Adam didn’t make any effort to hustle him out. Naomi was probably safer with both of them there than with only him, and he doubted Sam was real eager to head for the bare-bones accommodations he was lucky to have for tonight. The bed beat Naomi’s shabby couch.
Her bed was even better, he thought smugly, especially with her in it.
Eight-thirty or so, Sam said, “Walk me out, Adam.”
Putting away the last of the clean dishes, Naomi wished him goodnight. She was obviously trying for all she was worth to pretend this was any other evening, and Sam was just a guest.
Walking down the driveway, illuminated only by the weak light beside the door, Sam said, “She’s gotten to you.”
“She’s clean,” Adam said flatly.
The FBI agent grunted.
“She picked out the right picture, didn’t she?”
Sam didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he growled, “Yes. Damn. I didn’t want to believe it, but Jim had risen to the top of my list of possibilities. Can’t be coincidence she fingered him.”
“No.” Adam paused. “Jim?”
“Rankin. And you didn’t hear me say that.”
“I take it he’s AWOL?”
“Family emergency. He was a little vague. He’s got a twenty year old who has been in and out of trouble. Everyone assumed it had to do with the kid and he just didn’t want to talk about it. Wife thought that’s what he was up to, too. The boy’s in Chicago. As far as I could determine, though, Rankin isn’t.”
Adam made a sound of acknowledgement. Having faced the reality of his father’s sins, he understood why Sam sounded so disturbed.
“Your Ms. Kendrick,” Sam said, abruptly changing the subject, betraying only a hint of sarcasm with the name, “gets a little closed-mouthed when it comes to the subject of Frank Donahue.”
“Finding him had to shake her up.”
“Especially with her knife stuck in him.”
Adam’s jaw tightened. His turn not to say anything.
“Rankin is big on camping,” Sam grumbled. “Spent years dragging the family up into the Sierras, even down into the Baja Peninsula. If he’s here, my guess is he’s hunkered down in the woods somewhere.”
“He’s not invisible, though. Has to be getting his groceries somewhere, for example.”
“You think he’s watching?”
The impenetrable darkness around them felt dangerous in that moment. Scattered lights up and down the street were ineffectual against the damp, clouded night. Turning his head to see the dark shapes of neighboring cottages, the bulk of sheds and detached garages, Adam felt the hair on his nape prickle. “Unfortunately, I do.”
“You want me to stay? Take turns keeping watch?”
“You get any sleep on the plane?”
“I don’t sleep thirty thousand feet up in the air.”
“Then you need to grab some while you can. I’ll call if I get uneasy.”
They left it at that. Adam watched until he saw lights come on inside the house a block down that he’d occupied for so few days. He prowled the yard again, not daring to venture farther from Naomi’s cottage and leave her even momentarily unprotected, then let himself in and locked.
She sat at the table waiting, her back very straight and her eyes dark and anxious. “Did he say with the picture…?”
“You confirmed his suspicion.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
Adam made his voice gentle. “Bedtime. We can talk in the morning.”
She searched his face. “You won’t let him take me?”
“No. I keep my promises.”
She didn’t exactly heave a breath of relief, but he saw a subtle easing of her rigid posture. “Yes. Okay. Do you mind if I take a shower?”
“Of course not.”
Much as he’d have liked to make love with her, once they went to bed and turned out the lights, he only adjusted her so her head rested on his shoulder and could knead taut muscles until her breathing became even.
Despite his unease, he did sleep eventually, reassured by the presence of his Glock an arm’s reach away.
The first sound he heard was barely a whisper. The scuff of a foot not lifting high enough to clear the edge of the runner in the short hall right outside the bedroom. An indrawn breath.
Before his eyes even opened, reflexes took over. He grabbed Naomi and rolled them both toward the far side of the bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In her dream, she ran along the cliff above crashing ocean waves, tasting the salty air, muscles flexing. Wham. Something smashed into her and she was falling. On a strangled scream, she went over the edge.
She hit a hard surface sooner than she should have, her head connecting with a clunk and bouncing. A hard body came down on top of her, expelling the air in her lungs with a huff. Disoriented, she fought, until she heard a murmured, “Hush.”
Adam. In a blink, she was awake. On her bedroom floor. Beneath him. He’d rolled her off the bed, covered her with his own body to shield her. Oh, God. Terror swelled in her. Someone was in the house with them. Neither of us is wearing a vest. Feeling him tense, gather himself, she wanted to grab him, prevent him from rising to a crouch, but she didn’t. He knew what he was doing. She had to believe that.
Then…there was a strange sound. A cough. No, she’d heard it before. Somebody had fired a gun with a silencer on it. In that weird way a person did in a moment like this, she thought, a suppressor. That’s what Adam called it. But…he didn’t have one on his Glock. Only, she didn’t hear or feel the bullet strike. And she should have, shouldn’t she? The bed ought to have shuddered, or splinters have flown from the closet or wall.
Even odder, a heavy thud followed. And then a momentary silence. After which came quick, receding footsteps.
“What the…?” Adam muttered. “Can you reach the lamp without exposing yourself?” he murmured.
She nodded, not knowing if she could or not, but she rose to crawl forward. Sensing more than hearing him move, she groped above her for the lamp switch.
The light blinded her, but Adam, crouched toward the foot of the bed, was farther away. He swore viciously, then rose to his feet.
“No, stay down,” he said when she started to sit up. “Jesus,” he muttered, then gave her a quick look. “I mean it. Don’t move. Don’t look.”
Her stomach lurched. She smelled raw meat. Blood, she thought in horror. Somebody had been shot and must be dead, or Adam wouldn’t be speaking in a normal voice.
“Stay,” he said again, and she heard the soft footfalls as he left the bedroom.
Naomi huddled behind the bed, hating the feeling of helplessness and isolation. She couldn’t even lie flat to look under the bed. The rolling drawers that held her summer wardrobe and extra bedding would keep her from seeing whoever had just died. She could ignore Adam’s order and stand up. But…maybe she didn’t want to see.
Adam came back a moment later and said, in a ragged but still somehow gentle voice, “Whoever fired that shot is gone. You can sit up, Naomi, but I suggest you stay put for now.”
“Okay.” It came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat. “Is…is someone dead?”
“Yeah, a someone who broke in here to kill us.” He sounded grim. The next moment she heard him speaking and realized he had his phone. “Get your ass over here.” And then, after a pause when he must have dialed another number, “Colburn? I have a body at Naomi’s place. Pretty sure it’s our renegade fed. And, no, I didn’t kill him.”
That was apparently all he had to say. The next instant, he rounded the foot of the bed and crouched beside her, still wearing only a pair of navy blue, knit boxers. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw. Those clear, pale eyes looked anxious.
“You okay, honey? That was a hell of a drop from the bed.”
She blinked at him.
He frowned and slid his fingers into her hair. They found a painful spot that had her jerking. “You’ve already got a lump. I’m sorr
y.”
“He was going to shoot us?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why…? What happened?”
“Damned if I know.” With gentle fingers, he smoothed her bangs from her forehead. “No, that’s not true. Somebody was right behind him.”
She felt like she ought to understand but didn’t. Her thoughts swam slowly, each disconnected. She wondered if she was really awake. “I think I’m okay,” she managed to say. “You do what you have to.”
His intense gaze kept searching hers, but after a moment he nodded, then cocked his head.
“Rostov?” a voice called urgently. Sam Weismann.
“In the bedroom.” Adam rose, looked around, and grabbed a pair of jeans from the duffel bag he’d moved to her bedroom yesterday. He was zipping them when Sam said, much closer, “Oh, hell.”
“Rankin?”
“A little hard to tell,” Sam said dryly.
Her stomach heaved as she guessed what he meant.
A vehicle roared to a stop outside. Naomi heard a distant siren.
“Your back door was open,” Sam said.
“I know. Colburn?” he called.
More swearing. Naomi felt peculiar, just sitting there on the floor, her back against the rough wall of the closet, staring at the bed and rumpled covers that hung over the edge. Otherwise, all she could see was Adam, standing with his back to her talking to the other two men.
She shivered, aware suddenly of how chilly the night was. Or shock might be hitting her. Adam’s head turned. He snatched the flannel-covered duvet off the bed and was suddenly there, bundling it around her. “I’m going to get some ice for your head. Does anything else hurt?”
“I…don’t think so.” Well, yes, pain twinged in her hip when she shifted, but she didn’t think it was important.
The men stood talking. Someone else joined them with a sharp, startled exclamation. Eventually Adam came back and said, “I’m going to carry you out to the living room. Close your eyes. You don’t want to look.”
“I can walk,” she argued.
“No, I have to step over— We don’t want to contaminate the scene anymore than we have to.”
Naomi nodded and immediately regretted it. Her head throbbed.
Adam scooped her up and she laid her head on his shoulder. She could see past him to Daniel Colburn, unshaven and rumpled and wearing a faded San Francisco 49ers sweatshirt, and Sam Weismann, in strangely proper flannel pajama top, buttoned all the way up. As Adam circled the bed, Naomi made the mistake of looking down to see if Sam still had on the matching pj bottoms, too.
She’d known there was a body. What she hadn’t expected was…his head. What was left of his head.
Her stomach heaved.
Adam swore. “You need the bathroom?”
She nodded frantically, clapping a hand over her mouth.
An instant later, she was on her knees in front of the toilet, losing what little dinner she’d eaten. Adam rubbed her back and kept saying, “Damn, I’m sorry, Naomi.” She also heard the word “concussion”, but thought he was saying that to someone else. She was pretty sure it was mostly horror driving her nausea.
Eventually, with Adam’s help, she staggered to her feet. Trying not to look at herself in the mirror, she rinsed her mouth and then brushed her teeth. Her mouth still tasted horrible.
And I thought a man who’d been stabbed was a ghastly sight, she thought drearily.
Adam used his body to make sure she couldn’t see into the bedroom again as he steered her into the living room where she sank onto the sofa. He tucked the duvet around her again, and disappeared, returning a minute later with a bag of frozen corn and a dishtowel. He found the lump on her head unerringly and positioned the impromptu ice pack over it.
“Can you hold this?” The way he looked at her, it was as if they were alone in the house.
“Yes.” She lifted one hand from beneath the flannel and put it over the cold pack.
He kept studying her, as if he was afraid she’d keel over, but finally nodded. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
A few minutes until…what? she wondered. They went back to bed? Um, not likely.
She sat there feeling strangely numb as discussion continued in the hall and other men came and went. One uniformed sheriff’s deputy, then others who she suspected were from the medical examiner’s office. Or some kind of crime scene technicians? In her peripheral vision, she was aware of flashes from a camera.
Adam checked on her several times. “Just a minute” stretched into what might have been half an hour. When the dishtowel became sodden from melting corn, she set it down. She felt really strange, but decided not to examine why. Just get through the night. She envisioned herself in the café kitchen and debated what specials to offer today. Perhaps it was the sagging bag of corn that made her think, corn cakes for breakfast, corn bread for lunch with vegetarian chili. Adam had liked her chili. She hugged herself.
When he sat beside her on the sofa, she started. He cupped her chin and turned her face toward her. “You and I are leaving,” he said. “I’ve got a place for us to spend the rest of the night.” He grimaced. “Not that there’s much of it.”
It hadn’t occurred to her yet to wonder what time it was.
He very carefully put her slippers on her feet. “Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk,” she said indignantly.
Adam smiled, his eyes still watchful. “Good girl.”
“Don’t you have to stay?”
He shook his head. “Not my crime scene.”
“It’s not Daniel’s, either.”
“No, a sheriff’s department detective is here now. Sean Holbeck.” Naomi nodded. She knew the name, at least. He’d been involved in last summer’s arrest of the serial killer. Adam continued, “Colburn is heading home now, too.”
“Are we going to your rental?”
“No, Sam may. Colburn gave me the key to a place. One of his officers is out of town and won’t mind if we sleep there.”
“All right,” she said docilely. “I want my bag, though. With my computer.”
“I’ll get it.”
He reappeared in a minute with her bag and his own duffel bag, passing through the living room, she presumed, to put them in the SUV before returning.
With Adam’s hand beneath her elbow, she did get to her feet. He helped her wrap the duvet several times around herself so it didn’t drag on the floor. She paid no attention whatsoever to any of the men whose heads turned to watch as she and Adam walked out through the kitchen. Only on the doorstep did she balk. “You don’t have your vest.”
“I already tossed it in the Tahoe. Yours, too. With all the activity here, our latest shooter isn’t going to be anywhere nearby.”
“Oh.” She made herself move again.
“I stuck a few of your clothes in my bag, too. For morning.”
Another SUV backed out of the driveway to open the way for Adam to do the same, then pulled back in. Her small car sat in the carport, looking forlorn. She wondered if she’d ever drive it again.
It was very dark once they were on their way. Her gaze found the dashboard clock. 3:57. “I’ll have to be up in a couple of hours.”
“No.” He made the turn onto the highway.
“What?”
“No, you won’t be opening the café this morning.”
“I have to.” She sounded, and felt, desperate.
“Naomi…we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“We can talk about it while I’m cooking.”
“No,” he said, his tone inflexible.
She argued; he kept repeating, “No.”
Panic swelled in her chest, clearing the dreamy lassitude that had cloaked her. She was barely aware they were in Cape Trouble now, turning through a quiet neighborhood of modest, old homes near the river. “You’re going to let him take me to L.A., aren’t you?”
“We may have to go to L.A.”
“You promise
d,” she said fiercely.
He pulled into a driveway, set the emergency brake with a savage motion, and turned to her. “What do you suggest, Naomi? You just keep placidly on the way you have been?” A streetlight let her see his bared teeth. Shadows cast beneath those strong cheekbones made his face almost demonic. “Tonight, that son of a bitch was five feet from your bed. If he’d pulled the trigger a second sooner, you could be dead. Or do you not get that?”
“You could be dead. You…were closer to the door.” You covered my body with yours.
“I could be,” he said flatly. “Don’t you understand? Damn it, Naomi, it’s time to finish this.”
She wasn’t being rational and knew it. I’m scared. Because finishing it meant—
No, she didn’t have to admit to anything. If she kept her mouth shut, no one would ever know. If she told…he wouldn’t believe her. She would lose him.
Only his protection, she told herself, but of course that wasn’t what she feared. No, what she dreaded most was his disgust, his fury, his condemnation. The death of whatever he might have felt for her.
After a minute, she nodded.
“Let’s go in. Wait until I come around.”
She knew the drill. Gun in hand, he hustled her into the house, turned on a lamp, then made her stand just inside while he walked through. When he returned, he held the gun down by his thigh.
“All right. First door on the left down the hall looks like a guest bedroom. Maybe you can get some sleep. I’ll go out and get our stuff.”
Maybe you can get some sleep? Right. Sure.
She hadn’t moved a step when he returned.
“Damn it, Naomi!” He scowled at her, tossing the two kevlar vests and her messenger bag onto an easy chair in the small living room and letting the duffel fall to the floor. “What are you still doing here? You’re swaying on your feet.”
“I won’t sleep.”
“Try.”
See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 21
