In Dark Places

Chapter Twenty-one

Robin had no idea how long she'd been out, a minute or an hour. When her eyes opened, she saw Gray leaning over her, a knife in his hand.

"Justin amp;"

"Hey, Doc. You banged your head something fierce."

"You're amp; out of the amp;"

"Straps? Well, yeah. Thanks to my buddy here." The knife flashed. It was long and shiny and looked like one of those knives used by assassins. What was the name? A stiletto.

And now it was held inches from her throat, and even in the dim light of the computer console she could see its leading edge slick with blood.

He read her thoughts. "Don't worry. Not gonna cut ya."

"No?" The word was thin and faint and distant.

"Just need your cooperation for a minute. Roll over."

"What?"

"On your belly."

She was frozen. She couldn't move.

Gray grabbed her shoulder, shoved her onto her side, and she remembered the deputy in the waiting room. She wanted to scream, but only a hoarse whisper escaped her throat. "Help amp;"

"He can't hear you, Doc. Believe me." She remembered the blood on the knife. "Just roll over and quit making things so friggin' difficult."

He flopped her on her belly, and she felt his hands on her back. She tensed up, her entire body rigid. Then he was stripping off the beige suit jacket she'd worn today.

"Got it. Thanks for your assistance."

She craned her neck, staring up at him as he shrugged on the jacket and buttoned it. The fit was tight across his wide shoulders, but the fabric didn't tear.

"Need something to hide my jailhouse rags," he said by way of explanation. "Already got the lower extremities covered."

For the first time she noticed that he was wearing a blue cap on his head and blue pants over his jumpsuit. Items from the deputy's uniform.

As he fastened the last button, it occurred to her that both of his hands were free, which meant he wasn't carrying the knife. Her gaze cut to the floor and there it was, a foot away, within reach if she dared to try for it amp;

Too late. He snatched it up again.

"Interested in this?" He squatted, resting a knee on the small of her back, and drew the weapon close to her face. "Pretty, ain't it? A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Or so they tell me."

It was close now, so close she could see that it was not a stiletto, not a knife at all. It was a flathead screwdriver. The blood on it was glossy, dripping.

"Christ, I get pissed off at you sometimes," Gray said.

"You do?" She kept her tone neutral.

"The way you run me through my fucking paces, a rat in a maze. That's all I ever was to you. A lab rat."

She didn't dare challenge him by contesting what he said. "I'm sorry you felt that way," she whispered.

"You ain't sorry. You're just scared I'm gonna rip out your freaking throat." The screwdriver eased up against the soft underside of her chin. "It wouldn't be hard amp;"

She waited.

"Who the fuck was he, anyway?" he asked.

The question was incomprehensible. "Who was amp; who?"

"Him. The jagoff that KO'd you. Mr. Cool."

She was lost. "Mr. Cool?"

"Well, I gotta admit, I thought it was pretty cool, the way he snuck up behind both of us and never made a peep. I mean, the shoes that dude was wearingI gotta have 'em."

"I don't know what you mean."

"The guy that clocked you. What's the story there?"

"I thought amp; I amp;" She selected her words with care, conscious of the screwdriver testing her throat. "I thought you were the one who amp;"

"Brained you? Not sayin' I wouldn't have, but Mr. Cool beat me to the punch. The punch, ha, that's kinda funny."

"Yes. Funny."

The blade tickled her skin. "I don't hear you laughing."

"I guess the concussion robbed me of my sense of humor."

He grunted. "Petty theft. You saying you don't recollect Mr. Cool?"

"I'm sorry. I don't."

"You looked right at him. That pen thingamabob flashed a light in his face. You had to see him."

"I don't remember any of that."

"Bullshit."

"A lot of times a blow to the head will result in minor amnesia. Memory loss."

"Yeah, I know what amnesia is. So you're blaming your bad memory on the concussion, too?"

"It's the only explanation."

"You probably think I'm shittin' you."

"No, Justin, I don't." She kept her voice toneless.

"You think there never was no Mr. Cool. Right?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're thinking it. But you're wrong. I didn't mess you up. Didn't waste the Deputy Dawg neither."

"Okay."

"Mr. Cool must've iced him on the way in. Slit his throat nice and quiet. Silence n' violence. You got to respect that."

"Uh-huh."

"He was dead already, is what I'm saying. I didn't do him. He was lying mere in the other room when I ran out."

She went along with his story because she had no choice. "Chasing Mr. Cool."

"Fuck, no. Being chased by him. Yeah, I tangled with him for a sec, but all I had was this fucking screwie. Who knows what hardware that cat was carrying? So I make a run for it into the waiting room. Then I see the deputy, and his piece is still in the holster. This piece here."

He drew a gun out of the waistband of his pants. Robin pulled in a shallow breath.

"I snatch it," Gray said, "and I come back inside. Figure the odds are evened up."

"I see."

"It's a shame you was asleep for all this. You missed the whole damn show."

"Sounds like it."

"We played cat-and-mouse in the shadows for a minute or so." He snorted. "Minute, hellmore like ten seconds, probably. Then Mr. Cool hightails it outta here."

"You scared him off."

Gray shrugged, snugging the gun in his pants again. "Maybe he just remembered he left something on the stove. So who was he?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"You got an enemies list that long? Doc, you been hanging out with the wrong people. Hey, you know what? I bet I saved your damn life. Bet he woulda sliced you open just like the Deputy Dawg if I hadn't furnished a distraction."

She wondered if he believed the story himself. He might have suffered a psychotic break. "That's true."

"Woulda gutted the heart out of you, I bet. Then found a way to pin it on me."

"Probably."

"No probably about it. I gave you life, Doc Robin. And what I giveth I can taketh away."

The blade nuzzled her throat like the snout of an animal. Robin held her breath.

"Nah," he said, withdrawing the weapon. "Sorry, Doc. You ain't my type. I like 'em young and nubile. You're too goddamn old."

He stood, then glanced around the office and found her purse. Digging through it, he extracted her wallet and a key chain.

"I'll be needing cash and a set of wheels. If you don't mind amp;" He checked the logo on the key chain. "Saab. Nice. I seen that one parked out back. The nine-five, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see it gets back to you in good condition. And by the way, when you talk to the cops, be sure to tell 'em I did you a good deed. Not that it'll matter none. I'm still gonna be America's Most Wanted." He grinned, as if pleased with the prospect. "Ta-ta."

He left the room, and she started breathing again.