Ski Mask stared down. Seth stared up. Each waited for the other to turn over a new card.
The world exploded into movement. Ski Mask shoved Raine ahead of him down the stairs. She bounced against the wall, tried to get her balance, toppled and fell. Seth leaped to catch her with a shout. Her weight and momentum carried them down, and they crashed against the newel post, bringing it and a chunk of banister down with them. Raine landed on top of him, bounced and rolled.
Ski Mask leaped right past them, burst through the swinging doors into the kitchen and ran out the garage.
The hunting frenzy inside him screamed for him to give chase, but when he rolled up onto his knees, he saw Raine lying very still on the carpet, the blood on her face hideously bright against her pallor.
He forgot about Ski Mask, about Lazar, Novak, Jesse, everything. Panic wiped his mind clean.
He felt for her pulse, and almost wept in relief when he found one. Strong and steady. He moved his trembling hands gently over her body, feeling for injuries. He understood, with all the raw energy of fear, how precious and unique she was. That what he valued about her had nothing to do with beauty, or with sex, or power. And everything to do with that bright place in his mind that she inhabited; that encompassed the tiny baby she once had been, the beautiful old lady she would someday be. If he had anything to say about it.
Seth's heart swelled and ached as he ran his hands over her, repeating her name, his voice rough with entreaty while an incoherent litany repeated in his mind:
Her eyelids fluttered. They opened, dazed. She focused on him with difficulty. Tried to smile.
He sagged over her like a puppet with cut strings and pressed his face against her chest. Her arms moved. She draped them over his shoulders. Cold fingers patted his hair. He tried not to burst into tears.
He got the number wrong the first six times he dialed it. He needed a drink, to chill him just enough so he could make his big fingers hit the right goddamn buttons on the goddamn microscopic phone. His arm was swelling. The spiteful bitch had given him a wicked crack with that lamp. She was more like Alix than he'd thought.
God, what a fuck-up. He could have shot the girl's lover. Or controlled him by using her as a hostage. There were a million things he could've done, if he'd had the brains and the guts for them.
He finally got the number right, and the ring sent a fresh wave of dread through him. His stomach cramped and burned.
The phone line clicked open. “Yes?”
“All—there's been a problem,” he stammered. “But if you'd just give me a little time to fix it—”
“What happened?” The very gentleness of Novak's voice made chills crawl across Riggs's sweating back.
“Her, uh, boyfriend got in the way, and I—”
“I am very disappointed, Edward. I chose you for this job for artistic reasons, not practical ones. To have her father's murderer be the one who brings her to me—the theatricality of it appealed to me. Now I regret having been so fanciful. I regret it very much.”
“No, no, please. I swear, I have the situation under control.”
“I thought that even a pathetic failure such as yourself would be able to handle such a simple task.”
Riggs squeezed his eyes shut. “The guy just appeared in her house, out of nowhere. There was no way to get her out of there without killing him, and I thought—”
“Ask me how much I care if you are forced to kill someone, Edward. Go on. Ask me.” “Please, let me try again” he pleaded. “I've still got her on the monitor. They're not moving yet. I've got her cold. I swear to God.”
“And her lover? Are you equal to the task?”
Riggs tried to swallow, but his throat just bumped, dusty and dry and thick. He thought of the death that had looked up at him in those glittering black eyes, waiting for him to make a wrong move. The gun, held easily in his hand, the loose-limbed crouch of a trained fighter.
And him, his gut burning like a bed of barbecue coals, his liver shot, no luck left in him at all. Oh, God, Erin. He let his breath out heavily. “The guy's a professional,” he admitted. “Either I kill him, or he'll kill me. It's a fifty- fifty call.”
And that was a hopeful estimate, he thought.
Novak was silent. A minute ticked by, then another.
“Follow them if they move,” he ordered. “I will now give you the number of a certain person. You will call him to communicate your location. You will rendezvous with him. You will lead him to the girl, and you will keep out of his way and let him do his job. Understood?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “And—and—”
“What? Speak up, man.”
“Erin,” he said desperately.
“Oh. The hammer need not fall just yet. Georg is being a perfect gentleman. A maiden's fondest dream. Here is the number. Are you paying attention?”
“Yeah.” Riggs wrote down the number that Novak dictated.
“And Edward?”
“What?” He held his breath, clutching the wheel. “What?”
Novak chuckled softly. “Try to relax.”
Riggs's arm went slack, the phone dropping out of his stiff fingers. He touched his arm. It throbbed. It hurt like a bastard, but pain didn't matter. Only Erin mattered. If he could salvage her from the wreck of his life, that would be enough. That would be all he asked. As the hours went by, he asked less and less of life. Run, run, run, ruined old rat. He closed his eyes, and thought of Erin's sweet smile.
Raine laughed at Seth's queasy expression and tried to pull the washcloth out of his hands. “It's not as gory as it looks.”
“Easy for you to say. You're not looking at it.” Seth yanked the washcloth back and dabbed at her face, looking greenish. “Weird. I've seen plenty of blood, and I've never been bothered by it before.”
“Give me that.” She seized the rag and finished the job, then flung the grisly looking cloth into the garbage. She looped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest. “Thanks for galloping to my rescue. My white knight.” She turned her head quickly as his arms tightened. “Careful of the nose, please.”
“Sorry. God, Raine. You scared me so bad,” he muttered.
She pressed her cheek against the slippery cold leather of his jacket. “I'm sorry about my tantrum,” she said. “You get to say I-told-you-so for the rest of your life, if you want.”
“Yeah, and you better believe I'll milk it to the bitter end.” He tilted her face up and glared into her eyes. “Better not even get me started on that. I'll just get pissed off all over again.”
“Fair enough, fair enough “ she said hastily. “Let's change the subject. Like, how can I tell if my nose is broken?”
That worked like a charm, to her relief. His glare faded. He reached out to touch her nose, very gently.
“Ow! Careful,” she snapped.
“Not broken,” he said with conviction.
“How do you know?” She touched it, frowning. “It hurts like hell.”
“Mine's been broken three times. Believe me, I know,” he assured her. “You're going to have two black eyes, though.”
She winced “Ick.” “Could have been worse. Let's get you to an emergency room.”
She blinked. “Why?”
He snorted. “Hello! Raine, you're the one who just got attacked by a guy in a ski mask and thrown down the stairs!”
“Where I landed conveniently on top of you.” She rose up on tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “I'm OK. Just shaky. And I have a sore nose.”
He studied her face with troubled eyes. 'You seem awfully calm.”
“I know. Probably it just hasn't hit me yet. I'll fall apart later for sure.” She stroked his jaw, running her fingers over the small muscle that pulsed there. “It can hit me whenever it wants, as long as you're with me. Don't leave me alone tonight, Seth. You make me feel strong enough to face anything.”
