Darker Than Midnight (25 page)

River shook his head. “Such a minor adjustment, pal. You've
got
to get this thing fixed.”

He lay down on his back and slid underneath the door and into the garage. Then he got to his feet, closed the garage door and gave his eyes a minute to adjust to the dimness inside.

It took a while, but gradually, things took shape. Neither Ethan's Mercedes nor Victoria's Miata were in their spots, but the Mercedes ML-500 SUV held court, taking up the third slot and then some. River walked to the door that led into the kitchen—a door without any alarm system and one they rarely kept locked. No need when the garage door was supposed to
be secure. He hoped he wouldn't run into a housekeeper working late. But he didn't think he would. Vicki didn't have live-in help, and there were no other vehicles around.

He stepped into the kitchen—the door to the garage was unlocked, as usual. God, for such a smart guy, Ethan was pretty stupid about his home security.

The kitchen gleamed, chrome and black and white. Black range and side-by-side refrigerator-freezer and dishwasher and convection oven. White cupboards. Black-and-white ceramic tiles on the counter, and white marble veined with black on the floor. He'd always loved this kitchen. He could almost smell Victoria's turkey baking in the oven just being here again. Well, Miranda's turkey—the cook did all the work.

He moved into the dining room, trying to walk lightly, making very little noise just in case—and tried, too, to prevent himself from being distracted by memories. He continued through the living room, noticing with a stab of pain that the blown-up photo of him and Ethan, arm in arm, at the age of thirteen, was no longer hanging over the mantel. It hurt that it was gone.

Swallowing the pain, he moved on. There were several parts of the house he meant to check out before he left here tonight. Ethan's den, his home office and his bedroom.

And if he didn't find what he needed there, he'd check out the rest of the house, too. It was big, but it was empty. He could take his time.

* * *

“We'd all given up hope by then,” Ethan said. “Everyone had stopped searching for the little runt, except for River. Hell, as the night wore on, we were starting to get more worried about him than we were about the pup. But then River comes dragging in, an hour and a half past curfew, mud from one end of him to the other. And Dad starts yelling at him for being late, and being filthy, and all of a sudden I realize that
the mud-covered lump under his arm is wiggling. And these eyes open up and look at me, and Dad just breaks off, right in the middle of one of the best heads of steam he's ever worked up.” Ethan shrugged. “Well, for River anyway. He was always pissed at me for one reason or another, and yelling like a lunatic. But hardly ever with River.”

Jax studied him, sensing a little bitterness, a little pain in him just then. “Why is that, Ethan?” She wanted to hear the rest of the story, but more, she wanted to know what made this guy tick.

He shrugged. “Ah, River was a jock. So was Dad. He played football in college. Got drafted into the NFL right out of his senior year—they gave him nice money, too. But he was injured during the first game of the season. He never played again—not professionally, anyway.”

“That's a shame.”

“It is. He wanted a jock for a son—someone to do what he couldn't. I was…well, a nerd. Something of a disappointment.”

“I seriously doubt that, Ethan.”

“You shouldn't. I think he saw River as the son he would have wanted.” He closed his eyes. “I used to be so jealous of that.”

“Used to be?”

He lifted his head, nodded. “Dad was furious when River decided to become a cop instead of pursuing a career as an athlete. River insisted he wasn't that good—Dad argued that he could be if he would just give it all he had. River didn't want to do that, and so on and so on.” Ethan shrugged. “Once they started fighting over it, I realized it wasn't me who'd disappointed my father. And it wasn't River. Dad wasn't going to be happy with any of us because we couldn't give him back his lost career, or help him reclaim that glory. We never would have been able to, even if we'd tried. He was unhappy with himself.”

She smiled slowly. “You are so insightful. You know, you'd make a good psychiatrist.”

He smiled back at her, looking slightly more relaxed. “That's a really good idea.”

“I distracted you from your story,” she said. “River came home late, got yelled at and had a muddy something under his arm. Was it the missing puppy?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. It was Oliver. I never thought we'd see him again. He'd dug his way out of his kennel and wandered into a swamp a mile from home. I don't know how the hell River found the runt, but he just wouldn't quit looking. Just wouldn't give up.”

She sat there staring at this man, wondering if he honestly loved River as much as he seemed to, or if he was just very good at manipulating people into seeing what he wanted them to see.

“You full?” Ethan asked.

She glanced at her empty plate and then to her watch. She needed to kill more time. “I am stuffed, and was planning to demurely turn down dessert—but I've got to tell you, that chocolate concoction they're having at the next table is giving me second thoughts.”

He put a hand over hers. “I would really like to take you somewhere else for dessert,” he said. “What do you say?”

“Where did you have in mind?”

“You're gonna have to trust me. I promise, it'll be worth it.”

“Well…” She pretended to think it over, then nodded and said, “But only if we can take your car. I'm not in the mood for driving, and frankly, I love the feel of a Mercedes.”

“You've got it.” He waved to the waiter, who quickly came to take his credit card. Ten minutes later, they were getting into his vehicle.

It was already running. He'd started it from inside the restaurant. Its headlights were on and its heated seats were warm and waiting. “Damn,” she muttered, as she ran a hand over the supple leather. “I've
got
to get one of these.”

Ethan smiled. “You like it?”

“It's fabulous. Not likely I'll ever afford one on a cop's salary, but hell, a girl can dream.”

“My wife has a Miata, but frankly, she drives this whenever she gets the chance. I think she's wishing she'd chosen luxury over sporty good looks.”

Jax blinked in shock. She had not been expecting him to mention his wife—thinking he'd been—well hell, coming on to her. Now she didn't know what to think.

More and more the guy was seeming like he really was the nice, decent human being River kept describing to her.

He drove, and it was only a good distance later that she realized they were heading toward Burlington. God, she thought, please don't get the notion of stopping by your house. Don't, don't, don't.

* * *

River went through every likely spot in the house, but he didn't find any files on Stephanie. He didn't find much of anything at all, until he went into the den—Ethan's inner sanctum. It was the place where the guys hung out after a meal, where they gathered to have a cigar after dinner, or to catch a baseball game. Ethan wasn't big on sports, but tolerated them as excuses for social gatherings. As long as it wasn't football. River supposed he could understand that.

Victoria had no interest in the den. She never went in there, hated the stench of cigar smoke. River remembered her wrinkling her nose whenever she'd had to stick her head into the room, the pretty face somehow even prettier with that grimace on it.

Stepping into the den brought back memories. And the pictures on the walls brought back more. The blown-up image of him and Ethan, the one that used to hang in the living room, was here. So were shots of River and Steph, and others showing all four of them together.

He got a little dizzy, closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his head to silence the familiar buzzing that was going on inside. “Jesus, not now,” he whispered. He did not need a blackout now.

He clutched the back of the chair nearest him, struggled to stay focused, and shot a look across the room at the door on the far side, the one that led into the backyard. Better to get out of here now, he thought, and took two unsteady steps toward the door. And then his vision went. And his will went with it. He sank onto the floor as every thought evaporated, and his legs folded beneath him.

“Y
ou were right,” Jax said, scraping the last of the chocolate syrup from the banana split container. “I can't believe you found banana splits in November.”

“You just have to know where to look. Riv and I used to work here, summer before our senior year. I cooked, he waited tables.”

“Seems like you got the tougher job. I can say that, having done both myself,” she said.

“River was a draw. Girls always flocked to him. It was better for business having him out front with the customers.”

“I think you're selling yourself short,” she said. She didn't, not really. He was awkward and stiff, which seemed to be his normal state. Still, it didn't hurt to make nice. And then move on to a safer subject. “Where are we going now?”

Ethan gave her a smile. “I just have a quick stop. I'm not up to anything, I promise.”

A little chill settled in her belly and Jax tried to squelch it. “I believe you. I just…” She looked at her watch for effect. “I really ought to be getting home.”

“I'll get you home before you know it.”

She wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying, because he had pulled the car into a curving lane, and the headlights bathed a house that was beyond magnificent. Huge, sprawling, immaculate. Oh, God it couldn't be—

He stopped the car and shut it off. Her throat went dry. “Is this…your house?”

“Yeah. It's even nicer on the inside. I wish Vicki were home so you could meet her, but—no matter. Come on in, I'll just be a minute.”

She didn't want to go in. She wanted to lock the car doors and keep him from going in himself, force him, somehow, to leave. But she couldn't come up with a believable reason. God, she hoped River wasn't still there. Please, she thought, let him have found what he needed and got the hell out of there by now.

Ethan climbed out of the car and she followed, moving with deliberate slowness. The wide door was of dark wood, framed in stained glass panels, with a brass knocker that looked antique. He inserted a key, and swung it open, then waited for her to go in before him.

Jax did, almost on tiptoe, holding her breath as she strained to hear a single sound in the house. Ethan came in behind her and punched some buttons on a panel. A security system. Hell, how could River have managed to get inside without setting off its bells and whistles? Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd decided it wasn't worth the risk.

Lights came on. She hadn't even heard Ethan hit the switch, and the sudden brightness startled her. And then she watched him watching her, and realized she probably ought to show some interest in her surroundings. She took a quick survey of the room, nodded in approval when she couldn't care less what the place was like. “Nice,” she said. “So what was it you needed to pick up?”

“My PalmPilot. I'm lost without the damn thing. Amazing how dependent we get on technology, isn't it? Makes you wonder what we'd do if we suddenly lost it all.”

“You thinking Armageddon might come, Ethan?”

He laughed. “God, I hope not. Have a seat. You want a drink or—”

“No, just grab the thingie and let's go.”

He frowned at her. “You uncomfortable here for some reason, Jax?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering what your wife would think.”

The line, delivered deadpan, seemed to bring him up short. “You're right, she'd probably jump to all the wrong conclusions.”

That statement made Jax wonder if the woman had reason not to trust her husband, but she didn't ask.

“Wait here,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

He started down a hall. She couldn't wait where she was; she had to know what was going on. If he walked in on River—hell, that wasn't going to happen. It couldn't happen. No one's luck was that bad. Either way, she had to be with him. So she followed, and Ethan stopped, turned and frowned at her.

She shrugged. “I just…get to see more of the house this way.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “It's in the den, right over here.”

He walked through a set of double doors, went to the desk that sat on the far side of the room, not bothering with a light, and opened a drawer. “I could have sworn it was right—”

He reached to the desk lamp as he said it, flicked it on.

At that instant River burst up from behind the desk, knocking Ethan flat on his back. At least she thought it was River. She could barely tell with the knit cap pulled down over his face, a couple of holes torn in it for vision's sake.

He spun around, lunging toward the glass door in the back, but froze as he spotted Jax standing there.

She waved a hand at him, urgently telling him to go. And he did, but by then Ethan was pulling himself up onto his feet again, cussing aloud. River flung the door open and bolted, and Ethan lunged outside after him.

It was only as Jax burst outside behind them both that she
glimpsed the gun in Ethan's hand. He must have had it in the desk. Hell.

“Ethan, wait!”

He didn't even pause, just stopped running and leveled the weapon.

“No, dammit!” She slammed into him even as the gun exploded, spitting fire into the night. He stumbled at her blow, but didn't fall. Jax yanked the gun out of his hand, casting a panicked look toward where River had gone. But she didn't see him.

“What did you do that for?” Ethan demanded, clearly pissed off.

“What did
I
—Jesus, Ethan, you can't shoot an intruder in the back when he's running away. That's way beyond self-defense. You want to do time? Lose your license to practice medicine to boot?”

He pursed his lips. Jax started off in the direction River had been heading, but stopped and turned sharply when Ethan came behind her. “Go on back to the house and wait. I'll check this out.”

“I can't let you go after a burglar alone—”

“I'm a cop, Ethan. I do it all the time. Besides,” she said, lifting his firearm, “I've got your gun.” She also had her own, but she wasn't about to mention it. He might think it meant he could have his back, and there was no way in hell…

He sighed, then brightened. “I'll call 911, get you some backup.” He started searching his pockets.

She almost snapped off an order that he shouldn't do that, but bit it back. It would sound pretty damn suspicious for a cop to tell a man not to report a break-in at his home. Not to mention a possible shooting.

“Damn,” he said. “Cell phone's in the car.”

“Call from the house,” she said, latching onto the excuse to get rid of him. She had to get to River, make sure he was all right.

She started off again, hoping Ethan would do the same, and waited until she heard his footsteps crunching over the cold ground back toward the house to glance over her shoulder. He was doing as he'd promised. Going into the house. She walked faster, lurching into a run as soon as she heard the door close.

“River?” she called in a harsh, overloud whisper.

What she wouldn't have given for a flashlight. Hell, was that blood on the ground? She bent closer, checking out the grapefruit-size patch of dark red staining the snow, then rose again, looking around. “River, where are you?”

A deep moan brought her head sharply to the left. She saw a partially frozen pond, with Canadian geese huddled together along the shore. And then the shape in the snow. She hurried toward it. Moments later she was kneeling beside River, peeling off the knitted hat, cradling his face in her palms and gently smacking his cheeks to get him to open his eyes. “Come on, come on, snap out of it. We don't have time for this.”

She smacked a little harder. His eyes popped open and took a moment to focus on her face. A heartbeat later recognition kicked in. She said, “Where are you hit?”

“Where's Ethan?” he asked.

She dropped his head, and turned to begin searching his body for signs of injury. “In the house calling the cops. We don't have much time to get you the hell out of here. Now where are you—oh, damn.” The blood was seeping steadily from the back of one leg. She gripped his hip and rolled him onto his side, but she could barely see in the darkness. She lowered him again, then reached for his belt, rapidly unbuckling it and sliding it from the loops of his jeans.

“Hell, Jax, this isn't the time.”

She slid her gaze upward, met his. “Making bad jokes? Maybe you're not at death's door just yet, then.”

“I don't think so.”

“Yeah, well, don't be so sure. Was it worth all this, River? Did you at least find something useful in there?”

“No records on Steph, but…” He pulled a black leather-bound booklet from the back of his jeans and held it up. “I got this.”

“Yeah. You also got shot. I'd say all in all, you kind of lost this round, pal.” She slid the belt around his thigh, then stopped and drew away. “You have to do this, River. I go back there covered in blood, and it's going to look fishy. I mean, I could probably talk my way around it with Ethan, but those cops he's calling—”

He nodded and shoved the book back into his jeans. Then he sat up, took both ends of the belt, pulled it around his thigh, above the spot where the bullet had hit him, and knotted it tight. He gritted his teeth in pain, but tightened the belt mercilessly anyway, and Jax was glad he did.

“There's no exit wound,” she said. “The bullet must still be in there.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of starting a collection.”

“Real funny. You leave the car somewhere?”

He nodded. “That way, first left, about a half mile.”

“Let's go. We'll hit the pavement so we don't leave tracks in the snow, and hope you're not laying a blood trail. All right?”

He nodded and let her pull him up. She hauled his arm around her shoulder and got him out of the ditch and onto the blacktop. Then she moved as fast as she could. Clearly, it was hurting him badly to walk on the wounded leg, and it probably wasn't doing the injury any good, either, but they didn't have much choice.

“We have to get off this road before the cops get here,” she said. “And they won't be slow. Not when this was Ethan's second break-in of the day, and their hottest fugitive in years is responsible. Hell, they'll probably bring a freaking army.”

He glanced up at her, his face contorting with every step, and said, “Glad you still think I'm hot.”

“Jesus, River, this is not funny. If they see me helping you—”

“If they see you helping me, Jax, I'll spin around and clock you in the jaw. Gently, of course. And you can go down on your ass and I can run for it. Say you were giving chase, that you had me.”

She thought that her footprints back there in the snow where he'd been lying were going to tell an entirely different story, but she didn't say so.

“You're right,” he said. “They're going to pull out all the stops to catch me. Hell, they think I killed Stephanie. And that orderly. And Arty, if they found the freezer.”

“I think Frankie would have called me by now if there were talk of a body in a freezer, River.”

He stumbled, and she pulled his arm around her shoulders a little farther, readjusting her hold on him. She kept one arm around his waist, supporting him as much as he would let her. “You gonna make it?”

“Got to.” He moved his head. “There's the side road. It's bare, no snow. We should be all right.”

They walked around the corner and down the second road, which was gravel lined and narrow, but fortunately, not snow covered. She picked up the pace, even though she knew it was hurting him. Hell, if he were caught he would be killed. She believed that, and she was damned if she could figure out who was wishing him dead, plotting his demise. She wanted to think it was Ethan. He was the easy suspect. But he was too easy, and her gut wasn't ready to bet their lives on it.

“There's the car,” River said.

She nodded, spotting it up ahead, and walking even faster. To his credit, he didn't complain. Didn't grunt in pain or make a single protest. Then again, it was his life that was
hanging by a thread, not hers. They made it to the car. She wrenched open the driver's door and helped him ease inside.

“Damn Ethan and his dumb luck,” River muttered. He fished the keys from his pocket and stuck them in the switch. “I don't imagine he's fired a gun more than five times in his whole freaking life, and he manages to hit a moving target.”

She fastened his seat belt around him, only realizing what a nurturing thing it was as she heard the click. Giving herself a mental smack upside the head, she took her hands away. “At least he missed the femoral artery or you'd have bled out by now.”

“That's reassuring.”

“And it's the left leg, so you can drive. Thank God the car's an automatic.” She met his eyes. “Think you can make it home?”

“I'll make it.”