Charity's Passion (16 page)

"Relax, Arthur," John Roberts breathes. "Justin didn't come here without suspecting a trap. If there's a way out, he knows it. I've trusted my life to him for years and I don't doubt him now."

Justin doesn't say a word, letting the silence hang in the air.

There's obvious impatience on Shea's face. It's also clear that Justin isn't saying anything just to make Shea wait and to piss him off.

John Roberts starts laughing. "Justin, stop screwing with him and tell us how we're getting out of here."

The smile pulling at the corners of my mouth cannot be denied.

"Marker will expect us to come out separately, or maybe two at a time. It would be insane to go out altogether, so that's exactly what we're going to do," Justin tells us.

"But it isn't safe," Shea pleads.

"Actually it is. He won't see it coming," Justin growls. "We're also going to make him wait for it, so we should all just get comfortable. He won't be surprised by that, but it will dull his reaction time; it may even worry him that he missed us somehow."

John Roberts hops into the chair next to Shea without waiting for any invitation. "Great, more Jamison."

"No!" Justin snaps. "No one drinks. It's going to be serious enough getting out of here and we don't need anyone fucked up."

"Awe shit, Justin. Now you're making it suck," John Roberts moans.

Justin just smiles at him. He turns to me and I know he is about to give me special instructions; it's all over his face with a serious concern. Something has to be done, and he wishes it didn't have to be me to do it—but it does.

"The bar has souvenirs for sale," he starts. "Stay away from the windows. Buy a ball cap and a tee shirt and change in the ladies room. When you come out, you're going to ignore us. Go to the front of the bar. There's a group of guys, you need to get into their conversation, flirt with them. You'll have a good view from up there straight out the windows to look for Marker."

Wait—what?

"You want me to flirt with some guys I don't even know? They might not even be interested," I protest nervously, feeling the self-doubt creeping in.

"They're already interested," Justin says flatly. "They noticed you as soon as we came in."

Nothing gets past him.

This isn't a joke or a training drill. Someone is going to get shot if I don't do my part, so there's really no choice for me.

I buy what I need and change with my stomach flopping the whole time. When I step back out into the bar the men suddenly seem like the most intimidating men I've ever seen. I have every intention of walking straight up to them and joining their conversation, and I only fall a little short. Now I'm just standing next to them with my hands on the bar top like some nervous kitten.

"Do you need a drink?" Someone asks. To my surprise it was one of the guys and not the bartender.

So, I'm thinking I'll just put myself near them and see if they notice me. Yep, that's the plan.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do," I answer with both my smile and my eyes twinkling.

In the mirror behind the bar, I Justin’s jaw muscles flexing as he grinds his teeth in jealousy. Maybe I can enjoy this after all.

The guy motions the bartender over. "What are you drinking?" He asks.

"Red Bull and vodka, light on the vodka, it's early yet."

I check him out, my eyes dancing over his body, while he tells the bartender my order. I let his friends see me do it; more importantly, Justin watches me do it. I don't feel a bit guilty for the hurt that twists his expression—that's what he gets for asking me to do this.

"My name's Kent," he tells me as the bartender fixes my drink.

There's no reason for him to know the truth. "I'm Christy," I tell him. Then we are off on whatever random things he brings up as small talk in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation going. What do I do for a living? Where am I from? I let him lead and he's loving every minute of it. Twenty minutes later I smile like a tease when he grows comfortable enough to rest his hand on my lower back.

By now I'm sure Justin is a wreck, but I'm not watching anymore. There's an ocean of people outside the windows and I'm looking for the one that isn't swimming.

No one seems right for the part, and that doesn't make any sense. Someone, probably a few of them, should look at least a little suspect, but that isn't happening. Men from every walk of life pass by, some in suits, others in shorts or jeans. A few look like tourists on vacation. A lot of them look local to me. Not one that I see is watching the pub at all.

I need to remember that Marker is no clown; he's at Justin’s level. I need to look for Justin—that's what I'm doing wrong. I'm looking like it's something I'm going to see, but if Justin where out there I would never find him this way.

Change my entire approach. Rethink this from the start.

To reset, I focus on Kent for a minute and let my eyes and brain forget where they had been. I want a completely fresh perspective, and when I feel ready I let myself begin again.

But before I look, I have to think. Where would Justin be if he was after us?

Not outside!

Outside is a waste of time. If Justin is after me, hunting me, he's already in here, not wasting time outside. If it's him, he doesn't want anything in his way obstructing his view. Inside is less expected, so that's what he'd do.

Marker is inside!

Jesus Christ I could be talking to him!

My eyes snap back to whatever the fuck he said his name is as a numbness of fear covers me. He was here before we were; I have no way to know if he's really friends with these other guys or if he simply mingled in with them the same way I had.

As if I needed it to be worse, he touches my back again, and this time it makes my skin crawl. There has to be a sign, some hint of evil in his face. I look for it but can't find it.

Is he really just that good?

I don't have that answer. Right now the only thing I'm sure of is that Marker is in here, close.

My heart is pounding right out of my body.

Maybe it's not
Kent
, but I need to figure that out fast.

Around the room there are other possibilities and I discretely give them the attention they need while Kent drones on. Right now I don't give a shit what he does for a living—unless he's admitting that he kills people for profit.

I can see Justin again now in the mirror. The jealousy slides off his face quickly as he sees that I've changed tactics and I'm looking inside.

He looks around as well, revisiting everyone he's already glanced at, this time with much more scrutiny than before.

I'm not sure how it's possible, but my heart gallops even faster.

As sure as I am that Marker is inside, I also wonder then—why hasn't he made a move? Why aren't we already laying in a bloody heap?

We weren't expected!

Arthur Shea called John Roberts and told him to come alone. If Marker has a line tap, that's what he heard and that's what he planned for.

We're an added bonus.

Now his plan has to change, and he's careful—just like Justin.

He won't be alone; that's too obvious. Someone in here doesn't quite fit in, and it will show.

Everyone else looks normal, but I haven't been as thorough with Kent's friends as I probably should.

I nod at Kent, keeping up with his talking the best that I can. I'm losing it, though; my desperation is slowly taking over my willingness to flirt with him for cover as I learn toward his group.

They should all be into their own conversations by now, and taking furtive glances at their friend with pride in a job well done for picking me up.

One of them isn't quite there, hanging off the edge of the group like he doesn't completely fit in. How did I miss this before?

Our eyes meet.

My heart skips a full beat.

There's a smirk on him now, a twisted sarcasticness that tells me not only is it him, but he knows I'm on to it.

I'm fucked!

For a moment, a millisecond of reality, I crumble. I want my Justin, his strong arms. I'm unable to do this, to even move or defend myself, and I need him.

Then I remember who the fuck I am, that I blew a man's head open and helped my fiancé hunt down his mother's rapist.

I smile back at him.

His smile falters.

I got this!

"Holy shit! What the hell are you doing here?" I shout, slamming my drink on the bar top.

Kent's face is instantly white and confused. "You're friends with a rapist!" I shriek. "Him!" I shout, pointing at Marker. "He raped my little sister and got away with it."

Kent's real friends backed away from Marker instinctively, stepping in front of me.

"We don't even know him!" Kent shouts, suddenly angry, as if Marker has tossed blood on his shirt. "He just started talking to us."

Yeah—I know that!

Marker is pissed. He takes a step toward me—a big mistake. Kent's friends take it as a sign of aggression and shove him back against the bar.

All hell is going to break loose now. I'm sorry for Kent and his friends, but this is survival.

Marker shoves one of them away and reaches toward his waistband where I know there will be a gun. One of the other guys tries to throw a punch that Marker blocks easily, but while he's distracted my foot is flying into his baby maker. The connection hurts my foot, so I know it's so much worse for him.

There's a howl of pain but I'm not sticking around for it. The other guys pounce and I run.

Justin and the others are already on the move. He waves me to join them.

A shot rings out. I'm always surprised at how loud it is indoors. My ears are ringing.

I know the guys are scattering behind me now. This is much more than they were looking for and I can only hope none of them is hurt.

When I reach him, Justin's arm covers me. "Are you okay?" He shouts, mortally panicked. "Are you hurt?"

I just want us out. "No! Just go! Go!"

We block John Roberts and Shea as we shove them into the back. We can't see it yet, but there's always a back door, and that's what we're heading for.

Justin has his gun, but he can't get a shot off, not from back here without risking innocent people.

A second gunshot pops off and the tabletop next to us explodes into a rain of splinters.

Outside the front of the place I can already hear people screaming, running for safety.

We're finally in the kitchen. Justin pulls his gun; he can fire now if Marker follows. The young lady that had been operating a grill is now ducking below the counter and crying. Her eyes are so wide I don't know how they're staying in.

As expected, there's a fire exit sign ahead of us. I don't know why John Roberts and Shea aren't moving faster; we need to get the hell out of here as quickly as we can.

I see it now—fresh blood on the floor tiles under our feet.

One of them is hit. That second bullet was not a miss.

That'll have to be taken care of after. We have to keep moving now or there won't be anyone left to help.

"Keep going!" I demand.

Justin and I lean into them.

"Move!" Justin shouts as we push.

Somehow we get them to the door and an alarm sounds as we push it open.

A door explodes open behind us and Justin fires his weapon. Two shots are all the cover we need and then we are out.

"Did you hit him?" I ask hopefully.

"No," He growls, ushering is through an alley.

There are sirens already approaching.

"Get to our car," Justin demands.

I haven't forgotten the blood. "We need a hospital!" I shout.

Justin corrects me, "We need Dr. Cooper!"

He's right. No matter which one is hit, we need to take them where it's safe to go.

At the end of the alley we mix into the terrified crowd. People are running in every direction, most of them have no clue where the shots came from; they heard them and ran. Maybe they didn't even hear them. These days you see a crowd running and you have to assume the worst and run with them.

I'm too scared to watch our backs; Justin is doing that for us. The sirens are closer; by now Marker has to be more concerned about getting away than finding us.

We finally reach our car. I'm looking to see who is hit as we shove them in, and the first thing I see is a hole in John Robert's shirt.

My heart sinks. "John, your shirt, are you hurt?"

"No. I—I don't think so." He checks himself and finds a second hole in his shirt on the other side. The bullet had gone through the loose slack if the fabric and never touched him. "It's Shea," he says.

Shea's face is loaded with pain and one of his hands is gripping his hip. His pants are red and soaked around his hand.

Justin and I jump into the front seat.