Living with the Dead (21 page)

ROBYN

Robyn followed Hope onto the path. They'd emerged near the barricade. Hope looked around, then jammed the gun into the back of her jeans like an action-movie chick.

"Which shoulder was it?" Hope asked.

"What?"

Hope waved for her to sit on the barrier. "Which shoulder were you shot in?" When Robyn paused, Hope prodded her until she was sitting, then said, "Take off your shirt," as she pulled what looked like a first-aid kit from her pocket.

"Karl..."

Hope glanced toward the forest, then blinked, erasing a flash of worry. "He'll be fine. Let's get that shoulder cleaned up before we go."

Robyn shed the shirt and Hope set to work, as competent as any field medic.

I don't know her. I don't know her at all.

She shivered.

"Cold?"

Hope took off her denim jacket and started pulling it around Robyn's bare shoulders. Then her face lifted, eyes closing. A soft gasp. When she opened her eyes, Robyn saw the same gleam from before, now fading into a glow of rapture.

"It's over," she whispered. "He's okay."

"Hope?"

She jumped, startled, then busied herself tugging the jacket on Robyn. "I don't hear them fighting anymore, and I think Karl called out. Once he gets here, we need to leave – "

"What happened?" Robyn's throat was dry, her whisper like the rustling of dry leaves.

"Hmm?"

"Back there. In the forest. The man."

"My guess is that he's the partner of that girl who shot you. Luckily she seems to be relying on him to bring you in and staying clear. One less problem for us to deal with."

"He's not working with her."

A tight laugh. "That would be awfully coincidental, you having
two
people hunting you for unrelated reasons. I'm sure he's – "

"He's not. He took a call. He was talking about her – Adele – about getting me away from her."

"Oh?" Hope's head shot up. "What did – ?" She stopped. "You saw a man at Judd Archer's house, right? I bet that was him. Her
former
partner, now pursuing his own agenda."

"And, according to what he said on the phone, pursuing Karl."

It took a moment for Hope to find the proper expression of surprise. "I guess we'll have to figure it all out later. For now – "

She looked up, then quickly plastered on a fresh bandage before hurrying to the forest's edge. Robyn heard and saw nothing, but a moment later, Karl appeared. He and Hope stayed there, a dozen feet away, murmuring in voices too low for Robyn to make out.

Hope checked Karl's lip, then fingered a bloodied rip in his shirt. He bent over her, talking, Hope nodding.

Then Karl brushed hair back from her face, leaning to say something more intimate. The other Karl – the one in the forest, the one who'd pushed them aside – was gone.

"I'll walk you two back to the car first," Karl said as they approached Robyn.

Hope shook her head. "We'll be fine. You finish here, then meet up with us." She looked at Robyn. "Karl has to clean up."

"Get rid of the body," Robyn said.

Hope let out a chirp. A laugh? Or a choke of surprise? "Damon really did subject you to too many crime shows, didn't he? I meant Karl needs to clean
himself
up." She waved at his bloodied shirt and split lip. "He can't go traipsing around in public like that."

Robyn gave her a look. Hope met it without flinching. Robyn continued to stare, trying to make Hope look away, give another nervous laugh. When she did neither, Robyn strode toward the forest. She got to the edge. Then Karl's hand fell on her shoulder.

"You're going to the car," he said.

There was no menace in his voice. No room for questions either.

She looked back at him, lifting her chin to meet his eyes.

"Yes," he said. Nothing more. It could have meant "yes, you're going to the car" or "yes, I will stop you from taking another step." But she knew it didn't. It meant "yes, you're right." That was all she needed. She backed onto the path and followed Hope.

It took no more than five minutes to walk from the forest. As Robyn saw the woods opening up, the field ahead, she slowed, certain the edge couldn't be so close. When she'd been running she'd told herself repeatedly how small the woods had to be, but with everything that had happened in there, it felt like those trees should go on forever, that they'd been miles from civilization.

And here, just ahead, was civilization, as garish as it got. The fair. The music still boomed. The kids still screamed. The lights still colored the night sky. The air smelled, not of fear and blood and dirt, but of corn dogs and cotton candy.

Robyn rubbed her arms and blinked. They'd been gone less than an hour, but she'd somehow expected to walk out and find the fair packed up, the field a desolate wasteland of half-filled Coke cups and unwanted prizes. She felt like Lucy, stepping from the wardrobe to see that despite everything she'd seen in Narnia, the everyday world had continued, oblivious.

"Where's the car?" she finally asked. Her first words since leaving Karl.

Hope didn't break
her
silence – only pointed at the fair, then headed deeper into the field, leaving Robyn squinting to see why she wasn't taking the direct route along the fence. When she asked, Hope just shook her head.

"Hope?"

Her friend stopped. It was a moment before she turned. The moon had slid behind wisps of cloud, leaving Hope's face shadowed, her expression unreadable. It was another moment before she spoke.

"You said Adele can find you anywhere."

Robyn nodded.

"I'm making sure she doesn't."

Hope resumed walking. Robyn trudged behind her, the late-night dew soaking her shoes. Exhaustion slumped her shoulders, the injured one aching. The adrenaline rush from earlier was long gone. Like a midafternoon caffeine-and-sugar-crash, all she wanted to do was follow Hope, let her worry about Adele and find them someplace safe to hide, and to hell with the questions, the whys and hows. But those questions buzzed in her brain like bees, stinging her every time she tried to ignore them.

How did taking this route protect her from Adele? The field was empty – all Adele had to do was glance out when the moon reappeared and she'd see them.

She remembered when they'd first entered the forest, the man saying it was "suitably nondescript" and would keep Adele from finding them.

"She can see me, can't she? She's... like one of those psychics the police use to find people." Even as Robyn heard the words, she couldn't believe she was saying them, and worse, saying them as if she believed them.

"Adele sees me," she pressed on. "She sees what's around me and that's how she tracks me down. If there aren't any hints in the landscape – "

" – then she can't find you."

There, Hope had admitted it.

They traveled another twenty feet before Hope stopped. "Going to the car might not be the wisest idea. Something tells me Adele wouldn't hesitate to turn the parking lot into the O.K. Corral." She took the gun from her waistband. "We'll wait for Karl to come. He'll find us."

Of course he would. He always did. An unnatural ability to find them anyplace they left a trail. Like a tracking dog. She shivered and looked over at Hope. She was scanning the field. At a glance, Robyn could see there was no one around, but Hope kept looking, slowly turning. Robyn leaned toward her to say something. Hope's eyes were closed.

"Hope?"

She lifted a finger, telling her to wait. After a few seconds, Hope flinched and went rigid. Her eyes flew open, gaze swinging to something white in the grass a dozen feet away.

Robyn walked closer and saw a small, white cross with a faded plastic wreath. "Someone must have died here."

"Yes." Firm, as if Hope knew that for sure.

Robyn rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, started to sit, then felt the cold, wet grass and changed her mind. Arms wrapped around her chest, she looked at the forest.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know. You said that guy seemed to know Adele and know she was after you, but he definitely wasn't planning to rescue you, at least not in the sense of letting you walk away – "

"That's not what I meant."

The wail of an ambulance filled the silence. They both turned to follow the sound. It seemed to be heading for the fair, but with all the flashing lights, it was impossible to tell. After a moment, Robyn wasn't even sure it was an ambulance at all, not just the sirens on a ride.

When it stopped, Robyn waited. Still Hope didn't respond.

"That's not what I meant," Robyn repeated.

Hope nodded. And said nothing. At least thirty seconds passed before she looked over.

"What
did
you mean?" she asked.

Robyn blanched under that look – a hard challenge that dared her to elaborate and maybe warned her not to, told her she was better off letting it go. Robyn knew it
would
be better to forget. Chalk it up to exhaustion and strain. Hope was offering her an easy way out. A safe way out. But nothing in Robyn's nature would let her take it.

"Tonight I saw my best friend pull a gun I never knew she had, and know how to use it. A man threw me like a rag doll, then I watched another man do the same to him. I heard a man talk about demons and witches and werewolves like I knew what he meant, like he was discussing something as undeniable as the trees around us. And I know that man is now lying in the woods, beaten to death by a guy I thought wouldn't know how to throw a punch."

"Did you see a body?"

"No, but – "

"Yes, Karl beat the crap out of him. That's all. Now he's checking his ID to see why he was following you, then he's getting himself clean enough to walk out here. Yes, Karl knows how to fight. That story I told you about him being in security? A lie. Any security Karl did was from the wrong side of the law. That's all in the past, but he has a reputation and he has enemies and he knows that at any time he might need to protect himself, so he keeps in shape. As for the talk of were-wolves and demons and witches? Someone is off his meds."

In the world of public relations, there are two kinds of spin. One is the totally plausible alternative explanation, like "Yes, my client was arrested for DUI, but the reports show she was barely over the limit so she must have picked up the wrong drink at the party." The bigger and more convoluted the problem, the harder it is to find a perfect excuse. In that case, publicists have to settle for the second type, the kind that says "I know it's far-fetched, but work with me on this one, okay?" like explaining that yes, your client blew double the legal limit, smashed into a Victoria's Secret window, stripped to her underwear and posed for pictures, but she must have picked up the wrong drink and it reacted badly with her cold medication.

Hope's explanation fell squarely under type two.

"I want to know the truth," Robyn said.

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do." The bite in her words hid the undertone of hurt. "I'm your friend. Of course I want to know – "

"Then, as a friend, I'd suggest you spend a little more time thinking about it. Decide whether you really want to know more. As a friend, I'd suggest maybe you don't."

HOPE

Robyn didn't ask any more questions after that. She didn't get a chance.

First Hope had to deal with the problem of getting Karl, unnoticed, through the stream of exiting fairgoers. He'd taken the T-shirt from the mutt – Gilchrist – and put it on backward to hide the blood on the front, then topped it with his jacket. To anyone drawing near, the skintight shirt riding up his abs clearly wasn't his. It might not have looked out of place on any of the strutting teens surrounding them, but when worn by an impeccably groomed guy Karl's age, it was noticeable. It didn't help that every time he so much as twitched his lips, the split reopened, trickling blood. Hope had Karl and Robyn wait in the shadow of a closed convenience store as she retrieved the car.

Once in the car, Hope put Robyn in the middle of the backseat, away from the windows, and instructed her to close her eyes for the trip. She had no idea whether the closed eyes would help keep Adele from Robyn, but it couldn't hurt. Earlier they'd picked out a hotel where they could get to a side door without passing a sign. It was about fifteen miles away, but it took almost an hour, as Karl traveled through residential areas, avoiding business districts and
their
signs.

When they finally reached the hotel, Karl parked at an unmarked side door. Hope checked them into a suite and let them in the exit. They bustled Robyn upstairs, Hope scouting ahead to cover signs. Then Robyn waited inside the doorway as Karl and Hope drew the blinds and emptied the room of every pen and comment card that bore the hotel's name.

Once Robyn came in, it was time for a more professional evaluation of her shoulder. Karl called his Alpha, Jeremy, the Pack's medical expert. The bullet had passed through with no serious damage. Jeremy said it should be seen by a doctor, but if the wound was properly dressed and checked, she'd be fine for a few days.

Robyn was ready to turn in. Somewhere between the fairgrounds, the endless trip and the furtive dash into the hotel room and the re-redressing of her wound, she'd apparently decided that Hope was right – the truth wasn't something she needed to hear.

They checked the bedroom one last time. Then Hope waited by the door and made sure Robyn was settled before returning to Karl on the sofa.

"On to patient two. Time to take it off for me."

The joke fell as flat as her smile. Karl had said little since meeting up with them in the field, and the low strum of worry flowing from him made her stomach twist. She'd hoped it was only concern over what Robyn had seen and heard, but even now, he stayed quiet, shucking his shirt, those vibes still pulsing.

"I gave her a reasonable story," Hope said. "Not perfect – nothing was going to cover all that. If she wants an explanation bad enough, she'll take that one, but we should discuss how we'll handle it if she doesn't."

It took a moment for him to nod. She couldn't tell if he'd been considering his answer or if he hadn't heard a word she'd said.

She continued to wait, hoping he'd pick up the conversation, make suggestions, but from his expression she knew he wasn't thinking of Robyn.

Hope brought over the first-aid kit. Other than that reopened split lip, he had only the gash on his chest that had ripped his shirt. She pulled a splinter from it. It looked as if he'd caught it on a broken branch. The rest of his injuries were bruises. Fighting in human form avoided fang and claw damage, but from the welt on his chest she suspected his ribs were bruised, maybe even cracked.

When she touched the welt, he didn't flinch, only blinked as if wondering what she was doing. "Those are fine," he murmured. "I just need to clean that cut."

He rose. Hope tapped his shoulder, telling him to stay sitting and she'd do it. He hesitated again, as if confused, before another nod and another murmur, this one unintelligible.

As she returned with a wet cloth, she said, "Robyn says that Gilchrist knew who Adele was, which suggests he didn't just happen onto your trail today."

"Hmm."

"We'll need to get the details from her tomorrow."

"Yes."

Hope cleaned and bandaged the wound, and still he sat there, as if in a trance, moving only when she asked him to shift positions, speaking only when prompted. And even though he kept his thoughts cloaked, the sharp pulses of his worry gradually dissolved into a steady flow of despair.

"It all worked out tonight," she said finally. "However tense it got, Robyn's fine, I'm fine, you've only got a few bruises and none of us need to worry about Gilchrist again."

Karl nodded.

"He never even laid a finger on me," she continued. "I felt him coming before he could sneak up on us. I got my gun out, got Robyn behind me..."

He nodded.

"And when he did pounce, I did the right thing – diving out of the way – but I still managed to fire off a round. I think I nicked him."

"You did."

"I'll admit, I did have a momentary blip there, when the chaos surged, but I didn't completely freeze up. I
am
learning, Karl."

"I know."

"Well, then, no harm, no foul, right?" Her laugh squeaked, and she stood there, fingers trembling around the first-aid kit, knowing she hadn't said the right thing. Damn it, why hadn't she said the right thing? Why didn't she
know
the right thing?

"The problem," he said after a moment, "wasn't you. It was me."

"But he wasn't after you. This has something to do with that clairvoyant girl, and if you weren't helping me with Robyn, he would never have found you."

"Never?"

"Probably not. And so what if he did? You handled it.
We
handled it. If you hadn't been there, he still would have grabbed Robyn – "

"Would he?"

"Prob – " She stopped herself. "Yes. Yes, he would have, and I would have had to shoot the son of a bitch and dig the shallow grave."

He shook his head. "He was only interested in Robyn as a means to an end. That end was getting you, and he targeted you because of me."

"Oh, sure." That squeak-laugh again. "Thanks a helluva lot, Karl. I'll have you know I'm quite capable of attracting asssholes on my own."

The lines around his mouth only deepened. "In the forest, you weren't overwhelmed by chaos from Gilchrist; you were overwhelmed by chaos from me. Fear, rage. I couldn't control it. Even knowing it was endangering you, I couldn't – "

He rose, walked to the window and stood there, looking out as if oblivious to the closed blinds. "Jeremy is always very cautious about who knows he's involved with Jaime. She's not a werewolf, and being with one puts her in danger. I told myself that didn't apply to us. You can defend yourself a hell of a lot better than Jaime Vegas. And I'm not the Alpha. I'm barely even a Pack member. There would be nothing for another werewolf to gain by hurting you, except to force me into a fight. And if they want a fight, they don't need to go after you. I never turn down a challenge."

"Exactly, so – "

"I've spent my life building a reputation, not caring how many enemies I made because having that reputation makes my life easier. If those enemies want revenge, they know where to find me. There's no other way to hurt me. Now there is."

"I'm careful, Karl. You know I am. If you need me to take more precautions, I will. More self-defense classes, more shooting lessons, maybe training on another weapon, like a knife. Or carry mace or pepper spray."

God, how pathetic did she sound? The words kept coming, each one underscored with a whine of please, please, please.
Please don't leave me, Karl. I'll do whatever you want.

"You could bite me." Hope heard the words, the softest whisper, as if she barely dared give them voice, and she couldn't believe she
was
giving them voice, that someone else hadn't crept up behind her and spoken them.

Karl didn't move. Just stood there, back to her. He hadn't heard. Thank God, he hadn't heard. Then, slowly, he turned. The look on his face, the horror...

"No." The word was a strangled whisper as he stepped toward her. "Never, Hope. I would never – "

She reeled back out of his reach, her cheeks blazing.

"I-I-I – " She rubbed her throat as if she could push the words out. "I'm sorry."

She fled, stumbling, into the bathroom as he called after her. She locked the door and leaned against it. Burning tears of shame blurred the room. The doorknob turned one way, then the other. A pause.

Then a rap.

"Hope?"

"I-I'm having a bath."

Which was, quite possibly, the lamest excuse she could think of.

"Let me come in – "

"What I said, I didn't mean it. I'm wiped out and I'm worried about Robyn and I'm stressing over what she heard tonight, and I just – I need a bath."

Hope could sense him at the door, but he didn't answer. She had to follow through, but the tub looked an impossibly long distance away. She staggered to it and turned on the tap.
Hear that? I really am having a bath.

She undressed and lowered herself into the tub without waiting for it to finish filling. Her words pounded against her skull.

You could bite me.

She couldn't believe she'd said that. Worse, even now, shaking and crying in shame, she wasn't sure she hadn't meant it.

Bile washed over her tongue.

In movies, she'd heard romantic heroines declare they couldn't live without their man, and she wanted to tell them to grow a backbone. But she needed Karl. Without him...

She couldn't bring herself to say she'd die without him, but in the last few years, there'd been times when she'd seen the abyss yawn before her, the chaos hunger grow from a craving to an all-encompassing I-must-have-it need, the demon whispering new ways to feed the hunger. She'd stared into that abyss and she'd known what she could become, and that if she ever became that, she would sooner die.

But she'd always had Karl to pull her back. To support her and teach her to deal with that darkness, to accept and control her demon the way he did the wolf. To tell her she'd be okay, she was doing fine, he was there and they'd handle whatever came.

Even if Karl walked away now, he wouldn't abandon her. He wouldn't stop pulling her back from the edge, being her friend. Just not her lover. She could live without that part of the relationship – she just didn't want to.

But everything Karl did – buying a condo in Philly, switching his territory to Pennsylvania, following her to L.A. – told her that he was committed to this relationship and he wasn't going anywhere. Even tonight, she knew he'd only been trying to figure out what he needed to change so she'd be safe
with
him around.

So why was she constantly worrying? Needing proof he planned to stay? Reminding herself that he might not stay and she needed to be prepared for that?

Because she wasn't prepared for it. What terrified her was not Karl leaving, but her fear of Karl leaving. She needed him so badly that she'd risk her life becoming a werewolf to keep him.

What kind of person did that make her? Not one she wanted to be.

"You're shivering."

Karl had picked the lock and come in without her realizing it. Now he was beside the tub, sitting on his haunches, his back against the door, hands folded on his knees.

He straightened. "Watch your feet. I'm going to add more hot water."

He bent at the taps, touched the water, then jerked his hand back. "It's ice cold, Hope."

She mumbled something about it cooling off too fast. Better than admitting that she was so out of it she'd sat in a tub of cold water without noticing.

Karl pulled the drain and Hope watched the water drop, the
chug-chug
of it echoing in the silent room. When it was two-thirds empty, he replaced the stopper, then nudged her feet farther from the faucet before turning on the hot.

Once it was refilled, he returned to his spot by the door without a word.

"I didn't mean it," she said after a moment.

"I hope not."

Hope's cheeks flamed. "I'm tired, Karl. Absolutely wiped out, and I just started babbling. I feel like an idiot for saying it. I don't want that at all. I was just... babbling."

He moved to sit on the side of the tub, where she had to look at him.

"You know it's not what
I
want, don't you?" he said. "That when I joke about the mating instinct and dragging you off to a cabin in the woods, I mean
you
. As you are. I don't mean – "

"I know."

Hope fixed her gaze on her toes bobbing over the water. He turned her face toward him, fingers resting on her chin.

"I mean it. That's not what I want. Consciously, subconsciously, unconsciously... I'm not fighting any temptation to turn you into a werewolf."