Relatively Risky (19 page)

A
s quietly as she could
, she drew her legs up, so that she was crosswise on the steps, as much in the shadow of the crypt front door as she could manage. Suddenly cozy with the spiders didn't seem that bad. Were almost her best friends right now. It wasn't going to be enough if someone was really looking, but if she made a run for it, well, hard to outrun a bullet. Her heart pounded so loud, she didn't know how it couldn't be heard several tombs away.

Everything seemed more. The dead smells. The stealthy sounds. The silence between the sounds. And the shots. A soft sound from the other direction made the one shadow stop. Then another shadow slowly grew on the path on her other side.

Her heart, her breathing either stopped or got too slow to feel or count.

The sense of being in
that
nightmare, the one where someone looked for her, the struggle to wake up and not being able to…

She shrank back into the moldy stone, aware of the hot, damp smell of rotting things and oddly cold stone through her thin shirt…

The shadow on the right appeared to reach out for the next crypt. The limbs and body distorted, but despite that, she could tell he held at least one weapon.

The other shadow appeared frozen in place.

Sirens filtered in, though they still seemed too far away.

Off in the distance a horn honked.

Both shadows jerked, as if startled, their images wavering on the ground.

A long pause…

Right shadow moved again.

Her brave plan to live for her parents seemed like wishful thinking now…

Left shadow decided to move now, too.

Right reached the point of exposure first.

Dimitri Afoniki. His attention was directed away from her first, then his head began to track her direction. He stopped. He stared at her, weapons ready.

She stared at him. Pretty sure she couldn't get hers up in time—

It seemed like he'd started to lower his, when he spotted the left shadow.

Even if he didn't shoot her, he could shoot her in the cross-fire.

Left shadow paused at exposure point, then stepped into view.

Calvino.

He stared at her. Then at Afoniki, then back at her.

If moments froze, then this one did, despite the heat. Nell felt the chill of death reaching out of the crypt at her back. Felt it laughing…

Like weird mimics, both men lifted fingers to lips, paused, then gestured for her to join them. What a choice. And how did a girl choose either without getting shot by the one she didn't choose? Not that she wanted either one.

Before she could figure it out, a scrabble of sound had both men darting forward out of sight.

My heroes.

Before Nell could find a new spot, too, the scuffle of sound came closer, and she spotted yet another shadow. Now she had time to ready her weapon.

A man stepped into view one crypt down from where Afoniki had been.

She knew he was one of the shooters because he held a rifle, auto or semi, she couldn't tell which. And he had a nylon stocking over his face.

Time slowed. His head was turned away from her and angled for listening.

He started a turn toward her. He'd see her. He couldn't help but see her—she sighted her weapon on him—

A sound, a shift of footsteps on gravel in the direction of Afoniki's heroic retreat.

The shooter hunched, hesitated, and then headed toward the sound.

Nell made herself count to ten, then lowered her weapon, sweat beading along her upper lip and running down her back.

Time to move. She wasn't good enough to go ghost, like the military guys liked to call it, but she felt like a ghost. Bet she was pale enough to pass as one. She wished she was as invisible as one. Hoped not to be dead as one…

She shook her head—and her thoughts—told herself to get moving.

She worked her way back along the crooked line, changing alleys, trending toward the entrance as sirens continued to wail, though she'd lost the ability to tell if they were getting closer.

A flurry of shots broke the long silence. An exchange, she decided. Rifle fire and handgun fire. Was that a shot across the alley? She couldn't tell, but it seemed closer. Maybe she should find a place to sit tight and wait—

“Someone flanked us! Johns and Stevens, get back and cover the exit,” a harsh voice ordered. “Don't want no one getting out of here alive.”

A
lex knew
it was a risk dropping the shooter watching the bad guys backs, but he'd had to take his shot. No way to make a quiet approach. He cussed at the shouted order and made his run for the street. He paused by the wall and did a quick check. No sign of anyone, but they could be hiding, waiting for him to pop out.

Heard footsteps pounding toward him.

Make his move or fall back—

He dodged out into the street, weapon ready and headed toward the car, zigging and zagging, using the line of parked cars for cover as soon as he could dart between a couple. When no shots took him down, he dug in his pocket for his keys. Came around the driver's side, shoved the key in the lock, and turned it savagely. Yanked the door open—a shift in the heavy air was his only warning before the blow…

N
ell heard
the pounding of footsteps coming down the main alley and heard others—they seemed like they were outside the wall? She angled her head. Sounded like it. Lots of confused sounds, mixed with confused shooting. She used the confusion to make a short dash that took her within sight of the cemetery gate. She crouched down, aware her position wasn't great if the ordered-back shooters swept the area as they came by. She readied her weapon, though she was less certain of her ability to hit a moving target.

And then they were there, running in a weaving pattern down the center alley, weapons pointed back the way they'd come. They paused twice to loose off a couple of rounds. Crouched once and fired a sustained burst at someone.

She heard a car engine start. That got their attention. They jumped up, picked up the pace, their attention directed toward the street now.

The two shooters ran past her position, as she pressed against yet another damp and web-infested crypt, tracking their progress with her gun. Once they had passed by, Nell eased up, ready to duck down if they looked back her way. They reached the gate and stopped, starting a right-to-left sweep—

The shots caught first one, then the other, sending both staggering back a few steps before they dropped, first to their knees, then they both fell forward onto their faces.

A car came into view on the street, backing toward the snarl created by all the wise rides.

Ben's car.

Alex
. It had to be Alex.

Nell cast a careful look back along the alley. Didn't see anything. She un-chambered the bullet, tucked the gun into her jean's waistband, then jumped up and ran, passing between the two walls. She made the turn that put the wall between her and the cemetery interior with a lot of relief and a renewed burst of energy. An arm waved from the driver's window, then disappeared. Seemed like Alex wanted her to drive. So he could shoot, she guessed. He didn't know she was a crappy driver or that she had a gun. No time to tell him she should be shooting, not driving—

She scooted between two parked cars and grabbed the handle, scrambling behind the wheel and pulled the door closed with a hearty slam. She fumbled with the controls a bit, managed to get the car in gear and started down the street with only one wobble. Only after correcting that did she glance toward Alex—

Only it wasn't Alex.

It was that bald Curly guy.

And he had a gun pointed at her. As Ben's car rolled toward the corner, she noticed something lying on the ground between two, parked cars. No, not something.

Alex…

N
ell didn't have
to tell bald Curly that she hadn't driven for a while and no, driving wasn't like riding a bike. She kind of sucked at that, too, with or without the gun pointed at her. She'd never been that great at self-propulsion. And it was hard to get better at it in a city with a million-plus pot holes. Just saying. Okay, just thinking, cuz even talking was outside her skill set at the moment.

“Do you have a driver's license?”

The question sounded like it emerged from between gritted teeth. She did not have time to verify that. Steering an unfamiliar car down narrow, rutted streets with other cars playing chicken required all her attention—well, the parts left over from worrying about Curly and that gun she assumed was still pointed at her.

“Wyoming one.” Barely. She'd passed her driving test because it was late in the day and he only made her drive around the block. A very quiet block.

“You've lived here two damn years!”

There was a kind of yelpish wail to that last word, as Nell narrowly missed the streetcar, which seemed to think it had the right of way. She didn't have time to wonder if it did. There were more obstacles to dodge. People to not hit.

“Been on a bike for all of them.” Unless Sarah drove, which she always did. Sarah knew all about Nell's lack of driving skills.

A light went from green to yellow. She hit the brakes and heard a screech of tires behind her. She made the mistake of looking in the rear view mirror. Closed her eyes and braced for the hit. It didn't come. She wasn't sure if she was glad or sad about that.

Bald Curly loosed a string of swear words, ending with, “You don't never brake at a yellow light!”

“But I wouldn't have made it through before the red,” she felt compelled to point out. Was the bad cop really criticizing her for a legal stop at a light? If her eyes weren't scared open, they'd have twitched. With extreme reluctance, she looked at him. It had to be asked. “Which…where…”

“I need what your Ma and Pa left you.”

It wasn't a huge shock, though it was a relief he didn't seem to know about St. Cyr's ring. She bit back a “get in line” snark. She didn't want to make him any more pissed off than he already was. She'd always hated line jumpers. And bad cops. She didn't mind guns but didn't like them pointed at her. She licked dry lips.

“Only things that I have left from my
mom and dad
are back at Sarah's.”

“Then that's where we're going.”

Nell noticed the green light for the other direction was going yellow. “I don't actually know how to get there from here.” This statement was so true, she almost winced.

“You don't know how to get home?”

“When I know where I am, I can get home just fine. But I'm not really sure where I am.” She'd spent most of the drive watching Alex drive, rather than watching where Alex drove. Obviously she had not expected to have to drive home. Her gut clenched at the thought of Alex, of how still he'd looked laying there. “Did you kill—”

“Didn't have to. He didn't see me.”

It was not comfortable feeling relief and panic at the same time. She was glad for Alex. Sorry for herself since she was looking Curly in the eyes. She didn't like Curly. Hadn't liked him from the moment she met him.

The light changed.

“Get this bucket moving,” he ordered, moving the gun in a threatening manner.

Not the brightest bad cop around, if he wanted her to keep driving. On the one hand, moving was good. He couldn't shoot her. But there were cars and people all around. And he was an old dude. How fast could he flee a scene? And why should she do what he said when—

“You're just going to kill me. I think I'd like to get it over with.” She lifted her hands from the wheel and folded them across her chest. She didn't look at him as she said this. She didn't actually want to get it over with and he might notice that. But she didn't see why she should have to drive herself to her own death. Which probably wouldn't go well. The driving and for sure the dying.

Horns started to honk.

“I'm not—”

“I've seen you. I'm not stupid.” Interesting how people equated smarts with driving skill. She had a high IQ. And was easily distracted. Not ADD, her mom used to joke, but definitely DD, a daydreamer, she'd explain to the various teachers when they became baffled enough for a parent-teacher conference.

The level of honking increased. Some shouts joined the complaint parade.

“I won't have to kill you,” he said, with a thread of desperation, he cast a look out the window, then kind of ducked his chin as pedestrians started to stare. No crowd yet, but give it some time and maybe the Lucky Dog cart would show up. “I promise I won't kill you,” he added in what he probably thought was a sincere tone. “I wouldn't—”

Nell gave him a skeptical look.

“You won't talk cuz of what I know about your Pa.”

Did he really think she'd care enough about what people thought about her dead father to keep her mouth shut about him? Cuz she was dang sure her dad wouldn't care. Or was he hoping she'd be stupid enough to believe him?

Probably that last one.

“And—” The hesitation was long enough for Nell to give him a reluctant look. It might have been what he'd wanted. He gave her this ghastly grimace that was probably meant to be a smile. “Calvino ain't your grandpa—”

“I don't want to hear it.” Nell jerked her head away from the sight of his attempted paternal-ness.

“But—”

“Don't say it or I swear I'll crash this car.” Actually…she eased up on the brake, though not a lot. Never been that good at thinking and driving. She made it through the light before it changed, but left some unhappy people behind who didn't. She took it slow enough to get caught by the next light.
I don't believe him.
That goon had called Ellie a nice lady. If she hadn't wanted the rich bad guy, she sure as shooting wouldn't have had an affair with the dirty cop. And there was Charlie Baker. Nell didn't know him, but she had a feeling that once a girl fell for a Baker…look at Zach. He'd got two women to have a bunch of kids with him.

For some reason, this focused her thoughts. Her head felt clearer than it had felt since she rode into Alex's car jacking.

The photo. Something about it had bothered her at the time—had it been just last night? With a sort of awful clarity—admittedly culled from watching television—she realized that it might be the kind of photo someone gave a hit man. Had he been the one hired to kill her parents? Had he dug through old photos, or weird trophies, for the photo, so he could pretend he'd loved Nell's mom? Was she supposed to believe that he'd have been stupid or reckless enough to have an affair with a wise guy's wife? Or that her grandmother had an affair with him? Forever no. Did. Not. Believe. Him.

She gave him a surreptitious look out of the corner of her eye. He didn't look happy. This helped ease some of her unhappy, though not all of it, since he still had the gun. There were a lot of stop lights between here and home—at least she assumed there were, since she wasn't sure where home was from here. How fast could she get out—

“Do up your seat belt.” He gave her a bland look. “Wouldn't like you to get hurt if someone rear ends us at the next yellow light.”

Okay, he wasn't stupid, just because he looked and sounded stupid. She pulled the belt across her chest and snapped it in place. She noticed he hadn't done his up. Apparently he wasn't worried about getting hurt. Despite having seen her driving. Her escape thoughts quit circling. Landed even. Yeah, it was time for a crash. It would probably happen whether she planned it or not.

Light changed. This time she punched it. The force of it slammed her against the seat back. She may have half closed her eyes. She'd never felt the need for speed. And this was more speed than she'd ever wanted or needed.

Curly squealed in terror.

Nell peeked. Yelled. She spun the wheel.

Managed to swerve around a car.

Into oncoming traffic. She almost swerved back.

But the sounds of Bald Curly's pig-like squeals were kind of music to her ears.

And it wasn't as easy to swerve back as it looked in the movies. Not pelting along a seriously rutted road.

He shouted something she couldn't hear. Probably didn't want to hear. Couldn't shoot her until she stopped, so she probably shouldn't stop…

Cars came at them, swerved away with squeals and honks. Lots of honking. One car swung to the side, narrowly missing a parked car, revealing another car behind it, one that didn't have as much time to react to her bad driving. Off to the side, she saw a free section of curb. It looked like a great parking spot.

Though for her, it would more likely be a great crashing spot.

She hit the brakes and cranked the wheel. Too hard. Car spun in a complete circle, but did skid toward the curb. And that sweet parking spot.

Going to miss it—

The incoming car clipped the fender, altering their trajectory just enough.

Though it didn't slow the sideways skid—

The curb was high enough for the hit to jolt her to the roots of her teeth. The crunch of metal to cement was loud. Horrifying, yet kind of satisfying.

Even belted, her head made painful contact with the steering wheel. Might have heard Curly's head slam into something. His whine cut off, but any silence got swallowed up in the sound of multiple vehicles crashing into each other. Tires squealed from brakes applied. She heard a crash louder than the others and saw a truck sliding right at her…

W
ith an ice pack
held against his aching head, Alex morosely scanned the chaotic scene. The attack squad, well, what was left of it, was face down on the street, their hands cuffed. Looking a bit surprised they weren't cuffed, were the wise guys—what was left of them—making two uneasy huddles off to one side. A pity both Afoniki and Calvino had managed to come out alive. Looked like someone had winged Afoniki.

The cops that weren't watching bad guys and wise guys were searching the cemetery. Shouts hadn't brought Nell out of hiding. Some cops were searching the surrounding area, but what if whoever had clocked him and taken Ben's car had also taken Nell? If she saw the car, she might think it represented safety.

One of the searchers came out, a cop name of Higgins. When he caught Alex looking, he shook his head.

Alex didn't sigh or look relieved. He was a cop with a bunch of cops. Higgins gave him the guy version of a worried look.

“You look like you could use an ambulance—”

“I need a car.” Alex cut him off. If she was in Ben's car, if she was still alive, it was because someone still hoped she had useful information. Or they'd guessed she had the ring? And the only place where she had anything was back at the house. “Put out an BOLO on my brother's car.”

He gave them the deets and Higgins fed the info into the radio. Should he send people to the house? Ben was there, but he hadn't answered his cell. Alex tried him again. Frowned as the call once again rolled over to his voice mail. It didn't have to mean something bad. Just cuz nothing had been good for two damn days—

While he waited, he considered what he knew. It wasn't much, but he'd guess that no one would go to this much trouble to take out the former librarian. According to the first arrivals on the scene, someone had logged a bunch of fake 911 calls that had sent the first responders scrambling and had resulted in their late arrival here.

“Um, Baker?”

“What?” Alex spun around, his frustrated pacing cut short.

“We have a hit on that plate. Accident about three blocks from here—”

“Take me there, Higgins. Now.”

I
n typical New Orleans fashion
, the traffic snarl quickly out distanced the main crash site. Their progress stalled at least a block away. Alex shoved open the car door.