Knight Errant Page 20

  “The old man had a bad year or two, developed some cash flow problems and turned to his best customer for help. Jimmy gave him a ‘loan.’ The old man paid back the principle, but the interest amounted to double that. He kept aying and paying, and eventually Jimmy wound up own ing the major interest in the shop. He turned the place into front for a few of his other businesses—did a little smugling, a lot of money laundering. He and the old man ought about it all the time. In the middle of the last arent, the old man collapsed. He had a heart attack and lied in his granddaughter’s arms.”

  “Why does she blame you?”

  He stared hard at the street ahead. Two weeks ago he would have answered plainly, bluntly, not caring how Lainie responded, probably hoping that his actions eight or en years ago would repel her and make her keep her distance. Today, fearing the same thing, he found it harder to ut the words together. “I was always with Jimmy when visited the store. I helped set the terms for the loan. I delivered Jimmy’s threats when the old man couldn’t pay on time. I drew up the paperwork to transfer the business into Jimmy’s name.” He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t she blame me? Along with Jimmy, I was responsible.”

  For a long time Lainie was silent. Her head was turned away from him, her gaze focused once more on the store front. He couldn’t see her expression. She couldn’t see his shame.

  While he waited for some response, the rain began, a few fat drops followed by a torrent. In a matter of minutes the sidewalks, once busy with window-shopping tourists cleared except for an umbrella here, a slicker there. It rained hard, the drops bouncing off the car, beating a rapid, un steady rhythm that drowned out everything but his thoughts and Lainie’s soft voice.

  “Was she worth it?”

  He knew immediately who she meant. He didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Yes.”

  “You don’t have any regrets?”

  “I regret that I didn’t succeed in sending Jimmy to prison. I regret that, to punish him, I had to become just like him. I regret the old man’s death and everyone else’s But if I had to do it all over again, I would, because more than anything else in the world, I regret Rena’s death. I was senseless, and it was my fault. I was too damn selfish too damn ambitious, and it killed her.”

  His answer seemed to sadden her. It wasn’t anything he could point to—her face was still hidden from him—bu just a sense, a feeling surrounding her. Was she disap pointed in him? Did she expect him to have learned fro the past, to have become a better man who would mak better choices given a chance? He wished, for her, that h was a better man, a more deserving man, but all he could be was what he was. Disreputable. Dishonorable. Dishom esL Manipulative. An ex-con. An ex-crook.

  Finally she turned to face him. There was no sadness in her sweet hazel eyes, no condemnation, no loathing. There was just gentleness, understanding, forgiveness. “You were never just like Jimmy,” she disagreed, her voice as soft as her touch on his hand. “He does what he does out of a desire for money, for power and influence. He’s an amoral, greedy bastard who doesn’t give a damn who he hurts or destroys. You did what you did for Rena. For love. There’s a tremendous difference.”

  He gave her words careful consideration, but he didn’t agree. Maybe his motivation had been purer, his intentions nobler, but his actions had been as dirty, as despicable, as everyone else’s. The end certainly hadn’t justified the means. Jimmy wasn’t rotting in some prison. The entire investigation, trial and subsequent overturning of his convictions hadn’t been more than a minor inconvenience in the long run. He was still in business. He was still earning obscene profits. He was still breaking every law on the books and still getting away with it all, including murder. He was still above the law.

  Nicholas hadn’t accomplished anything. He’d thrown away his life for vengeance. He’d lived a life he’d hated with people he’d despised. He’d lost his dignity, his pride and his self-respect, and he’d sold his soul, all for justice, only to learn too late that there was no justice. Not for him. Not for Jimmy.

  Certainly not for Rena.

  Chapter 8

  The rain continued through the day, a steady shower that occasionally turned into a downpour or even less occasionally stopped altogether. It was nine o’clock in the evening, three hours until closing time, and Nicholas was alone in the bar with only a handful of Jamey’s regular customers. Three of them—Thomas Campbell and Virgil Heller, play ing checkers and telling tall tales to Pat McCoy—he remembered from growing up on Serenity. The two old men had been regulars at St. Jude’s with their families at their sides. Now their families had moved away and their wives were dead, and they were left alone in a neighborhood that was a far cry from the place they remembered. McCoy had been a few years behind Nicholas in school. He held a job and earned decent money, but for some reason he stayed on Serenity—probably the same reason Jamey had stayed the same reason Nicholas had come back. It was shabby run-down and worn-out, short on hope and long on despair but it was home. That counted for something.

  Nicholas was vaguely familiar with the other two customers, though not through any personal contact. Eldin Pierce sat facing the wall and nursing one more in a long line of beers. Jamey had passed on his sad story about a ground-floor apartment, an argument between punks on the street, a couple of semiautomatic weapons converted to full auto and a nine-year-old daughter, dead on the floor where she played. His wife had done her grieving, then returned to the job of being mother—and now father—to their remaining two children. Eldin had tried to drown his sorrows, but they were drowning him instead.

  Jamey had filled him in on Ray Cook, too, who sat facing another wall. He bought the booze, like Pierce, but he didn’t drink much of it. He just took a sip from time to time and stared morosely at the brick. His despondency could be traced back to a lost job and a wife and two kids who’d gone to stay with family in Mississippi. No one knew why he didn’t follow. She had asked him to go—according to rumor, had offered the invitation repeatedly since she’d gotten a job and a place of her own. Maybe it was male pride that kept him here and miserable, because he couldn’t support his family but she could.

  Men had a lot to learn from women, Nicholas thought with a faint smile. The women in his life—his mother, Jolie, Rena and Lainie—had taught him more than all the schools and all the teachers in the world. He was looking forward to learning more from Lainie—about happiness, satisfaction, trust, the love between two mature adults, marriage and family. He was willing to spend a lifetime learning.

  At the end of the bar the telephone rang, its electronic trill annoying. For years it had been a standard black model, updated once about the time he returned from law school from a rotary dial to a touch-tone. Recently, for convenience’s sake, Jamey had updated again to an off-white cordless model. In his years with Falcone, Nicholas had come to distrust cordless phones for their lack of security. Anyone with a decent scanner could pick up all the cordless calls in his area. Not that it mattered anymore. He wasn’t conducting business over the phone or anywhere else that required security.

  “O’Shea’s.”

  There was a few seconds’ silence, then a voice, low, raspy, indistinguishable. “So it’s true. You’re working as a bartender. So much for that law degree and all those years of experience. You’re doing work any idiot could do.”

  Nicholas’s fingers tightened around the phone. The voice could belong to any of a hundred people he’d known or a million he hadn’t. There was no doubt, though, that it was one of Jimmy’s people. “It’s honest work,” he said, careful to keep his own voice even, to show no fear. “You should try it sometime.”

  “What do you know about honest work? You’re as unscrupulous as they come. Five years in prison didn’t change that. You like to think you’re different, that you’re better, but you’re just waiting for the next temptation to come along. You’ll be just as weak and greedy as the others.”

  “You have a reason for calling besides maligning my character?”
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br />   “As a matter of fact, I do.” The man sounded smug and self-satisfied. “Do you know where Lainie is? Do you know if she’s all right?”

  Ice spread through Nicholas, a quick freeze, as the line went dead. Over three hours ago he’d left her in her apartment. She would come down later, she’d said, then suggested with a slow, hot, provocative smile that maybe she would simply wait for him to come to her. So far, there’d been no sign of her, no sound from her.

  She was in the apartment, and she was fine. She had to be. No stranger had come through the French doors. No one had gone past the bar and down the hall toward the stairs, not with him standing right there. But there was a back door, seldom used, and all those windows upstairs....

  Still gripping the phone, he started down the hall. By the time he reached the stairs, he was running. He took them two at a time, pushed open her unlocked door—left unlocked for him—and burst into the apartment. “Lainie!”

  The living room was dimly lit, but the overhead light was on in the bedroom. The instant he saw her there, lying back on a pile of pillows, a book open in her hands and a startled look on her face, the trembling started, sweeping through him. He crossed to her, dropping the phone on the mattress as he scooped her into his embrace, holding her tightly enough to make her breath catch.

  “Nicholas?”

  Only one other time in his life had he ever been so scared. Another rainy night, another city, another life. But Lainie was all right. She hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t been touched, hadn’t even been afraid until he’d come rushing in. She was safe.

  This time.

  On the bed beside her the phone began a discordant beep, reminding him that he hadn’t disconnected after the call. He felt Lainie fumble for it, then shut it off. Almost immediately it rang. Releasing her as quickly as he’d grabbed her, he pulled the phone from her hand.

  As soon as he pressed the Talk button, he heard ominous, rumbling laughter, followed by the same voice. “Got your heart pumping, didn’t I? You thought we’d slipped in the back door or climbed through one of those windows, didn’t you? You thought you’d find her gone—or dead. Next time you might not be so lucky. Next time she might not be so easy to find...or so safe when you find her. Keep that in mind.”

  Slowly, when he was sure the man had hung up, Nicholas disconnected and met Lainie’s gaze. “What was that about?” She was making an effort to sound unconcerned, but her voice was husky and less than steady.

  “They know your name. They know you live here. They know...” They knew the easiest way to destroy him was to kill her. For a moment he looked at her, then abruptly, knowing he had no choice, he got to his feet, threw open the closet door and yanked out the bags she’d moved in with.

  “Nicholas, what are you doing?”

  “You’ve got to get out of here. You can’t stay any longer. It’s too dangerous. They know now to use you to get to me. They’ll kill you, and it’ll be my fault, just like before, just like...”

  Lainie stared at him, his words trailing off as he jerked open the zippers on the nylon bags, then carried the backpack to the dresser. Startled into action, she threw back the covers, got her feet tangled and had to waste a precious few seconds to free herself.

  She was a few seconds too late.

  Nicholas had already opened the right-hand drawer, grabbed a handful of socks and then become utterly still. She froze, too, at the foot of the bed, barely breathing. She felt sick inside, damning herself for breaking her own rule: confess before you’re caught. Even under the best of circumstances, she’d known the truth would be difficult for Nicholas to accept, but if she’d come forward on her own, if she’d told him voluntarily, if she hadn’t waited to get caught looking guilty as sin, maybe he wouldn’t have been so shocked. Maybe he could have forgiven her. Maybe he wouldn’t hate her quite so much.

  But she was too late. A few lousy seconds, and she might pay for them the rest of her life.

  Moment after moment passed—or maybe it was just seconds—before he dropped the socks, then slowly turned to face her, holding her pistol limply in one hand. “What is this?”

  Suddenly cold, she hugged her arms to her chest. “It—it’s a gun.”

  “I know it’s a gun.” His voice was loud enough, harsh enough, to make her flinch. He made an obvious effort to control it. “What the hell are you doing with it?”

  “It—it’s for protection. Serenity’s not the safest place, you know.”

  “Protection,” he repeated. This time his voice was low, deadly, nerve-chillingly soft. “Karen doesn’t carry a gun. Cassie doesn’t. No other woman on the whole damn street carries a gun. Why do you? Who the hell are you that you need that kind of protection?”

  She didn’t have an answer prepared. If he’d found the other items hidden in the drawer—her badge and credentials—he would know exactly who she was and why she needed a gun. But he hadn’t found the rest, so maybe—please, God—she could save this. Maybe...

  Something in her face betrayed her. Fear. Guilt. Regret. Despair. Whatever he saw caused him to grab her with his free hand, shove her against the curved foot rail of the bed and bend her back until her feet barely touched the floor. Leaning over her, he pressed the barrel of the gun against her cheek. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

  There was such dark anger in his face, such harsh mistrust, that even if she’d had a lie all sketched out, she couldn’t have given it voice. The best she could do was whisper. “You know who I am, Nicholas. Please...”

  He searched her face, then made a sudden connection that caused him to murmur, “Oh, God,” before forcing her even farther back. His body was hard against hers, pinning her so she couldn’t move, and only her toes were in contact with the floor. “That’s how they knew your name. You’re working for him, aren’t you? Jimmy sent you here.”

  “No!”

  “Damn it, don’t lie to me! Is he paying you to keep an eye on me, to sleep with me, to do whatever it takes to get close to me?”

  Now was her chance to tell him the truth, to blurt it out: Yes, I’m being paid to watch you, but by the government, not Jimmy. But once again, all she could work over the lump in her throat was a helpless plea. “You’re hurting me, Nicholas.”

  His grin was full of menace, his whisper full of threats. “Oh, darlin’, I intend to do a hell of a lot more than hurt you. Before I’m through with you, you’ll be sorry you ever met me.” He caressed her cheek with the cool metal of the gun barrel. “What was the plan? You were supposed to get to close to me—”

  “No.”

  “Seduce me—”

  “No.”

  “Make me fall for you. And then you would do it. It’s perfect when you think about it. I was convinced that Jimmy would do it himself because it was personal, but, hell, what’s more personal than being killed by the one person you trust more than anyone else in the world?” Another stroke with the gun. “When were you going to do it? Where? In bed? When I was asleep? Maybe when I was inside you—”

  “I’m a federal agent.”

  His taunting words dried up, and he stared at her in shock. He released her, then backed away so quickly—as if he couldn’t bear to touch her any longer—that she almost fell. “You’re a—”

  “I’m with the FBI.” For a few more days, maybe a few more weeks. She wanted out as soon as she could get out, but she didn’t think that would interest Nicholas. Right now, she doubted that anything beyond consigning her to eternal damnation interested him.

  If there was anything good to be said about his reaction, it was that he didn’t doubt her. He didn’t demand to see her credentials. He didn’t have any problem believing that she wasn’t a hired assassin but an untrustworthy fed instead. It was hard to say, though, which he held in lower esteem.

  He looked so stunned, so hurt. The part of her that loved him started to reach for him, to offer comfort, but the part that had betrayed him instinctively drew back. He might never welcome her touch again. He might ne
ver stop looking at her that way again.

  “An FBI agent. So Kendricks decided to give me protection regardless of what I wanted.” His voice was soft, bewildered, lost, but on the next words, as he laid her gun carefully on the dresser, it picked up an edge of anger. “Why did they pick you? Because you’re pretty? Because you lie so well? Or because you don’t mind prostituting yourself for the bureau?”

  She ignored the compliment, because he didn’t mean it, and the insults, because he did. “I’m sorry, Nicholas. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

  “How was I supposed to find out? Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “Yes. As soon as I turned in my resignation.” After the declaration of love that she’d planned to make and before the wedding she’d allowed herself a few dreams of, provided that he didn’t hate her.

  But he did. His dark gaze was narrowed and scornful as he studied her. “Your resignation. Right. You expect me to believe that you were going to quit your job to stay here on Serenity with me and raise flowers? A dedicated agent like you? A woman who’ll do anything for the cause, even sleep with the subject of her investigation? That was why you kept running away, wasn’t it? Sex was supposed to be the last resort, something to fall back on when all else failed.”

  “No. I kept running away because I was scared. Making love with you could cost me my job. The job was the only stability in my life. I was afraid to risk it, especially when you weren’t offering anything to replace it.”