The Warrior (8 page)

John jerked, then sat up abruptly, searching the shadowed corners of his room for the woman he'd been making love to. His shoulders slumped as he wiped a shaky hand across his face and crawled out of bed.

He didn't think about his guest as he walked naked through the house, quietly disarmed the security system and strode outside. The cool air felt good against his
heated skin as he made his way down the backside of the bluff to the water below.

The steady ebb and flow of the ocean pulled at his senses like a drug as he walked into the surf. The water was cold—so cold—but he didn't care. He needed the shock of it to wash away the dream—which was, if he'd ever stopped to analyze himself, ironic. While remembering their love and what he'd lost was often too painful, it was the memory of what had happened to her that kept him focused and sane.

When he was knee-deep in the ocean, he dove headfirst into the next wave and began to swim, fighting the current because it was the only enemy at hand. He swam until his muscles burned and his legs felt like jelly. Only then did he stop. Treading water, he turned to look toward shore. From this distance, his house was barely the size of a child's building block, but the anger was gone. All that was left was a bone-deep weariness.

Without thinking, he began the long journey back, one stroke at a time.

Dawn was imminent on the horizon as he came out of the surf, his head down, his shoulders slumped. His steps dragged as he began the climb up the bluff.

 

Alicia woke up suddenly, her heart thumping, her eyes wide with fright. For a second she couldn't remember where she was or how she'd gotten there. Then her gaze centered on a dream catcher hanging on the wall opposite her bed, and a face slid into her mind.

John Nightwalker.

She rubbed her face with her hands, then swung her
legs off the bed and stood, stretching slowly as she made her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came out just as the digital readout on the clock flicked over to ten minutes after six. The bed looked inviting, but there were too many unknowns in her life for her to be able to go back to sleep.

She needed to get to the authorities as soon as possible. The quicker she put a stop to her father's dealings with terrorists, the sooner she would be safe. Once everyone knew, it would serve no purpose to keep her quiet. Nothing else would stop him. She'd grown up seeing his ruthlessness firsthand. Her mother had been the one who'd taught her what it meant to love. Her father's lessons in life consisted of disappointments and lies. But her mother had been dead for years now, and Alicia was a woman long grown and strong. And she swore that determination—the one trait she'd inherited from her father—was going to prove to be the one that took him down.

Her suitcase was open on the floor. She thought about getting dressed, but it was nearing daybreak, and the idea of watching the sun come up on the horizon to signal the beginning of a new day was too enticing to miss. She noticed that the alarm system had been turned off, so she felt no concern as she hurried downstairs, then out the French doors to the terrace beyond. She walked to the edge, then out onto the grass and headed to the edge of the bluff.

A sea breeze instantly caught the hem of her nightgown and threaded it between her legs as she braced herself against the railing. The view was everything she'd expected and more. Already the line between dark and
dawn was fading fast. In the east, there was an aura of pink and orange playing at visibility. Just another minute or two, and the sun in all its glory would be evident.

Alicia found herself watching intently, trying to guess the exact moment of its appearance, and because she was so focused on the sky, she didn't see the man swimming in the water below. But then the sun broke, and all of a sudden the day was there. She smiled slowly in appreciation and was about to turn back when she saw him, waist deep and emerging from the ocean as steadily as the sun had appeared from below the horizon.

The first thought that crossed her mind was awe. The second was lust.

He'd been a commanding figure in clothes. Naked, he was magnificent. Even from this distance, the copper perfection of his body was impossible to ignore. Muscles everywhere they should be, wet and glistening in the new light of a new day. Then she looked past the obvious to the way his head was hanging, and the slight but weary slump of his body. He walked across the sand as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and something told her that had nothing to do with a strenuous workout.

A lump rose in her throat. Then he paused. When she saw him cover his face with his hands, her vision blurred. She could feel his sadness from here. But why? She thought of the way he'd spoken about his wife, and her heart ached. She'd never known love like that.

It wasn't until John dropped his hands and looked up the bluff toward his house that Alicia realized he could see her. Now she was stuck. If she moved suddenly, he
would think she was ashamed to be caught spying on him. So she did the only other thing she could; she waved and called down, “The sunrise was beautiful!” Then she waved once more and walked back into the house and up to her room.

She swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes as she dug through her suitcase for a clean change of clothes. He could think what he wanted. It was his own fault for walking around naked. Ignoring him would have been a whole lot easier if he had a potbelly and thinning hair.

A few minutes later she was dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a loose white blouse. She walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen, hoping for a cup of coffee. But she got way more than she hoped for when John came in the back door.

“Good morning,” he said, and strode through the kitchen, leaving sandy footprints on the wood floor.

Alicia nodded, but the answer she might have given was stuck in the back of her throat. He was still unashamedly naked, but that wasn't what had caused her heart to skip.

It was the scars.

Small ones.

Large ones.

All over his body.

All she could think was, what in God's sweet name has happened to this man?

D
ieter was heartily glad that there were several states between him and Richard Ponte as he listened to his boss berate him up one side and down the other. He shifted the phone from one ear to the other while walking to the impound yard, confident that whatever it was he'd missed hearing wasn't going to kill him, although Richard might.

“Do you have any idea where she's gone?” Richard snapped.

Dust puffed up on Dieter's pant legs as he walked, but he didn't have the luxury of caring. “Not yet. I just got out of jail, and I'm on my way to get my car out of impound.”

Richard's voice was quiet, steady—the antithesis of what he was feeling.

“You'd better be in a hurry. You'd better be running, boy,” Richard said. “You'd better finish what I sent you to do or don't bother coming back, because if you come back without my daughter, I'll kill you myself.”

Dieter picked up his step, telling himself it was just
a figure of speech, that Ponte didn't really mean it. Then Ponte's voice got even quieter.

“Do we understand each other?” Richard asked.

Dieter changed his mind. Ponte's threat was more than serious.

“Yes, sir. I understand. I'll call you as soon as I have her located again.”

“Make it quick.”

“Yes, sir,” Dieter said, praying for the disconnect. When it clicked in his ear, he breathed a sigh of relief, dropped his phone in his pocket and lengthened his stride.

A short while later he had his car out of impound, heartily thankful that, if this had to happen, it had occurred in such a backwater place as Justice. He'd checked the trunk of his car to find everything he'd had with him was still in place. The black duffel bag was still lying at the back of the trunk, behind a spare tire and tools. He pulled it out, grunting with satisfaction as he checked through the contents, making sure everything was still there.

Two handguns with a fairly large supply of ammunition. A nice set of lockpicks, along with a couple of small hand drills—tools any burglar would want. A first-aid kit with two different vials of drugs meant to render someone unconscious, along with the necessary supply of syringes. Any cop worth his salt would have searched and confiscated all this. He thought of the skinny, smart-ass jailer who'd smirked at him, and snorted. The laugh was on them, and they didn't even know it.

Satisfied that all was in place once again, he zipped up the bag, shoved it back behind the spare tire and
slammed the trunk lid shut. As he got back in the car, he already knew his next destination would be the last place he'd seen Alicia Ponte. At a place called Marv's Gas and Guzzle.

 

Daisy Broyles had come to work for Marv Spaulding on her sixteenth birthday and had been here ever since. Job security had been assured after she'd turned nineteen and married Marv. Now they lived in the little brick house behind the store, which suited Daisy just fine. She liked small-town living, and Justice, Georgia, was small-town personified.

This morning was passing much like every morning did. Herbert and Hubert Cooper, two old bachelors who happened to be identical twins, had come in around seven o'clock, downed their usual three cups of coffee and two of Daisy's fresh-baked cinnamon rolls apiece and then left with a wave and a promise to be back tomorrow.

Marshall Walters' daughter, Sue, had stopped by for gas to mow their lawn.

Three little boys came in with a dollar apiece and spent fifteen minutes arguing between themselves before settling on pop and candy. And the morning went on, with a steady flow of locals stopping by.

The morning scent of cinnamon rolls was slowly being replaced by the food Daisy was preparing for the lunch rush. She already had a dozen burritos fried up, a pan of crusty chicken strips, a big bowl of potato salad and a bowl of slaw. She was wrapping her chocolate-chip cookies in clear plastic for individual sale when she saw a car pull off the highway and park near the door.

She frowned, recognizing the car. No one had ever
pulled a stunt like that here. Passing out drunk at one of her gas pumps was ridiculous. He could have killed someone driving drunk. Yesterday, it was all anybody had wanted to talk about when they'd come in. She was tired of the subject, and tired of the jackass who'd done it. Marv had reminded her last night that they'd been lucky the sorry sucker had stopped before he'd passed out. Like Marv told her, if the drunk had still been driving when he'd conked out, they might have had a mess on their hands. What if he'd hit the pumps? What if he'd run into another customer? Finally Daisy had relented, admitting Marv had a point.

But seeing the man walking toward the door didn't mean she was ready to sell him some more booze so he could get behind the wheel and drive again. With that thought in mind, she braced herself against the counter, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and set her jaw. Southern women had their ways. If he argued with her, she would show him what a real steel magnolia was all about.

Dieter didn't know he'd already been made, but it wouldn't have mattered. Finding Alicia's car parked right beside his in the impound yard hadn't made him feel any better about the situation. It was his own fault for giving away the GPS business. He'd just assumed she would have known. Now she was running again, but in what—and with whom? He needed to find out who that big Indian was she'd been with yesterday. He was the only lead he had.

The bell over the door jingled, then played a short burst of “Dixie” as the door swung shut. Surprised by the unexpected tune, he was actually grinning as he
spied the clerk. But from the way she was glaring, she didn't look happy to see him.

He shifted his attitude to all-business as he moved toward the counter.

“Uh…ma'am…I was wondering if you were working here yesterday?”

Daisy glared. “I work here every day. You buying gas?”

Dieter stuttered. “Uh…no, I was wondering if—”

“Cokes are on sale. Ninety-nine cents for a 16 ounce.”

“No thanks, I was just—”

“Goes good with the cinnamon rolls. Dollar apiece, but they're homemade and worth every penny.”

Dieter was slow, but he finally caught on. Nothing came free, not even information. He grabbed a Coke and pointed toward the bakery case. “I'll take two,” he said as he dug in his pocket for money to pay.

Daisy sacked up two cinnamon rolls, added a napkin and took his money. Only after she'd realized he wasn't in the market for booze and had done some fair trading—money for goods received—was she ready to listen.

Dieter stood, waiting for her to nail him again while the condensation on his cold pop ran between his fingers and dripped on the floor. The smell of cinnamon was enticing. He wished he smelled as good, and thought about taking time to find a motel for a shower and shave. But dealing with body odor was going to have to come second to the task at hand.

“Uh…”

Daisy frowned. “Speak your piece, mister. I ain't got all day.”

Dieter nodded. “Yesterday, I, uh…”

“Oh, I know all about yesterday. You passed out
drunk in your car right out there at my pumps. I don't take kindly to drunk drivers.”

Dieter didn't intend to go into details. He just needed answers, and the way he figured it, an apology would get him further than an explanation.

“I'm real sorry about all that,” he said. “I hope you weren't put out in any way.”

Daisy sniffed. “I might have missed a customer or two, seeing as how you were blocking one side of the pumps.”

Dieter nodded. “Yes, well…like I said. I'm sorry.”

Daisy frowned. “So what's your problem today?”

“Yesterday, before I…uh, I mean…there was a man at the other pump when I arrived. I was wondering if you noticed who it was…or if you knew him?”

“I didn't even see
you
until they came to haul you and your car away. Unless they come in, I don't pay them much mind. Lots of people come and go here, and most pay at the pump with credit cards these days. Pumps won't work unless they come in and pay me first, or use a credit card,” Daisy stated. “What did he look like?”

“He was a little above average height. Native American, with short dark hair and a silver earring in on ear.”

“Oh. That sounds like Big John,” Daisy said.

Dieter's pulse kicked. She knew him. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

“John. Yes, yes, that's the name he gave. Do you know where I can find him?”

Daisy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

“Uh, well…we were talking, and he mentioned he had a car for sale. I thought I'd drive by and take a look at it, since I'm still in the area.”

Daisy frowned. “I don't know exactly where he lives. All I know is it's that way.”

She pointed north.

“I seem to have forgotten his last name,” Dieter added.

“Nightwalker,” Daisy said. “His name is John Nightwalker.”

Dieter smiled. “Thanks so much,” he said, and headed out the door. He opened the Coke and took a big bite of a cinnamon roll before he put the car in gear and drove away. Things were already looking up.

 

Richard Ponte was alternating between panic and pure unadulterated rage. This was a nightmare. His carefully balanced empire was in danger of toppling, and all because of his own blood. A part of him knew it was his own fault. He'd been so confident of the power he wielded that he'd gotten careless, doing business at home. He knew better. But he hadn't
done
better.

He glanced at his watch. It had only been an hour since he'd last talked to Dieter. He palmed his cell phone, resisting the urge to call Alicia again—to try to talk her into coming home on her own. After the fight they'd had, he knew that wasn't going to happen. She hadn't seemed to care about where the money came from that had afforded her the luxurious lifestyle she'd enjoyed. Who knew she could turn into a flag-waving bleeding heart? The truth was, he didn't really know her at all, and this incident was proof of that. And learning she was no longer alone had been shocking. Where had the man Dieter described come from? How and when had she met him? It was all a mystery—and a mess.

The phone began to ring, jarring him out of his rev
erie. He glanced at the caller ID and then relaxed, shifted into business mode and answered with his usual voice of authority, and the morning continued.

 

Alicia was pouring herself a refill from the coffeepot when John came back into the kitchen. This time he was dressed, thank God. She didn't think she could take another reality jolt like that without making a fool of herself.

“Did you find everything you needed?” John asked as he got a cup down from the cabinet and filled it.

Alicia lifted her cup. “Coffee was enough.”

John's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he raked her body with a slow, assessing gaze. Then he reached back in the cabinet, got down two bowls and pointed to a door behind her.

“There are a couple of kinds of dry cereal in the pantry. Pick one for yourself. I want Cocoa Puffs. Would you mind passing them over?”

“But coffee is—”

“You're too thin.”

Alicia's mouth dropped. In the world of high fashion, there was no such thing. She reached for the Cocoa Puffs and handed them to him, and as she did, she began to smile. The cartoonlike characters on the cereal box were such opposites of the persona this man projected. She eyed the other box of cereal, touting health and bran, then opted for Cocoa Puffs, as well.

“I don't think I've ever had chocolate anything for breakfast before.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Alicia paused with the bowl in her hand, and even as
the words were coming out of her mouth, she knew how ridiculous they were going to sound.

“I guess because no one ever offered it.”

John's eyes widened as he turned, staring at her as if she were a curiosity.

“Haven't you ever made a meal for yourself?”

She felt heat on her face and an odd sense of guilt, as if she'd been examined and found lacking.

“No.”

He thought of White Fawn, down on her knees scraping bits of flesh and tallow from the insides of skins, hanging slivers of deer meat over small fires to smoke and dry. Picking berries to add to his meals, the tips of her fingers stained blue from their juice.

Then he took a slow breath and nodded. Judging her wasn't any of his business, although he couldn't resist a small dig.

“Sounds to me like you should have run away from home a long time ago.”

“You're probably right,” she shot back. “Pass me the cereal when you're through, please.”

He grinned and handed over the box.

Alicia felt its weight in her hand, but at that moment, she couldn't have moved to save her soul. That smile…Sweet mercy. Thankfully, he turned his back on her to retrieve the milk from the refrigerator. By the time he came back, she had pulled herself together and had filled her bowl.