If he could get to the bank…
To the bushes…
To his car…
“Make sure you got him,” Freer called from the shore.
At least two of them, then. One on the boat and one on the bank.
And he was trapped between.
Faye slowed her car as she reached the bottom of the winding drive that led to Richard Freer’s half-million-dollar home. Her headlights sprang off the black-and-orange signs posted in the woods on either side.
Private Property, they read. Keep Out.
At least they didn’t say, Trespassers Will Be Shot.
She searched for a clear stretch of shoulder to leave the car.
There wasn’t one. Apparently Richard didn’t believe in encouraging day-trippers and weekend fishermen to park along his piece of road.
She spotted a stand of taller bushes, impenetrable in the dark. Perhaps only in contrast, the trees around them seemed thinner. She edged her car forward, following the beam of her headlights, and found a bumpy passage off road, through the leaves and underbrush.
And Aleksy’s TransAm, low slung and gleaming, blacker than the night.
Relief and triumph made her dizzy. She was already sitting, so she put her head down on the steering wheel and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
“Harp?” Jamal sounded anxious. “You okay?”
She couldn’t lose it now. She wasn’t defeated yet. She was on the right track. And she had a seventeen-year-old amphetamine junkie and a thirty-three-year-old cop possibly bleeding to death from a gunshot wound both depending on her.
She raised her head and forced a smile. It probably wasn’t a very convincing smile, but maybe it was dark enough that Jamal would be fooled.
“I’m fine,” she said. “He was here, see? That’s his car.”
In the dim glow of the dash, Jamal looked unimpressed. “Swell. What do we do now?”
Good question.
“I’m going to see if he’s inside—” slumped, bleeding, unconscious, oh, God “—and you’re going to stay in the car.”
“Uh-uh. It’s creepy here.”
The woods were dense and dark and alive with sounds—trembling leaves and mindless insects, scuttling forest creatures and the predators that hunt the night.
To a city kid it probably was creepy. Despite her summer visits to her aunt, Faye felt a little creeped herself.
She fought to sound in control. “Tough it out,” she said.
Jamal made a disgusted sound—she couldn’t see if he rolled his eyes or not—and slouched in his seat.
Faye grabbed the flashlight her aunt always kept in the kitchen drawer for emergencies—although Eileen had to have been thinking floods and ice storms, not gunrunners and midnight searches—turned off the car and swung open her door. It crunched into a bush. That was okay. She got out, trying hard not to think about poison ivy.
“Watch out for snakes,” Jamal said.
Snakes? Her heart leapt into her throat. The flashlight beam jumped off the hood of the TransAm before she tightened her grip. She had bigger worries. Like whether she was going to have any chance at all to fight for a future with Aleksy or whether he was out there somewhere bleeding himself into an early grave.
She picked her way to the dark sports car and tried the door. It was locked. She shone her flashlight through the window. Empty.
Her heart still hadn’t settled from the snake threat. She played the light again over Aleksy’s upholstery, as if he would magically turn up tucked between the cushions like lost change.
He didn’t.
Indecision made her hand waver. What now? She could hardly go bang on Richard Freer’s door and demand that the gun dealer produce Aleksy.
Leaves crackled behind her.
She turned to order Jamal back into the car, but it wasn’t Jamal’s voice that carried through the dark and froze her blood.
“Faye. I’m sorry to find you mixed up in this.” Richard Freer sounded genuinely disappointed. “Not surprised, not really, but so sorry.”
Her mouth went dry. She started to shake, standing beside Aleksy’s empty car armed with nothing but a flashlight.
Watch out for snakes.
Freer was gone.
That was the good news.
The bad news was before Freer left he had a nice long talk with Mr. Rifle on the dock. The shooter was now patrolling the lit bank with his gun pointed casually at the water. If any vacationers in this exclusive, secluded neighborhood happened to be out on their balconies with binoculars at eleven o’clock at night, all they would see was a solitary sportsman with an expensive rifle scope out gunning for bluegill in the dark.
Aleksy certainly hoped that would prompt a call to the police. He’d be mighty happy to see Jarek drive up right now. But he couldn’t count on it.
He had to get out of this one on his own.
He lay on his stomach at the edge of the light, half hidden by the bushes overgrowing the bank, half submerged in brackish water. Never mind that he was better at negotiating dark alleys than muddy banks. Never mind that his clothes were soaked, his boots weighed fifteen pounds apiece, and he shook from cold and shock. Never mind that his scalp was on fire and the gore of his wound had attracted a tormenting swarm of midges and mosquitoes.
The bleeding had slowed.
Freer had left.
It was time to roll.
The shooter strolled within yards of his hiding place. He was a dark, ordinary-looking guy in dark, ordinary clothes. He wore a charcoal ball cap with the brim pulled low.
How had Faye described her attacker? Dark pants, navy shirt and a—gray?—ball cap. Very ordinary, really.
In the shadows, Aleksy’s eyes narrowed. His lip pulled back from his teeth. This bastard had had his hands on Faye, had pushed her down and hurt her. He owed him. Big time.
But not yet.
Aleksy couldn’t risk screwing up his chance to nail Freer.
When the shooter turned and patrolled back toward the dock, Aleksy slithered on his elbows up the bank and crawled into the screening bushes.
Faye swung the flashlight in the direction of Richard’s voice. The beam painted an arc on the surrounding trees, jumped off his white face, and wavered on the snub, black gun in his hand.
Immediately a bright light hit her own eyes, blinding her.
“Turn it off, Faye. I think one light is all we need. We don’t want accidents.”
Fear stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard and complied.
“Who are you with?” Freer inquired. “ATF? FBI?”
If she wasn’t a threat, Faye thought frantically, he wouldn’t shoot her. She could not give him any cause to consider her a threat.
Which was fine by her, because at this moment, with her knees quaking and her mouth parched with terror, she felt about as threatening as Jell-O.
She worked enough saliva to her tongue to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not with anybody. I’m here alone.”
She didn’t dare glance behind her. Surely, even in the woods, Jamal had the street smarts to lay low and stay put?
“Are you trying to tell me that’s not your boyfriend’s car?” Richard asked.
“My—well, yes. We had a fight.” She didn’t have to pretend the distress that shook her voice. “He said things, I said things… You know how it is. Anyway, he took off, and after a while I got worried about him. Have you seen him?” she asked eagerly, as an afterthought.
“I think so,” Richard said. “He was down on my dock. On one of my boats, in fact.”
Oh, dear.
“You must be mistaken,” Faye said. “Alex isn’t even interested in boats.”
“No? Then maybe his real interest is what I had on board.”
Her stomach dropped in dread and dismay. Richard was too suspicious. She couldn’t pretend innocence much longer.
“I’m sorry if Alex was trespassing,” she said politely. “I guess he wasn’t thinking c
learly. I mean, we had this fight—”
“Don’t you want to know what I have on board?”
“Not really,” she said. “I mean, it’s none of my business, is it?”
“It’s a shame, then, that your boyfriend got you involved. Guns, Faye,” Richard said gently, as if explaining things to a not particularly bright student. “I had guns on board.”
She blinked. “Well, of course you have guns. You’re a gun dealer, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “You’re really very good. I hope your boyfriend appreciates you enough to make a deal.”
The flashlight beam got brighter and wider as he approached. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was cold, and her brain froze so that she couldn’t think.
“What do you mean?” she said, and it was no effort at all to sound lost and confused.
Richard reached out and grabbed her wrist. In a smooth, brutal move, he twisted her arm behind her and pressed the muzzle of the gun under her jaw.
“Let’s see if we can find Alex,” he suggested. “I’m interested to know what he’s willing to trade for your life.”
Aleksy had been a Boy Scout. He knew how to tie knots, splint a snakebite and make fire.
All of which qualified him to be a contestant on one of those TV survival shows but was no damn good at all when it came to stealing silently through the woods in wet boots with a broken camera around his neck and a bleeding head wound.
Unless, of course, he got bit by a snake.
The woods were even darker than the water. He tried to stick close to the road, where the pale light of the new moon slanted through the trees, but he couldn’t risk running into Freer or his trigger-happy accomplice. Better to get clean away with the evidence and call for backup from his car.
His vision blurred. His heart labored. His breathing rasped. Too loud. He swiped his forearm over his eyes and nearly doubled over from the pain. What the—? His sweater. He must have caught the edge of the graze with his sweater. He wouldn’t do it again.
He hugged a tree trunk—plenty of those around—and took deep breaths until the world stopped spinning.
Setting his jaw, he staggered on, trying to place his feet with care, even though the ground jumped and slid before him like an outtake from the Blair Witch Project.
Something crashed through the trees on his left, going down to the water.
Deer?
No deer was ever that loud.
And then he stopped caring because he heard voices coming from the private road.
Freer’s voice. He was pretty sure he recognized that.
And Faye’s.
His blood ran cold.
“—making a terrible mistake,” Faye protested, her voice breathy. Bewildered. “I’m just an art teacher. You could call my school—well, not now, but in the morning—and—”
“Honey, by morning I’m not going to care what you do.”
Hot rage erupted in Aleksy, drumming in his head like blood, so that he lost the first few words of Faye’s reply.
“—for the offer, but I’m already in a relationship.”
“Are you? Did you know he was only using you to spy on me? Or don’t you care?”
Aleksy started moving toward the road as quietly as he could, as quickly as he dared.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Faye said. “Alex loves me.”
The simple faith in her voice almost tripped him up. She was a really good actress. Had to be. Because if she believed that… If he believed her… Damn it, he couldn’t deal with this right now. A hostage situation was no time to think about till-death-do-us-part.
“You better hope so,” Freer said. “Or you’ll be dead by morning.”
Aleksy drew his gun from the small of his back. He saw them now, through the trees, Freer and Faye walking close together in the uncertain moonlight like a parody of lovers. The bastard had her arm twisted behind her and the barrel of his gun pressed under her delicate jaw.
Aleksy cursed silently, steadily.
Shoot/Don’t shoot. The kind of situation every cop was trained to evaluate and decide.
He was a good shot. Not SWAT team caliber, maybe, but he practiced regularly at the range. “Hotshot,” Jarek had dubbed him when, as a cocky rookie, he’d first followed his brother on to the force. The name had stuck. He was good.
He raised his weapon and sighted down the short barrel at Freer’s head. Not the body. The risk of hitting Faye was too great.
Shoot.
He blinked. His vision still hadn’t cleared. The angle was bad. The light was worse. His head throbbed and his hand shook.
Don’t shoot.
Freer shoved Faye forward. “You know, you could save us some time if you screamed. Get his attention.”
Faye’s chin raised. Maybe she was only trying to avoid the barrel of the gun. But she said, quite clearly, “Go to hell.”
Freer yanked upward on her captive arm and she made a soft, distressed sound.
Aleksy’s muscles tightened. Shoot.
But he had to get in front of them first. He picked and pushed a path as silently as he could, sweat running down his spine, blood crawling down his face.
The road they were on was smoother and more direct than the track through the trees, but Faye hampered Freer’s progress. She hung against him, not quite struggling, but making him work for every step.
Smart girl, Aleksy thought. Smart, brave girl. If they both lived through this, he was going to marry her.
They were getting closer to the house. Aleksy could see the flat, silver gleam of the lake through the trees. They would meet up with the shooter soon.
It had to be now.
He raised his chief’s special in hands that trembled slightly, only slightly, from cold and shock.
He couldn’t do it. This wasn’t a paper target he was taking aim at. It was a man who quite literally held Faye’s life in his hands—hands already stained with Karen’s blood.
Aleksy shut down his emotions, turned off his rioting thoughts, made himself like the gun in his hand, a cold, well-oiled machine focused on one thing.
Faye.
Don’t shoot.
He closed his eyes again. He could do this. All he needed was one shot. One clear shot. Or a miracle.
But when he opened his eyes, there was no miracle. No flashing lights or screeching sirens. No cavalry or brother riding to the rescue. No help. No hope.
Only footsteps scuffing up the road from the direction of the lake. The shooter.
It couldn’t get much worse than this.
Only it did.
“Any sign?” Freer asked the newcomer.
“No one. No body. I think he is alive.”
“Don’t look so happy, honey,” Freer advised. “Your boyfriend just abandoned you.”
“I’ll survive,” she told him. No trace of the cream puff at all.
“Will you?” Freer traced the gun down the side of her throat. She strained her head away. Aleksy kept watching, looking, praying for the opportunity that didn’t come. “Let’s see if we can change his mind.”
He was enjoying this, the bastard.
“How?” Faye asked, her voice remarkably steady.
“We’re going to make you scream.”
It wouldn’t do any good to give himself up.
Aleksy knew that. In a hostage situation, the responding officer’s first duty was to contain the suspects and maintain cover.
But what he knew and how he felt were two entirely different things. He shuddered with the effort to keep still, to stay hidden.
One clear shot, he promised himself. That’s all he needed.
“I don’t have time for this,” the man with the rifle said, and some of the tension eased in Aleksy’s gut. “I have to get my merchandise away.”
“If my operation is shut down, there won’t be any more merchandise,” Freer said. “You’ll need to find another licensed firearms buyer to make straw purchases for you.”
&
nbsp; Freer was convicting himself with every word. At the moment, it was hard to care.
The other man’s gaze darted to Faye. He licked his lips. “You think this will bring the cop back?”
“Oh, yeah. If he’s still around. If he isn’t—” Freer shrugged. “At least we’ll get a little something for our trouble.”
Faye struggled, but she did not make a sound.
Aleksy sighted along the blue steel barrel. He would kill him. Kill them both.
One clear shot, he prayed.
They ripped her blouse, Freer still holding her from behind, with the gun jammed into the tender joint of her head and throat.
Aleksy died inside.
Forget the miracle. He just needed a distraction.
And then the night exploded around them and the scene blasted apart. The explosion shook his bones and, for one startled moment, his concentration.
Faye.
Twenty yards away, water geysered, flame shot in a column, sparks flew. Wood and fiberglass were hurled into the air as the boat blew up out of the water.
Chapter 16
The guy with the rifle ran. Not away, which would have been sensible, but toward the explosion.
Hunting, Aleksy realized grimly. Hunting him.
It didn’t matter. He had to save Faye.
Richard Freer whirled, spinning Faye in front of him. He raised his gun to answer this new threat, as if he expected demons to come boiling out of the inferno that had once been his dock.
One clear shot. Aleksy drew a deep breath, focusing his eyes, steadying his hand, shutting off his emotions.
Shoot.
He exhaled slowly. Squeezed the trigger gently.
The .38 kicked in his hand, its burst almost lost against the bombardment from the water. Pulse pounding, heart thumping, Aleksy watched Freer’s arm, the arm supporting his gun, blossom with dark blood.
The dealer shrieked.
Faye squealed and doubled over. Aleksy’s heart stopped. Had he somehow hit her? Made Freer hit her? Was she hurt?
Not that hurt. She jabbed her elbow hard into Freer’s stomach and twisted away.
Freer dropped to his knees. His uninjured arm made a surprising grab for her ankles that brought her down, hard. Her wrist crumpled as she tried to catch herself on the ground.
All a Man Can Ask Page 18
