Standing in the Shadows m&f-2

by Shannon McKenna

"No, Nick, I was there when he and his brother were surrounded by nine big guys who all proceeded to attack them at once, and who got exactly what they deserved. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm not interested in the nine guys, Erin. I'm interested in Connor's interest in Billy Vega."

  "That guy hurt my little sister, Nick. He hit her, and terrorized her, and God only knows what else. So don't ask me to feel sorry for—"

  "Billy Vega is dead, Erin."

  She froze, mouth agape. "Dead?"

  "According to Tasha Needham, it happened a little before six a.m. Tasha took Billy to the emergency room, where they set his wrist. Then Tasha and Billy took a cab to his rental house, where they proceeded to get very stoned. Sometime in the early morning, the assailant entered the house and beat Billy to death with a blunt object. Tasha was vomiting in the bathroom at the time, which probably saved her life. But she told us all about the ninja monsters who kidnapped Cindy Riggs and beat up Billy earlier that evening. It wasn't much of a leap."

  "My God," she whispered. "That's… that's so awful."

  Nick waited a moment. "Was Connor with you last night?"

  "Yes," she said, still dazed.

  Then, like a splash of ice water, the implications of Nick's question hit her. "Nick, for God's sake. You can't be suggesting that—"

  "For the whole night?"

  She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, and burst out, "Yes! Yes, of course he was!"

  But her hesitation had betrayed her. Nick cursed softly into the phone. "This is getting ugly, Erin. I don't want you mixed up in it."

  "But Connor would never—"

  "You saw what he did to Georg Luksch," Nick said. "Connor is my friend, but he's wound up too tight, and he's finally snapped. This fantasy he's got, about Novak and Luksch gunning for you—"

  "What do you mean, fantasy?" she demanded. "Are you saying that it's not true that they broke out of prison? He's just trying to protect me! He feels responsible because Dad's not around to do it."

  Nick hesitated for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "Erin. There's no one to protect you from. Novak's dead."

  She struggled to comprehend. The information didn't fit.

  It rattled senselessly around in her mind, making noise. "When?" she whispered.

  "Yesterday, in France. A mafiya hit. Territory war, they think. Rival crime lords. A building got blown up. Novak was inside. Dental records confirm it. The charred skeleton was missing three fingers on its right hand. They're working on the DNA, but they're sure."

  Her mind whirled. "So Connor doesn't know?"

  "I haven't told him yet, no, but he knew that Novak was back in France. Luksch, too. The police have been moving in on them for days. I told Connor, but he didn't share those details with you, did he?"

  She started shivering.

  "No," Nick said. "Of course not. It didn't fit his fantasy. He wanted to rescue you, so he created a bad guy to save you from. He sucked you in. I know this hurts, and I know you care about him, but you've got to be strong. You've got to drag yourself out of this dream world of his. You've got enough to cope with already. I'm really sorry, Erin."

  She shook her head. "No," she whispered.

  Not the man who was so in love with her that he blushed and stammered when she teased him at the breakfast table. Who had rescued her sister, and woken her mother from the ugly dream she'd been trapped in. Not the man who had made such sweet, passionate love to her all night long. Not her Connor. It was not possible.

  The vortex was sucking at her, and this time there was no one to grab onto. No hero to rescue her.

  "Erin? Erin!" Nick sounded as if he had repeated her name several times. "Are you there? Erin, I need to find him. If you know—"

  "No." The word flew out of her mouth, flat and absolute. "I have no idea where he is, Nick. Not the faintest clue."

  "It's for his own protection, Erin. We've got to stop this thing before it spins out of control. I swear, I'm on his side—"

  "No. I won't do it."

  "Goddamn it, Erin! If you really cared about him—"

  "Fuck you. No," she hissed. She slammed the phone down. It started ringing seconds later. She wrenched the phone jack out of the wall and doubled over, gasping. Everything was spinning, going black.

  Connor had made her feel so whole, so strong. Like she could bless the whole world with her happiness, just touch it and turn it to gold. For the first time, she had lost her fear of the vortex. Of chaos.

  And Nick was telling her that her joy was rotten at the core.

  "Erin? Honey? Are you OK?"

  She looked up at her mother, who was gazing at her with anxious eyes, and pasted on the best smile she could. "Sure, Mom."

  "Who was that on the phone?"

  She hid the hand that was clutching the phone jack against her leg. "I was just talking to, ah, Lydia," she said.

  "Lydia?" Barbara frowned. "From the museum? That cast-iron bitch who fired you?"

  She nodded. "Mueller offered the museum a huge donation, but one of the conditions is that they take me back," she explained. She tried to sound excited about it, but her mother wasn't stupid.

  Barbara sniffed. "Well, I think you should spit in their faces," she said. "The nerve! When it suits them, they snap their fingers and expect you to trot right back? I think not!"

  "You have a point," Erin said. "But I think I'll go to that meeting today anyway, and see what it's all about. I can always spit in their faces after I see the terms they offer me."

  "That's my smart, careful, thoughtful girl," her mother said. "Always hedging her bets, trying to do the right thing."

  "Not always," she burst out. "Not always."

  "I take it you're referring to Connor," Barbara said. "I must say, he's growing on me. He can be extremely rude, and his background leaves something to be desired, but I did like those brothers of his. Even if all three of those McClouds strike me as, well… kind of out there. But they got Cindy back. That won them lots of points. And it's plain to see that Connor's crazy about you, sweetheart."

  She flinched at her mother's choice of words. "I know."

  "And any man with the nerve to sneak into my house and seduce my daughter under my nose after what he saw me do to Billy Vega's car… well. All I can say is, he must be made of very stern stuff."

  Erin's face flamed. "He didn't seduce me last night," she said. "I seduced him."

  Her mother's lips flattened to a thin line. "That was more information than I needed, sweetheart."

  "Sorry, Mom," she murmured.

  Barbara's expression softened. "There's something you should know before you go to that lunch meeting, hon. I'm going to start looking for a job. And Cindy's going to learn how to pull her weight, too. You don't have to carry us. We'll be strong for ourselves, and for you, too. Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

  Erin's lip began to tremble. "I think so," she said.

  "You'll make it just fine without that trash at the museum. So if you want to spit in their faces, go right ahead. Don't think twice."

  "Thanks, Mom. I'll keep that in mind."

  "Follow your heart, honey. Don't compromise yourself."

  "I'm trying." Her lips started trembling. "I swear, I'm trying, but I'd better get going now. I've got an incredibly busy day. I need to run home and feed Edna, and then dress for lunch with the museum heads. And I have to schedule a meeting with Mueller after that."

  Barbara frowned. "You promised Connor you'd stay right here with us, where you're safe. And I agree one hundred percent that lying low is an excellent idea. At least until things calm down."

  Erin kissed her mother's cheek. "I'll call him and explain. He's a sweetheart to be so protective, but I can't cower in a hole forever. I promise I'll take cabs everywhere, Mom. I'll be just fine."

  Her mother still looked anxious, and Erin gave her another coaxing kiss. "We're going to be fine now. We got Cindy back, and now this big opportunity just falls into my l
ap. Things are looking up."

  It took all the strength she had to keep the cheerful facade in place until the taxi arrived.

  The traffic was a nightmare. Connor leaped out of his car when he finally arrived, bolted for the house, and beat on the door.

  Barbara pulled the door open. "Connor, what on earth?"

  "Is Erin here?"

  She frowned. "Didn't she call you?"

  "The phone's been busy for a half an hour," he snarled.

  "She told me she would call you and…" Barbara's voice trailed off. "Oh, dear."

  "What?" His voice cracked with fury. "She left? Alone? You're kidding me. Where the fuck did she go?"

  Barbara bristled. "Don't you dare use that language—"

  "Just tell me, Barbara. Tell me now."

  The desperate urgency in his voice made the color drain from her face. "She got a call," she said faintly. "From the museum where she used to work, for a lunch meeting, and then—"

  "And then?" he prompted.

  "Then she has to meet with that Mueller fellow. She told me she was going to call you. She took a cab to her apartment so she could change. She left almost a half hour ago. She's probably home already."

  He bolted for his car. The screen door burst open and Barbara scurried after him. "Connor, I insist that you tell me what's going on!"

  He wrenched his car door open. "Billy Vega was murdered this morning, before I ever had a chance to find him or talk to him. Strange, huh?"

  Barbara's face went gray beneath her makeup. "Go," she said. "Hurry."

  He ran lights, swerved in and out of lanes, screamed obscenities at slow motorists, but his most aggressive driving was nothing pitted against weekday Seattle traffic. He called her apartment while trapped at an interminable red light, and the machine picked up. "Erin, it's Connor. Pick up if you're there, please."

  He waited, crossing his fingers. Nothing.

  "Look, I just found out that Billy Vega's been killed," he went on. "I'm really wishing you hadn't broken your promise and left your mom's house. What were you thinking? Please pick up, Erin." The light went green. He dropped the phone and accelerated through it.

  He double-parked, and took the stairs at the Kinsdale three at a time. No response to his knock. He used his ATM card again.

  Erin was gone. The Mueller report was gone. Her perfume scented the air. She'd taken the time to make her bed, do her dishes, pick up her scattered clothes, feed her cat, and he'd still missed her. By so little that the animal was still crouched over its bowl, tail twitching for joy.

  She had taken none of the items he had tagged with beacons, not even the goddamn organizer. He wanted to howl like a wolf, to break things, punch walls, smash furniture. He'd thought that she trusted him. He was bewildered, after the perfection of last night, that she would turn on him and disappear, with no warning, no explanation.

  A sucker punch, right to the solar plexus.

  He fished the phone number out of his freak memory, and dialed.

  "Hello, you have reached the mobile number of the administrative offices of the Quicksilver Foundation," said Tamara Julian's melodious recorded voice. "Please leave us the date, time, and purpose of your call, and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a lovely day."

  He grabbed the phone book and looked up the Huppert, wading through the voice mail menu until he heard the name Lydia.

  "Lydia's out of the office right now," the secretary told him.

  "I urgently need to get in touch with her," he said. "I know she has a lunch meeting. Do you know what restaurant? I could call her there."

  "I'm sorry, I can't," the woman said. "I didn't make that reservation. She made it herself last night. I have no idea where they are.'"

  He muttered an ungracious thanks, and slammed the phone down.

  He ran down the stairs to let off steam, even though he had no place to run to. He tried throwing out the net for a pattern, a clue, any sort of jumping-off place, but his mind had to be soft and relaxed for that trick to work. This hurt was too sharp. It sank into his mind like claws, stabbing and rending, making him wild-eyed and stupid.

  A door swung on the ground floor as he passed. An elderly lady with a shriveled apple-doll face and a lavender-tinted helmet of white curls peered out at him. "You're the fellow who's keeping company with that nice young lady on the sixth floor, eh?"

  He stopped in his tracks. "Did you see her leave?"

  "I see everything," the old lady said triumphantly. "She took a cab. Came in a cab, went away in a cab. Must've come into some money, because ever since her car got repossessed, she's been taking the bus."

  "Was it a yellow cab? Or a private car service?"

  The old lady cackled at his desperation. "Oh, it was a yellow cab. No telling where she's gone, no telling at all." Her voice was a sing-song taunt. "You're just going to have to sit that fine tight tush of yours down and wait for her. Young folks these days don't know the meaning of patience. The more she makes you wait, the better off you'll both be."

  "This is a special case," he told her.

  Her fearsome dentures gleamed. "Oh, they all think they're special."

  The vindictive satisfaction in the lady's voice made him grit his teeth. "Thank you for the information, ma'am."

  Her rheumy eyes blinked suspiciously. "Hmph. Pretty manners."

  "I try," he said. "Sometimes. Have a nice day."

  The old lady retracted her head like a turtle and slammed her door.

  One last door to bang on. He groped for the phone and dialed Nick's number as he loped toward the car.

  "Where are you?" Nick demanded.

  "What the fuck did you say to Erin, Nick?"

  "I told her the truth. It's time somebody did. You know about Billy Vega, right?" Nick waited. "Yeah," he said softly. "Of course you do."

  Connor knew where this was going. "Nick—"

  "I couldn't help but notice that the guy looked a whole lot like Georg Luksch looked after you were done working him over with your cane," Nick said. "Only difference was, Billy was dead. You're slipping."

  Black spots danced in front of Connor's eyes. He leaned against his car. "You can't believe that. Come on, Nick. You know me."

  "I thought I did," Nick said. "Novak is dead, Con. Blown up. Burned to a crisp. It's all over. All. Over. Am I getting through to you?"

  Connor's head spun. The phone call. Georg, on the freeway. Billy Vega. "But that's not possible. I talked to him. And I saw Georg—"

  "Don't bother," Nick said. "Georg's in France. Like I told you before. Novak's death is confirmed. Not that this changes anything for you, of course. You need a focus for your anger, and if you can't find one, you'll create one. Sure, Billy Vega was no big loss to the world, but I—"

  "Don't be stupid, Nick," Connor said grimly.

  "I deduced from my conversation with Erin that you don't have a real alibi for the hours of five a.m. to six A.M. this morning. I also deduced that she will lie to protect you. Is that what you want?"

  "Fuck you, Nick," Connor said. "This is bullshit."

  "We'll see. Get yourself a good lawyer. Because I'm all out of patience. I want this thing to end."

  "You and me both." He hung up. His leg and head were both pounding now, a nauseous throbbing pain. He wrenched the door of the Cadillac open. He had to sit down. Quick, before he fell down.

  Nick had been one of his best friends, once.

  He dropped the phone into his pocket. If it weren't for Erin, he would throw the thing into the Dumpster right now.

  Erin. Panic dug in its claws at the thought of her. His fight with Georg at Crystal Mountain began to play in his mind. The cane, rising and falling. Blood streaming from Georg's shattered nose, his broken teeth. The cane, smashing down onto the windshield of the Jag. Fault lines, running in every direction.

  The cane. Something about the cane was tugging him. He checked the backseat, and then recalled prying the thing out of Barbara's fingers and throwing it into th
e trunk. He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and walked around the car.

  The back of his neck was prickling so much he already knew what he would find, even before the trunk light flooded into the dark interior.

  The trunk was empty. The cane was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "Try a bite of my mousse, Erin. It's even better than the crème brûlée," Lydia urged.

  Erin dabbed her mouth with a napkin and forced herself to smile. "Thanks, but no. I'm full."

  "Of what?" Rachel complained. "You barely picked at your salad. You don't have to diet with that cute, curvy figure of yours, Erin. You've trimmed down some since you were at the Huppert. Good for you."

  Erin coughed, and hid her mouth behind her napkin.

  "Come on, Erin. You're as tight as a clam about how you landed Mueller. 'Fess up, now. We've been courting him for years, and all of a sudden we find him eating out of your hand!" Rachel gushed.

  "I'm so excited. This donation puts us ahead by fifteen years," Lydia said. "You are just the one to spearhead our efforts, Erin. We need your innovative spirit to carry the Huppert into the new millennium!"

  Erin didn't have the energy to hide her disgust, but it didn't matter, since none of them appeared to notice it.

  "With a budget like this, Erin, you can name your own salary," Fred boomed. "You're the belle of the ball! How does it feel?"

  She got to her feet. "I'm afraid I have to go."

  "Oh, really?" Lydia exchanged meaningful glances with the other three. "A hot date? Is that why you're saving your appetite?"

  "Not at all. Just business," Erin said. "I'm meeting with Mr. Mueller to discuss some of his new acquisitions."

  Lydia and Rachel waggled their eyebrows at each other. "I imagine you're having dinner with him this evening, too?" Rachel cooed.

  Erin shrugged wearily. She could care less whether or with whom she ate dinner tonight. As queasy as she felt right now, it would be all she could do to get through the day without throwing up on anyone.

  Wilhelm whistled. "So that's the way the wind blows."

  "Hardly," she said sharply. "I have never even met Claude Mueller, Wilhelm, and I don't appreciate your insinuations."

  "Oh, don't be so sensitive, Erin," Rachel purred. "We're all adults."