One Book In The Grave

Chapter 9

“Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.

Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.

Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.

Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?

But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Did he wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.

What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?

Did he kill Joe Taylor?

“Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.

“What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

“They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”

“Robson knows you’re here?”

“He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.

I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”

“Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max-er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”

As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.

Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.

“Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”

“Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.

Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.

Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.

“Anyone hit?” Derek asked.

“No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”

“We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.

I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too. What is going on?

“We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”

“How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.

Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowing gaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”

I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”

He glared at me with the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Derek and Gabriel had positioned themselves at opposite sides of the picture window and were taking turns peering outside. I’d forgotten about the shooter in the past ten seconds or so. Luckily, my companions hadn’t. I pondered whether it might’ve been an errant hunter whose gun had gone off accidentally.

No, I didn’t really believe that, either.

Max and I continued our staring contest until I noticed the lines bracketing his mouth soften a bit and the storm clouds in his eyes clear. And just like that, he was the carefree Max I knew from my youth. Outwardly, anyway. There had to be demons inside him. How could there not be after all this time alone?

“Fine, Brooklyn. Go ahead and say what you were going to say.”

I smiled tentatively. “Can I have a hug first?”

He huffed. “Damn it, Brooklyn.” Two seconds later, he grabbed me in a tight hug. The dog barked cheerfully. I laughed in surprise, then buried my face in his barrel chest and breathed in his scent. After a moment, I eased back.

“You look good, honey,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.

“You do, too, Max. You look alive, and that’s a good thing.” I sniffled as misty tears fogged my eyes.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, ill at ease.

“Yeah, about that,” I echoed, then stepped back and punched him hard in the stomach.

The dog barked once.

“Ow!” Max rubbed his stomach. “What was that for?”

“Oh, please,” I said, shaking and flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again. “That hurt me more than it hurt you. And you know what it was for. You’ve been lying to all of us for three years.”

“It was important. Still is.” The dog came over and nudged his leg. Max patted his back, then glared at me. “You know, I always wondered if my enemies would ever discover I was alive, but I never figured it would be my friends who would lead them straight to me.”

Gabriel took a step forward. “You’ll want to ratchet back on the accusations, Jack.”

“Brooklyn didn’t lead anyone to you,” Derek retorted as he flanked me. “Your enemies know you’re alive. It was a matter of time before they found you. You’re lucky we found you first.”

“Lucky?” He snorted. “How the hell would they know I’m alive if not for you?”

“Because it didn’t begin here today,” I said softly. The Lab came over and sat in front of me, staring and panting.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I bent down to let him sniff my hand.

“It’s Buckminster,” Max said. “Bucky when he’s good.”

“Hello, Bucky,” I said, patting his back as I observed Max.

But Max wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Maybe he was starting to figure things out for himself. But then, obstinate to the end, he threw me another angry look. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, well, about that.” Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. Glancing around for the first time, I pointed at the couch and chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Before you get into it,” Derek said, first meeting my gaze, then looking at Max, “do you have a back door?”

“Yeah,” he said, jabbing his thumb toward a doorway. “Through the kitchen.”

“Good. Gabriel and I will circle the area, and if the shooter’s still out there, we’ll trap him from behind.”

“I’ll go with you,” Max said, grabbing his rifle from the corner of the room where he’d left it.

Bucky immediately stood at attention.

“Somebody should stay here,” Derek said, casting a quick look at me.

“It’s my land,” Max said.

Derek studied him. “Are you willing to return fire if it comes down to it?”

“Stone’s in security,” Gabriel said, as if that explained Derek’s question.

“What do you do?” Max said, scowling at Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. Right now, I’m your best defense against whoever’s out there shooting at you.”

Max’s jaw clenched as he glanced at me. I could see the turmoil in his expression. He was a big man and used to living on his own. But he didn’t have the same kind of killer instinct Gabriel and Derek possessed, and I could tell he was beginning to realize that.

Reluctantly he nodded once, acquiescing to stay behind.

Derek moved into the kitchen with purpose, followed by Gabriel. I rushed after them. “Are you really going out there?” I whispered, feeling my throat dry up.

“Yes,” Derek said. “If there’s the slightest chance someone followed us here, I want to make sure they don’t follow us home.”

“But there haven’t been any more gunshots,” I said a little desperately. “Maybe he’s already gone.”

“That’s what we’ll need to determine,” Gabriel said, and pulled a powerful-looking handgun out from behind his back.

“Oh, my God, what’s that?” I asked stupidly. “That’s a gun. What are you doing with that?”

He grinned. “Relax, babe.”

I stared wildly at Derek. “He’s got a gun.”

“Yes, darling,” he said, and pulled his own weapon out of a holster under his arm.

I felt my eyes cross. “You-you’ve had that with you all this time?”

“Just since we got out of the car,” he said. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Don’t worry? Are you insane?”

He chuckled, leaned over, and kissed me. Then he looked at Max. “You’ll stay with her.”

“Of course. We’ll cook something.”

I laughed a little hysterically. They have to be kidding, I decided.

Max opened the back door and pointed out a few details. “The fig orchard should provide enough cover until you get to the barn. Don’t go inside unless you want to hear a deafening chorus of bleats from the goats.”

“No, thanks,” Derek muttered.

“It’s wide-open on this side-no cover except for the oak tree.” Max pointed the opposite way, then gazed up at the sky. “But it looks about to rain, so maybe he’s already gone.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Gabriel said, and zipped up his black leather jacket against the cold.

I watched them steal out of the house. Derek moved off toward the fig orchard while Gabriel hustled in the opposite direction, out into the open field.

Max shut the door. “Let’s you and me make some pasta sauce.”

“I thought you were kidding,” I said, gripping the kitchen counter nervously as I stared out the window over the sink. “I can’t cook while they’re out there.”

“You’re not cooking. I am,” he said. “You can talk to me. Tell me what the hell you’re all doing on my farm.”

“I thought it was Robson’s farm.” I sounded like a snotty little sister, which was probably how he’d always thought of me.

“Robson bought this place with my money,” he explained as he pulled a frying pan off the pot rack over the stove. “I signed power of attorney over to him a few weeks before I left and asked him to buy a few more houses, just in case.”

Just in case someone found you and you had to move quickly, I thought, but didn’t say it. I slid onto one of the stools that was placed next to a beautifully finished, waist-high, dark-stained farmhouse table in the center of the kitchen. “So you had this all worked out before you died? I mean, before you left?”

“Yeah.” He took a chef’s apron off a hook near the door and wrapped it around himself. “I drew up a will making Robson the executor. I had him give some money to a few people and he kept the rest in trust.”

“What in the world happened to make you think you had to go through this charade?”

“It’s a long story, and I need to cook while I talk.” He pulled mushrooms out of the refrigerator and onions out of a bag in the pantry closet, grabbed a head of garlic from a basket on the counter, then cut bits of herbs from several pots perched along the kitchen windowsill. I recognized thyme, oregano, parsley, and basil.

“I never knew you were such a cook.”

“I never was until I moved here,” he said as he briskly chopped the garlic cloves into tiny pieces. “No choice, really. It was learn to cook or starve.”

He scraped all the garlic bits up with the knife and placed them in a small bowl. Then he handed me another knife and a small wood chopping board. “Can you mince the herbs together?”

“Sure.”

He patted my shoulder. “And while you’re at it, tell me why you came here.”

“Oh yeah. Okay.”Although,I reminded myself, it’s Max who has the most explaining to do.

Walking back to the pantry, he pulled out two large jars of tomatoes and put them on the counter by the stove.

“Do you can those tomatoes yourself?”

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his knife again. “They taste better that way. Now talk.”

“Right.” I pushed the stool away and stood to work at the center table. Suddenly a great bundle of fur brushed against my ankles and I almost screamed.

“Meow.”

I looked down at the fat orange creature. “What’s this?”

“It’s a cat,” Max said. “That’s Clydesdale. Clyde, meet Brooklyn.”

“Hello, Clyde,” I said.

He blinked at me, wound his way in and out of my legs, then curled into a ball under the table.

I had to concentrate on chopping herbs and not my fingers as I told him the story. “A few days ago, I got a call from Ian McCullough at the Covington Library. He had a book for me to restore for their new children’s wing. I drove over there Friday morning to pick up the book and was surprised to see it was a copy of Beauty and the Beast.”

He stopped chopping and I noticed his grip on the knife was so tight, his hand was shaking. “Was it…” He shook his head and rolled his shoulders as if he were in a boxing ring, gearing up for a fight.

“Yes, it was the book I gave you and Emily.”

“So. She sold it.” He clamped his jaw shut, pressed his lips together. After a moment, he let out the breath he was holding and slowly continued his chopping.

Men. I rolled my eyes, then said, “No, Max, she didn’t sell the book.”

His chopping stopped again and he flashed a suspicious frown at me, but said nothing.

“It’s true,” I insisted. “Two weeks after you died, someone broke into Emily’s house and stole the book. It’s been missing for three years and it just resurfaced this week.” Kind of like you did, I thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

“So…wait. I’m not following you. Explain how-”

“Just let me finish,” I said, knowing his mind would drift off to Emily if I didn’t get the story out fast. “I knew the book had been stolen from Emily years ago, so I had to break the news to Ian. He let me know who he bought it from, and I drove to that bookstore to talk to the owner, Joe Taylor. I wanted to find out who sold it to Joe-you know? Anyway, when I got there, I found Joe dead. His throat was cut.”

That shook Max up. “Jeez, Brooklyn. I’m sorry.”

I grimaced. “You will be when you hear what the murder weapon was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone slit Joe’s throat open with a special kind of knife. It’s a papermaker’s knife. Four-inch, square-headed blade, common as anything. I think I have three or four of them. You probably do, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. So?”

“So after I was questioned by the police, I went to my car and found my tire had been slashed.”

“Sounds like you were having a bad day.”

“You might say that. Anyway, whoever did it left the weapon stuck in my tire. It was a Japanese paper knife, an expensive one. It had the letters M-A-X carved on the handle.”

He frowned again and stared at the onions as though he might find enlightenment there. Then he looked up at me. “Say that again.”

“I think you heard me.”

“But how in the world…Wait.” His eyes widened and he pointed the chopping knife at me. “You can’t be thinking that I would ever…No. There’s no way. First of all, I don’t even know this bookseller guy. What’d you say his name was? Joe? And second, I haven’t left this godforsaken mountain in three years. I had nothing to do with this. I don’t know how-”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max,” I said as patiently as I could. “But someone’s trying to make it look like you did. They had your tools. They had the book you gave Emily. They put the book out on the market to lure you out. They killed Joe to lure you out. And that means they must know you’re alive.”

“Ah, crap,” he muttered, then followed the word up with an expletive stream that threatened to turn the air blue. Finally out of words, he let his brute strength take over and he plunged his knife into the chopping block with all the force of a category-three hurricane. “Damn it, I know who-”

The kitchen door flew open and I screamed. Derek and Gabriel stomped into the house, looking wild, wet, windblown, and sexier than any two men had a right to be. Especially after scaring me half to death.

But seriously? If I took their picture right now, it would land on the cover of People magazine’s Two Sexiest Men in the World Edition. Just saying.

“Thank God,” I uttered, and wrapped my arms around Derek’s neck. I could feel the cold and wet seeping into me, but I didn’t care. I’d never been so happy to see him.

“Find anyone out there?” Max asked.

“No.”

I grabbed Gabriel and hugged him, too. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“No worries, babe.” He grinned as he took a dish towel off the counter and wiped some of the rain from his face and neck.

“Let me get some more towels,” Max muttered, and stalked out of the room.

“Did you tell him?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said, staring at the door Max had disappeared through. “And I think he was about to tell me who’s responsible when you guys walked in.”

Max came back into the kitchen a moment later and handed towels to Derek and Gabriel. “I’ll make dinner for everyone; then you all need to leave. It’s too dangerous for you here.”

“You know who’s doing this, Max,” I said, grabbing hold of his arms. “Tell us who it is. We can help you.”

He pushed my hands away. “You don’t want to know. You’ve never dealt with anyone like them. They’re relentless. If you leave tonight after dark, you might be able to slip out of town and go back to your lives. Just leave me alone. I can deal with it.”

Gabriel chuckled as he walked out of the room.

Derek leaned his hip against the butcher-block island in the middle of the kitchen. “I can assure you, we’re not leaving without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m afraid you are,” Derek said. “We’ll get you back to Dharma and keep a security detail with you until the person you’re hiding from is found and arrested. Otherwise, you’ll have the police climbing all over this place within hours.”

“You would turn me in?”

Derek shrugged.

Max considered this as he turned on the heat under the frying pan, poured in olive oil, then tossed in the minced garlic. Immediately it began to sizzle. Thirty seconds later, he added the piles of chopped onion and stirred, coating everything with oil. Finally, he looked up and said, “I can’t go back.”

“Someone’s setting you up,” Derek said brusquely. “Either you go back with us and try to clear your name or you’ll be arrested for murder.” Derek pulled out his phone and swiped the screen until he found a picture and showed it to Max. I figured it was the photo he took on Friday of the knife in my tire.

Reluctantly, Max stared at the phone screen for a minute, then handed it back. “It looks like one of the knives I owned, but I didn’t slash your tire, Brooklyn. I left everything behind in my studio when I left. All my tools, my journals-everything.”

“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”

“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, gripping Max’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”

They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”

Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.

Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”

“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.

“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.

Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”

I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.

Is it rude to stare? I didn’t care; I couldn’t help myself. Just because I was madly in love with Derek didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate some other guy’s awesomeness.

And there is the answer, I realized with a start. The secret to Derek’s appeal versus Gabriel’s. Obviously this was a subject to which I’d dedicated long hours of thought, but hadn’t reached an acceptable conclusion-until now.

No doubt about it, Derek defined the word hunk. He was solid. Tall, dark, handsome, protective, dangerous. Great body-did I mention that? But Derek’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, and when he found something he wanted, he took hold of it with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he wanted me, and I was thrilled to let him have his way.

Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.

Hmm.

Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?

I’d have to give that more thought.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”

“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”

“Perfect,” Max said.

“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.

Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it. He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.

“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.

“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.

“Risky,” Gabriel mused.

“What’re you talking about?” I asked.

“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.

Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”

“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.

“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”

“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”

“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”

Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”

Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”

“Or she’s gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.

What?

Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.