Last Call (15 page)

Of course, if he'd lied to her she might not
forgive him anyway.

Rhys snorted. "Okay, puppet boy—"

"Puppet
master
." Cutter sneered and turned
the gun, making it glint in the faint glow of what looked to be an
emergency light on the wall.

Rhys didn't push her luck. "Since you're one
of the boys in blue, you know we've been after Siegal for a long
time. You realize whatever went down upstairs is probably going to
land in a steaming pile at your feet."

Cutter's attention fixed on the gun — so much
so she might have called it a portrait in obsession. In the dim
light, his features were gruesomely defined, much like the scary
flashlight face she remembered from campfires as a kid.

"No, no, Detective," he said, finally looking
from the gun to stare into her eyes. "You see, there won't be any
witnesses to chirp about it. None I let live. And I have everything
I need to put Vinnie away for life."

"Then why did you do this, Cutter? You could
have walked out of this a free man. You could have put Siegal away
and played the hero."

"You're right. I could have. But what would be
the point without my boy? Massey has to pay," he said. "And
unfortunately for you, he's going to watch someone he loves die.
Just like I had to."

At that second, a racket sounded against the
wall backing the bookshelf.

"Rhys! Rhys, are you in there?"

Nick
.

Cutter swiveled, cursing.

Rhys didn't stick around to see what happened
next. She flew into the stairwell, taking the stairs two a time to
the bottom. There, she found a small room — much like a closet. No
light and no exit.

She paused to steady her nerves, listening for
sounds of combat from upstairs. Eerie silence bathed the
darkness.

Had Nick found the entry to the room? She had
no way of knowing, and regardless, she was stuck. Lacking more
favorable options, she began feeling the walls. She ran her
fingertips back and forth, top to bottom, seeking a panel or a soft
spot. A button or lever would be even better, but she wouldn't hold
her breath.

Then, from upstairs, she heard a crash,
followed by Nick's breathless voice.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Put her in the ground, Massey," came Cutter's
distant reply. "How does that feel, you bastard?"

"No!" Nick roared.
"
Where is she
?"

"What do you care?" Cutter asked.
"You've been lying to her this whole time. Not wanting her to know
about your little project.
Don't let her
know I'm working again
," he
mocked.

Rhys gasped. So Nick
had
lied to her. A hard
lump formed in her throat.

And one in her heart to match.

"Face it, Massey. You're a loser. You lost my
boy, and now you've lost your precious girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Nick replied
firmly. "She's nothing but a job. And now that Siegal has been
hauled off in handcuffs, you might be out of luck."

Rhys cringed. The news of Siegal's arrest — if
true — dulled under Nick's dismissal of their relationship. He
might well be lying but the words still hurt.

"He has?" Cutter sounded off kilter, but he
quickly changed his tune. "I have proof. All the proof I need,
right at home on my computer. Hard copies, too. So one of us may be
out of luck, but it's not me."

"What about Rhys?" Nick asked.

"What about her?"

"Surely someone will find the body," Nick
said, his voice almost jeering.

The sound twisted Rhys's stomach.

"So what?"

"You seem to be the one holding the
gun."

"Ah, but Detective. You seem to
forget, it's not my gun. The way I see it, I jumped in the middle
of a struggle. People got hurt." His voice lowered. "People
died
."

However muffled, the threat came through loud
and clear.

Nick
.

Memories of being in his arms flooded her like
gunshots, and with every bit of the pain. Was he using her for
something, or was he only playing a part? She bit her
lip.

It didn't matter. She loved him, and she
wouldn't live with more regrets. Next time he walked away, it
wouldn't be because she'd left things unsaid. Or undone. And it
damn sure wouldn't be because he was dead.

Heart pounding, Rhys eased back up the
stairs.

Cutter stood across the room with his back to
her. He aimed his gun at Nick, who hadn't ventured far from the
doorway.

Their eyes met in passing. Cutter had implied
he killed her, yet Nick showed no reaction at seeing her alive. Was
it the cop in him, or did he not care?

She ducked back into the shadows to consider
her options. Cutter had to know she'd gone down the stairs, but did
he think she was trapped or was there an exit she'd missed? And if
there was, did Cutter know about it? With that half-crazed look
she'd seen earlier in his eyes, she didn't know what he might be
thinking. He only seemed aware of the gun, and judging by the hole
in the van driver's forehead, Cutter knew how to use it.

And Rhys didn't have a weapon.

She swallowed her frustration and leaned back,
her hand closing on a rail. A nice thick pole and if the quality
matched that of the rest of the décor, it was no doubt crafted of
solid wood. She crouched to examine her find. As extravagant as the
rest of Siegal's mansion was, she didn't expect she could harvest
the rail easily, but luck was on her side. The rail was attached
via a metal bracket. In the near darkness she was able to make out
several screws fixing the bracket to the wall, but the rod itself
was held in place by a single wing nut hidden in a depression on
the rail's underside. She tried to loosen the fixture but it
wouldn't budge. Rhys pulled her sleeve over her hand and tried
again, using the cloth to cushion the harsh metal against her
fingers. Finally, the nut gave. She unwound it from the bolt, slid
it in her pocket, and worked her way down the rail with a silent
prayer the remaining connections would be as forgiving.

Six steps from the top, the rail ended at a
landing. She quickly removed the second nut and disengaged the rail
from the wall.

Back upstairs, in the hidden room, Cutter was
rambling about his lost son, who seemed to grow more angelic with
every passing moment. She looked past Cutter to see the gun was off
its mark — a fact that hadn't gotten past Nick, who was several
steps closer to Cutter than he had been before.

Rhys positioned the six-foot makeshift bat on
her shoulder, ignoring the screaming pain from her injury. She
stood there, hoping her intention was self-explanatory and that
Nick would see her before Cutter did.

Nick met her eyes briefly, then looked away
before giving a slight nod.

He'd seen her.

Her heart pounding, Rhys felt for the bolts in
her pocket. Then she lifted her arm and threw them as hard as she
could across the room and away from Nick.

The clatter of metal hitting the wood floor
silenced Cutter's rant. He turned his head in the same second she
swung the board, smacking him solidly in the side of the head. Pain
raged through her with the impact — so much so she dropped the
pole. By then, though, it didn't matter. In one leap, Nick was on
top of Cutter, the gun skittering across the floor.

Rhys picked it up and took aim, but it was
only a precaution.

Cutter was out cold.

Breathing heavily, Nick looked at her, and she
knew.

It was over.

Chapter Twelve

Four a.m.

Too early for coffee. Too late for everything
else.

Rhys stood in the dark at the window of her
fourth floor apartment watching snow drift from a heavy
sky.

The heaviness — the dark — matched her
mood.

The fallout from their meeting with Vincent
Siegal a week prior had made the headlines. It was there Rhys found
confirmation Nick had never quit detective work. He'd simply been
transferred eight months ago — leaving her had been as easy as
that, and she'd never been the wiser.

But that wasn't an explanation he owed her.
His leaving her back then stung, but it was nothing compared to his
most recent disappearance. Perhaps sleeping with him had been a
mistake after all, but she couldn't imagine not knowing what it
felt to be loved by him any more than she could fathom the rest of
her life without him.

But she'd figure it out.

She'd just decided it may not be too early for
coffee after all when a soft knock sounded at the door.

Startled, she hugged herself — wincing at a
twinge in her sore shoulder — and walked to the
peephole.

Nick
.

Everything she'd ever lost waited behind that
door.

She opened it anyway.

He held up two paper cups. A paper bag was
clenched in one hand.

"Are you inviting yourself for breakfast?" she
asked.

He stepped inside. "Are you accepting
invitations?"

She closed the door while he placed the cups
on the counter. "I have bagels," he said.

She fought a grin. "You don't eat
bagels."

"Gotta give a guy credit for trying." He
handed her one of the cups. "French vanilla."

"My hero," she said, and meant it. The aroma
was almost as delicious as the man who had brought it.

They fell into silence.

"The other day," he finally said, like it
really was any other day. "I wanted to thank you for coming back
upstairs for me. That could have ended differently."

Rhys fiddled with her cup. "But it
didn't."

"That's because of you," he said softly. "Tony
sends his regards."

She nodded, not bothering to ask why Tony
would send word through Nick, who had walked away pretty damn
easily after it was all said and done. Or as easily as a person
could sneak away from a news story turned so big helicopters were
circling before the day was out. Vincent Siegal had gone down hard
thanks to Tony's investigation, which had come to a head at the
charity event. Apparently Rhys, Nick, and Cutter weren't the only
ones who liked witnesses.

Nick seemed to read her thoughts. "Thanks to
Cutter's meticulous records, both he and Siegal will be in jail for
the foreseeable future."

"I get why Siegal went after me," Rhys said,
settling onto her sofa. "But what was in it for Cutter?"

Nick sat across from her in a chair by the
window. "Cutter wanted to get to me, and Siegal had him by the
balls. When they brought you in, Cutter saw opportunity and
snatching you was relatively easy under the
circumstances."

"That makes sense. If you're a sick bastard,"
Rhys said.

"I think Cutter tried to stay clean. Then
Brian got mixed up in drugs, and Siegal pounced on the chance to
get to Cutter through the kid. Siegal kept his hands off the
streets, but he found plenty to like about having a man on the
inside, and what's a little blackmail between brothers? And the
icing on the cake — when Brian died, he died owing Siegal money.
Siegal used that extra leverage to keep Cutter in line, or so he
thought. Cutter wanted a little revenge play on Siegal, and he
managed to get all the pieces in place. He knew Tony was inside,
but no one had a clue of the connection between Vincent and Cutter,
and I think Cutter counted on Tony not being alive to talk after
that little confrontation he set up."

"So Cutter swiped me to pay a debt to Siegal?
Why hide us? Why didn't he just let Siegal's men find
us?

"Because Cutter wanted to hurt me, and he felt
it fitting for me to lose someone I… love. Like he did. And he
wanted to be there when it happened."

Rhys had a mouthful of coffee when
the words sunk in.
Love
. She swallowed. Hard. Nick had admitted it once before but
spitting the word in the middle of an intense discussion didn't
share the soul-stirring affect of his current soft
proclamation.

Nick moved his cup from one hand to the other
and leaned forward to put his forearms on his knees. "I need to
know who Corey is."

Tears filled her eyes, then spilled over.
"He's my brother."

He blew out a breath. "Oh, hell, Rhys I
thought—"

"I told you earlier a drug deal had gone bad
in my old neighborhood and a few kids were killed. My brother was
one of those kids. He was just walking down the street when it
happened, on his way to the corner store to pick up a gallon of
milk." She fought the onslaught of tears, the loss vivid. "That was
when I decided I wanted to be a cop. I thought I was going to save
the world."

The sofa cushion tipped when Nick moved to sit
next to her. He touched her chin, gently turning her to face him.
"You can't save the world. No one can."