Deathwatch (18 page)

He paused, leaning against the counter as he watched her, worried for her more than a little.
“Or make it look like I snapped.
Murder-suicide.
That’d be the cleanest.
He won’t want an investigation.
He’s never been caught.
His record is everything to him.”
The man didn’t name himself The Smoke from Hell for nothing.

She rolled her ankles.

He tried not to stare at her endless legs.
He pushed away from the counter as he turned a stray thought around in his head.
“What if you know him?”

“
What?”
 

“
If he’s been in town for a while, stalking you….
What if he got in touch, like some sick game?
To get to know you better.”
 

“
I would recognize him.”
 

“
He disguised himself at the funeral.
Maybe he’s in disguise here.”
He thought for a minute.
“A guy new to town, someone who came here just after you did.
Who do you know like that?”
 

She stared at him for a good long time, with a skeptical look on her face.
She probably thought he’d just flipped.
But then she said, “Jimmy Masters.
He helps out in the kitchen at the diner.
He was hired two days after I was.
But he’s
not
Asael.”
 

“
He ever tried to get you alone?”
 

“
I’m helping him study for his GED.”
She hesitated.
“Actually, tomorrow we’ll be having our lesson at his apartment.”
 

“
No.”
 

“
This is crazy.
He's way too young.”
 

“
Who else?”
 

“
Nobody.”
But then she said, “Fred Kazincky.
The mechanic who works on my car.
He’s older than Asael.
And shorter, okay?
I don’t think that can be faked.”
She paused.
“The dark-blue sedan that I thought might be following me, that happened on my way to Fred and he was right there in the shop, had been there, working on my car.
It's not Fred.”
 

“
Okay.”
But he made note of the name and was going to run him through the system at the station, anyway.
 

She got up and went around him to the fancy hot chocolate machine she’d brought home from the diner.
She hadn’t tested it yet, but he’d caught her, on more than one occasion, casting longing glances that way.

“
I’m making a cup.
If we’re having this conversation, I need a little something,” she said the way Murph's father used to talk about hard
liquor.
She pulled out the chocolate mix, but then she stilled, looked at Murph.
“Antonio.”
 

“
Who?”
 

“
The chocolate salesman who gave me this.
He got Southeastern PA as his sales territory around the same time that I moved here.
I was already at the diner when he first came in.
Then he became a regular.”
 

Murph strode up to the machine and gently pushed her aside.
“Hold on.”

He looked at the shiny contraption from every angle, disliking the idea of some strange guy giving gifts to Kate.
“Have you two been involved?”

“
None of your business.”
 

“
Want to stay alive?”
 

She glared at him.
“He’s not a killer.
He’s Italian.”

“
Right.
Because an accent couldn’t be faked.
Don’t touch this.”
He hurried down to the basement and came back up with his toolbox.
 

“
What are you doing?”
 

“
Looking for a hidden camera or a mike.”
Or a poison capsule.
The thought that Kate could have already used the machine made cold sweat break out on his back.
 

She kept up the glaring.
“If you break my hot chocolate machine, I’m never forgiving you.”

A risk he was willing to take.

But taking the hot chocolate machine apart piece by piece netted him no extra components, no surveillance equipment, no poison.
His shoulders relaxed.
 

“
Good as new.”
He slid it toward her on the counter when he finished putting all the parts back together.
“See?
No screws left over.”
 

She pushed the contraption into the far corner, moving the toaster in front of it for protection.

He held up a hand.
“I’ll leave it alone.
I swear.”
Paused.
“Anyone else?”

“
No.
I haven’t been here long enough to make that many friends.”
 

“
A lot of people come into the diner.”
 

“
Mostly locals.
I don’t think Asael is from Broslin.”
 

He wasn’t willing to write off th
e
possibility as easily as that but, in his heart of hearts, he didn’t think so either.
From what he’d learned of Asael from the various law enforcement databases, he was a man of the world with multiple secret residences all over the globe.
Law enforcement had a list of suspected cities, but hadn't yet been able to track down any of his lairs.

Murph knew most of Broslin, had grown up here, had gone to school with a lot of the people who were around his age, like Asael was suspected to be.
He couldn’t think of anyone in town who could have led that kind of double life without being missed while he was off doing evil in the world.

Kate stomped toward the bedroom, abandoning the hot chocolate machine, as if he’d spoiled it for her.
“I’m going to change out of my work clothes.”

“
Change into something you can move in.
We’re going to train.”
 

* * *

Kate grunted as they lay in a tangle of limbs on the living room floor.
She was so aware of Murph’s chiseled body touching hers, she was ready to jump out of her skin.
Half her body ached from the training session, the other half tingled with the kind of desire she'd just about forgotten.

She tried to pull back, to put some distance between them.
“Sorry.
I’m not normally this uncoordinated.”

He rolled away then pushed fluidly to his feet and stood there, looking down at her, not even breathing hard, the bastard.

She scrambled up as gracefully as a newborn foal on ice, doing her best to catch her breath.
“I should start dinner.”

“
Let’s try one more time.”
He moved toward her.
“Pretend I’m the assassin.
Murph is dead out in the kitchen.
You’re out of bullets and cornered.”
He reached for her.
“First choice?”
 

“
Kill the bastard.”
She grabbed for the bar stool and whacked him in the head as hard as she could, but he twisted at the last second, and the blow glanced off his skull.
 

Right at the beginning, he'd ordered her, fairly forcefully, to hold nothing back.
And then he’d pushed and pushed, baiting and goading her.
At this stage, if she maimed him, she figured he deserved it.

“
Second choice?”
He stepped forward with a growl.
 

“
Incapacitate him then call 911.”
She lunged forward instead of pulling back, and kicked at his most sensitive parts, but wobbled at the last second and missed by a fraction of an inch.
 

“
Third choice?”
He grabbed for her.
 

“
Run like hell and live to see another day.”
She put her head down, then yanked it up hard, smashing it into his chin so that his head snapped back and his grip on her slipped.
 

She ran for the stairs that led upstairs.

He was on top of her in a second, bringing her down and pinning her.
“Wrong move.
What did I say about the stairs?”

“
If I have a choice, go down.”
The basement had an outside exit, but upstairs she could get trapped.
 

“
Right.”
He rolled off her then sat up, his eyes narrowing as he watched her struggle to catch her breath.
His biceps bulged under his black T-shirt that was barely wrinkled, while her shirt and pants looked like he’d mopped the house with her.
Which, technically, he had.
 

She scraped herself off the stairs and sat next to him on the bottom step.
He was insanely strong.
She hadn’t expected that, considering his injury.
And he was fast.
He didn’t have to think about what move he was going to make next.
He fought on instinct, while her instincts pushed her to run away screaming.

Except when they pushed her to throw herself into his arms.
She looked away from him, not wanting him to read her pitiful reaction in her eyes.

“
I’m going to reinforce the rain spouts.
Then, if you have no other choice, you can go upstairs and climb down without breaking your neck.”
 

“
I can break my neck even if the rain spout doesn’t give out under me.
I’m not a circus acrobat.
What if I slip?”
 

He closed his eyes for a second.
“All right.
If at all possible, go for the basement.”
He reached into his pocket and gave her a set of car keys.

“
What are these for?”
 

“
I got a rental today.
It’s parked in front of 212 Summer Lane.
You run out the basement door, cross the back neighbors’ yard.
It’s a black Mustang.
There’s some money and a backup gun in the glove compartment.
If all else fails, you get in and drive away.
Tank is full.
It has GPS.
Just drive and be safe.”
 

“
And you?”
 

“
Don’t worry about me.”
 

Tension filled the air between them as they stared at each other.
Her gaze dipped to his masculine lips.
She wanted him to kiss her again.
She wrote that down to post-fight adrenaline rush, because she didn't want to think about the alternative, that she wanted and liked him for real.
She so wasn't in a place in her life where she could contemplate a relationship.
“
I don’t want you to get hurt.”
 

“
We’re going up against a master hit man.
We’re going to get hurt.
Our best case scenario is just not to be dead when this is over.”
 

She went cold.
Drew back.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.
I can just leave.
I’m good at running.
I’m a hell of a lot better at running than I am at fighting.”