Code Name: Baby

by Christina Skye

  The batteries were in his hand. The dogs were ranged on the floor in front of the television, unmoving. Baby’s tail thumped once.

  The dogs?

  He didn’t buy it. This kind of skill had never been part of their genetic package. The source had to be an equipment malfunction.

  Tensely, he pocketed the batteries and moved to the far wall. Leaning down, he scanned the controls and manually triggered the volume.

  Nothing happened.

  Wolfe thought it over. Then he thought it over again. His gaze returned to the dogs.

  Baby sat down in the middle of the rug. Casablanca stopped, and the television switched over to regular programming, where a man with a sequined cowboy hat waved his arms and pitched used trucks.

  “Hell if I believe this,” Wolfe muttered, muting the volume.

  Kit stirred restlessly, and he dragged a hand through his hair, then switched off the television and waited—not sure what he was waiting for.

  The silence stretched out, deep as the New Mexico night. He stared at the dogs, and they stared right back at him. A branch scraped the window. Baby draped her head across Diesel’s neck, looked at the television and wagged her tail. Coincidence?

  Wolfe shook his head, returning the batteries to the remote and placing it next to Kit so she’d assume that she had turned off the movie in her sleep. Baby yawned. The previous phenomena with the television appeared to have stopped. Though Wolfe waited, nothing else happened.

  Time to go.

  But at the door he paused, unable to resist one last look at Kit. She was striking even in her sleep. In a dozen ways she reminded him of her mother, who’d still turned heads at sixty. Wolfe remembered the night Amanda O’Halloran had found him sleeping in the old barn, desperate and exhausted, still bleeding from his father’s drunken beating.

  She had cleaned him up without a word, fed him without a word, then opened her heart as well as her house to him. When his father had come looking for him, she’d run him off with a shotgun.

  He hadn’t thought of that night for years. It was this unnerving house, the dogs on the old Mexican rug and the fire that crackled happily.

  He rubbed his thigh as he walked down the shadowed hallway. The wound had torn open again and was throbbing—a minor discomfort after the abuse Wolfe’s body had suffered over the years. He had a full supply of medicine in his field pack to deal with exactly this problem.

  Something moved at the end of the corridor. Quickly Wolfe slid against the wall, listening to a shuffling noise in the hall.

  The sounds came closer and then Baby appeared a few feet in front of him. Her ears perked up as she stared at the spot where Wolfe was standing, hidden in the shadows. Moments later Butch and Sundance moved to face the kitchen entrance, while Diesel prowled the house, going from window to window, alert and wary.

  Baby let out a low growl and trotted to the kitchen door, staring at the window. She was soon joined by the other two dogs. When Diesel finished his circuit, he joined them in front of the kitchen doorway.

  A noise brought Wolfe around, low and fast. Kit stood in the shadows, looking sleepy and mussed. The rifle she held was dead level. Then Diesel began to bark, and the other dogs joined in.

  “Baby? Diesel? What’s wrong?”

  She hadn’t seen him yet, Wolfe realized. She must have heard the dogs prowling around earlier.

  But something else was moving in the darkness. Wolfe heard the faint crunch of feet on gravel outside.

  Grabbing Kit, he pulled her out of sight, his hand clamped over her mouth. Seconds later the kitchen window shattered in a noisy explosion, glass flying over the tile floor.

  She fought his grip as he pinned her against the wall with his body, feeling her panic in the wild rise and fall of her chest. She tried to kick him, but he nudged her leg aside and blocked her clawing fingers.

  He brushed her breast, soft and warm beneath thin cotton, and the contact made him jerk as if he’d been burned; his hand locked over her mouth when she tried to protest.

  Glass crunched.

  Across the kitchen a man climbed in over the windowsill, his knife glinting in the cold moonlight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHATELSECOULD GO WRONG?

  He pushed Kit down the hall, fighting her every step of the way. When she tried to scream, Wolfe cut her off with fast, focused images of herself floating in bubbling hot springs until he felt her body relax and slump against his chest, arms askew.

  Grimly, he called up the floor plan of her house, memorized during mission prep.

  Four steps left. One step right and then around the corner. She was still slumped as he carried her inside a closet and left her sitting against the wall, snoring faintly.

  One problem solved.

  Quickly Wolfe closed the door and wedged a chair under the knob.

  There was a bang in the kitchen, followed by a muffled curse.

  Silently, he crossed the room and waited beside the door as Kit’s intruder inched through the darkness. Moonlight touched the blade of a saw-edged hunting knife.

  Wolfe’s lips twitched. Bad move, pal. You just used up all your chances.

  With one sharp movement, he captured the man’s wrists and smiled coldly as he felt the bones begin to snap. Within two seconds the man was on his knees, begging to be released.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Try again, peanut brain.” Wolfe increased the pressure on his wrists.

  “No more. It was just me and the boys, looking for—for that Apache gold that’s hid up here.”

  He was whimpering now, and Wolfe was inclined to believe him. The man didn’t look like a professional who could lie in the face of pain. As he pulled the man around into the muted light from the window, Wolfe recognized the troublemaker who had assaulted Kit that morning. Apparently he’d decided to return by night and complete the job.

  “Give me a name,” Wolfe repeated as he twisted the man’s hands, grinding bone against bone.

  “Nobody—I already told you. That’s the truth, damn it!”

  Wolfe considered the quickest way to tie up loose ends. He could kill the man without leaving any marks, then dump him off a ridge. After the body had dropped sixty feet and rolled down a wash, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that it was a simple hiking accident. For a second, the urge for murder pounded through his veins.

  He pulled himself back from the edge, and in one quick movement of his foot sent the man flying to the floor. Ignoring Kit’s muffled curses from the closet, Wolfe pulled up an image of the toughest, most frightening Apache warrior he could remember from his reading as a boy. Then he sharpened the image, adding streaks of color at face and chest along with a honed hunting knife.

  This was the exact image that the man on the floor saw bearing down on him. No amount of thought or argument would change the force of that vision later.

  “If you come back here, ever again, we will find you.” Wolfe figured that the words should fit the image, and he chose them carefully. “There are four of us here. Together we guard the ranch and this family. If you come back, we will find you. Then we will kill you. But first we will skin you slowly while you scream.”

  The man’s body trembled at Wolfe’s feet. He was crying openly now, consumed by Wolfe’s terrible vision. “I won’t. I swear it. Lemme go.”

  Growling, Baby and the other three dogs lined up around the intruder. Kit’s cursing from the closet was turning shrill.

  Time to dispense with Einstein here.

  “Go back to your town. Tell your friends what I have told you tonight. Know that if any one of you returns, we will be here waiting.”

  “We won’t come back,” the man blurted. “None of us will, I promise.”

  Wolfe wasn’t going to take any chances. He focused the man’s fear, shaped it. Then he drove it deep inside his head to fester and grow.

  The intruder’s face was slack with terror when Wolfe finished. As the ma
n staggered to his feet, something fell out of the front pocket of his shirt.

  Wolfe caught the torn piece of paper with one hand.

  The faint, irregular lines appeared to be some kind of drawing. He realized the marks were a clumsily drawn map of Kit’s ranch.

  But there was no time for closer investigation. Wolfe shoved his stumbling captive back toward a broken window in the kitchen. The dogs were still growling when the bulky shadow plunged through the window and dropped out of sight. Footsteps drummed, a car door opened, and then a truck’s engine roared to life.

  The big dog, Diesel, circled back to the closet where Kit was locked, while Baby jumped up and rested her front paws carefully on the window, looking out into the night. The only sound in the house was the furious sound of Kit’s fists as she hammered at the closet door.

  Wolfe figured the safest thing to do was engineer exactly what she would remember in the morning. He’d have to clean up outside and then replace the broken window so the dogs wouldn’t be hurt. He could easily have blocked Kit’s memory entirely, but he would have to make an appearance sometime, and it might as well be now. He couldn’t guard her effectively if he stayed hunkered down halfway up a hill outside.

  Kit’s curses stopped. The sudden silence was broken by the crack of shattering wood. What the hell had the woman done now? But Kit would have to wait until he checked out the house.

  Quickly, he scanned the courtyard. There was no sign of the last intruder or any accomplices. Standing motionless, he feathered his senses through the darkness in search of Cruz’s energy trail.

  Nothing even close. Not here or in any of the other rooms.

  At least one worry was dispensed with. When he crossed the first floor hallway, he heard Kit’s urgent shouting from the closet. He figured she’d be pretty surprised to see him after all this time, but no matter. Surprise, he could deal with.

  Outside the closet, he pulled the chair away from the door, which immediately shot open against his hands. She came out fighting—aimed a savage left hook at his face, rammed something heavy into his stomach, then shot past him toward the door.

  Hell.

  Wolfe sighed, following her down the dark hallway. A barrage of metal pots caught him at the far side of the kitchen. He ducked and nearly tripped on a bench she’d overturned near the door.

  When Wolfe stepped over the bench, the dogs were positioned around his feet. Diesel rammed his leg, forcing him to jump sideways to avoid stepping on Baby and Sundance.

  When he again looked up, there was a rifle pointed at his forehead.

  “Hands up where I can see them.”

  Wolfe cursed silently, glaring at the dogs. He hadn’t expected that last stunt by Diesel, which was pretty damned amazing.

  In any case, it was time to cool her down before she shot him.

  “Lower the Winchester. It’s me, Kit. It’s Wolfe.”

  The rifle stayed right where it was. “Someone breaks my window and invades my house, he’s going to regret it.” The kitchen was dark and Wolfe realized she still hadn’t seen his face.

  “I had some leave and Trace told me to drop by and look in on you. Sorry I drove up from town without calling first, but I never figured I’d get a rifle in my face for forgetting my manners.”

  In the darkness, she reached back to run her hand along the wall. “When I count to three, I expect you to be sitting in the chair next to your right hand. Meanwhile, if I see anything I don’t like, I’m going to fire. Are we clear on that?”

  Wolfe’s lips twitched. She had spirit to burn, his little Katharine. Except she wasn’t little anymore, and those long legs of hers looked damn good under her nightshirt.

  Slowly Wolfe raised his hands in the air, just the way she’d ordered. He wasn’t about to give her a reason to shoot him. “Hell, Kit, don’t you recognize me? Your brother was supposed to call and let you know I was coming. It’s Wolfe.”

  She stopped moving. Wolfe thought he heard her breath catch.

  She blew out an angry breath. “Shut up and keep your hands in the air.”

  In the dark he listened to her stalk toward him. “Whatever you say. But all you have to do is turn on the lights and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  “I just tried the lights, and they’re out. But you’d know that because you turned off the power before you broke in here.”

  So Einstein had been smarter than he looked, tackling Kit’s electricity. “There’s a penlight in my pocket,” Wolfe said quietly. “Top right side of my jacket. Pull it out and see for yourself that I’m not lying.”

  “And let you jump me? No way. You’re staying right there, and I’m staying right here with my rifle. I just called the state police on my cell phone. They should be here shortly.”

  Police were the last thing Wolfe needed. He moved away, slipping around the corner beyond the closet.

  “Where are you going?”

  Wolfe heard her stumble, her legs striking an overturned chair.

  He didn’t answer, moving silently through the darkness, staying low as he circled the counter. Then he stepped in fast, pivoted and knocked the rifle from her grip.

  All in all she had put up a pretty good defense, but Wolfe was still furious. Trace should have installed an adequate security system before he left, damn it. He should also have taught Kit a fallback plan in case of an attack. She was living miles away from neighbors or police and she was pinned against the counter, the rifle behind her on the floor. Anyone else could have done some real damage to her.

  Wolfe felt the dogs close in. Baby pressed against his leg, whining, and Diesel nuzzled his thigh.

  “What are you doing to my dogs?” Kit said sharply.

  Typical, Wolfe thought. Pinned to the counter, she worried about the dogs, not her own safety.

  “Nothing. Stop fighting and I’ll pull out my light so you can see my face.” Wolfe found his penlight and raised it slowly, shining it up at his head.

  She winced in the sudden blue-white beam, her eyes tracking to his face. Her breath caught. “Wolfe?”

  “I’m sure as hell not the Avon lady.”

  “You should have said something sooner.” Her voice sounded unsteady. “I could have shot you.”

  “Next time I’ll be sure to send a telegram and flowers,” he muttered.

  Her voice was tense. “Why are you here? It’s not Trace, is it? He hasn’t been shot or anything…?”

  “Trace is just fine.”

  Her breath hissed out slowly. “Then why—”

  “He wanted me to see how things were going here.” The lie slid smoothly off Wolfe’s lips. “So here I am.”

  She leaned back, trying to get a better look at his face. “I don’t believe you. Trace would have told me if you were coming.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind? You’re flattening me against this counter.”

  Wolfe silently cursed and moved a few inches back. “Reflex. Sorry.”

  “Why did you lock me in that closet? And who broke my window?”

  “We can discuss it later. Let’s get your power back on first.”

  She shoved against him, her body brushing him from knee to chest. When she turned her head, her lips were only inches away.

  Concentration deserted Wolfe for a moment. With an effort he managed to focus again. “Where’s your fuse box?” he asked gruffly. He sure as hell knew where his was.

  She didn’t answer, her cheeks touched with color as he backed out of reach.

  “Well?”

  “Beside the kitchen door.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’ll go outside and check.”

  “Hold on. Let me take a look first.”

  She turned slowly, her face pale in the half shadows. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “It never pays to take chances. Trace should have taught you that.” Taking her arm, he steered her toward the far side of the kitchen, away from all the broken glass. “I’ll go out this way.”

  “You still remembe
r your way around after all this time?”

  “I remember a lot of things.” Most of them were bad, but Wolfe didn’t mention that. “What’s with the body I feel against my leg?” She’d definitely expect him to be curious about her four dogs.

  “That’s probably Baby. She has to get her nose right in the middle of everything.”

  “Baby?” Wolfe managed to sound puzzled.

  “The four-legged kind. Shine that light down here.” Crouching near the door, Kit was instantly surrounded by eager, panting dogs. “Meet my newest pupils.”

  Wolfe ran his light from dog to dog, pretending to be surprised. “Four of them? You never do anything by half, do you?”

  Kit smoothed Diesel’s fur. “I’m a sucker for a beautiful pair of eyes.”

  “I’m a leg man myself.” Wolfe cleared his throat as the penlight flashed on her long, slender thighs.

  “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

  “I told you, Trace asked me to—”

  “You never could lie to me, Wolfe.” Kit jerked down her nightshirt as she walked to the side door. “The fuses are out here, by the way.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Wolfe cut in front of her and checked the darkness. “Looks quiet enough.” When he glanced down, the dogs were right beside him, their noses pressed against the glass door. “Back, you guys.”

  “Down,” Kit said quietly.

  Instantly, all four dogs were on the floor, motionless.

  “Stay.”

  Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You and the dogs had better stay inside just the same.” As he held up the penlight, his other hand edged to the pistol hidden at the small of his back. “How far to that fuse box?”

  “About six feet. It’s just above the power meter on your right.”

  Wolfe opened the door and listened. Nothing moved. He felt no hint of Cruz or any other intruders. Silently, he followed the wall to the fuse box. “Circuits have been reset. Hold on,” he called.

  A moment later, light flooded from the windows. He closed the box and turned to find Kit staring at him. “Something wrong?”