To Trust a Stranger (39 page)

He grinned. “Okay. Like I said before, originally Debbie had nothing to do with you. I ... “

There was a knock at the door. Josephine erupted from under a desk, charging the door with a cacophony of shrill yaps.

Mac and Julie exchanged glances. Frowning, Mac slid out from beneath her, getting to his feet and grabbing for his clothes. Julie scrambled to follow suit.

There was another knock, louder and more peremptory than before. Alarmed, Julie looked at Mac. Did hit men knock on doors? Surely not.

Mac was frowning. He had his jeans on, and was pulling on his shirt.

“Who is it?” he called, casting her a quick, assessing glance as he scooped up his gun from a table near the end of the couch; Julie hadn't seen him discard it, but she supposed he must have put it there when he was stripping off his clothes. She was on her feet, fastening her skirt-she already had on her bra and panties-as he moved toward the door, his arm stiff, his gun at his side and pointed down. Josephine was barking her head off; Julie realized that her own heart was racing.

“Open up! Police!”

Julie's eyes widened. That was a good thing, right? Maybe not, from the look on Mac's face. Hastily she pulled on her T-shirt, then looked l found for her shoes.

“That you, Dorsey?”

“Yeah, it's me. Open up, McQuarry.”

Mac looked around at her. She was dressed now, complete to her shoes, clutching her purse in one hand as she ran a quick brush through her hair.

After all, she didn't want to look like she'd just been engaged in what she'd been engaged in.

“It's okay. I know this guy. He's a prick, but he's an honest prick.” Julie nodded, breathing a little easier. Mac stuck his gun inside the back of his jeans, pulled his shirt down over it, and opened the door. Two uniformed cops stood there, looking stolid and unthreatening, their gazes touching on Mac, then moving past him to find Julie, who had just scooped Josephine up. Now that she was safe in someone's arms, Josephine was once again quiet.

“What can I do for you?” Mac didn't sound particularly friendly. The beefier of the two cops grimaced.

“You’re under arrest, McQuarry.”

29

“YOU'YE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”

Mac stared at Dorsey disbelievingly. The other man, a career patrol cop who'd been on the force when Mac was there, shook his head.

“Nope. You carrying? Sure you are. Want to make this easy, and give me your piece?” Dorsey stepped into the room and held out his hand. Behind him, the other cop drew his gun.

“You can't arrest me. For what?”

“Assault. We got a warrant. You ... “

“What?” “ ... got the right to remain silent. If you ... “

“I know my rights. Damn it, Dorsey, I'm on a job here. See that lady?” He jerked his head at Julie, who was watching the proceedings wide-eyed. “There's a hit out on her. Somebody's trying to kill her. I'm working as her bodyguard, and I'm all that's keeping her alive.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dorsey drew out his cuffs, and locked one around Mac's wrist before Mac was more than peripherally aware of what was headed his way. The cold metal bracelet brought the reality of this preposterous situation home like nothing else could have. Dorsey was turning him around, reaching for his other hand, finishing off with his rights, and the other cop had him shoved up against a desk and was starting to pat him down.

“Don't hurt him.” Julie took a step toward him, Josephine clutched close to her breast. “Ma'am, we're not hurting him. Please stay out of this,” said the other cop, the one Mac didn't know. Mac got a glimpse of Julie's whitening face even as he pulled his
uncuffed
hand out of Dorsey's hold.

“Damn it, McQuarry .... “ Dorsey grabbed his hand again as the other cop relieved him of his Glock.

“Mac, should I call somebody? Who should I call?” Julie sounded frightened now. “Hinkle,” he said, and told her the number, playing keep-away with his hand all the while. “Can't you just make this easy on everybody, McQuarry?” Dorsey said with a sigh, then shoved his knee into the small of Mac's back, making him grunt with pain. While Mac was busy reacting, Dorsey grabbed his hand .

“You are hurting him!” Julie was standing by his desk now, her eye huge and dark, her face pale. She held the telephone receiver to her ear. “Mac, he's not home. The answering machine picked up.”

“Tell him what's happening. Tell him to haul ass down to the Seventy-third Precinct.” If he sounded desperate, it was because he was. Dorsey didn't have enough brain wattage to power a flashlight. It was going to be impossible to talk him out of this, and if he didn't talk him out of it, Julie was going to be left at the mercy of whoever was hunting her. Julie was still talking into the phone when, without warning, Dorsey jerked his arm up behind his back. The pain was sharp and intense. Mac made a sound, and twisted instinctively to ease it. The second bracelet clicked into place. His hands were cuffed behind his back. Shit, this was going down. Right now. They were already pushing him toward the door.

“Julie, stay with me. Dorsey, you can take her down to the station with us, can't you?”

“No can do.” His voice grew a tad more polite as he added, over his shoulder as they hustled Mac along the hall, “Sorry, ma'am.”

“Julie. “

“I'm here Mac. Officers, you can’t ... “

One on either side, they shoved him into the elevator, and the closing door cut off her words. For a moment Mac stared at the dingy metal panels in stupefaction as the elevator lurched into motion.

“Julie!” he roared, only to be rewarded for his pains by Dorsey twisting his arms up behind his back again, both of them this time, and harder than before. Mac groaned.

“You yell like that again and I'm gonna break your head for you.” His arms were released.

“Dorsey, you stupid shit. If anything happens to her, I'm going to take you apart limb from limb.” Mac was sweating buckets. The elevator clanked slowly down. Meanwhile, Julie was left behind on the second floor, alone except for Josephine. “You hear that, Nichols? Sounds like terrorist threatening to me.” Mac took a deep breath. If he lost his cool, if he provoked Dorsey into doing something drastic, Julie would be left defenceless. If the hit man was in the vicinity, and Mac was growing more convinced with every passing second that he was-Dorsey was an honest if brutish cop, but this arrest coming when it had was too pat, somebody was behind it, and Mac's blood ran cold as he guessed who-Julie would die. At the thought, a burst of fear went through him like a wintry blast. He remembered the girl hit by the car in front of her store; he remembered the way Julie had been attacked before. Fear turned into stark terror. He had to force it back. Giving into it was the worst thing he could do. He emptied his mind, channelling calm, readying himself, as the elevator finally, finally, reached the ground floor.

30

WITH JOSEPHINE TUCKED UNDER ONE ARM and her purse under the other, Julie was left gaping as the elevator doors closed in her face. Just like that, Mac was gone. All she could see was herself reflected in the dull silver surface. Staring blankly at her own image, she saw that her lips were slightly swollen from Mac's kisses, her cheeks were rosy with color, and her eyes shone. Ever her hair seemed to have developed extra bounce. She looked like-a woman in love. Mac had said he was in love with her. Despite the exigencies of her present situation, Julie was suddenly suffused with warmth. The corners of her mouth turned up in a little smile.

Get out of here.

The words in her head came out of nowhere, and the smile vanished from her face as if it had been drawn on a blackboard and then wiped clean in a single swipe. Realizing that, Julie forgot about being a woman in love and went back to being a woman in fear for her life. The hair rose on the back of her neck; her pulse raced. She stood stock-still, electrified, her eyes darting fearfully around. If she had learned nothing else in the course of this nightmare, she had learned that the little voice meant big trouble.

Hurry.

Oh, yeah. She was out of there. Like the wind. The elevator was too slow. The stairs she and Mac had used earlier were to her left. Hanging on to Josephine for dear life-thank God for Josephine, Julie thought, she would have died of fright on the spot without her-she ran for the door, only to stop in her tracks as she heard-something. A sound just beyond it, in the stairwell. It could be anything, she told herself as she strained to hear over the pounding of her own blood in her ears. A cat. A bum. A hit man. Great going, Julie. Way to be calm. All right, forget calm. Scared half to death would have to do. Her heart was thudding in her chest like a racehorse galloping toward the finish line. She was suddenly terrified to venture as much as one step farther-but she was equally terrified not to. There were only two choices: the elevator or the stairs. And the elevator door remained stubbornly closed. All she had to do was go down one measly flight of stairs, and she would be safe in the company of Mac and two burly cops.

Hide.

Even as she registered the word, the door opened. Just like that, with no more warning at all. Julie's blood ran cold. Icy dread froze her in place.

“Hello, Julie.” Julie's heart gave a great, panic-stricken leap in her chest. She didn't know what terrified her more: the gun that was pointed at her, or the fact that it was being held by a man with a swollen, discoloured nose.

They were armed, he was not. There were two of them to one of him. His hands were cuffed behind his back. The only chance he had was to take them on in this confined space. There was no talking sense to these guys. If he didn't win free, he was going to jail. And Julie would die. The elevator stopped with a little ping, distracting their attention. The doors started to open. Mac called on every bit of training he had ever had as a SEAL, and pivoted on one leg, spinning like a top and slashing out with his raised leg with the force and fury of a tornado.

“Ahhhh!” Dorsey screamed as he went flying into Nichols, who smacked into the wall. Their guns somersaulted into the air, they went down in a heap, and Mac leaped on them ruthlessly, kicking Dorsey under the chin as he tried to rise, stomping on Nichols' back. Dorsey crashed backward, his eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed. Cursing, Nichols got his hands under him and tried to lever himself up, but Dorsey's legs were sprawled across his butt, slowing him just enough for Mac to kick him in the side of the jaw. Nichols collapsed like a house of cards. Then it was over. The whole thing had taken perhaps a minute. Both men were sprawled on the floor, unconscious and bleeding, but alive. His training had taught him to kill, but he'd tried his best to avoid that negative outcome. Even so, beating cops to a pulp was a major no-no, and Mac realized that he had bought himself a boatload of trouble. It was something to worry about later. Right now he had to get to Julie, and get both of them as far away as possible as fast as he could. Moving quickly, he crouched and stepped through the loop formed by his cuffed hands. With his hands in front of him now, he grabbed his Glock from Nichols' belt, sticking it down inside the front of his jeans, then fished in Dorsey's pocket for the keys to the cuffs. Dorsey's breathing was shallow, and blood trickled from a corner of his mouth. Mac grimaced as his fingers closed around the keys. Sorry, asshole, he thought, and manoeuvred the small silver key into the lock. It clicked open. He pulled the cuffs off, then checked the pulse of both men: strong and steady. They would live to make him rue the day. A quick glance around confirmed what he already knew: he was in what was essentially a metal box. There was nothing to cuff them to. Thinking fast, he snapped a cuff around one of Dorsey's wrists, knotted the chain around Nichols' ankle, then fastened the second cuff around Dorsey's other wrist. That would slow them down. Smiling faintly, he stepped out of the elevator, shoving Dorsey's legs in so that the door would close, then hit the button for the fourth and top floor. The way that elevator worked, even if they were awake and aware, he would have just bought himself and Julie a good five minutes to get away. Casting a quick glance around to make sure she wasn't somewhere behind him-no, she wasn't, and neither was anyone else; fortunately, the building pretty much emptied out at five-Mac drew his gun, turned, and sprinted for the stairs. He went up them two at a time, practically running as he shoved through the heavy metal door that opened onto the second floor. The hall was deserted. She must have gone back to his office to wait. Mac tried to ignore the little tendrils of fear that started to curl through his stomach as it occurred to him that Julie should have been on the first floor waiting for them to get off the elevator. She should have been on the stairs. Returning to his office didn't seem like something she would do. Reaching the door, he opened it and stepped inside, some instinct causing him to automatically assume combat stance.

“Julie,” he called, doing a fast visual survey of the room. Everything was just as it had been left: lights on, computer on, pizza boxes still sitting atop Rawanda's desk. But no Julie.

“Julie!”

His blood raced through his veins. His heart pounded like a triphammer. He did a quick search of the office, knowing already that she wasn't there. In the few minutes that they'd been separated, Sid's hireling had gotten to her. He knew it in his gut. “Oh, God, Julie.” The anguish in his own voice sobered him. Giving into emotion would get her killed faster than anything he could do. He had already made one mistake by bringing her to his office at all. He'd thought she'd be safe, with him right beside her, never letting her out of his sight. He'd been wrong. He couldn't afford to be wrong again. His being wrong could very well get her killed. He should have taken her and run while he had the chance. To hell with everything else: Julie was what mattered. God help him, what was he going to do? Her purse. Where was her. purse? He looked around on the floor by the couch, where she had set it down. It wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere he could see. She’d been carrying it as she'd followed him down the hall. He remembered now. Please God she was still hanging on to it. Please, please God. He'd put a button-sized homing device in her purse that morning, just in case she got it into her head to try to elude him at some point during the day. In his experience, women rarely went anywhere without their purses. That quirk of female nature might very well save her life. He left his office, leaped down the stairs without sparing so much as a thought for the men he'd left in the elevator, and ran like a madman for the Blazer, cursing himself with each step for parking so far away. Finally reaching it, he jumped inside, and fished frantically around in the back for the global positioning unit the homing device worked with. Turning it on, he waited with bated breath for the screen to warm up. Then-there it was. Or rather, there she was: a tiny green dot moving at a fast pace through the maze of streets laid out like a map on the dark screen. If she and her purse were still keeping company, that is. He wasn't ordinarily a religious man, but he was getting religion fast. He prayed that she was hanging on to that purse as he had never prayed for anything in his life. Starting the Blazer, he stepped on the gas, meaning to peel rubber out of the lot. A small white shape bounding toward him through the darkness caught his eye. He stared, frowned, and stood on the brake, then swung open his door. “Get in,” he yelled at Josephine.