Extreme Measures (3 page)

“The Federal Bureau of Investigations tells me I am.” He flashed his identification, purely as a way to irritate her, she was sure. “So who do you think is going to win this argument?”

Telling him to go to hell again wouldn’t serve much purpose.

It took him longer than he thought to find his aunt’s house, but standing outside the dingy walk-up, Stuart felt the relief of finally arriving. His cellmate’s close presence behind him was the only damper to his enthusiasm. He hadn’t wanted to bring Arlin with him, but since the guy had played a big part in helping him escape, Stuart had allowed him to tag along. He’d figured he might need the extra pair of hands down the road.

They’d laid low for the first twelve or so hours after the escape, taking shelter in an abandoned gas station more than thirty miles away from the prison. Luck had been on their side, and they’d managed to hitch a ride in the back of a pick-up truck with migrant workers. No one had asked any questions, and Stuart didn’t worry about leaving them alive. He doubted the workers would care to identify him. They certainly hadn’t spent much time looking at either him or Arlin.

“What are you waiting for?” Arlin grumbled behind him. “This ain’t exactly an abandoned neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Surprised to find his palms sweaty, Stuart wondered if Aunt Felicia would remember him. He hadn’t seen her since his sister’s wedding twelve years ago. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door flew open.

Felicia hadn’t changed much. A diminutive woman with a wealth of curly, white hair stacked atop her head in a wobbly bun, she peered at him through glasses sitting on the edge of her nose. “Who are you?” she barked the question in a stern tone of voice, which reminded Stuart of his younger days.

Aunt Felicia had been a schoolteacher, and the one summer he and Erin had spent with her proved she was a hard taskmaster. The old battle axe didn’t let them get away with anything and seemed to have eyes in the back of her head which came as a rude shock to them. Their own mother wasn’t as suspicious, or perhaps, she simply didn’t give a damn. Stuart always believed the latter.

“Aunt Felicia, you don’t recognize me?” He adjusted the collar on the coat he’d swiped from the back of a chair in the restaurant up the street.

Her nose wrinkled. “Aunt Felicia? I haven’t been called that in years.” She leaned in for a closer look. “Stuart? Is that you?” Arms folded over her small bosom. “You look like hell, boy. What happened to you?”

He managed a reassuring grin though his heart galloped in his chest. Did the old bat not remember where he’d been all this time? “Long story, Aunt Felicia, but can I come in for a few minutes? Maybe we could talk.”

She continued to stare at him for a long second before she bobbed her head. “Well, all right, but wipe your feet, and you,” she jutted her chin toward Arlin, “try not to touch any of my furniture. I just cleaned.”

Stuart covered Arlin’s low growl with a cough. “Thanks. We won’t stay long.” He placed his hand at the small of her back, leading her back into her simple house. “I’m just looking for Erin.”

Felicia looked over her shoulder, the movement deepening the wrinkles in her neck. “Oh, well, she moved, I think. Left the state years ago. Right after her parents died, I believe, but you should know that, shouldn’t you?” She squinted and peered closer into Stuart’s face. “Why are you here?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he edged toward the tattered brown sofa. “Like I said, I’m just looking for Erin. I’d like to try to get back in touch with her. It’s been a while since we talked.” He folded his hands together in front of him like an innocent schoolboy. “We didn’t go our separate ways on a good note.”

Felicia’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I know.” Her face cleared. “Now, wait just a minute! Stuart, weren’t you in prison?”

Damn. He didn’t want to have to hurt her. She wasn’t part of the equation, and the way he saw it, the fewer bodies he left behind, the less chances the police would have of finding him. He’d been counting on her age to make a little forgetful. Apparently Lady Luck had decided to take a leave of absence.

Stuart held his hand back to keep Arlin from moving forward. “Yeah, but I’m on parole. So about Erin—”

“No.” Felicia shook her head so hard her bun wobbled precariously. “They don’t parole murderers. You killed my brother. Your own parents.” Her lips pursed as if she’d just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

“You escaped! That’s right. The police have been looking for you. It’s all over the news!” Taking a backward step, she waggled one finger in the air. “Don’t you move. I’m going to call the police. You’re going back exactly where you belong.”

She started to turn, and from the corner of his eye, Stuart saw Arlin’s arm drop. Felicia fell to the floor, Arlin looming over her with a heavy statue of a horse in his right hand. “We don’t have time for this,” Arlin snarled each word. “We’ve been out in the open long enough. We need to get off the road before dark. Let’s search the old lady’s house. She’s probably gotten letters or something from your sister.”

Stuart shoved his hands into the pockets of the plain brown work pants he’d taken from the terrified gas station attendant just an hour before. They were too loose, but he just cinched the belt tighter. “No. Felicia and Erin don’t keep in touch. They weren’t any closer than she and me.” He couldn’t take his eyes off his aunt face down on the braided rug. “She might have known where my sister is, but I guess we’ll never know now.”

Arlin stepped over Felicia’s body. “She was going to call the police.”

“You think I would’ve let her do that? Give me a little credit.” Stuart shoved past him and headed down the hallway. "I can’t leave a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs!"

“Yeah, well, remind me to cry later. For now, we need cash and something to eat.”

“We could have done this without killing her.” The death of his aunt shouldn’t unnerve him like this. It wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen at his feet. Wouldn’t be the last. Still, the cold tendrils of unease slithered down his spine.

Arlin snorted. “She wasn’t going to tell us anything.”

Stuart stopped in the hallway and whirled, catching Arlin around the throat to slam him against a wall. “As long as you’re with me, you follow my rules, and I’m telling you we’re not going to make it easier for the Marshalls to find us by tracking blood down the East Coast. Got it?”

Eyes wide, Arlin coughed, struggling to breathe. “What in the hell’s the matter with you?” Each word came out on a desperate gasp for air.

Releasing him, Stuart took a step back, shaking his head to clear it. He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, but his hands were clammy and the back of his neck was tight, like his skin was shrinking. “We need to get out of here.”

“Man, being on the outside just ain’t agreein’ with you. I ain’t never seen you so jumpy. I thought you was gonna climb out of your skin last night in that station.”

“First night out and all.” Stuart muttered the response, but it didn’t suffice for Arlin.

“It was my first night out, too, but you didn’t see me hemming and hawing like a school boy on his first date.”

Stuart didn’t respond, and the thumping in his chest finally grew loud enough to drown out the sound of Arlin’s voice. He remembered all too well the last time he was this nervous—the night he’d killed his parents.

In a coke-induced haze of anger, he’d executed them both and earned his place in hell. But before he could reach his final destination, he’d had to learn how to survive while inside the bars of his new home. In a six by nine cell, it was kill or be killed, and Stuart had gotten quite good at staying alive.

Then one year later, a guard had mouthed off to him, and the next thing he knew, he was on a bus bound for Attica. He hadn’t even realized he’d killed the guard until EMS had arrived. And that was when he’d known he couldn’t blame the drugs anymore.

Shaking himself out of the past, Stuart cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the hallway. “I’ll check Felicia’s bedroom. You grab what you can from the kitchen and see if she has any money. Be sure to check those canisters on the counter. She used to keep cash in the smallest one.”

He deliberately averted his eyes from his aunt’s body as he left the living room. In reality, what was one more body? He certainly wouldn’t have earned any accolades for having spared her life anyway. Since the day he’d taken his parents’ lives, he’d been labeled a murderer, and this was what murderers did.

Chapter Two

After all these years, Erin still saw him as the enemy. Matt’s inner voice spouted the nonsense that her coldness didn’t bother him. Pride tried to tell him he’d gotten over her and had moved on with his life. But there was one thing he couldn’t do, and that was lie to himself. Erin’s love for him had given way to hate, but his had never changed.

How many times had Jacob accused him of pining over his ex-wife? Matt had always ignored him, but the harsh reality was his boss…his friend…knew him far too well. The end of his marriage had damned near destroyed him. Only his work had managed to keep his focus and helped him maintain some sense of sanity.

He thought about calling Jacob, suggesting someone else babysit his ex-wife until Stuart showed up, but he couldn’t pass this assignment to anyone else, not when Erin’s life could be at stake. She might not want him here, but he had to know she was safe. The only way he could do that was protect her himself.

Erin stared daggers through him as she cleaned the counter top and straightened the tables, preparing to close the shop for the day. Occasionally, she stopped to give him a full on glare over her shoulder in an obvious attempt to intimidate him into leaving.

After fifteen years as an FBI agent, Matt rarely allowed coldness to bother him. He’d been shot, stabbed, and had confronted some of the worst criminals in the world, but Erin’s aloofness settled under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Once, those sapphire eyes of hers had looked at him with more heat than ice, and it bothered the hell out of him those feelings had disappeared.

She leaned over one of the booths to reach for the salt and pepper shakers, and her plain black skirt rode high on her thighs. Matt’s gaze slid down the long expanse of bare legs, and something elemental inside of him stirred. He dropped his gaze and cursed below his breath. Some things didn’t change, wouldn’t change, like the way his body responded to Erin. That alone would make this assignment more difficult.

“How did Stuart escape?”

Her words caught him off-guard which irritated him even further. Definitely not at the top of his game today. He cleared his throat and scooted back on the stool so his back rested against the counter.

“Through the underground tunnels. One of the guards was killed.” He didn’t believe in sugarcoating the truth, but Erin’s wince told him he should have kept that information to himself anyway.

“Did Stuart kill him?” The quietness of her tone spoke of her inner turmoil. He would have known it anyway. The set of her shoulders and the steady way she scrubbed the same spot were tell-tale signs of distress.

Matt had never been able to put himself in her place. Every day for the past six years, she’d lived with knowing her brother was a murderer, that he’d executed her family over fifty dollars and a car. Erin had surprised him with her strength, the way she’d held it together during the trial. Only at home had she fallen apart and allowed herself to grieve both the loss of her parents and her brother.

The memories had him softening his voice when he responded. “The police aren’t sure. They’re looking into that now.”

Her hip bumped the table behind her. “Would you tell me if you did know?”

“Probably not.” He saw no reason to lie to her.

“Not surprising considering you always kept the details of your job a secret from me even when it involved my own family.” A measure of disgust crept into her voice.

Matt massaged his forehead. “Do we have to go down this road again, Erin?”

“No, we don’t.” Stalking around behind the counter, she returned the pepper canister to the top shelf with a graceful stretch of her arm. “You were always loyal to your badge. I knew that when I married you.”

She made it sound like a fault rather than an admirable trait, but he didn’t push the old argument. They’d traveled that path until they’d run out of road, and the last thing either of them needed was trip to the past.

“Couldn’t I just call you if I see Stuart? That way, you could go back to New York, and I can go back to my life.”

Hearing the desperation in her voice, Matt could almost believe she needed him to be gone rather than wanted it. Did she hate him that much? “That would be a possibility if Stuart hadn’t left a trail of bodies since escaping prison.”

Erin paled, looking at him from behind the counter. “How many?”

“Enough. Still want to defend him?” Matt unbuttoned his suit coat and removed it, draping it across one thigh before adding, “Because the way I see it, Stuart’s got nothing to lose by adding one more body to his count.”

She walked around from behind the counter. “Why do you think he wants to kill me? You have no proof of anything. It’s just pure speculation.”

He thought about showing her the photo but just as quickly dismissed the idea. Denial was all she had at the moment. He wouldn’t be the one to take that away from her. “You think he’s coming here for a family reunion?”

Erin turned her back on him and began to furiously wipe the stainless steel countertop again. “You don’t even know for sure he’s coming here. He could be halfway to Mexico by now.” At least she could hope. She took a deep breath. “Knowing that possibility, when do you plan on leaving?”

“Not until Stuart’s caught and back in prison where he belongs.” Matt joined her behind the counter.

“Don’t.” She held up both hands to ward him off. “I can’t have you here, Matt. This…just won’t work.”

He snagged hold of her wrist and lowered one hand. “Erin, you can’t hide from this. Your brother has developed some very nasty habits in prison, some of which I can’t tell you. Or rather, won’t tell you. He’s not the same man you knew six years ago, and I’m not just talking about the dead bodies he’s left behind.”