed it inside, gun at the ready.

  Aiden lay on the bed. Barefoot, wearing a getup that would make his mother pass him by, he was cuffed wrist and ankle. Chris couldn’t believe his luck. The fools had left him alone. “Aiden,” he whispered. “Can you hear me? It’s Chris.”

  His old partner’s electric-blue eyes opened, met his, and filled with alarm.

  “Olivia’s with me,” Chris said. “She’s doing fine.” Aiden jerked his head to the left, toward another door where the bathroom must be. Only then did Chris hear water running in a sink and the toilet flushing. He dropped to the floor, put the bed between him and the bathroom, and waited.

  If Lemon returned, he was probably dead meat. He prayed no unsuspecting civilian wandered by and got curious.

  Seconds passed.

  Water kept splashing i
n there.

  Only inches from the box spring, he edged toward the foot of the bed. What the hell was keeping Hill?

  Chris calculated what it would take to close the door behind him but discarded the idea as too dangerous.

  “Chris?” Aiden’s whisper was hoarse. “He’s armed. And for some reason, he doesn’t want Fish and Moody to see him.”

  “He’s not going to have the piece in his hand,” Chris replied. “I hope.” He wanted any small advantage he could get. Hill might be quick, but the moments it took to draw might be all Chris needed.

  The water poured on.

  Small hairs rose on the back of Chris’s neck, then on his spine.

  In the distance, he heard a cry. A female cry.

  So much for trusting a civilian woman to keep her cool under pressure.

  The shout came again and this time, “Chris!” was real clear, dammit.

  “Olivia,” Aiden whispered.

  “Okay, you fuckers, let’s keep it down, shall we?” Chris didn’t have to look to know he was hearing Detective Ryan Hill behind him. The guy must have left the bathroom by a window and circled back. “I’ll shoot if I have to. Put the piece on the floor, Talon—slowly and carefully. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Cursing silently, Chris followed instructions.

  “Good,” Hill said once Chris withdrew his hands from the vicinity of his gun. “I didn’t expect your chickenshit expartner to show up, Flynn, but did you think I wouldn’t notice blood on the sheets and the phone? You think I didn’t figure out how you used your time while Fats was screwing Kitty?” Hill had entered the room and taken up a position where he could keep Aiden and Chris in his sights—and the open door.

  “Fortunately I don’t need your help now, do I? That’s her out there, isn’t it, Talon? All we have to hope for is that she’s dumb and gutsy enough to try to help. Help.” He laughed. “Oh, come to me, baby, and help.”

  “She won’t walk in here,” Aiden said. “By now she’s calling the police.”

  “Is she? You’re fugitives, and I’m bringing you in. If I hear sirens or see a light I don’t like, I’m gonna have to kill you for resisting arrest.”

  As always, Hill was too in love with the sound of his own voice. It had been known to distract him.

  “It’s great to have you with us again, Ryan,” Aiden said, and Chris kept his grin facing the floor. “Since we know we’re going to end up dead before this is over. Why not tell us all about it? What the hell have you been up to?”

  “Stuff it,” Ryan said.

  Dread drove Aiden onward. “Whatever it is, it’s damn clever. Geez, you were always slick. Come on, at least give us a chance to enjoy it, too.”

  Ryan’s attention wavered just the smallest bit. His eyes flickered before he concentrated harder on staring Aiden down and keeping a self-satisfied sneer in place.

  “C’mon, Ryan,” Aiden said. “Share. I didn’t think you’d seen the blood.”

  Ryan sniffed and said, “Get up. Talon. And I want to see each muscle you move.”

  “This art theft I’m supposed to be involved with,” Aiden continued. “You’re in on something big there. Am I right? Listen, we could work something out and—”

  “Shut it, or I may forget I care about making noise.”

  “There’s going to be noise at any moment,” Chris said. “Once Olivia brings the local heat our way.”

  “She won’t,” Ryan said, his voice icy. “I corresponded with her for two weeks before you decided to horn in, Flynn. She’s no fool. She won’t risk jeopardizing the two of you.” Aiden let the comment about meddling go. His greatest fear was that Ryan was at least partly right and that Olivia was hatching some plot that would only kill them all.

  Chris figured it was now or never, now while Aiden had Hill all riled up and focused on him.

  There couldn’t be more than a yard between Hill’s feet and where Chris was stretched out on the moldy-smelling carpet.

  “How did you get Olivia to trust you so much that she’d get on a plane?” Aiden asked,

  “Trust?” Ryan said. “Hell, she was out of choices. Ripe for the picking.”

  “How did you find her in the first place? Someone must have given you her name and said she’d taken the photos. But I don’t get why you wanted her here.”

  “Forget it, asshole,” Ryan said. “You read the posts. You don’t need a PhD to figure out I didn’t want her. I wanted those photos here, and in my loving care.”

  Aiden sniggered. “You and those two jokers who are supposed to be antique dealers wanted the same thing.”

  “They’re also cracked. You like rats, Flynn? Fish is a rat lover. Likes to keep rats in his pockets. Maybe I can arrange for him to send some along to keep you company.”

  “How will you do that?” Aiden said. “You don’t want him to know you’re here.”

  Hill braced his elbow. His lips parted, and his eyes moved away. Aiden knew he’d gotten too close to something Hill wanted kept very quiet. “I’m losing patience,” he said at last. “You’ve got one chance. I get the photos—all of them—and you can leave.”

  “I don’t have the photos to give you,” Aiden said, with the kind of innocence guaranteed to infuriate.

  “I don’t have time to get mad,” Hill said. “Where are they? How’s she transporting them? They are with her, aren’t they?”

  “Hey,” Aiden said. “Hey, Ryan, I’ve got a deal for you. You tell us what’s in those shots and we’ll consider letting you have them.”

  Chris figured Aiden was trying to give him time to make a move, but the smallest mistake could cost Detective Flynn his head.

  “Tell me what you’re driving, Talon. I’ll have Fats go get what I need and I’ll tell him not to touch the woman. If he lets me know he’s got the photos, I’ll walk out of here and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Don’t believe him, Chris,” Aiden said. “The way I figure, he’s really running out of time and what he can’t afford is to have Fish and Moody find out he’s here. Isn’t that right, Ryan? They want the photos. You want the photos. Your life depends on getting them and getting away. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

  “You don’t know anything and won’t.” Hill’s voice grated with anger. “You’re expendable and your time’s about up.”

  Chris pulled in his elbows and shot himself toward Ryan, rolling rapidly over to collide with the man’s ankles. Ryan hollered as his knees buckled and he came down on top of Chris.

  “I can’t do anything,” Aiden yelled. “These damn cuffs.”

  Chris didn’t have time to answer. He lunged upward toward the hand that held the gun, but Ryan raised that hand high and, at the same time, kicked at Chris’s head, landing a solid one on the side of his jaw. Chris crawled up him like Jack on his beanstalk. He grappled with the guy’s clothes and let loose a flurry of short jabs. A punch to the crotch sent the guy mad. He struck out at Chris, using the hand that held the gun, dragging in sobbing breaths as his arm rose and fell.

  Chris needed the keys to Aiden’s cuffs. Attacking Ryan again, he landed the two of them across the bed, on top of Aiden.

  Ryan rolled away and Chris made to follow.

  “Uh-uh,” Ryan said, leering. He held the muzzle of his gun to Aiden’s head. “Games are over. I want answers and quickly. Where are the photographs? Exact location? Inside what?”

  “Photographs?” Chris said. He stood on the opposite side of the bed from Ryan, the side where his own weapon rested on the floor near the bed. “Aiden was only stringing you along. We don’t know anything about any photographs.”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” Ryan said. “You know the photographs I’m talking about. Olivia took them at a house in Notting Hill in London. She fobbed some useless stuff off on Fish and Moody, accepted a bunch of money from them, and took off. All I’m trying to do is get their property back.”

  Chris didn’t answer.

  “Okay,” Ryan said. “Help me get tho
se pictures and I’ll take you somewhere and let you go. It’ll be a long way from civilization, but you’ll make your way back.”

  Aiden waited for Chris’s reaction. When he didn’t say anything, Aiden stepped in. “That’s an interesting proposition. Of course, it would have to be carefully drawn up.”

  “I’m not negotiating,” Ryan said. “I’m telling you how it’s going to be. And the FitzDurham woman is too much of a loose cannon to leave around. Get her to give up the shots, and you won’t have to worry about what happens to her. I’ll take care of that.”

  Aiden’s gut felt like it was braided. “Sounds like a great idea.” He was itching to strangle the bastard.

  There was no warning.

  Boss came through the door in midair and flattened Ryan Hill. Hill swore and struggled. “He should be dead,” he shouted. “Call him off! Fats is coming back. He won’t ask questions. He’ll kill you two as soon as look at you. He hates you, Flynn.”

  Aiden didn’t care who hated him. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to figure out how to get the keys to the cuffs.

  Through it all, Hill held his piece in a death grip. He was working the muzzle in the direction of the dog who stood over him, snarling, showing his metal fangs and a whole lot of gum.

  Chris grabbed up his weapon and aimed it at Ryan. “Give it up,” he said simply. “You just lost.”

  “Aiden?” Olivia said in a tiny voice and walked through the door.

  Chris groaned. “Step back out, would you please, Olivia?” he said, trying to sound like a Sunday school teacher directing kids into church. “Go wait by the bike.”

  “We meet at last, Olivia,” Ryan said, and Chris didn’t like the sound of his voice. “You’re not as ugly as I expected. Don’t move, okay? Just tell me where the photographs are.”

  “Um,” Olivia said, her eyes wide open. “What—”

  “Don’t jerk me around. You know what photographs.”

  Olivia’s mouth formed an O, then she said, “Oh, I see what you mean. They’re probably in Seattle. I put them in my grip and checked it through. Then we couldn’t catch the plane from New York, you know. It was awful. Lots of running around, and—”