Deathwatch (21 page)

“
I’m fine.
I’m so sorry.
I’ll be at work tomorrow.
I promise.”
 

“
Now that I’ve seen how he is, I don’t like the idea of you living with him.
That man needs help.”
 

“
I’m going to talk to him about that.
I can handle this.
We’re fine.”
 

There was a brief silence on the line.
“All right.
I can pick up the slack here until the second shift comes in.
Call me if I can help with anything.”

“
Thank you, Eileen.”
She hung up, then turned to Murph, but he cut her off before she could give voice to the righteous anger bubbling up inside her.
 

“
There was no way to keep you safe there.
It’s an unsecure location.
I don’t want you to go back.”
 

“
I was among people.”
She ground the words out through clenched teeth.
 

“
And some of those people we know nothing about.
So Antonio never showed?”
 

“
He doesn't come every day.”
She’d wanted to talk to Antonio about that hot chocolate machine.
At the end, she’d given Eileen some cash in an envelope to cover his next several meals.
They didn't have the kind of relationship where she would have been comfortable accepting a gift this big.
 

She turned to look straight at the road in front of them because she couldn’t stand looking at Murph.
His caveman tactics, especially at her work place, were
not
appreciated.
“I thought you said Asael would come at night.
When I'm alone.
Isn't that his way?”
 

“
Except it might be his lover coming for you.
And while we know Asael’s MO, we have no idea how his lover-disciple works.
For all we know she’s a sharpshooter who likes to take her victims in the middle of a crowd from a distance.”
 

Despite the heater going full blast in the car, cold spread through her as she stared at Murph.

He scared her.
Or maybe this whole situation scared her, and she just wanted to blame it on someone.
She didn’t like the way he’d handled things at the diner.
He looked strong and capable, but she knew where the cracks were.
She knew he wasn’t a hundred percent physically.
And she wasn’t sure if he was a hundred percent mentally either, if the danger here was real or paranoia from the PTSD he denied having.

He was a warrior, but an injured warrior, with problems he refused to face.

She needed to accept some hard truths here.

He couldn’t save her; he couldn’t even save himself at the moment, not until he faced reality.

The memory of him screaming in the night tore at her heart.
He needed help, and not just with his arm: therapy for PTSD, possibly more surgeries, certainly physical therapy.
He might look like the strongest man she’d ever met, but she was pretty sure he was broken in his hidden places.

Had some dark car on their street really been acting strangely?
Had someone really been inside the house?
She’d seen no sign of it.
Nothing.
Yes, she thought she'd been followed once.
But she could be wrong.
She hadn't seen that car since.

Maybe Murph felt guilty for losing his men and subconsciously thought he could redeem himself if he saved her.

“
So now what?”
she asked with caution.
 

“
Now we’ll hole up in the house and set the trap.”
 

“
When
”
 

“
T
omorrow.”
 

“
And if he doesn’t come?”
What if no hit man or woman was in Broslin at all?
 

He rolled his good shoulder.
“We wait.
We stay ready.”

“
I could just disappear again.”
Suddenly, their plan to draw out Asael didn’t seem nearly as solid as it had the day before.
She wanted to go home so badly, she would have considered anything that helped her do that, but she had to keep a clear head.
“I could disappear tonight.”
 

“
No.
We’ve been through this.
Going on the road now would be too dangerous.
You have to see this through.
And the only way to see this through is the way we planned it.
Make him think you're alone, then when he strikes, I move in and take care of him.”
 

She had no idea what to do, what to tell Murph, so she stayed quiet for the rest of the trip home.

He pulled into the garage, rolled the door all the way down before letting her out of the car.
They went into the house, Murph first, gun drawn as he disabled the security system.
He armed it again behind them.

“
Stay here.”
He moved forward to search the place and drew down the blinds as he went.
 

Sunlight disappeared little by little, until they were left in near darkness, the house as gloomy as a crypt.

He signaled to her, and she moved into the kitchen.

“
Is this necessary?”
 

There was something spooky about the way he behaved, something unhealthy.
She was familiar with behavior like this from abuse survivors.
She'd been like this herself at one point—irrational and paranoid.
She couldn’t go back into that dark cave with him.
He needed professional help.
He needed more support than she could give right now, with the mess she was in.

They might both be good people.
They might even be right for each other, could be good for each other.
But they’d met at the wrong time, with their lives at the wrong place.

Her presence here wasn’t good for him, the thought hit her, and she couldn’t deny it.
She’d brought stress to his life.
Danger.
He needed the opposite.

Her phone rang.

“
Don’t answer.
It might be tapped.”
His face was grim, his forehead drawn together in concentration.
 

She glanced at the display.
Eileen.
Kate decided to call her back later.

All she could think was that Murph looked like a man who’d just gone over the deep end.
They both needed healing.
He needed time, but her troubles kept him busy and preoccupied.
She needed to leave so he could focus on getting better and reclaiming his old life.
It was what he wanted and he deserved it.

She passed by him.
“I’m going to my room to change.”

“
Don’t go near the window.”
 

“
Okay.”
 

She went into her room and closed the door, changed her clothes, pulling on a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft T-shirt.
She hesitated over the bulletproof vest that she’d worn all day under her uniform shirt.
Did she really need that inside the house with Murph in the kitchen?

She didn’t want to sink into paranoia all the way and get stuck in some dark place for the rest of her life.
She took the vest and hung it in her closet.

As she moved the hangers aside, her purple Christmas sweater slid to the ground and she picked it up.
She could use some comfort right now.

She slipped into the sweater then glanced around.
Her purse with her phone was in the kitchen.

She sat down on the bed and reached into the nightstand’s top drawer.
She dug around for the disposable cell phone she kept there as backup and, when she found it, she pulled up the only number stored on it and dialed Agent Cirelli.

She’d kept the agent’s number in case things careened out of control.
She certainly felt like she had reached that point.

Either the killer was in town or not.
Either Murph could protect her or he’d gone completely over the edge.
Kate had no idea what was the right move to make.
She just wanted to live.

And she wanted Murph to be able to live fully and heal from his past, which would be impossible as long as she kept dumping her troubles on him.

She’d done well until now, on the run, but maybe this was as far as she could make it on her own.
Maybe Murph was right.
Maybe it was time for witness protection.

Chapter Ten

Murph had just finished checking all the windows when she came back into the kitchen.
The sight of her gave him a jolt as always.
Her long legs were encased in slim jeans, on top she wore—

“
What's that?”
He stared at the orange reindeer on a wild purple background.
 

She touched a hand against it.
“My lucky sweater.
My sister made it for me for the last Christmas we had together.
I had it on at the FBI stakeout so it came with me.”

He squinted.
“Does
he
have an—”

“
That’s his other leg,” she cut him off.
“It’s the first sweater Emma ever knitted.
It’s not perfect.”
She stuck her chin out as if daring him to say something about her sister’s gift.
 

She was loyal.
And beautiful, but his fascination with her went beyond that.
She was warm, nice to people.
He’d seen that at the diner.
She was a hard worker.
She was a genuinely good person, about as far from his mother as a woman could be, and nothing like Doug’s wife either.

He actually
could
imagine a lifetime with someone like her.
The thought knocked him momentarily off balance.
 

“
I called the FBI,” she said with a nervous smile, stopping a good distance from him.
 

The words felt like a slap across the face.
His jaw snapped tight.
“Why?”

“
I think you were right at the beginning.
This might be bigger than what the two of us can handle.
Maybe I do need outside help.”
 

More than
he
could handle, she meant.
She didn’t trust him, obviously, to keep her safe.
“How soon will they be here?”
 

“
Agent Cirelli is catching the next plane out of D.C.”
 

Because she trusted Agent Cirelli.

Murph wanted to punch something.
It wasn’t really betrayal—she didn’t owe him allegiance—yet he felt the rejection burn through him.
He was damaged.
He wasn’t good enough anymore.
Why would she want to trust her life to him?

He needed to walk away for a minute, needed to swallow the bitter taste of disappointment that bubbled up his throat.
He checked the gun in the back of his waistband.
“I’m going to walk around the house.
You stay in here.”

She pressed her lips together.
“I’m sorry, Murph.”

He armed the security system.
“It’s all right,” he said without glancing back as he strode outside.

He stopped on the front stoop, filling his lungs with cold air as he looked around, as if surveying what needed to be done, in case anyone was watching.

The sky had turned winter gray, dark snow clouds hiding the sun.
The temperatures had dipped since the day before, but at least the wind wasn’t blowing.
He headed around the house, went into the garage from the back and got his shovel out.
Shoveling the driveway and the walkway to the front door would give him long enough to check out the neighbors and the street.

He would have to keep her safe until the FBI got here, a couple of hours.
He was determined to do that, at least.

He was striding back up front with the shovel when he saw a shadow move in the window next door.
Wendy White.
Was she watching him?
Was she Asael’s lover?
Was she hoping that Murph would leave?
 

The window she was standing behind faced Kate’s bedroom.
Had Wendy been spying on Kate all along?

Except Kate wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight.

Murph pushed the shovel into snow, and as he heaved the frozen slush to the side, he caught sight of Wendy shifting something long and slim and straight in her hands.

The brief glimpse he caught wasn’t enough to tell whether it was a broom handle or the barrel of a rifle.

Oh, hell.
He reached for his gun, but she disappeared from sight the next second.
 

Wendy White
.
She had no criminal record, but there was her odd visit with a plate of cookies the night before, the way she'd talked and talked, then the strange business with the music.
Something was off there.
She set off his cop instincts.
 

He glanced at his watch.
According to Kate, Wendy went over to the diner for lunch every day around this time.
He dropped his shovel, ducked between the bushes that separated the two properties and came out on the other side, pulled his pocketknife and ducked behind Wendy’s old station wagon.

He had her license plate off in a second and kicked it into the snow bank that edged her driveway, then hurried back and picked up the shoveling where he’d left off.
No more than ten minutes passed before Wendy walked from her house to her car then took off with a cheerful wave at him.

Murph dialed Harper at the station.
“I've got a favor to ask.
I need someone to pick up Wendy White for driving without a license plate.
She’s my new neighbor.
She’s heading to the Main Street Diner right now.”
He rattled off the make and model of her car and the exact color, forest green.
“I need you to find a way to keep her a while.
Suspicion of being under the influence, refusing to cooperate with police, whatever you can make fly.”

Silence stretched on the other end, then, “Want to tell me what this is about?”

“
I think Kate might be in serious danger.”
He glanced toward his house, everything quiet.
 

“
From your new neighbor?”
 

“
Possibly.
I’d appreciate it if you could run her prints.”
 

“
And then you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
 

“
As soon as I can.”
Murph hung up and ducked back between the bushes, went around Wendy’s house, checking the backdoor and the windows—everything locked.
 

He walked to the back door of her garage, careful to keep under the eaves where there was no snow so he wouldn’t leave tell-tale footprints.
This door was locked, too, but it was old and lifting the lock and wiggling it a little did the trick.
Murph stepped inside and scanned the cavernous space.

She didn’t have much.
She hadn’t been living here long, hadn’t had a chance yet to fill the garage to the rafters, just a few moving boxes lined up against the wall.

He cut straight to the door that lead to the house and picked the lock with his pocket knife.
He hadn't seen a sign up front that advertised a security company.
Murph pushed the door open and hoped for the best.

* * *

Kate packed her single suitcase then decided to make a lasagna for Murph’s freezer for when she was gone.
She had some time before the FBI would get here and she needed to do something to keep busy, or she’d go nuts before Agent Cirelli could take her into protective custody.

Putting herself under Cirelli's protection wasn’t the perfect solution, but maybe it was the best choice she had.
Kate popped a square of emergency chocolate into her mouth—marshmallow almond medley.
She might have been good at running, but she couldn’t count on being lucky forever.
Asael was going to find her sooner or later.
Murph had his own problems.
It wasn’t fair to draw him into hers.

She made the lasagna, stuck it into the oven, then began cleaning up.
Murph shouldn't have to straighten up after her.
She leaned into the fridge to drop some tomatoes she hadn’t used back into the vegetable bin.
She was straightening when a hand snaked around from behind her to seal her mouth.
At the same time, the man yanked her gun from the back of her waistband and tossed it into the living room.

“
You get a point for being prepared,” a faintly familiar voice whispered close to her ear, “but lose a point for turning your back.
You’re not doing too well so far, Kate.”
 

“
Fred?”
 

“
Call me Mordocai.”
 

Fear hit her like a freight train.
She froze, couldn’t think of a damn thing, not a single move Murph had shown her.

She whimpered.

“
Stay quiet.”
He dragged her with him as he retreated, each step powerful and sure, no sign of his arthritic limp now.
 

Then the adrenaline rush hit her finally, and Kate tore at the hands that held her captive.
“No!”
The single word she screamed against his fingers came through barely audible.

He dragged her toward the back door.

“
Where are you taking me?”
she tried to ask, the sounds she was making unintelligible, but somehow he made them out.
 

“
Somewhere private.
We’re going to have a little fun and a nice little chat.
I have a couple of hours before my flight.”
 

The broom leaned against the wall.
She tried to grab for it, but as he thrust her forward in front of him, somehow she managed to kick it over.
Oh, God.
 

Okay, okay.
What did Murph say?

Elbow to the stomach, head up, break the bastard’s nose.

She steadied herself for a second then did just as they’d practiced.

Mordocai’s hands slipped on her.
She went down, grabbed the broom, jammed the handle into his groin.
As they struggled, he somehow got between her and the back door, so when she broke free at last she ran toward the front of the house, but not before catching a glimpse of his nasty-looking gun, complete with a silencer.

Murph was out in the driveway.
All she had to do was reach the front door.
Or the gun in the kitchen drawer.

She didn’t reach either.
Mordocai plowed into her and knocked her face first onto the hardwood floor at the bottom of the stairs.

She struggled to her back, then brought her knee up as hard as she could.
She caught him in the jaw.
He swore and loosened his grip on her long enough for her to slip away and dash up the stairs.

Into the upstairs bathroom.
Lock the door.
She tore the window open, and shouted blindly into the night.
“Murph!”

But he wasn’t in the driveway.
His shovel lay abandoned in a snow bank.

Her heart slammed against her chest.

Was he hurt?
Had Mordocai killed him?

He was a different person from Fred, different voice, different mannerism.
The realization that the Fred she’d liked was just an act slammed into her.
A good act and, apparently, a lot of makeup.
Mordocai looked at least ten years younger, like Fred’s younger, evil brother.

Bang!
The door rattled and creaked as he threw his weight against it, making her jump.
Her heart slammed hard inside her chest.
 

She shrank into the farthest corner, grabbing the crowbar placed strategically under the sink, wishing she had a gun in there with her.

Bang!
The door was old, the wood dry, the top hinge loosening already.
She had seconds.
 

She glanced at the window, then at the laundry chute.
She went with the rabbit hole.
Here we go, Alice.