Kill Me Again (20 page)

“Sarah,” Skinner muttered. He looked her up and down, blatantly and thoroughly. “Well, you don't look much like a backstabbing whore, even now.”

“No? You look
exactly
like a lowlife scumbag, though. I guess I'm better at camouflage than you are, huh?”

“You always were,” he said.

She lowered her head briefly, took a few steps closer, stood just beyond what Adam figured was arm's reach from Skinner, then met his eyes again. “I think you and I both know I didn't have any choice but to do what I did to you, Tommy.”

“You had a choice.”

“Yeah? And if I'd told you I was leaving you, what would you have done?” He shrugged.

“Come on, Tommy, you broke my arm for burning your toast. You remember that?”

He had enough shame to look away. Briefly, quickly, then he was glaring and belligerent again.

“You'd have killed me. And you know it. I didn't have a choice.”

“The choice,” Tommy said, “was to stay. Show some fucking loyalty for fuck's sake.”

She shook her head. “And let you beat the hell out of me at will? What kind of a life would that have been? Would
you
live like that, Tommy? If some son of a bitch broke your arm for burning the toast, what would you do?”

“I'd kill the bastard,” he said. “But I'm a man. It's different.”

“Not so different.” She lowered her eyes, and her voice as well. “Not so different at all. I got the gun, loaded it. I stood over you while you slept off a drunk one night, and I put the barrel right up to your temple, almost touching, but not quite. I put my finger on the trigger, and I'm telling you, Tommy, I almost did it. I almost shot you. I thought it was the only way.”

His eyes widened, and his skin seemed to pale a little in the darkness. He looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He said, “I don't fucking believe it,” but it was clear that he did.

“Believe it. You'd be dead, and I'd probably be in prison right now if I hadn't been interrupted. I was ready to do it, Tommy. That's how badly I wanted to get away from you. I was going to put a bullet in your head. But just then someone pulled in, one of your regulars, looking to score an ounce. And that's when I got the idea to talk to the cops instead. Not about your abuse. I'd tried that before, and they never listened. You were one of them. You'd spent too long telling them about your half-lunatic girlfriend and her delusions. They didn't believe me. But I could give them evidence of your dealing. I could
prove
that. They
had
to listen to me then, Tommy.”

“You're even worse than I ever imagined,” he told her.

“And you ought to be on your knees thanking God for that prison sentence,” she said. “It's the only reason you're still alive.” She moved a step closer, on a roll now.

It seemed to Adam that once she started laying down the law to this bastard, it was like the floodgates opened, and everything that had been churning up her insides came pouring out all at once. “And I'll tell you right now, Tommy, if you start fucking with my life again, I won't make the same call. I
will
kill you this time. I swear to God, I will.”

He stared at her as if stunned, as if he'd never seen her before. “It's almost funny, you threatening me, you know that? Do you really think you're scaring me, Sarah?”

She leaned a little closer. “You just try me, you son of bitch, and I'll scare you plenty.”

In one fast move he grabbed her, jerked her right up against him, mashing her face to his chest. Adam reacted, raising his weapon and aiming it, but Skinner quickly spun Olivia around, still holding her hard. He had a fistful of her hair, and he used it to yank her head up and back, so it covered the bulk of his face. Adam couldn't even take a head shot at the bastard.

“Now,” Tommy said. “Let's quit with the melodramatic bullshit and get this over with. Give me my motherfuckin' disks.”

Suddenly Adam was feeling a panic he didn't think he'd ever felt before. The man could kill her. He could end her life at any second. He had to do something, had to find a way to take the shot. And yet Olivia held his eyes, silently telling him
no.

“Whoa, whoa, easy now, Skinner. You know damn well I didn't bring them here. You wouldn't have, would you?”

“If you didn't, then
Olivia
is going to cease to exist. Not that she ever really did.”

Adam kept the gun on him, holding up the other hand. “That's not how any sane person would do this and you know it.”

“It's how any amateur would have done it, though,” Skinner said. “But you're no amateur, are you? No, you're a pro. What did you do, Sarah, find yourself an outlaw a little badder than your ex? Hmm? Did you think he
could protect you from me? How much is he milking you for this, anyway?”

She tried to shake her head, but she could barely move it with the gun pressed to her temple as it was. “I didn't hire him. He's not a criminal, not a pro. He's nothing like you.”

“Bullshit. I've seen the prick in action, hon. Hell, I'd hire him myself if the situation was different.” He met Adam's eyes. “So you figured we'd make a deal and do what? Agree on a location for the drop?”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, that's what I figured.”

“Well, you figured wrong.” Tommy looked down at Olivia, and his smile was slow and chilled Adam's blood. “Dead wrong. This is
way
overdue. So long, baby.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then moved his finger very slightly, but Adam saw it and knew what he was doing. He was going to do it. He was going to kill her!

Adam had to take a head shot, even at the risk of killing her himself. He had no choice. He had to do it now. He leveled the gun, looked down the barrel, lined up the site with Skinner's forehead.

Olivia met his eyes, gave a nearly imperceptible nod and mouthed the words,
“Do it.”

O
livia held Aaron's eyes and thought they would be the last thing she ever saw. And as much as she was unsure about him, she knew right then. She
knew
. No matter who or what he was, he was sickened at the thought of Tommy putting a bullet into her skull. His skin had gone white. And his eyes—God, there was so much going on in his eyes. And yet his hand holding that gun was as steady as a rock.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could shoot Tommy between the eyes and not hurt her. Maybe he could even do it in time. Because he was her only hope. It was still only a little past eleven-thirty. The cops wouldn't be here until close to midnight.

And then she saw someone—and for some reason she was sure it was Bryan—crouching in the woods between the barn and the road. She wouldn't have seen him if he hadn't moved. He emerged slightly and lifted his gun, and his stance said he was about to spring the trap.

And then she was hit by something that felt like a
football tackle. Someone slammed into her from the left, sending her and Tommy both crashing to the ground. Tommy's hand hit the dirt and the gun went off, even as it went flying out of his grip to land in the deep grass, instantly invisible.

She scrambled away from the bastard, moving instinctively toward Aaron, realizing that one of the boys was picking himself up off the ground. Sam Overton. God, he'd saved her life! His friend, Kyle, was lying on his belly, still in the bushes, watching it all with wide eyes.

“Freeze! Police!” Bryan shouted, his voice deep and commanding. “Don't you fucking move a muscle, Skinner. You're completely surrounded.”

Tommy froze where he was, still lying in the grass. Sam and his pal went still, too. Olivia didn't. She kept moving, every cell in her body pushing her toward Aaron. He was moving toward her, too, and in seconds his arms came around her and he was holding her, pulling her with him as he ran, even as she struggled to break free so she could check on the boys.

The other cops came out of the night, dark shapes emerging from the deeper darkness, weapons leveled as they closed in around the little group.

Aaron backed up slowly, his arms tight around Olivia, saying, “Thank God you guys are here,” as he did, and with a few steps he and Olivia were
outside
the ever-shrinking circle of peace officers and still moving.

“Aaron, what are we doing?” she whispered.

“Getting the fuck out of here. They're occupied. We're running.”

“But we don't have to—”

Suddenly gunshots rang out. Aaron grabbed her around the waist and pushed her to the ground, landing on top of her, one hand covering her head. She tried to peer up to see what was happening as weapons exploded all around her. “What's going on?”

“Skinner's men are back,” he whispered harshly. “They were probably hiding somewhere, watching, the whole damn time! I should have figured. Stay down!” As the shots increased in frequency, he pushed her head down harder. She jerked free of him so she could see what was happening, terrified as she saw Sam Overton still lying on the ground, curled around himself, clutching one shoulder, his shirt stained dark with his own blood.

“Sam! Oh, God, Sam's hurt!”

“Come on. Come with me,” Aaron said, trying to draw her away. “That's Carrie's
son!
” she cried. Aaron anchored his arm around her waist and dragged her with him as he crawled, belly to the ground, away from the shootout toward the road.

“We can't just leave them!”

“I'm sure your buddy Kendall has already called for backup by now. They have the thugs outnumbered, anyway, and—”

“There are people hurt! That boy who saved my life
just now is the same one who found you in the ditch and saved yours! He's Carrie's son, Aaron, and he's
bleeding!
”

“I saw that. Shoulder wound. He'll be fine.”

They were near the Expedition now, swallowed up by the darkness. She heard Freddy barking in a way she'd never heard him bark before. He'd squeezed his huge body as far through the partially open window as he could and was fighting to get farther. No one back by the barn could see them. The shots were coming less frequently as Aaron pulled her to her feet.

“We don't have to keep running now,” she rasped, breathless. “I mean, assuming the good guys won back there. We don't have to keep hiding.”

“I do.” He met her eyes. “You stay. You'll be fine. But I…can't.”

She blinked up at him, glancing quickly toward Bryan and his men. Even in the darkness, she could tell that some of the cops were cuffing suspects and tending the wounded, while others provided protection by aiming into the bushes where Skinner's remaining men were still hiding and laying down covering fire.

She drew a deep breath, knowing she had to decide fast. But when she tried to think of reasons to go and reasons not to, she could only remember one thing. The look in his eyes when Tommy had held that gun to her head. It had told her all she needed to know. She trusted him.

Amazing, that. She hadn't trusted a man in more than sixteen years. She'd even had her doubts about Bryan.

But she trusted this man—this man whose name she didn't even know. She trusted him completely.

“I'm going with you,” she said.

He nodded once. “Then let's go.”

 

Adam drove the SUV about a half mile, while Olivia leaned over the back of her seat, hugging her dog around the neck and trying to calm him. He'd done a number on the interior of the car door.

He drove to where he spotted the big black Lincoln Navigator parked on the side of the road. And then he pulled over.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked.

The woman was as tense as a bowstring. And no wonder, having just escaped what had probably been her first shootout. It hadn't been his. He knew it hadn't. It hadn't felt all that shocking or even terribly unusual. He'd known exactly what to do, found himself able to name the weapons being fired by make, model and caliber, been able to spot the shooters by looking for muzzle flashes in the darkness. More than that, it had felt familiar to him. He'd been comfortable and confident. He'd felt at ease. Hell, he'd felt
at home
.

“Why are we stopping, Aaron?” she asked again, then bit her lip, as if wishing she were anywhere but here. Maybe she was finally starting to get that he was no sensitive reclusive novelist.

“The police saw this vehicle,” he said. “They'll have the plate number. They'll set up roadblocks, put the word out, and we'll be stopped before we get ten miles. So we're taking the Navigator.”

She frowned. “The one Tommy was driving?”

He nodded.

“But won't that just give him another reason to come after me?”

“You think he
needs
another reason? Besides, at this point he's either dead or in custody, so who the hell cares?” He opened the door and got out, hurrying around to the rear to open the liftgate. “Come on, Freddy.”

Freddy got out, but he was agitated, pacing and sniffing, scanning the trees all around them. Adam glanced over at the passenger door, gratified to see it opening. Freddy ran over as Olivia started to get out, but when she tried to stand, her knees buckled. She gripped the dog's neck as she sank toward the ground.

Adam lunged forward, grabbing her underneath her arms, hefting her upward again as Freddy danced nervously, so close Adam was almost tripping over him. Olivia leaned against his chest, her arms twisting around his neck. He felt her shaking.

“It's okay. We're all right. And Tommy is going to do some serious time for this. They caught him holding a gun to the head of an innocent woman. He fired his weapon at police officers. His guns can't be legal. And he crossed state lines with them so he could do all of
that. You don't have to worry about him anymore, Liv. Not for a long, long time, anyway—if ever.”

She nodded stiffly. Then she lifted her chin, tipping her head up to look at him. “What about Sammy? He was shot. I saw him on the ground, and he was bleeding.”

“Yeah, and I told you, it looked like a shoulder wound. He's going to be fine.”

“I have to be sure.”

He nodded. “Let's get out of here first.” Shifting her to his side, he kept one arm around her shoulders, steadying her and walking as fast as he dared to the Lincoln. He opened the passenger door and helped her in. “Buckle up.”

“You think they left the keys?”

He nodded. “I don't think it, I
know
it. Just like I knew it would be unlocked.”

“How?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Suppose the guy with the keys in his pocket gets shot? Suppose they have to make a fast escape? What are they gonna do? No, guys like these don't take those kinds of chances. Trust me, there's a key.” He closed her door, went to the rear and opened the hatch. Freddy was standing a few yards away now, having found a good tree for his purposes, apparently feeling his owner was safe for the moment. That was reassuring.

“Hurry it up, Fred. We've got to move.”

The dog responded as if he knew exactly what Adam
had said and came loping over. Adam patted the floor of the cargo hold and said, “Come on, Freddy. Get in.”

The dog looked at him, his head slowly tilting to one side.

“Freddy, up!” Olivia said, her voice deep, even if trembling.

Freddy instantly put his front feet up onto the car.

Bending, Adam cupped his hands, slid them under one of the dog's hind feet and lifted. Freddy pushed off with his help and, after a slip or two, managed to get inside. Adam was stunned all over again by how damned
big
the dog was. “You're a monster, you know that?” He patted the dog on the head. “Lie down now. Everything's fine.”

Freddy began sniffing his new digs as Adam closed the hatch and moved to the driver's side, running his hand under the edge of the wheel wells as he went and finding a magnetic key holder under the front fender.

He pulled it out, snapped it open and took out the key. “Told you,” he said, leaning in to show her his prize. “We'll go in a minute. I just need to hide the Expedition before we go.”

“We don't have time to—”

“If the cops find it abandoned, they'll know we took something else. And how hard will it be to figure out that the only other vehicle around would have been whatever Tommy and his boys arrived in? And how fast do you think Tommy will tell them the make, model and plate number?”

“You're right. I'm glad you thought of that.”

He nodded at her, then smiled a little. “Okay, wait right here.”

He quickly drove the Expedition as deeply into the woods as he could get it before his way was blocked by densely growing trees. Then he ran back to the Lincoln, hearing sirens as he got in.

“Duck,” he said, as he cupped the back of her head and pushed her forward. He bent low beside her. “Freddy, lie down!” he called, using the same firm tone she did when giving commands.

He heard the dog move, knew he had obeyed, and waited. Within seconds a parade of emergency vehicles screamed past, bathing them in strobes of red and blue, and stabbing at their ears with their sirens. Police cars. Lots of them. Ambulances, too.

“They'll have roadblocks set up before we know it,” he said, sitting up as soon as the din passed them by. “We need to move, and we need to be smart about it.” He put the vehicle into gear and drove. “Look around, see if you can find a road map.”

He could manage without one, but the hunt gave her something to do. And he knew she was practically holding her breath, just as he was, as they navigated their way out of the mountains. She found a map, opened it and directed him toward the nearest highway, skipping from one back road to another. They didn't encounter anyone along the way, because they avoided the
roads that connected the mess they'd left behind to the local cops.

When they finally hit the highway, he headed south, and she looked over at him. “Philly, then?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah. I'll relax once we get out of Vermont. A little bit, anyway.”

“How far before you think we're in the clear?”

“I don't know, but we should be safe, so long as we're quick.” He looked more thoroughly around the vehicle and pointed. “This thing has a GPS.”

“I think it's pretty standard in high-end cars these days,” she said.

“What was the address we found inside the watch, again?”

She frowned as she tried to remember, then shook her head. “You have the paper?”

“Yeah.” He dug into a pocket and found it, handed it to her. She inputted the information and watched the screen for a second or two, then nodded. “It's only seven hours and twenty minutes from here. We'll be there by morning.”

“Then settle in and relax, hon. We're on our way.”

She sighed, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes, then sitting up straight again. “I can't relax. Not until I get some things off my chest. But first I have to ask—why are you still running?”

He lowered his head briefly. “I still don't know who I
am, what I did. I need to find that out before…anything else.”

“I can accept that.” She lifted her chin and stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. “I checked my messages while you were in the shower.”

He felt his eyebrows rise. “And?”

“There was one from Bryan.”

He had a good idea what was coming next, so he spoke before she could. “He found out who I am, didn't he?”

“No. But he found out who you aren't. He said he knew for sure that you aren't Aaron Westhaven. He said the serial number from the plate in your head belongs to a man who was killed in Desert Storm. He thought they misread one of the digits or something, but he's having trouble finding out more, because the FBI has taken over the case.”