Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 24

Raine jumped to her feet when she heard the lock rattle, wrapping the blanket around herself. She was shaking, but not with fear. She had left fear so far behind she didn't even remember what it felt like.

Seth let himself in, dropping the heavy, palm-sized padlock on top of the dresser. He laid a plate next to it, with something wrapped in a napkin. She was relieved to see that his wound was dressed. The white bandage showed up starkly against his golden skin. A threadbare red flannel shirt hung open over his bloodstained jeans. He held an open bottle of whiskey by the neck. He took a deep swallow.

“You're drunk,” she said.

His eyes glittered, with a wild, faraway look. “Medication,” he said, pointing to the bandage. “This hurts. I brought you a sandwich, if you're hungry.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Suit yourself.” He took another swig.

She pulled the blanket tighter. “Are you going to give me some clothes?” She made her voice sharp and businesslike.

He set the bottle on the dresser next to the padlock and advanced upon her slowly. “I don't see the point,” he said. He seized the corner of the blanket and jerked it down, frowning when he saw the nightgown. “That thing is still wet, Raine. You'll make yourself sick. Take it off. The room's warm now. Too warm.”

“I don't want to be naked with you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as soon as it left her mouth and saw the hot flash in his eyes.

“Tough,” he said. He jerked the thin straps down, his hands lingering on her skin as he shoved the nightgown over her hips. It felt to the floor around her muddy, scratched feet She forced herself not to flinch back, or cover herself. She straightened up and composed her face. Let him look. She could still be dignified, even if she was naked.

He studied her body with greedy, minute attention to detail. A dull flush was burned deep into his high cheekbones, and his hands scalded her as they clasped her waist and slid up over her ribs. His fingers explored her carefully, as if he were memorizing her.

Despite his unstable mood and the whiskey on his breath, she was absolutely unafraid of him. She placed the back of her hand against his cheek. “You're feverish,” she said quietly.

“Tell me about it. Every time I look at you.”

“You should take an aspirin, or some—”

“What a joke,” he cut her off, as if she hadn't spoken. “The first time I lose my mind for a woman, and it has to play out like this.”

She pressed her hands against his burning forehead, trying to cool him down. “You know that I would never do anything to hurt you,” she murmured.

“Shhh. We're not going to discuss it.”

“But Seth, we have to—”

He put his finger over her lips. “No, we don't Off limits. Don't want to go there.”

She'd crashed into this stone wall before, but it didn't intimidate her anymore. Not now that she had seen what was on the other side; his gentleness, his enormous capacity for tenderness. She slid her hands under his shirt and around his waist, careful not to touch the bandage.

He jerked back and stiffened. His hands fell away from her. “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

“Getting warm. You won't give me any clothes, and I'm cold.”

He held himself rigid. “Not a good idea. I'm not in control of myself tonight. At all. Don't push me, Raine.”

She pressed her cheek against his burning chest, rubbed it gently against his flat brown nipple. “I know you,” she said, in a soft, stubborn voice. “You can't scare me, Seth Mackey.”

“Oh yeah?” His arms closed around her, his heat scorching her. “Well, you scare me, babe. You scare me to death.”

She pulled him closer and twined herself around him. His response was instantaneous, and she almost wept with relief when she felt the familiar flare of heat from him. She needed all of his devouring hunger, all of his volcanic heat to drive away the bleak horror of what she had seen tonight. She caressed the hot length of his erection and unbuckled his jeans, wrapping her ringers around his hard, fever-hot penis.

It all moved very fast from that point. He toppled her onto the futon, pinning her against the tangle of blankets, his boots still on, his jeans shoved down. She stared at the ceiling, wide open, and cried out when he shoved himself inside her. It was too soon; she wasn’t soft or wet enough, but she didn't care, she needed this to melt the glacial cold. To make her feel alive again.

It only hurt for the first few rough, awkward thrusts. His breath was harsh and ragged against her neck. His muscles clenched, fighting for control. He drew himself out slowly, surged in again. Already she was softening; he glided more easily with every deep stroke. She twined her legs around his damp, muddy jeans.

His face was a taut grimace of pain. “You're killing me, Raine.”

“No.” She pulled his face back down to hers. 'I'm loving you.”

He wrenched away from her kiss. “I want to believe you,” he rasped.

She caressed his face, her body pulsing seductively beneath his. The pain in his voice tore at her. “Trust me,” she whispered.

He froze, wedged deep inside her. Time stopped Everything stopped. The two of them were clenched together as tightly as a fist. She held her breath, staring into his eyes.

His mouth hardened. He shook his head and pulled out of her body. “Roll over.”

“No!” She tried to pull him back. “At least look me in the face while we make love. You owe me that much.”

“It's not love, and I don't owe you a damn thing.”

He flipped her onto her stomach. She turned her face to the side and shut her eyes against the intense feeling of vulnerability, the heat of his hands caressing her bottom, his thighs wedged between hers. He shoved her open, his weight settling down on her, and penetrated her, pushing himself slowly, deeply into her body.

“Damn you,” he muttered under his breath.

He pushed away the hair that covered her face and pressed his face against her neck. He stayed that way, vibrating with tension. She pried her arm out from beneath her chest with some difficulty, and grasped one of his big, trembling fists that gripped the blanket by her head. She pulled it to her face and kissed it.

A shudder jerked through him. He lifted his weight off, curving himself over her. Warming and sheltering her. He slid his hand beneath her hips, his long, sensitive fingers seeking until he found her tender cleft. He caressed her slick, swollen clitoris with delicate skill.

“You see?” she whispered, pushing back to take in more of him. “It is love, Seth. It's always like this with us. It always will be. We can't hurt each other. It's against our nature.”

“Shhh. Hold still.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “Fm right on the edge. I don't want to come yet. Don't move.”

Raine waited for him for as long as she could, but the wild woman inside her wanted to drive him over the edge and force him to face the truth about the two of them. She arched her back and slid up and down his hard, pulsing shaft, clenching and releasing. She pleasured herself with his body, hungry and bold. Demanding everything he had to give.

Helplessly, he followed her, giving her the rhythm she wanted. He couldn't deny her what she needed for one second, or even try to resist the force that moved them. He was hers, all hers. Fierce joy blazed through her as she pulled him after her, his wrenching explosion of pleasure echoing her own. His body jerked and pulsed into hers, and his cry sounded like a shout of protest.

After several breathless, panting minutes, Seth sat up and started yanking at the laces of his boots. He pulled them off, peeled off his jeans and flung them away too. He lay back down behind her, pulling her close so that her whole back was pressed against his hot chest. His penis, still hard, prodded her buttocks. She gasped as he thrust himself slowly back inside her. His arm clamped across her waist.

“Go to sleep “ he said. “I want to stay right here. Inside you.”

She clutched the thick muscles of his forearm and almost laughed at the ridiculous idea. As if she could sleep in that condition, so utterly penetrated by his body. Then she felt the liquid heat trickling down her thigh, and tingled with shock. “Seth. We didn't use anything.”

His teeth sank delicately into her shoulder, dragging across her damp skin. “No. The condoms are back at the hotel. Want to go ask the McClouds if we can raid their stash?”

“No “ she whispered.

“I didn't think you'd be into that.”

Raine dug her nails into his arm as his teeth and tongue moved their delicate, nibbling caresses to the back of her neck. “It's amazing, without,” he said, in a wondering voice. “I can feel every juicy little detail. I want to explode the second I'm inside you. And I thought I had all this self-control.” His hips pulsed against her bottom and he swelled inside her, sliding in and out. “I could rack you all night long, no problem. I haven't done it without latex since I was fourteen. Congratulations. You've reduced me to a state of adolescent idiocy.”

She clenched herself around him, dazed by the risk they were taking, and all that it implied. “You'll never forgive me for that, will you?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Seth, I—”

“Shhh. No more talk.”

The flat, hard tone in his voice silenced her. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and squeezed her eyes shut At least he was touching her with passionate tenderness. His body knew the truth. She felt it in the way his hands caressed her belly, her breasts, the way his fingers fluttered skillfully between her legs while he surged heavily into her from behind in a slow, relentless cadence.

That went on forever, timeless and lazy and delicious, but finally he began to deepen his strokes, his bream sawing harshly into his mouth against her neck. He muttered something incoherent and jerked her up onto her hands and knees.

That was even better; now she could move, arching and straining against him. She cried out with unbearable excitement at his first deep thrust, and he froze into immobility.

“Don't stop.” Her voice shook with breathless urgency.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he said shakily.

“Damn it, Seth. You're not. You won't.”

She incited him with her panting eagerness, and he let go and gave her what she clearly wanted, deep and hard and driving. She braced herself and thrust back to meet him, reaching for her release. And he gave it to her. Pleasure stabbed through her whole body, as sharp as a fiery spear at first, and then spreading out in widening ripples of sweet, glowing heat Every cell in her body trembled like wind-ruffled water. He spurted inside her, filling her again with his scalding heat. They sagged down onto the blanket, still joined.

Raine pressed her face into the blanket to hide tears she knew he would not want to see or hear, shaken and moved. She could get pregnant. And she would be glad if she were, no matter what. Terrified, but glad. She had seen death that night, and life called to life, all the messy, confusing heat of it She would never shrink from it again.

She woke sometime in the night. Her face was sore, her battered feet stung, the wool blankets were scratchy. Seth's heavy arm blocked half of her lung capacity, and his penis, still deep inside her, forcibly reminded her of certain mundane bodily functions.

“Seth. Are you sleeping?” she whispered.

He stirred and kissed her neck with a short grunt of negation. “I'm never sleeping again.”

She twisted around. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He pulled out of her and threw back the blanket, reaching for his jeans. “Come on. I'll show you.”

She wrapped a blanket around herself and followed him through the dim corridor. He opened a door, yanked a chain to turn on the light and gestured her in, closing the door after her.

The room was so huge the bathroom fixtures looked lost in it. She took care of her business and eyed the ancient, mineral-stained clawfoot tub. It occurred to her how badly she was in need of a wash.

She peeked out the door. “I want a bath “ she told him.

“Go for it.” He headed back toward the bedroom.

She set the water running. The door opened and Seth entered with the electric heater in his arms. He plugged it in and set it on high, crossed his arms and waited. He was so beautiful, in only his jeans. He dazzled her. Even his long brown feet were graceful and beautiful.

“Would you give me a little privacy?” she asked tentatively.

“No.”

He returned her stare, patient and implacable. Water roared into the tub and steam rose up in seductive plumes. Raine gave into the inevitable with a sigh, and let the blanket slide off her shoulders. Seth caught it and hung it on a hook above the heater.

She knotted her hair up onto her head. It needed washing too, but she couldn't face having it wet again. She stepped into the water, wincing as it stung her abused feet. She sank into it, closed her eyes and floated, letting the roar of the faucet fill her ears.

Seth turned the water off when it reached her chin, and she opened her eyes. He sat cross-legged by the tub, gazing at her with unnerving intensity. He took the soap out of the dish and fished out her foot, lathering it. He paid attention to every toe, every bruise and scratch, stroking and petting and massaging her. He lowered the foot into the water, seized the other foot and gave it the same loving treatment. There was no sound in the room but the hollow slosh and drip of water as he caressed her.

Her heart ached with love for him. “I didn't sell you out,” she said quietly. “Someday you'll know I'm telling the truth.”

He lifted her leg out of the water and ran the soap along the length of her calf. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, her voice belligerent. “You're going to feel like a total shit for not trusting me. And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.”

A smile touched his solemn mouth. “Terrifying prospect”

“We'll see how much you like it when it happens,” she warned. “You already know the truth, if you'd just let yourself believe it.”

He caressed her knee. “Truth is a relative thing,” he commented.

“Oh, stop it,” she snapped. “Now you sound like Victor.”

His soapy fingers tightened and lost their grip. Her leg splashed back down into the tub. He wiped the splashed soapsuds off his face with his arm. “Don't compare me to him. The way things are going, I doubt I'll live long enough to find out.”

She jerked up as if she had been bitten. “Don't say that!”

The water sloshed perilously close to the lip of the tub. He was retreating from her. His remote voice made her think of the dream. Her father on the boat, his eyes sunken and shadowy, drifting farther and farther away. “Please don't say that,” she repeated, fighting tears.

“Try not to sweat it,” he said quietly. “The angel of death in a black ski mask can jump out of the dark anytime. All you can do is look sharp and seize the moment. Like the moment I'm seizing right now.”

He pushed her back down against the curved back of the tub. Raine bit her shaking lip and leaned back, abandoning herself to the love she felt in his big hands. He was right. If this was all there was, then she'd better seize every moment of tenderness she could from him.

She let go and yielded to his tender skill; letting his clever fingers untie every knot, undo her, unravel her. He laved every curve, smoothing her like a potter molding clay. He pulled her up onto her knees so he could wash between her legs, and she held on tight to his muscular shoulders so that she didn't shimmer and melt down into the water. His slick, soapy fingers delved into every crevice and fold, making bold use of his intimate knowledge of her. She braced herself against him, shaking with the intensity of her feelings.

Seth pushed her back down into the water, rinsing the suds away. The water, full of soap, had turned as opaque as milk. He reached between her legs, locking eyes with her, and slid his hand beneath her bottom, pulling her to the surface of the water until he could see the flower of her sex, pink and swollen. He touched her as only he could, a magical sensitivity that always knew exactly when to push, when to retreat, when to insist. He pushed and coaxed and caressed until the power tore through her, unleashed Huge and terrifying and beautiful. A blaze of love and longing that blotted out fear.

She drifted in the cooling water, feeling newly born.

All too soon, he was pulling her to her feet. He toweled her off, pulled the blanket off the hook over the heater and wrapped her in it. It was deliciously warm. He scooped her into his arms, and she relaxed against him like a sleepy baby, boneless. No protests or arguments.

He laid her down on the futon and shoved off his waterlogged jeans. He crouched over her, covering her with his naked, scalding heat. “OK. It's make-believe time,” he said. 'This is the part in the story where you show me how much you love me.”

She reached for him. “Seth—”

“Please don't. The less you say, the more believable it will be.”

She stared up into his fierce dark eyes. This was as far as he could come towards her. They were so far outside the bounds of the normal, ordinary world that she no longer took anything for granted. A million impossible things might be true, another million solid truths might be sheer illusion. But one thing was for sure. She loved him. He had saved her life. He was beautiful, and brave and valiant. He had told her that he loved her tonight, and he had meant it with all his heart No one else in her whole life had ever done so much.

What was true would stay true, whether he let himself believe it or not. And if he wouldn't let her use words to tell him so, then she would use the only language left to her.

She held out her arms. She would make him understand.

The window was black when the low knock sounded on the door.

Seth lifted his head as if he'd never slept at all. “Yes?” “Showtime,” someone said quietly.

I'll be right down.” He flipped on the light and pulled on his clothes in grim silence.

Raine sat up, trying to think of something to say. Seth ignored her, yanking on the shirt. The bandage had seeped blood in the night. He gave it a brief, barely interested glance and buttoned the shirt over it without comment.

Panic uncoiled inside her. “You're following that gun, aren't you? The Corazon?”

He didn't answer.

Images blazed through her mind. Crimson spattered on white, the blood on Seth's bandage. His red shirt. Tulips on the floor. The curse of the Corazon. The words flew out of her, with all the urgency of terror.

“OK, you win, Seth. I admit it. I told Victor everything. Don't go. It's a trap.”

He smiled as he dropped to his knees by the futon, but his eyes were somber. “You are a piece of work, sweetheart. I never know which way you'll jump.”

“Seth, I—”

He cut off her words with a swift, hard kiss. “Be good.”

He grabbed the padlock, and shot her a quick grin; crooked and oddly sweet. The door closed, the lock rattled and clicked.

She heard his light footsteps, going down the stairs, and a faint, faraway murmur of male voices. It was always the same; the panic, the frustration. The boat, floating away, and herself too small and helpless to intervene. The headlights danced across the trees as the car drove away. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

After a long time, she slid back into an uneasy doze. Images melted and reformed in her mind, finally coalescing into the rippling expanse of water that stretched out from Stone Island.

Thunder rumbled, far-off and ominous. Fitful gusts of wind made her fathers sails billow and flap. He wouldn't take her with him. He wanted to be alone; always that same apologetic half-smile; sorry, Katya, but I don't have the energy to be cheered up. I need to be quiet and think. Run back on up to the house to your mother, eh? She needs you.

What a joke. Alix needing her, hah. The boat drifted far-then He waved to her, and she remembered the dream she'd had that night. She called out to him, blubbering with panic, but he just hoisted sail and drifted farther. When she had dreams like that, something bad always happened. And if Alix saw her with red eyes, she would just say, oh, for God's sake, stop whining, Katie, I'm losing my patience.

She curled up beneath the roots of a dead tree that jutted out over the water. Waves had carved out a spot beneath just big enough for an eleven-year-old girl, small for her age, to curl up tight in a ball and watch that faraway sail bob on the water. As long as she could see it, nothing bad could happen. She didn't even dare blink. It would break the spell.

She heard heavy, clumping footsteps on the dock. Ed Riggs was the only one who walked like that. Katya had never liked Ed, even if he was her mother's good friend. He talked to Daddy like Daddy was stupid, when Daddy was the smartest man in the world except for maybe Victor. Ed pretended to be nice, but he wasn't. And lately, she'd had dreams about him. Like the one she 'd had last night.

He stood on the dock in front of her, watching the sail float and bob against the water, as frail and delicate as a white moth. He watched for a long time, like he was deciding something. She was outwardly quiet but her heart was thudding as he untied the boat, put the motor down and headed out. Diesel fumes floated over to her hidey-hole and almost made her sick. He headed right for that white sail, a black dot, receding until he was too small to see. The wind began to rise, and the water whipped and frothed, surging over the pebbles to slosh over her feet. The sky wasn't white anymore. It was brownish, yellowish gray, like a bruise. Thunder rolled, closer. It began to rain.

She kept her eyes fixed on that white moth, afraid even to blink; but the eye spell wouldn'twork anymore, Ed had bro- ken it. She pretended her eyes were a rope that could putt him back, but the white moth bobbed and tossed, resisting the pull of her eyes.

The dark speck grew slowly bigger again.

She scrambled out of the hidey-hole, wading over to the ladder of roots. She scampered up to the path. She didn't want to be stuck between Ed and the water, not after last night's dream. It was so dart Then she realized she was still wearing the frog sunglasses. Duh, of course it was dark, but she couldn't see well enough without them to take them off.

Ed was almost on top of her before he noticed she was there. His eyes went so wide that she could see the whites all the way around.

“What did you do to my daddy? “ she demanded.

Ed's mouth dropped open beneath his thick mustache. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking, but it wasn't cold outside.

“What are you doing out here in the rain, honey? “

“Where's my daddy? “ she said again, louder.

Ed stared at her for a moment, and then squatted down in front of her. He held out his hand. “Come on, Katie. I'll take you to your daddy.”

He smiled his nice-guy smile, but a flash of lightning illuminated what the smile really was—something horrible, as if snakes were coming out of his eyes and mouth. Like that horror movie she'd watched on TV one night while the grownups were partying.

Thunder crashed. She screamed and sprang away from him like a racehorse out of the gate. She was fast, but his legs were long. His hands closed on her arm, but she was as slippery as a fish. She wrenched out of his grip. The frog glasses flew, but she kept running, screaming, into the featureless green blur....

A knock sounded, and she sat up, choking back a scream. It sounded again; the same polite little tap which must have yanked her out of the nightmare. She wrapped herself hastily in the blanket, her heart still racing. “Come in,” she called out cautiously.

The padlock rattled, and the door opened. It was the skinny man with the cane, holding a wad of limp looking clothing against his chest. Seth had called him Connor. He regarded her with cool, somber eyes. “Good morning,” he said.

“You didn't go with them?”

His face tightened. “The gimp gets baby-sitting duty.” He indicated his cane. “I'm not happy about it, either, so let's not discuss it, please.”

“Why didn't you just lock me up and go?” she asked. “I'd never get out of this room.”

“Exactly. Totally aside from the fact that two hit men attacked you last night. If, God forbid, all four of us should get wasted messing with those guys, you would die of dehydration in this room before anybody heard you yelling. We don't have any near neighbors.”

She swallowed hard, and looked away.

“Yeah, makes you think, doesn't it? Personally, I thought you'd already rolled your dice. You should take your chances with the rest of us. But Seth wouldn't hear of it.”

“He wouldn't?”

Connor's eyes flicked over her. “No” he repeated. “He wouldn't.”

He laid a pile of clothing on the dresser. “None of us live up here full time, so we don't have a lot of clothes here. I scrounged up some of Sean's stuff from when he was a kid. Don't know how they'll fit, but they ought to be better than your nightie.”

“Yes, I'm sure they will be,” she said gratefully.

“Come on downstairs once you're dressed, if you want. There's coffee ready, and food if you're hungry.”

“You're not going to lock me up?”

He leaned both hands on his cane and narrowed his sharp green eyes at her. “Are you going to do anything stupid?”

She shook her head. Despite the cane, she was no match for this man. With that hard, purposeful look on his face, he seemed almost as dangerous in his own way as Seth. AH of the McCloud brothers had given her that impression.

'Thank you for the clothes,” she said “I’LL be down shortly.”

The clothes on the dresser were a threadbare, motley assortment. The best of the lot was a pair of low-slung jeans that were tight in the hips, but had to be cuffed three times to find her feet. Rude antisocial slogans had been scribbled over them with blunt felt-tip markers. The only shirt without too many holes was a shrunken, threadbare black Megadeth T-shirt with the neck ripped out. It did not quite succeed in covering her navel, and stretched perilously tightly across her breasts.

There was a pair of high-top sneakers whose original color was impossible to determine, warped and yellowed with age. They were inches too long, as floppy as clown shoes, and rasped painfully against her sore feet, but she pulled the laces tight and was pathetically grateful for every stitch of the ragged getup.

There was a series of framed drawings and paintings on the wall of the stairway. She slowed down to look at them as she descended. Some were charcoal, some pen-and-ink, some watercolors. They were mostly landscapes, animals and trees. Their simplicity and power drew her in and made her think of the vast, silent mystery of Stone Island.

Connor did a double-take when she walked into the kitchen. “Jesus” he said, turning quickly. “Ah... oh, yeah. Coffee's in the machine, right there. Cups over the sink. Cream in the fridge. Bread on the counter, if you want toast. Butter, jam, peanut butter or cream cheese are your choices.”

She poured herself some coffee. “Those drawings on the stairs are beautiful,” she said. “Who's the artist?”

“Those were done by my younger brother, Kevin.”

She pulled a quart of half-and-half out of the refrigerator and dosed her coffee. “Is Kevin one of the brothers that I met last night?”

“No,” Connor said. “Kevin died ten years ago. Car accident.”

She stared at him, clutching the carton. The refrigerator swung open until it bounced against the wall, rattling the jars of condiments.

Connor gave it a gentle shove. It swung closed with a thud. “That's one of the many reasons we're helping Seth,” he said. “The McClouds know how it feels to lose a brother.”

She stared at the bread browning in the toaster oven. Her mouth was dry, and her appetite gone. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“Sit down,” Connor said. “Eat something. You're awfully pale.”

She forced down some toast with peanut butter at his urging, and he gave her a flannel-lined denim jacket, the sleeves of which came down five inches past her fingertips.

“I'm going to work here in the office. I'd appreciate it if you'd stay right where I can see you,” he said briskly. “There's a couch, and an afghan if you're cold. Books in the bookcase. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” She curled up on the couch and stared out the window. Connor was staring into the computer, absorbed, and she realized what he must be looking at.

“You've got X-Ray Specs software running on that computer, right? You're tracking the Corazon!” She leaped to her feet. “Can I—”

“Stay where you are and mind your business, please.” His eyes and voice were hard. “Try to relax.”

“Sure,” she whispered. Yeah, right. As if.

She dropped onto the couch, tucked her feet beneath her and stared out at the fog drifting through the pines. A rent in the clouds revealed a snowy mountain peak across the canyon, glowing a deep, sunrise pink. The shifting colors made her think of opals.

An ugly chill crawled up her spine. She thought of Seth's boat. Slipping the Dreamchaser into his inside jacket pocket. She had forgotten all about it. Seth had never known about it at all. He had no reason to think anyone had tampered with his jacket.

Oh, dear God. It was the necklace. It had to be. It was her fault that assassins had been chasing them, and finding them. She leaped up, her heart in her throat.

At that moment, gravel crunched under car tires in the driveway.

“Connor, I have to tell you something,” she began. “I—”

“Shhh.” He waved her down with a sharp motion of his hand and limped over to the window. 'This is weird,” he murmured. “I didn't know he knew about this place.”

“Who?”

“A guy I work with,” Connor peered out the window, perplexed. “Or work for, I should say, since he just got promoted. Go upstairs. Quick. He might come in for a cup of coffee. Stay up there until I tell you it's clear. And Raine?”

She turned back from the foot of the stairs. “Yes?”

“Do not make me regret letting you out of that room.”

She nodded and ran up the stairs for the attic. She edged towards the window that overlooked the porch roof. There was no curtain. Looking out meant risking being seen, and would infuriate Connor. The man was his colleague, for God's sake. His boss; surely not a threat to her.

But Ski Mask's bloodshot eyes and the blank, dead eyes of the motel assassin haunted her. She had learned to take nothing for granted in the past five days. Not looking out the window meant risking something decidedly worse than Connor McCloud's irritation.

She crept closer on tiptoe, keeping back in the shadows, but the men were too close to the porch. She had to get closer. The screen door slammed shut. Connor greeted the visitor. His voice was not particularly friendly, just neutral. Questioning. She could not hear what they said through the double-paned storm window.

The man responded, his voice deeper than Connor's baritone. Goose bumps rose up on her spine. She drew nearer. If he looked up, he would see her for sure. From this angle, she saw only that he was balding, somewhat heavy, bulked out in a black winter jacket. Glasses. Connor asked another inaudible question. He responded with a shrug.

Connor hesitated, then nodded. He said something else, probably inviting the man into the house, and turned around.

She choked off a useless scream of warning when the man's hand flashed out, snake-swift. The butt of his pistol connected with Connor's head, and he dropped to the ground without a sound. The man knelt beside him for a moment, touching his throat. He stood up, pressing against his belly with his hand. He looked around.

He looked up. Their eyes locked It was the man she had seen when she had gone to see Bill Haley. Her mother’s friend, Ed Riggs. Older and heavier, minus the mustache, but there was no mistaking him. He had tried to kill her seventeen years ago. He was back to finish the job.

He disappeared under the porch roof. She looked around the empty room with a sickening sense of deja vu. God, stuck again in a bedroom with no weapons. The lamp was useless, a fragile frame of dusty bamboo and muslin. There was the whiskey bottle on the dresser. She grabbed it, hefted it. Almost empty. Only slightly better than nothing.

He was not going to be taken in by her lurking behind a door with a bottle, and there was no point in cowering and waiting for him to come to her. She'd tried that approach, and could say with complete authority that the waiting-and-cowering option truly sucked the big one. Particularly since nobody was rushing to her rescue this time. Seth was off pursuing the Corazon. Connor was laid out cold on the gravel outside. She hoped to God he wasn't dead or seriously injured.

It was up to her. But then again, it always had been.

Raine gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle. Saw the heavy, palm-sized padlock lying next to it, and grabbed that, too. She hid the bottle behind her leg, dragged in a long, slow, hitching breath, and started for the head of the stairs. She was scared to death, but she would pretend not to be. Who knew better than she how to pretend? Her whole life was leading up to this moment. The grand, ultimate pretense. She did not bother to walk quietly. In fact, she stomped. As much as one could stomp, in a pair of floppy clown shoes.

“Hello, Ed.”

Riggs turned the corner at the landing. His jaw sagged.

It was a tableau from a cheap graphic novel. The girl poised at the top of the stairs, looking down her nose at him. Legs planted wide, chest stuck out. In that ragged, sexpot outfit with her hair frizzed out all over the place, he could see why Novak wanted her. Even the bruises under her eyes didn't detract from her allure. She looked like a whacked out fashion model on a cocaine binge, sexy and wild and completely unpredictable.

Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself. This was for Erin.

He lifted the gun and pointed it at her. “I don't want to hurt you.”

The contempt on her face did not change. “Then why are you pointing that gun at me, Ed?”

“You have to come with me now,” he told her. “If you don't do anything stupid, you won't get hurt.”

She took a step down. Before he realized what he was doing, he had retreated back a step, as if she were a threat to him.

“You killed my father.” Her voice vibrated with hatred.

He kept the gun trained on her, but she didn't seem to notice, or care. “Old news,” he said, sneering. “Besides, that was a mercy killing. Peter was a suicide waiting to happen. I just put him out of his misery. Come on down, nice and slow, Katie. Make this easy on yourself, OK?”

Her eyes were glowing oddly, like Victor's when the mood was on him. Her face was unearthly pale, like a vampire in a horror flick.

“Why should I?” she said. “You're just going to kill me anyway. Like you tried to do when I was a kid. Remember that, Ed? I sure do.”

“You were a snotty little bitch back then, too. I remember that,” he snarled. “Come on, Katie. Be a good girl. One foot after the other.”

“Fuck you. You killed my daddy, you pig.”

Her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl, and her arm whipped out from behind her, where she'd been hiding the liquor bottle. She let out an ear-splitting shriek and hurled it at him.

He flung up his arm and took the goddamned thing on the same sore arm that had blocked the brass lamp last night. He roared with pain, yelped again at the shiny metal thing that spun out of nowhere right after it, clipping him on the jaw.

Then the crazy little bitch took a flying leap, right at him.