Dangerous Lover (26 page)

There he was!
There was a break in the snow, and Deaver could see Prescott. He was dressed in black and contrasted with the snow. It had been just a glimpse, but Deaver had been able to make out his outline. Deaver didn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t mean Prescott wasn’t armed. Still, if he knew Caroline Lake was in the vicinity, it wasn’t likely he’d start shooting until he knew what the situation was.

Deaver had a little window of opportunity here. He didn’t want to kill Prescott—not yet at any rate. He wanted to wing him, disable him, and use the Lake woman as leverage.

Good thing he’d done some zone recon yesterday. Across the street from the bookshop was a little park. It didn’t offer much coverage—just some shrubbery and a little gazebo in the middle. It was perfect. Prescott would be afraid to use his weapon, and the Lake woman would have huddled up in the center.

There he was again!
Up against the big oak in the center
of the park, trying to get his bearings. Deaver bent his knees and brought his weapon up two-handed, at an angle to present as small a target as possible, ready for the next break in the snow. A heavy dump of it came, then the wind parted one of the sheets. Deaver was breathing regularly, feeling his heartbeat, waiting for the moment from one beat to the next, though at this range, he could hardly miss.

Now!
A slight break in the snow. Deaver sighted…

A thump on his back broke his concentration just as he was gently squeezing the trigger. By the time he was able to focus again, the snow had come down like a curtain across a stage. He’d lost sight of Prescott.

Deaver twirled around, staring into McCullin’s arrogant, angry face.

McCullin had a finger up, pointed at him. “Listen, I won’t have you firing g—”

Without changing expression, Deaver grabbed the fuckhead by the shoulder to steady him, brought the muzzle of his Beretta up against McCullin’s chest, and fired right through the heart. That petulant voice stopped instantly, the arrogant expression going blank in the space of a heartbeat.

Deaver had turned back around before the body hit the floor.

He scanned the area outside the open door. The snow was so thick he couldn’t see farther than the lampposts, but he knew Prescott was out there. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with Caroline Lake in the park. But where the fuck had he gone? Deaver waited in vain for another break in the snow, but it didn’t come.

This wasn’t working. He’d have to go straight into the kill zone.

He loped across the street, invisible in the snow, stopping behind a huge elm, listening and waiting. This was it. If he played his cards right, he’d be leaving this godforsaken frozen burg soon with $20 million and a dead enemy.

“Ms. Lake, for God’s sake, come back in here! That’s a murderer out there! Get away from there, for your own safety!”

Caroline heard the words, muffled by the snow, but it took her a second to realize that the FBI Agent was talking about Jack. He meant that Jack, a murderer, was in the park. That Jack could kill her.

Wasn’t that precisely why she was hiding behind the gazebo? She hadn’t even thought it out. She’d seen Jack’s broad, dark outline and without thinking she’d darted into the bushes.

“Ms. Lake!” the agent called. “For your own safety, I must ask you to come back inside.”

Yes, of course. She was out in the open with a mass murderer. A man who, moreover, had boasted that he was always armed. Actually, he hadn’t boasted, he’d just said it matter-of-factly, but still. She had no doubt that he was armed right now.

For your own safety,
the agent had said.
Get away.

Jack was armed, Jack could hurt her. However painful that thought was, it was the truth. Wasn’t it?

An FBI agent, ready and willing to protect her, was right there, outside her shop. All she had to do was run to him.

So why was she hunkering down behind the gazebo, cheek pressed against the splintery wooden base, hands turning blue from the cold?

The cold was so intense, it was a wonder Special Agent Butler and Jack couldn’t hear her chattering teeth. She was in her shop shoes—pretty black pumps that were pathetic in this weather. They were waterlogged and stiff with the cold. The snow was already halfway up her shins, her feet lost in the cold, wet slush. She could barely feel them. If she was going to make a run for it, now was the time, before her feet froze, and she had to be carried out of the park.

She held on to the brass railing ringing the base of the circular gazebo, heart thudding. She had to run, she had to…

“Caroline!” Jack shouted. “Come to me!” Oh God. Caroline closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. So deep, so reassuring. She huddled more deeply into the snow. Her cheeks were wet and cold with melted snow and tears.

“Ms. Lake!” Special Agent Butler sounded closer. The voice was muffled, but by snow and not distance. “Remember what I said about Deaver! He’s a killer. He’ll use you as a hostage to get away. Run toward me, and I’ll cover you.”

“Jesus, Caroline!” Jack’s deep voice cracked. “Don’t believe him!
He
’s Vince Deaver. He’ll kill you the way you squash a bug, and with just as much remorse. I saw him kill women and children in Africa. Stay put! I’m coming toward you.”

“No!”
she screamed, standing up, ready to run if he came for her. The wind was whipping ice particles in her eyes, and she had to swipe at them to be able to see for even a moment. Her hands were so cold they were clumsy as they batted at
her eyes. “Don’t come near me.” She sobbed the words out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t come, Jack. Stay where you are.”

Silence. The only sound was the wind in the trees, muffled by the snow and her own thundering heart.

Fuck!

Jack didn’t dare go after Caroline. He could barely see her, behind a big round bandstand, hunkered down. But he didn’t have to see her face to know that she was crying, the tears had been in her voice.

She was scared and disoriented, her head filled with Deaver’s lies. None of it made any difference, what was important now was keeping her away from Deaver. If he was here, it was to use Caroline as bait for the diamonds.

Jack had no idea how Deaver had escaped from the UN soldiers and tracked Caroline down, or known enough about her to know that he’d travel to her, but here he was. Ready, willing and able to hurt Caroline or—God!—kill her.

He wouldn’t kill her right away, he was too smart for that. He’d put a bullet through her kneecap or through an elbow, make her suffer.

If Jack had thought it through, he’d never have taken the fucking diamonds. He didn’t want them. The diamonds weren’t worth one hair on Caroline’s head. If he could, he’d go straight to the bank, open the safe-deposit box and hurl them at Deaver’s head. He couldn’t though. If he didn’t play this right, Caroline would get hurt. Maybe killed.

Jack grew cold and detached in combat. His heart rate actu
ally slowed during firefights. He could strategize with bullets flying overhead. Not now, though. Right now he was sweaty and panicked and terrorized. Caroline was forty feet away from him and just might flee into the hands of a stone killer.

How could he think? How could he plan, make the right moves, when his head was filled with horrific visions of Caroline shot, her lifeblood seeping away into the snow? Screaming in pain with a bullet in her gut.

Jack had seen Deaver take careful aim and blow a woman’s arm off at the shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could see that on the inside of his lids, only it was Caroline in the line of fire, and it drove him crazy. His heart beat high and wild in his chest, and his weapon slipped in his fist. His hands were sweating. He was sweating all over.

What could he do? If he ran toward Caroline, she would bolt, straight into Deaver. If he didn’t make a move, Deaver would. Either way he was fucked.

“Ms. Lake!” Deaver called. “Run now, before it’s too late! I’ve got agents coming, we’ll keep you safe. We’ve got to get you back to your shop. Make a run for it, and I’ll cover you!”

Deaver’s voice was stronger. He was edging closer to Caroline. Soon, he’d be able to take a bead on her even if she didn’t bolt.

“Don’t believe him, honey.” Jack kept his voice low, hoping it wasn’t carrying to Deaver. “He’s lying.”

“How—how can he be lying?” Caroline’s voice quavered. “He’s an FBI agent.”

“No, he’s not.” In two long strides, Jack came several feet closer to Caroline, finding cover behind another big oak.
“He’s not an FBI agent. He’s a war criminal. He’s responsible for a—”

“Massacre in an African village. Stealing diamonds. I know.” Caroline was keeping her voice low. “He told me. Only he said it was you. That
you
were a war criminal with a fortune in stolen diamonds. And he showed me a photograph of you, Jack. You said you came from Afghanistan, but the snapshot showed you in Africa. The time stamp said it was taken on the twenty-first of December. And Jenna Johnson said that you deposited eight million dollars in a bank account. How can I believe you?”

Oh, Jesus.

He didn’t have time to explain, convince. Deaver was going to pounce any minute. Jack would gladly take a bullet for her, but she wouldn’t let him get close enough.

The sweat was pouring down his back, falling into his eyes. He felt sick with fear.

He could see the lampposts along the street—the snowstorm was easing up slightly. Deaver was out there, moving from cover to cover, and inside a few minutes, he’d reach Caroline. Deaver didn’t need for her to bolt. All he had to do was sneak up behind her, snake an arm around her neck, and call for Jack to put down his weapon.

Jack would do it, too. Even knowing that certain death would follow, he’d do it to save Caroline. Only he wouldn’t save her. She’d be next.

Jack swallowed the surge of bile in his throat, the taste of defeat.

There!
Something flitted between the trees, a ghost of movement. Deaver. Coming closer.

Caroline couldn’t stay there, she’d be dead inside of five minutes. And Deaver had filled her head with so many lies, she wouldn’t run to him.

She had to get away,
now!

Jack dug into his jeans pocket and tossed a mass of metal toward Caroline. Even in the dusk and in the snow, he had an excellent aim. It fell at her feet, sinking instantly into the snow.

She bent and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. He could see her clearly now. She raised her eyes and saw him. His heart clenched at the expression on her face—sorrow and fear and grief.

“Caroline,” he said urgently. “Those are the keys to the Explorer. It’s parked on Harrison. Get in and drive, just as fast as you can. Head for Seattle or Spokane. There’s a couple of thousand dollars in the glove compartment, use that. Just get yourself away from here. If something—if something happens to me, get in contact with Philip Napier. He’s an estate lawyer on Hewitt. I’ve left my will with him. You’ll inherit everything I own. Have him wire you the money and disappear. Don’t ever come back here. Deaver will kill you if you do.”

She stared into his eyes. “Where did the money come from?” she whispered.

Another glimpse of a shape, barely visible, taking refuge behind the concrete walls of the public toilets before Jack
could aim. He was moving toward the bandstand. Jack could see the barrel of Deaver’s gun jutting out from the right-hand corner of the wall. Caroline was on the other side of the bandstand. He’d figure it out in a moment and rush her. She had only minutes left.

“Listen carefully, sweetheart. The money didn’t come from the diamonds, I swear. I sold my father’s company and my house. Use it and stay far away from here. Promise me you’ll go. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You had photographs of me.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You know Greenbriars inside out. Who
are
you?”

He had to get her away,
now
. Only the truth would work.

“Ben.”

“What?”

“I’m Ben, sweetheart. Do you remember the boy in the homeless shelter? Twelve years ago? You brought me food and books.”

Her eyes were wide, fixed on his. He could see her very clearly. The snow had almost stopped. Fifty feet away, Deaver stepped out from behind the concrete wall and assumed the stance.

“Ben? You’re Ben?”

Jack brought his weapon up, aimed. Time had run out.

“Run, Caroline! Run!” he screamed.

Caroline bolted and ran. But not toward his vehicle. She ran straight toward him.

Deaver stepped out from behind the concrete wall, tracking her…finger on the trigger…

Jack caught Caroline with one arm, lifting his weapon with his other, going for the one shot certain to kill instantly—putting a round right on the bridge of Deaver’s nose. Deaver fell backwards, the spray of blood bright on the pristine white snow.

And that was all Jack saw as he wrapped his arms around Caroline, safe now, safe forever, and buried his face in her hair, tears bright and cold on his face.

Headquarters of The Children’s Shelter