Beyond the Rules (11 page)

“No!” Ingleswood blurted, blowing the cool out of her attitude. Truly, she was young. And perhaps hungry enough to make her way closer to the top than this small station, but not on Kimmer’s back.

Kimmer caught and held the reporter’s gaze as she thumbed the phone back to life and cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said blandly. “The terror of the situation overwhelmed me for a moment. All better now. And I don’t have what you want. If I did, you’d be feeling the heat from it al
ready. But if you’d like to leave me your number, I’d be glad to give you a call if I run across anything interesting.”

The voice offered a few words of anatomically impossible advice. Kimmer held the phone away from her ear to wrinkle her nose at it. “Bo-ring!” she said, a singsongy voice, and then cut the connection. She’d relay the phone number to Owen. With luck before the day was out they would know if the call was charged to a credit card and whose, though Kimmer had odds on an anonymous phone card.

“You bitch!” Shara Ingleswood finally managed to gasp. “You really would have—”

“That’s right,” Kimmer said. “You keep that in mind, because your soft little underbelly is all mine, anytime I want it. Now do we still need to talk about those pictures? About pursuing this story?”

Ingleswood looked as though she’d just bitten a lemon. Her mouth twisted; her eyes narrowed. And she finally spat a reluctant, “No. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

“Forever,” Kimmer told her. “And now you’ve caused yourself another problem. If film shows up on any other station in this entire state, I’ll assume you put them up to it.” She wiggled her fingers at Ingleswood, a little
go away now
gesture. “So nice meeting you. The pleasure was mutual, I’m sure.” But after the woman had turned and stalked away on her long legs, the sway in her hips meant for Rio’s eye, Kimmer turned around to lean back on the same handrail on which Rio propped himself up from the other side, their elbows touching. “We need to talk to Owen,” she said. “These guys aren’t going to stop until they’re caught—and they obviously aren’t concerned that their friend is going to talk.”

Rio caught the significance of that, lifting his brown eyes to meet her gaze. “Then we’d better talk to the chief,” he said.
“Until they get Brown Suit out of that hospital and behind bars…”

Kimmer grabbed her water bottle and her jacket and headed for the shower. “He’s probably dead already.”

Owen looked as disgruntled as Kimmer had ever seen him—annoyed at the news of Shara Ingleswood’s potential interference, and personally offended by the Hunter Agency’s failure to pin down the identity of the goonboys at large. “I hate to say it,” he said, “but I think we’ve underestimated them.”

Rio sat casually in the chair opposite Owen’s desk; Kimmer hadn’t taken a seat at all, but prowled restlessly over the thick carpet, wishing she felt as relaxed as Rio looked, his legs stuck out before him and crossed at the ankles, his ankle-high sneakers laced only two-thirds of the way up and his worn jeans sporting a discreet rip over the knee. But his eyes gave him away. His eyes were darkened with wary concern, no matter that he’d briefly massaged them with his fingers before speaking. “In other words, Kimmer made it all look easy enough that we didn’t give them credit for their extreme badness.”

“They know how to cover their tracks, if nothing else.” Owen tapped the eraser end of a well-sharpened pencil against the open folder with Brown Suit’s records in them. “Or more likely, whoever’s behind them is big enough and influential enough to do it for them. Mr. Albert Wolchoski is made of Teflon. Arrests across the board, and all of them dropped for lack of evidence.”

“Let me guess.” Kimmer stopped behind the empty chair that should have been hers and gave the files an upside-down glance. “No drugs, no prostitution, but if you want an enforcer
with finesse…” She looked over at Rio and added, “Hammy Hands filled the brute strength slot.”

“So I gather.” He nodded at the neat stack of photos on Owen’s desk—stills taken from the news footage the station had declined to hand over, but of which it had provided a copy along with its “let’s work together” attitude. “But Brown Suit—I mean, Wolchoski—is still with us?”

“Alive if not kicking. And with one of our own on the way to the hospital to help keep him that way.” Owen’s mouth twisted slightly. “Schuyler County doesn’t exactly have the kind of manpower to guard the room around the clock.”

Kimmer sighed. “I’m sorry, Owen. I know you don’t like to tinker with local issues. If I’d had any idea what Hank was bringing with him, I’d—”

“You didn’t exactly have a choice,” Rio said, looking up at her from under a frown, dark brows shadowing his brown eyes toward black.

Yes. I did
.

But she didn’t need to drive that point home. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—understand it.

So instead she said, “They had to have followed me from home when Pigeon Man showed up at the park, figured out what I was up to and used the governor’s visit as a diversion. And they had my phone number, Owen. They had to have gotten it from Hank.”

“Probably,” Owen agreed. “The question is, under what circumstances? When he left here, he seemed to think his troubles were over. I’m not sure events support that belief.”

“Just because his troubles slopped over to us doesn’t mean he wasn’t right,” Kimmer said. “You can’t believe he’d hesitate even for a second if, for instance, Hammy Hands sidled up to him and wanted my phone number.”

But Owen shook his head. “Too many loose ends on this one. Why the story about a nonexistent recording? Whatever’s going on, it’s more than we first thought. Wolchoski hails from Pittsburgh—no doubt the other two came up with him. He certainly didn’t acquire them in this area.”

“Or maybe we’re overreacting.” Kimmer shrugged. “Wolchoski is fine and I’ve gotten nothing but a lame threatening phone call. There’s no question Hank didn’t tell us everything…but that doesn’t mean it’s a big deal. Hank is a coward at heart, like all bullies. He’s not the sort to pal around with anyone but other insignificant bullies.”

Rio touched a hand to his battered face, his expression troubled. He hesitated on the words, but finally said, “He’s your
brother
.”

She knew what he meant, knew he couldn’t understand how she could walk away without knowing for sure. After a moment and a glance at Owen, she said, “I’ll give him a call. I honestly don’t see him as being involved in anything heavy and I don’t think our Pittsburgh goonboys expected anything near the resistance they’ve encountered.”

Owen gave her one of those tight smiles. “I’m absolutely certain of that. However, I do think there are enough inconsistencies that we should follow through. We need to catch these guys if they’re still in the area, and we need to know we’ve gotten to the bottom of whatever’s happening.”

“If only so we can stop looking over our shoulders,” Kimmer agreed.

Owen cleared his throat. “About Shara Ingleswood—”

Kimmer shook her head, wishing she could be entirely dismissive. “Not about to see the big picture. I rattled her cage a little, but I’m not sure it was enough.”

Rio said, “She still has to get her story past her producer
and the station manager. And she doesn’t have anything other than the initial film—already old news.”

“We won’t assume,” Owen said dryly. He flipped the folder closed, glancing at Kimmer. “You’ve got your copy of this. I’ll keep you updated. Frankly, I think we can best make use of you at this point by dangling you out as bait.”

Rio’s voice turned flat and disapproving. “You’re going to turn her into a stalking goat.”

A what?
This from Mr. Crossword Lover? Kimmer giggled, breaking the tension of the moment. At Rio’s startled look, she clapped a hand over her mouth. From behind it, she said, “Stalking horse. Or scapegoat. Take your pick.”

“If it gets a giggle out of you, I think I’ll stick with stalking goat.” He looked at her as though Owen weren’t right there, amusement in his almond eyes.

Kimmer wrinkled her nose. “Baa-aaa.”

“That’s a sheep,” Rio observed as he pulled his feet back and stood up. “It’s more like
beh-ehh.
”

“And you know this because you’ve been around so many goats?”

“No.” He looked down at her, and his expression went from lighthearted to serious in a heartbeat. “I know this because I’m usually the stalking goat.”

And now Kimmer was the stalking goat.
Rio just wished she’d take it more seriously. He wished she’d take it
all
more seriously, including the potential danger to her brother. She wanted to believe the latest round of threats and goonboys weren’t as much trouble as they thought they were. She wanted to believe her brother too shallow and ineffective to have gotten caught up in anything serious.

To believe otherwise was to face too many hard things.
How she felt about her family. How she felt about herself for feeling that way.

At least she’d taken the lead in searching the house when they returned to it, checking both exterior and interior for signs of incursion before putting her SIG away to hunt up Hank’s phone number while Rio pestered OldCat in the kitchen. The house itself hadn’t even been locked, a decision Rio couldn’t disagree with. The old house had nothing but deadbolts that Kimmer rarely used in this neighborly rural area. If the BGs wanted in, they’d get in. There was no point in forcing them to break a window or a doorjamb. Now that they were home, those deadbolts were slammed home. The BGs could still get in—but by the time they did, they’d have a welcoming committee.

Odd how things worked out. Here he was, sliding into the old CIA frame of mind—working out contingencies on a moment-to-moment basis, trying to think one step ahead of the BGs without having a handle on their precise motive, trusting no one. Behind that casual conversation in Owen Hunter’s office, the CIA part of Rio had been eyeing Kimmer’s boss with perfectly hidden distrust, wondering what he wasn’t telling Kimmer and just how high he’d dangle Chimera in front of the BGs.

Okay, he hadn’t previously thought of them as BGs. That was Kimmer’s doing, one of her smart-ass all-purpose nicknames for the bad guys.

But other than that, it didn’t seem like much had changed. He hadn’t planned to be back in the case-officer frame of mind—ever—but with Kimmer in his life, the change had been worth it. The thing was…

He wasn’t sure just how much Kimmer was in his life after all. He wasn’t sure she was ready, no matter how she tried.

Gah
. He needed to do a crossword puzzle.

After this phone call.

Rio turned OldCat upside down and patted his pouchy old cat belly—quickly, so the animal wouldn’t have the time to consider his dignity—and then put him gently on the floor as Kimmer’s phone call went through to Hank’s household, a number she’d no doubt never expected to use. With poise he thought remarkable given how tightly her white-knuckled fingers gripped the phone, she identified herself and asked for Hank, putting her spine against the kitchen counter.

Earlier she’d offered Rio the extension. He’d declined, figuring he could follow the conversation from the outside in. It didn’t turn out to be hard.

“When do you expect him back?” A mild eye roll for his benefit, to indicate the person on the other end of the phone didn’t know. “Is this Susan?” Hank’s wife, seldom mentioned during his time here other than the moments he had tried to trowel guilt on Kimmer for her complete absence from their lives. “Yes, this is Kimmer. Hank’s sister. I just wanted to make sure…everything’s okay there? No, no reason it shouldn’t be. I just thought…Hank seemed worried about some things when he was visiting this last week and I thought…no? Nothing?” A long pause. “No…no, I’m not trying to poke my nose in—” She’d forgotten Rio was there, now, her voice growing hard in spite of her obvious effort to remain light. “I just wanted to be sure…yes, I’m sure you have plenty to worry about already…no, no message.” Another brief moment passed. Her hand tightened another notch around the phone and Rio began to fear for it. “You do as you choose. I can’t imagine why he came up to visit me, either.” And for a sign-off she used a rude phrase in Japanese that she’d somehow picked up from Rio.

Hmm. He thought he’d been careful about that one.

Carefully, so very carefully, she thumbed the off button and set the phone on the kitchen counter. She picked up her bottled Frappuccino, took a long gulp and deliberately returned it to the counter. “Well,” she said, her voice remarkably even, “my knack doesn’t work so well over the phone, but I’d say that woman is more worried about protecting her happy little family from my influence than any trouble Hank might be in.”

Rio made a cage of his arms, a hand on the counter on either side of her. Not that he’d ever consider Kimmer truly caged…but she let him, and she sighed as he put his cheek next to hers, a touch she leaned in to. “I’m sorry,” he said, even as he greedily inhaled whatever spicy, luxurious thing she’d used to tame her hair this time. And there was her ear. So close. Such a perfect little curve.

But Kimmer’s mind was on other things altogether. “No surprise that Hank married someone as unpleasant as he is.” She took a deep breath. “But we know what we needed to know. He’s not missing, he’s not hiding in the basement, and whatever’s going on up here doesn’t seem to have any ripple effect down there. Nothing makes any more sense than it did, but I don’t see any reason to change our plans.”

Very close to her ear, Rio murmured, “Beh-ehh.”

In the next few days Kimmer and Rio managed to dine out at least once a day. They went to Geneva and took in a movie, and then they hung around in the video rental store having long discussions about which movie to rent. They kept an eye out for any sign of Shara Ingleswood’s story, and they toured the Fox Run and Torrey Ridge vineyards and tasted good wine. They made sure Kimmer was visible and apparently
carefree. They also made sure her S&W snub nose, her war club and a variety of knives were always at hand, and always undetectable.

No one came after them as they walked the vineyards. No one accosted them outside the various eating establishments they chose. No one chased after Kimmer on her early morning run and no one followed them into the drugstore—although that, Kimmer told Rio, was perfectly understandable. No self-respecting goonboy would hang out by the tampons.