"Well, she's wearing the gown."
He looked back toward the house… and then he saw her. She stepped out the back door in a dress the old Kira wouldn’t have been caught dead in. She was wearing it to marry another man. And she was so beautiful it made him ache. He couldn’t believe she was going to go through with it.
“Do your job.”
He quickly shut down the pity party going on in his gut and returned to face the crowd, raising a hand to signal the string quartet.
They began to play, and the guests began taking their seats and quieting down. As soon as everyone was sitting expectantly, the quartet changed to the Wedding March.
He turned back toward the house, expecting to see her doing the bride-walk down the aisle, step, pause, step, pause.
But she wasn’t. She was still near the door, kind of cowering into the shadows and looking as if she wanted to disappear.
Hell, now what? Was she changing her mind again?
He was going to have to go back there, he realized. He was going to have to talk her through it, help her gather enough courage to walk down the aisle. To marry another man.
He took three steps toward her—and then all hell broke loose.
#
Kira didn't know what was happening. She'd run out of time for contemplation and had decided to go out there just long enough to find Marshall. He was the only person she wanted to talk to. He’d know how to help her end this charade with as much grace as possible. He’d understand, and he’d fetch Peter for her and guarantee their privacy while she told him, as gently as she could, that she didn't want to marry him. That she couldn't marry anyone, not until her memory was fully restored.
And after the wedding planner had done those things for her, and that part was over, she would make him tell her the rest. The truth about what they’d been to each other, before.
But the second she stepped out of the house, the band struck up, freezing her in her tracks. People took seats and then every head turned in her direction. She wasn’t sure if they could see her, but she could see them, through the rose of Sharon blossoms. And then the music changed to the Bridal Chorus.
Hell!
She just stood there, not sure what to do. If she walked down the aisle to her beaming groom, would she get caught up in the riptide and end up married? If she turned and ran back into the house, would everyone think she'd lost what little remained of her mind? Not to mention that it would break her mother’s heart. And the heart of a perfectly decent guy who seemed to adore her, too.
She stood there, torn, trying to figure out why it felt impossible for her to walk down that aisle. And then she saw Marshall heading her way. He came around the curve in the garden path, his eyes on hers, his jaw set.
And she couldn't wait for him to get to her. She couldn't wait. She had to be near him, to touch him—to talk to him—now.
She gathered her skirts up and ran toward him, but then gunshots rang out and people screamed and ran.
Automatic weapons in their tell-tale rat-a-tat cadence.
Down! The deafening command came from inside her own mind.
Her body launched itself at Marshall, taking him around the waist and straight to the ground. She landed on top of him, and her momentum kept them going as she wrapped around him and rolled to the side, out of the open, into the cover of the rose of Sharon hedges.
"Kira?" He sat up.
"Stay down!" She pushed his chest, reaching to her side for a weapon and only belatedly realizing she had none. And why would she expect to find one there?
Marshall was easing her off him, setting her on the ground, beside him. She could see between the branches. Crowds of panicked people had stampeded in every direction when the shots had begun, some toward their cars, others toward the house. All the chairs were toppled, flowers crushed on the ground. There was smoke out there now, rising slowly like a curtain on a nightmare’s stage. There were people on the ground. Hurt. Dead, maybe.
She couldn’t see her mother!
Men in black suits with blacker rifles fanned into the carnage, amid the tipped-over chairs and trampled flowers. Peter was still standing at the arbor. She didn’t see the minister.
One of the armed men walked up to Peter, grabbed onto his shoulder.
"I gotta go, babe," Marshall said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Stay under cover. You're not ready for this."
"Ready for what?"
He hesitated, then he yanked her against him and kissed her hard, but way too quickly. She stretched toward him, her lips yearning for his, but he lifted his head away. "Just stay here."
She sat back on her heels as Marshall left her. He went creeping along the backside of the bushes, using them for cover, making his way back toward the wandering, rifle-toting thugs. Thugs who seemed to be looking for someone among the dead and wounded.
Bushes rustled from the other side of the stone footpath. She looked that way and realized someone was doing the same thing Marshal was, using the bushes for cover while creeping nearer to the bad guys. But on the other side. Kira gathered her skirts all up around her waist, tied them in a knot, and tore the hoop frame off her body. She figured it took about three seconds. She was suddenly very quick, very efficient, and very decisive. She knew exactly what to do.
The men were herding Peter away now. But then Marshall sprang from the shrubs with a gun pointed at them. And from the other side, the housekeeper did the same.
Anita?
She stood in a crouch, black uniform, white apron, and a big silver gun in her hands. "Freeze!"
They didn't freeze. They shot her. Anita went down, and the gunmen turned their attention to Marshall. But by that point, Kira was already charging down the aisle in a white lace powder puff and a pair of panties, screaming words she couldn't believe were coming from her lips.
"Drop the fucking guns! Now!"
They turned her way, but not fast enough. She drop-kicked the first guy, landing in a ready crouch, then sprang up again to deliver an elbow to the throat of the second guy, while she snatched his machine gun. Someone hit her from behind—a big crack to the back of her head, not the least bit cushioned by the veils, no matter how many layers thick they were. Her tiara tilted over her eyes, her head swam, and she went down hard.
No!
Blinking and sitting up, she saw the men running toward cars that had pulled onto the back lawn. Peter was getting into the back of one, thugs all around him. Marshall was shoved into another, a gun to his head. And then they took off, bounding over the lawn, hitting the pavement, and leaving behind only the stench of burnt rubber
The guy lying facedown on the ground beside Kira started to get up. She put the barrel of his own rifle on his forehead. "Stay down for a sec. I need to think.”
He frowned at her, so she put her foot between his shoulder blades and slammed him down. Then she noticed the delicate beaded four-inch pumps she was wearing. “I did all that in these heels? I am good.”
Someone moaned and she looked around, saw some of the bodies on the ground moving, a very good sign. "It's all right everyone, you can get up,” Kira said. “Helps on the way.”
Some of them got up. They looked around them, confused. Several had their phones out. Others began helping those who still lay on the ground. And she realized that some of them would never get up again. "Oh, God.” She looked around for help, spotted only the minister, hovering nearby and looking a at her almost expectantly. “Hold this sinner for a minute, Reverend?"
The minister nodded came over, and to her surprise, put his foot where hers was, and none too gently either.
“I’ll have my gun on him the whole time.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got one too.” He lifted a handgun he must have scooped up off the ground.
Kira bent down near the thug’s head.. "You so much as wiggle, and he'll pop you. And if he doesn’t, I will. I’m walking ten feet away. You got it?"
"Yeah."
She kept one eye on the man as she crossed the path to
where Anita lay on the ground. Kneeling, still watching the bad guy, Kira pressed a palm to her cheek. "You alive?"
"Yeah." It was a pained and breathless whisper. "You back?"
"I don't know what the hell I am. Much less who. I'm not even sure what my mother's maid is doing with a 9-millimeter Ruger." She closed her eyes. "Or how I know a Ruger from a Glock. Have you seen my mother?”
“She made it inside. She wasn’t hit.”
“You sure?” She chanced a quick look at Anita, saw her eyes when she nodded, and believed her. “Thank God.”
“You’ve gotta go after him," Anita said, and Kira knew without asking that she was talking about Marshall. "They'll kill him. We can't wait."
"I'm going." She put an arm around Anita, helped her get up, and half carried her closer to where she’d left the the thug and the minister. Then she set her down with her back against a statue, and put the rifle in her arms. "You got this guy?"
"I got him," Anita said.
"Great." Kira looked around the lawn. "I've gotta get my gear. Have someone bring my car around, and put that asshole in it. I’ll be three minutes."
"Make it two."
Her head was spinning, and she was damned if she knew what was going on. She kept shifting from participant to spectator inside her own mind. But she raced to her room, right past her mother, who was on the phone, probably with a nine-eleven dispatcher. Kira stripped off her tattered veils and tiara, kicked off the shoes, and unzipped what was left of the dress on her way up the stairs. In her room, she pulled on the clothes from the other hook on the wall, just because they were the fastest ones to get to.
The leather leggings, tank top. Then the straps and holsters. She didn't think first. She didn't need to. They went on automatically, shoulder strap, thigh strap, hip straps. She shoved her feet into the tall black boots with the hidden sheath inside. It held a small switchblade that was special to her. She checked the guns to be sure they were loaded and slammed them into their holsters. Then she put on the jacket and shoved spare ammo into her pockets. She was racing back down the stairs within three minutes.
Her mother’s eyes widened as she passed, and she ran over, gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Mom. I have to go after Marshall.” She frowned, because something was off about her words, but she didn’t have time to give it any thought, just raced outside.
A car was at the back door waiting, a sacrilege parked across her mother's perfect lawn. But nothing compared to what had already been done to it. The whole yard was torn up by tire tracks. The “maid” was already shoving the thug into the passenger of the car. His hands were cuffed behind him. She slammed the door and looked up at Kira.
Kira eyed the bloody spot on her white apron. "You gonna be all right, Anita?”
"Cavalry’s on the way. Medics, too. I'll be fine. And it's Kelly."
Kira lifted her eyebrows high and wondered what other revelations were awaiting her. But she didn't take time to ask, she just jumped behind the wheel and took off.
She looked at the man beside her and told herself not to focus on the surreal feeling that she was two people instead of one. The blank slate had been her identity for the past six months. This current Kira’s mind wasn’t blank at all. It was filled with so much information that she couldn’t even process it all. Like a computer with too much data, she was in danger of overload, and she couldn’t even analyze any single thing.
It didn't matter, not now. All that mattered was finding Marshall in time. And Peter, too, she supposed.
"Where did your friends take them?"
“Take who?”
She glanced his way. Oval face, saggy cheeks, big droopy eyes. He’d either lost a lot of weight or he was part bloodhound. “My groom and my wedding planner.”
He smiled wide and then started laughing in her face, so she cracked him upside the head with the a gun butt. He yelped and pulled himself as far from her as he could get.
Kira managed to shift gears without setting the weapon down. She headed out the driveway and left, the direction she'd seen the other vehicles take.
Two Mercedes and a Navigator, the stranger inside her said. Now get Duke to talk.
“Talk. Where are they?"
There was blood trickling from a small cut on the guy’s cheekbone. He thinned his lips.
"If you think I won't kill you,” Kira heard herself saying, “you can think again. I've got nothing to lose here."
He narrowed his mud colored eyes on her. "They said you were harmless. As good as lobotomized."
"Don't believe everything you hear." She slanted him a look as they came to a crossroads. "Come on, Duke. Which way?"
His eyes widened when she said his name. "You do remember," he whispered.
"Which way?”
He swallowed hard. "Left."
She didn't move the car. "To where?"
"There's a house out in Lakeport." He shifted his eyes downward as he said it.
"Is there?"
He nodded, still not looking at her.
She didn't move the car. Just revved the engine, letting the clutch up just enough to make it push itself forward, like a horse tugging at the bit.
"Cause you know, when we get to this house in Lakeport, you're coming in with me. And if they're not there, I'll put this gun barrel in your ear and squeeze the trigger."
She saw him shiver and thought he believed her. Apparently, he'd known her in the past. Apparently, he had reason to think she could make good on the threat. Damn, what kind of a woman had she been?
What kind of a woman was she now?
"You know I'll do it, don't you, Duke?"
"Yeah."
"So you still want me to turn left?"
His Adam's apple swelled briefly. "Go straight. There's an apartment building. Vacant."
She nodded, satisfied. "You get me to where they are, Duke, and you can walk. I never saw you. That's a promise."
He thinned his lips and nodded.
"You believe me?"
He met her eyes. "You never break your word, Kira. Everybody knows that. I'll get you there."
Chapter 7
The building was in a dead neighborhood. Before the big malls came along, this had been a thriving area. Houses and shops and restaurants. But once the shopping malls took over, the thriving community had died. Shops closed. Owners moved and either sold their houses dirt cheap or rented them the same way. Things were let go. Repairs were seldom made. Some of the places ended up vacant, boarded up, and became way stations for the aging homeless, until they were pushed out by the street kids, who were pushed out by the gangs. Now the decrepit buildings that hadn't fallen down, been torn down, or gone to arson, were crack houses and meth labs, whorehouses, and gang hangouts.
Kira didn't know how she knew all that, but the knowledge was there, and had been there all along, lying silent and invisible with so many other things, like layers of sediment at the bottom of a river. Only now, the formerly calm waters were rough and choppy, and the junk at the bottom was getting stirred up.
Homeless camped underneath the railroad bridge for shelter. At night they came down and set fires in the barrels. Mostly the gangs left them alone, unless they were feeling particularly mean. There were other homeless they could roll, farther away. These were sort of their own.
She pulled the car to a stop behind the brick remnants of a one-time gas station, in between an abandoned semi trailer and a rusted out Dumpster, and killed the engine. "Which building?"
Duke nodded, because he couldn't point. "Farthest one down. Red brick, see it?"
She nodded. And she believed him. So she reached behind Duke’s back and pressed the handcuff key into his palm. "Leave the cuffs and the key on the seat and get out of here."
Mistake.
Kira ignored the inner voice. She had the wheel again, and she wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t going to leave the poor guy handcuffed in this neighborhood, wearing a tux. Might as well shoot him.
She got out of the car and pulled the .44, leaving him to fumble with the key. It would take him a few minutes to maneuver it into the lock and get himself free with his hands behind him that way. She figured that gave her time—she doubted he'd try to warn whoever he worked for, but even if he did, it would be ten minutes. Okay, maybe five.
She kept her back to the sides of buildings, inching along each one, then darting across the alley to the next. When she reached the red brick building at the end of the row, she skirted it in search of a less obvious entry than the front door.
There was a broken fire escape in the back, but twenty feet gaped between it and the ground. No good. But she found a basement window busted out and crawled in there, standing still and facing the darkness to give her eyes time to adjust.
And her mind time to try to puzzle this out.
She'd been in Africa. So had her father, and Marshall, and so had Peter. She'd been engaged to Peter, but screwing Marshall. She didn't think she'd slept with Peter, or if she had, it must not have been too impressive, because she didn't have any memories of being twisted up naked with him. The memories of her and Marshall, though—well, hell, this was no time to be distracted, so she'd better stop thinking about those.
Sighing, her eyes seeing things better now, she moved through the basement, avoiding the shapes of boxes and giant metal contraptions that might be normal basement things.
So apparently, she reasoned, sifting the piles of new information in her brain for answers, someone was involved with criminals. Armed men with automatic weapons who kidnapped people from weddings equaled criminals, right? They couldn't have been cops or feds or anything, she thought, because if they were, they wouldn't have mowed down innocent wedding guests. And they wouldn’t have brought their victims to a vacant, condemned hovel. They'd have taken them to some official place "for questioning" or whatever.
So that meant the men in the suits were the bad guys.
You know all this. Just remember.
That voice was her own. No, it was the old Kira. She was starting to have trouble telling them apart.
Remember!
Hollow Page 5
