Books by Maggie Shayne (139 page)

It was ridiculous to be going about it this way. He worked for DPI. He was one of them. He could punch in the code, walk right through the gates, up to the front door, and demand to see the prisoner.

But something held him back, made him cautious. Crazy, vague suspicions clouded his mind. He’d put them to rest when he saw that she was okay, but until then, he figured he’d be better off erring on the side of caution.

He’d had to argue with Kirkland to get him to stay behind. Hell, the guy had no idea what he’d be getting into if he came along. DPI was big. Powerful. It was dangerous to get on the wrong side of them. It was bad enough Kirkland was going to make the call.

Vaguely, she heard the phone and the low muttering from beyond the closed bedroom door. Two of the men remained with her. One, the one called Fuller, had gone out to answer it. Seconds later, he returned.

“We’ve got him.”

Whaley rose from where he’d been comfy on the bed. “Bachman?”

Fuller nodded. “That was the hospital in Caribou. Seems Bachman was brought in, unconscious. They found this number on him.”

Cuyler bit her lip to keep from gasping. God, what had happened to Ramsey?

“What the hell was he doing in Caribou?” Whaley asked.

“Probably trying to make his way here, to the safehouse. I still think you guys are wrong about him.” That was Stiles, the most gentle of the three. “How bad is he?”

“Doesn’t look like he’ll make it through the night. We’d better get over there.”

Pain tore through her heart. Dying? Ramsey was dying? She squeezed her eyes tighter to stop the tears that burned in them.

“What about her?”

Fuller glanced at Stiles, who stood unspeaking in the corner. “Can you handle her?”

The pale man nodded.

“She gets too lively, just give her another shot. We’ll call in from the hospital.”

She didn’t lift her head as the two walked out. Just let it hang. She’d be damned if she’d give them any reason to inject her with more of that awful, debilitating drug.

Ramsey crouched behind a shrub near the gate and waited. Two men came out of the house. Their car started up, headlights came on, and he cringed lower. An electronic hum, a metallic groan, and the gates swung open. The car rolled through, and they began to close again.

He watched the car accelerate as soon as it hit the road. The gates were still closing. Taillights disappeared around a bend, and Ramsey lunged to his feet and dove. The metal scraped his sides as he threw himself in, then banged solidly as his body hit the ground. Closing his eyes, he drew three steadying breaths. Night birds slowly resumed their nightly serenade. A few seconds later, frogs joined in. The wind rustled the trees again. Other than that, Ramsey heard nothing. He got to his feet, brushed himself off, and started toward the house.

The numbered panel beside the door stared at him, the System Armed light glaring like an evil eye. If they’d changed the entry code and he punched in the wrong numbers, an alarm would tell anyone inside of his presence. And he was certain there was still someone inside. They wouldn’t leave Cuyler unguarded.

His tongue darted out to moisten dry lips, and he tasted the sweat on his upper lip. There was no other way. If he opened a window or door without entering the code, the alarm would sound anyway. His hand rose slowly, hovering at the panel. He wiggled his fingers, grated his teeth, and entered the four-digit code he’d committed to memory.

The red light blinked out. A green one came on instead.

Ramsey pressed his ear to the door, listening. Only silence came from within. He gripped the knob and his hand slipped on its surface when he tried to turn it. Rubbing his palm against his pant leg, he tried again.

The door opened without a creak, and Ramsey ducked inside, closing it quickly and quietly behind him. He didn’t hesitate, but went directly to the staircase and up it, straining every cell in his body to be quiet.

At the top, he froze as heavy footsteps sounded. Pressing his back to the wall, he waited and watched. A door opened down the hall. In the muted light he recognized the man who emerged. Ron Stiles. Ramsey had worked with him before. He’d personally thought the guy lacked the grit to be with DPI. Tonight, though, he was secretly relieved the mild-mannered agent was the one guarding Cuyler.

Stiles crossed the hall and ducked into a bathroom, never once glancing Ramsey’s way. When the door closed, Ramsey hurried to the room Stiles had exited and slipped inside.

Cuyler sat in a hard chair, her arms pulled severely behind her. Her head leaned forward unnaturally. She wasn’t moving, and Ramsey felt his pulse skid to a stop. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he caught her chin and lifted it.

Her eyes were tear-swollen and closed. A vivid purple bruise marred her cheek, and her lower lip was crusted with dried blood. He just stared at her, unable to form words.

Weakly, she tugged her chin away from his hand. “Leave me alone,” she murmured. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“Cuyler…”

Her eyes opened, but they were unfocused. She stared at him from somewhere behind that drugged haze. “Ramsey?”

The toilet across the hall flushed and a second later steps came toward him. Ramsey fell back a few steps, so he’d be behind the door when it opened. Stiles came inside.

“If you twitch, I’ll have to shoot you, Ron.” Big words, he thought, for a man with no gun.

Stiles’s narrow back stiffened, but he didn’t move. His hands rose slowly on either side of his head. “Bachman? I thought you were—

“Never mind what you thought.” Ramsey came closer, reached around Stiles and took his side arm. “Now get me the key to the handcuffs. Quick.” He prodded the man’s back with his own gun, glad Stiles had fallen for the bluff.

Stiles nodded hard, dipped into his pants pocket and brought out the key. He held it up, and Ramsey prodded him again. “Get those cuffs off her.”

“Damn.”

“Do it!”

Stiles moved slowly around to the back of Cuyler’s chair, bent down and unlocked the cuffs. He stood again, dangling them from one crooked finger. “I didn’t believe Fuller when he said you’d turn on us.” He shook his head. “Guess he was right.”

Ramsey moved forward, keeping the gun leveled on his former colleague. “Why did he think that?”

Stiles just shook his head. “I’m not saying any more. Kill me if you have to.”

“Okay, if I have to.” Ramsey nodded toward the man. “Snap one of those cuffs to your wrist, Stiles.” He waited while the other man complied. “Good. Now turn around, hands behind your back. Come on, you know the drill.” Stiles turned. “On your knees.” When he complied, Ramsey moved quickly to slip one cuff through the foot of the bed, around the frame, and then snapped it around Stiles’s other hand.

“You won’t get far, Bachman. Fuller and Whaley will be back here just as soon as—”

“Fuller?” Ramsey gave his head a shake, stuffing the automatic into his waistband. Fuller was his immediate superior, a man he’d trusted. And Whaley was the crudest’s.o.b. ever to walk the planet.

Ramsey went around in front of Cuyler again, kneeling. She sat limply, rubbing her wrists. Ramsey’s anger grew when he saw the way the cuffs had cut into her flesh. He grew still more angry when she lifted her head to look into his eyes and he saw the pain in hers.

“Which one of you did this to her, Stiles?”

Stiles only glared at him and shook his head.

“And why, for God’s sake? It’s pretty obvious the tranquilizer works. Why’d they have to hit her?”

Stiles swore viciously. “She wouldn’t tell us where you were. You’d think she was human the way you’re carrying on. Hell, Bachman, she’s only one of them. An animal, like the rest.” At Ramsey’s glare, he lowered his head. “I forgot, though. You are, too, aren’t you? Just like them.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Ramsey rose, towering over the man on the floor, his fists opening and closing at his sides.

Stiles clamped his jaw and refused to say another word. Ramsey turned back to Cuyler, bent over her, gripping her shoulders. “Can you stand?”

She nodded, and tried to rise to her feet, only to have her knees buckle as she collapsed against him. Ramsey caught her, slipped one hand beneath her legs and lifted her. He carried her across the hall and into the bathroom. Propping her against the sink, he ran cold water onto a washcloth. Carefully, he bathed her bruised face, her swollen eyes. He dabbed the blood from her lip.

“Here, hold this to that bruise and I’ll look for something to put on your wrists.”

She took it, but shook her head. “We have to get out of here, Ramsey. Those other two…” Her words trailed off and she swayed a little.

Ramsey found a tube of ointment and some bandages in the cabinet and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he bent to scoop her up again. He carried her down the stairs, toward the front door.

Cuyler’s eyes had fallen closed again. The damned drug. And God only knew what else they’d done to her. His fury was beyond anything he’d felt in his life. The closest he’d come was the rage he’d felt when his own mother had been murdered. But that had been a child’s rage. It didn’t compare to the full-blown tempest whirling inside him now. He wanted to kill the DPI bastards for hurting her this way.

He carried her out into the chilly autumn night, marveling at the way her small body fit in his arms. He cradled her to his chest as if she were something precious. Hell, she was! Why was that so hard for him to admit? Cuyler was special, no matter what else she might be, and she didn’t deserve what they’d done to her.

His shoes ground over gravel as he ran to the gate, opening it. He didn’t care that it set off alarms inside…it didn’t matter now.

Ramsey reached the twisting, narrow road and started up the opposite direction from the one Whaley and Fuller had gone. The car sat off the roadside where he’d left it, surrounded by scraggly brush and branches. He managed to open the passenger door with one hand and lower Cuyler to the seat. He forced his hands to remain steady as he snapped the safety belt around her, but it wasn’t easy. She looked bad, and he had no idea what to do for her. She might be dying for all he knew.

Gently he pushed her hair out of her eyes. Why had he left her the way he had? Why the hell hadn’t he been there when those bastards had shown up? Why hadn’t he believed what she’d told him about DPI?

Her eyes opened, mere slits fringed by damp black lashes. “Hurry.”

Nodding, he slammed her door and raced around to the driver’s side. Seconds later the car reversed out of its hiding place and onto the road. Grinding gears in his haste, Ramsey shifted, and spun tires as they sped away from the safehouse, away from DPI, away from everything Ramsey had known in his life.

Ron Stiles twisted and squirmed until he managed to work the extra key out of his back pocket. It took some maneuvering to fit it into the lock without being able to see what he was doing, but he did it. The cuffs sprang free and he automatically brought his hands around in front of him and rubbed his wrists.

Then he stopped and looked down at them. Cuyler Jade’s wrists had been rubbed raw, bleeding. There’d been no reason for Fuller to put the handcuffs on so tightly. But he had, and it had pricked Stiles’s conscience to see it. Still, he hadn’t said anything.

And there’d really been no reason for Whaley to hit her. Not once, but twice. And they hadn’t been slaps. The bruises on her face had come from Whaley’s knuckles when she’d told them more lies about Ramsey’s whereabouts. Once again, Stiles hadn’t voiced his objections. If Ramsey cared about her at all, Stiles supposed it was little wonder he’d been furious to see her that way.

But that was the question, wasn’t it? Why on earth did Ramsey care about her? How had he gotten so mixed up with her that he’d toss his career—his life—in the toilet by coming to her rescue that way? God, he knew she wasn’t human. He knew. So what was going on in his head?

Stiles hadn’t wanted to believe what he’d read in Ramsey’s files. He’d balked against what Fuller had said. That Ramsey had turned on them. That he was the enemy now. But now that he’d seen the proof of it with his own eyes, he couldn’t doubt anymore. He just wished he understood.

Stiles left the bedroom, jogged down the stairs, and picked up the phone.

She couldn’t believe he’d done it. As Ramsey drove the car through the night, Cuyler forced her heavy eyes open and looked at him. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His jaw tensed as if he were grating his teeth. Perspiration made his forehead shiny in the glow of the dash lights, and dark stubble coated his face. Gray eyes, intense with concentration and maybe a little fear, darted her way every few seconds. And when he saw her gaze on him, one side of his mouth pulled upward slightly and briefly. An almost smile, meant to reassure her. No more.

“You really came for me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” He shook his head, sighing. “You’ve been saying all along I wouldn’t take you in.”

She bit her lower lip, unable to take her eyes from his face, from the strength she saw in it. And the turmoil. “You risked everything…”

He turned onto a larger road and increased his speed. Then, licking his lips, he glanced her way again. One hand left the steering wheel and he brushed it lightly over her bruised cheek. His lips thinned. “I’m sorry, Cuyler.”

“Sorry? You just saved my life—”

“If I’d listened to you in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to. If I hadn’t left you there, alone…” He blinked slowly, lowering his hand and focusing his vision on the road once again. “I tried to get back when I heard the snowmobiles, but—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She slid her hand over his on the wheel. “You came after me. You got me out of there.”

He shook his head. “It’s not over yet, Cuyler. They aren’t going to let us go without a fight. And they’re after both of us now.”

“They were always after both of us.”

He frowned, slanting her a sidelong glance.

“Ramsey, they kept asking me where you were. The fat one, Fuller, he told the others that you were never really one of them, that it was only a matter of time before you turned on them.”

Ramsey blew all the air out of his lungs. “That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. Why would he say something like that? I’ve never given them any reason to question my loyalty.”

“I don’t know.”

Ramsey swore under his breath and hit the brakes, snapping the headlights off as he pulled the car onto the shoulder. Cuyler followed his gaze and saw the flashing lights ahead, on the ramp to the highway. A roadblock.

“Do you think they’re looking for us? Already?”

“DPI works fast.” He pulled the car around in a U-turn and slowly drove back the other way, flicking the headlights back on when they were out of sight. “We’ll have to take back roads out of here.”

“To where? Ramsey, where can we go?”

He closed his eyes slowly. “I don’t know.” He turned onto a side road, and then another. “There’s a map in the glove compartment.”

She took out the map, unfolded it on her lap, and tried to keep her still-clouded mind focused on finding out where they were, and on discovering a safe route. “Okay, at the end of this road, turn left. That one runs parallel to the highway.”

He followed her directions, but even before they reached the road she’d pointed out, Cuyler saw the glow of more flashing lights in the distance.

Ramsey swore. “They’ve got us boxed in.” He stopped the car, shut it off, and turned to face her. “We’re not gonna get by them in this car. How do you feel? You up to a walk?”

She lifted her chin and swallowed her fear. She had to be strong to help him through this, even though the pain they’d inflicted and the blood she’d lost made her weaker than she’d ever felt in her life. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

With a nod, Ramsey shrugged out of his jacket, then used the sleeve to wipe the steering wheel and gearshift, the headlight button, and anything else he might have touched. “No sense leaving them any clues.”

She nodded, taking the map with her as she got out of the car. Then he got out, and came around the car. He put his jacket around her shoulders, folded his big hand around hers, and led her into the woods at the roadside.

The darkness worked in their favor as they made their way from one small patch of woods to another, keeping the road in sight but staying far enough away from it to remain concealed by the trees.

She was exhausted. He knew she was. And frightened. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. He was scared himself. DPI was not going to be easy to elude. Besides, he had other reasons to worry. He didn’t have a drop of insulin on him. And if he didn’t get some soon, he fully expected to start feeling the effects.

His watch told him there was an hour before dawn, when Cuyler suddenly stopped, clutched her stomach and doubled over. She fell to her knees, groaning and then retching violently.

Ramsey knelt beside her, held her shoulders. Fear made him shudder as he wondered what could be wrong. God, she was so weak, already.

She rose, unsteadily, leaning on him for support. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

“No, you’re not. Cuyler, what the hell is it?”

She sniffed, still not standing very steadily. “I don’t know. Maybe the drug they injected me with. I don’t know. It’s all right now, though.”

It wasn’t. It was perfectly clear that she was anything but all right. She was pale, trembling, cold. She needed someplace warm to rest and… Hell, he didn’t know what else she needed. But whatever, he was determined to get it for her. They were approaching a town, of sorts. A small grouping of neat little houses, with cars and the occasional bicycle in short, paved driveways. Supporting Cuyler with an arm around her shoulders, tucking her body close to his, he took her toward them, scanning for someplace, anyplace, where she might lie down for a while.

She stiffened when he pulled her out of the sheltering trees and toward clipped back lawns, all of them littered with colorful leaves. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Come on, trust me.”

She did, but hesitantly. They crossed three backyards before they found one with a prefab shed standing in it. Ramsey sighed in relief and started toward it, only to come to an abrupt halt when a huge dog lunged out of its doghouse and began barking loudly.

He took a single step backward, ready to duck back into the trees, but Cuyler caught his arm, stopping him. She didn’t say a word. Just moved closer to the dog, staring at it with an intensity that was palpable. The dog stopped barking. It stared right back at her, ears pricked forward, head tilted to one side. Then its tail wagged. She bent forward to stroke his big head. Ramsey only stood, dumbfounded, watching.

She turned to face him, smiling weakly. “He’ll keep quiet now;”

Ramsey shook his head. “So, should I start calling you Dr. Doolittle?”

“It doesn’t always work. But sometimes, I can let animals know I’m a friend.”

He took her hand again and led her to the shed, thanking his lucky stars there was no lock on the door. It opened easily, without a creak, and he pulled her inside. When he closed the door behind him they were in total darkness. He held her close to his side as he moved to the back, tripping once over what felt like a lawn mower, knocking over a shovel. Against the back wall, he urged her to the floor, then went back, feeling his way. He found a tarp that covered some piece of small machinery, and tugged it away.

He returned and settled beside her, tucking the tarp around both of them for warmth.

“We could have gone farther.” She snuggled close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You’re barely putting one foot in front of the other, Cuyler. You’re sick and you know it.” He ran one hand through her tousled hair. “What can I do to make it better?”

He felt her hesitation, could almost feel her deciding not to tell him. “Nothing. It’ll pass.”

“Funny how I can tell when you’re lying.” He drew a breath. “It’s not just the drug, is it, Cuyler?”

She didn’t answer.

“Cuyler, if there’s something I can do to help you, I want to do it.”

Her hand touched the side of his face. “No, you don’t.”

It was her tone, more than her words, that tripped the knowledge in his brain. “It’s the blood loss, isn’t it?” He felt her stiffen, knew he’d hit on it. “Your wrists bled, your lip. Quite a lot from the look of your blouse.”

“The injuries aren’t that bad, Ramsey. We tend to bleed a lot. That’s all.”

“So you need to replenish it.”

“Tomorrow night. We’ll find a blood bank somewhere or—”

“You could take some of mine.”

“Ramsey, no—”

“You’d feel stronger, better, wouldn’t you? Cuyler, it’s all right. I trust you.”

She sighed and sat up a little straighter. “That isn’t the point. Look, Ramsey, it would make us even more connected than we already are. The link between us is already tearing you apart inside. I don’t want to make it even stronger.”

He sat up, too, gripped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “I don’t go ten minutes without thinking about you, Cuyler. I’ve gone against everything I’ve ever believed in just to make sure you’re all right. I don’t see how it can get any stronger.”

He felt her shake her head. “It’s the situation. Ramsey, you’d made up your mind to get away from me. You struck out through the frozen wilderness on foot, you were so desperate to leave. And if those men hadn’t shown up, I don’t think you’d have come back. You’d have found a way out, gone back to your old life and stayed as far away from me as you could get. You still might want to do that, if we survive this.”

He closed his eyes and drew a steady breath. “I was still fighting what I felt. Dammit, you can understand that, can’t you? One of you killed my mother, for God’s sake. How could I—”

“One of us. You see? You still see it that way. An individual killed your mother, Ramsey. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I know that—”

“I could get help for us. I could summon others to help us out of this mess. We could stay with them until the danger passes. I could do it right now, Ramsey.”

He went utterly silent at her words. Others. Others like her. Vampires. The beings he’d been taught to hate for most of his life. He breathed deeply, and shook his head. He couldn’t trust his life to them. Just because he’d finally realized that Cuyler wasn’t a heartless predator, didn’t mean the others weren’t.

She sighed deeply, and he thought he heard sadness in the sound. “It’s all right. I won’t do it. I wasn’t considering it, anyway. I wouldn’t want to bring anyone else into DPI’s sights. I only wanted to make a point.”

“Cuyler, you can’t expect me to put my life in their hands.”

“No. And I don’t. But, Ramsey, they’re just people. We were all human once, just like you. There are good and bad in any group, and you can’t just write off an entire race because of one incident. It’s bigotry, can’t you see that?”

“No, it’s not. It’s different—”

“It’s different because we’re different, right?” She leaned against the wall, turning her back to him.

He knew he’d hurt her, angered her. But, dammit, it had been a major leap for him to see her as less than a monster, as a caring woman with thoughts and feelings like any other. Now she expected him to accept the entire race as just ordinary folks with a slight aversion to sunlight and solid food? They’d been different, even as humans. That damned antigen in their blood made them different.

No, dammit, he wasn’t ready to concede that everything he’d ever learned had been wrong. DPI may have gone too far in their persecution, but they’d had reasons. Ramsey had reasons, too. His mother. She was his reason, and he couldn’t let go of his old anger so easily.

Ramsey dozed, and it was full daylight when he woke. Cuyler slept in a corner, far away from him. It was the darkest spot in the shed, and while no sunlight touched her body, he covered her entirely with the tarp, just in case. There were no windows in the metal shed, but light spilled through seams in the tin here and there. He worried about the beams moving as the sun did.

Sounds of life—motors, air brakes—floated toward him. He opened the door a crack and peeked outside, checking first to make sure the light didn’t touch Cuyler. A school bus rolled to a stop in front of the house. He couldn’t see who boarded, since the house itself blocked his view, but a few seconds later it rolled away, followed closely by the two cars that had been in the driveway.

God, could he be so lucky? A two-career family with all the kids in school? He slipped out of the shed, glancing in both directions to be sure no one could see. He gave the dog a cursory glance, but the huge Newfoundland was busy devouring a fresh supply of kibble and didn’t even look his way.

Swallowing a healthy dose of anxiety, Ramsey walked up to the back door and knocked as hard as he could. What better way to find out if anyone was home? He waited, rehearsing what he’d say if someone answered. He figured he could pretend he was at the wrong house. But no answer came. The lock was a snap for any government agent worth his salt. In a few seconds he was inside, carefully and quietly searching the place just to be sure no one was around. Sighing in relief when there wasn’t.

It was too much to hope that one of the residents might be diabetic and have some insulin lying around. But he checked anyway. Not finding any, he was extremely careful when he raided the fridge. He had to eat, but God only knew what his system would do with whatever he put into it. He made do with a few stalks of celery and a sugar-free rice cake. There was a little coffee left in the pot, and he heated it in the microwave and gulped it down. Then he headed for the living room and snapped on the television, only to stumble a few steps backward when he saw his own face and a composite drawing of Cuyler’s on the screen, with a 1-800 number beneath them.

He only heard the words “Armed and extremely dangerous,” before the picture changed and the reporter launched into another story.

His initial reaction was to head for the shed, gather Cuyler up, and run as fast as they could go. But he couldn’t do that. He had to wait until sunset. There was no other way.

He got another rice cake, and sat down to work out the most immediate problem. Cuyler’s condition. She was weak, sick. He knew what she needed to feel strong again. And he knew she wouldn’t take it from him no matter how often he offered.