Troublemaker (6 page)

“I'm not bargaining for more money, but thank you. I'll keep that number in mind
if
I agree,” she said coolly.

“Look.” For the first time in her memory, there was a tone in Axel's voice as if he were addressing her without mockery, with dead seriousness. “I know this is an unusual situation. Your particular circumstances make it ideal for my purposes, though. No one would tie us together—”

“Thank God,” she said, unable to resist the admittedly juvenile verbal jab.

“Ditto. But you have resources, you're isolated without having to move him too far away in case I need him, and most of all, you need the money.”

There was that. Since her colossal career misjudgment seven years ago, money—or the lack of it—had been behind every decision she'd made. She'd learned how to make smart choices financially, to be an adult and do what had to be done, which was work two jobs. Occasionally part of her still yearned for the heady feeling of taking risks and coming out on top, but at the same time she was mostly happy where she was. It was a learned happiness, but happiness nevertheless.

She wasn't embarrassed by her financial situation. It was much better now than it had been, and she'd dug herself out the pit. Still, how did
Axel
know anything about her life at all, much less her finances?

As if he'd read her mind, he said, “I did some deep digging on you.”

“If you're so anxious to hide him, wouldn't that leave a trail?”

“If one knew where to look, yes, but I went through intermediaries, in-person and verbal instruction only. There are a lot of layers between us. I made sure you're protected and anonymous.”

It wasn't like Axel to be conciliatory or even agreeable, which told her how important this was to him. Being safe would definitely be important to Morgan Yancy, at least while he was in his current condition. She wasn't a bleeding-heart-type person, but neither was she callous, and she already knew she couldn't send him away for the simple reason that he wasn't in any shape to drive. He'd be spending the night here, regardless. Whether or not he was any stronger tomorrow remained to be seen.

A hundred and fifty thousand dollars . . .

Then she sighed. No matter how much money he was offering, she had other people to consider. “It won't work,” she said flatly. “If he has a killer stalking him, I won't endanger the people around here. I just won't.”

“You won't be,” Axel assured her. “There's no connection to make, no way of tracing him to you. Just give him a place to hide out. I guess I could send him to a safe house, but security has been breached so none of those would be safe—and that's why I'm contacting you out of network. The problem is internal.”

The dilemma was immediate, and maddening. She needed the money, but she didn't trust Axel. She didn't want a strange man—and a wounded one, at that—staying with her, but he wasn't capable of leaving. So he was staying for at least a short while, whether she wanted him to or not, unless she called Jesse or an ambulance and had him hauled . . . where? There was a local doctor, but as far as she could tell, Morgan Yancy didn't need medical care, he needed time to heal and regain his strength. If she had him taken to a hospital, he'd be in the computer system, which meant that if she believed Axel even a little bit, she'd be endangering the man's life.

Okay. She didn't trust Axel, though to be truthful she didn't know if that was because he truly wasn't trustworthy or if it was simply because she disliked him so much. He evidently had some kind of government job but, considering the government, that wasn't really much of a recommendation.

She said, “Hold on,” and held the phone down against her thigh to cover up the speaker so Axel couldn't hear. Approaching the SUV, she said, “Yancy?”

He opened his eyes halfway, a gleam of blue in the grayness of his face, and muttered, “Yeah?”

“Axel said there's no way to trace you to me.”

He took a deep breath, or tried to. She caught the sudden hitch, as if his chest muscles protested. His throat worked as he swallowed, then he said, “That's why I drove. No record, and the Tahoe is clean, can't be linked back.”

“Drove from where?”

He gave a small shake of his head, meaning he wasn't going to tell her. Given his condition, he had probably come a fair distance, either that or—
Damn it!
“Exactly when did you get out of the hospital?”

“This morning,” he said, and let his eyes close again.

Double damn it.

She might regret it, almost probably she would regret it, but a hundred and fifty thousand was a lot of money and even though she didn't trust Axel, she could see for herself that the man in front of her wasn't a threat—not now, at least. Even more, he was relying on Axel not to betray him, and presumably he knew her former stepbrother better than she did, which really wouldn't take much at all because his father and her mother had been married a grand total of eight months. Morgan Yancy was betting his life he could trust Axel.

She lifted the phone to her ear again. “All right,” she said, keeping it brief. “But if the money isn't in my account in two days, I'm putting him on the road.”

“It will be,” Axel said. “It'll be there tomorrow.”

Now that the decision had been made, for good or ill, Bo turned her mind toward practical matters. “Let me get my bank account routing number.”

“Please.” The word was full of disdain. “I already have it.” The phone clicked and the connection was gone; he'd hung up.

She thumbed the button to cut the connection on her end, then stood looking at the phone. “Now what?”

Yancy shifted in the seat and lifted his head slowly, as if the effort was almost more than he could manage. He held out his hand, and Bo
placed the phone in it. He deftly took the phone apart and removed the battery, as if it were something he'd done a thousand times.

Having decided enough was enough, Tricks gave another bark, this one special. She had a whole repertoire of different sounds she used to bend humans to her will, and the plaintive, high-pitched puppy bark was her ace in the hole. It was her “Mom, help me!” call, and even though Bo knew she was being manipulated, she was usually so amused that she did whatever Tricks wanted. Right now, Tricks wanted out of the Jeep, which was simple enough.

“I'll be right back,” she said, leaving him where he was and walking back over to the Jeep. She began shivering and pulled her denim jacket closer around her. The temperature had dropped easily ten degrees just since she'd pulled into the driveway. She opened the passenger door and put the pistol in her jacket pocket while she freed Tricks from the harness. She was no longer afraid Yancy was going to jump her, but, hey, it didn't cost anything to be careful.

Tricks grabbed her tennis ball and bounded out of the Jeep, her whole body wiggling with joy. Before Bo could grab her collar, she was gone, racing over to the Tahoe and around to the driver's side. Tricks loved to meet people, but Morgan Yancy might not be an animal lover or in any mood to be licked and nudged to throw the ball, which to Tricks was the greatest honor she could grant someone.

“No!” Bo said, running after her pet though she knew it was already too late. She just hoped Tricks didn't climb into the guy's lap.

She rounded the rear bumper of the Tahoe and skidded to a halt. Tricks was right there in the open door, of course, standing on her hind legs with her front paws braced on the door jamb and her face right up at the man's. He'd opened his eyes and turned his head so that they were almost nose to nose. Before he could react, though, Tricks lowered her muzzle and sniffed at his neck, then moved slowly down his chest, pausing in one spot as if she'd found something interesting. Bo stilled, wondering if that was where he'd been shot.

Tricks moved her nose around and over that one spot, never quite touching. He sat very still while she gave him what was probably the
most thorough smelling he'd ever experienced. Then she very gently licked his shirt, on that same spot, and lowered her front paws to the ground before laying her head on his thigh.

Bo sighed. She'd seen it before; Tricks always seemed to know if anyone was sad, sick, or wounded, and would offer the comfort of her company. “Come on, princess,” she said gently, putting her hand on Tricks's head. “Back up, okay?” She nudged Tricks back, put herself between dog and man. “Is that where you got shot?” she asked Yancy, her tone more brisk than when she'd been talking to Tricks.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “She zeroed right in.”

“I'll try to keep her away from you; she can make a pest of herself until she gets used to you.” Bo looked at him—he truly looked awful—and at the door. Under normal circumstances the distance wasn't long at all, maybe twenty yards, but these weren't normal circumstances because he looked as if he'd need help to go twenty feet. He couldn't make that distance. She could, however, get him closer.

“If you can get into the passenger seat, I'll pull the Tahoe up to the patio so you won't have to walk so far.” She'd agreed to this; now she had to be practical about the logistics of getting him inside and taking care of him because one thing was for sure: he couldn't do it on his own.

“I can walk from here,” he said grimly, lifting his gaunt face and staring at the house as though it were an enemy to be conquered. Her stomach clenched at the fierce determination she saw there. He'd try, she thought; even knowing he couldn't, he'd try anyway, and keep trying until he was unconscious on the cold ground. She couldn't get her mind around that kind of steely willpower.

She didn't let even a hint of sympathy leak into her voice. “No, you can't. You can barely stand up. If you can drive it yourself, fine, just pull up and around so the driver's side is as close to the patio at you can get. If you can't, then move over so I can do it. Your only other option is sitting in the car all night because if you face-plant, I won't be able to get you up.”

Not the most diplomatic way of presenting the options, she thought, but what the hell; even though she'd agreed to take care of him, and
even though she was getting paid well for it, she was still disgruntled at having her home essentially taken over by someone she hadn't invited—hence the no sympathy. Besides, she didn't think he'd respond to sympathy—not that she knew him or could begin to gauge his personality or what he'd been through, but if she'd been shot and was in the shape he was in, she thought by now she might be fed up with being
helped.

“I can drive,” he muttered.

“Fine,” she said, and closed the door. She put Tricks safely in the house, closing the door to keep her in; Tricks, of course, darted to the window and stood with her front paws on the windowsill, tilting her head from side to side as she alertly watched these unusual proceedings. Bo waited on the patio as Yancy started the engine and slowly steered the Tahoe in a wide circle in the yard, stopping when the driver's door was even with her front door.

Before Bo could reach him, he hauled himself out of the vehicle and struggled to stand upright. He'd pushed himself so far that now every move was costing him. “Do you have luggage?” she asked as she deftly slid herself between him and the Tahoe and wedged her left shoulder under his right arm.

“Duffle bag,” he replied, his thin voice so utterly exhausted the words were almost soundless. “In the back.”

She wrinkled her nose. He felt too hot, and he smelled . . . sickly. That was the only way she could describe it, a blend of sweat and medication, maybe an antibiotic swab for his wound, even a whiff of adhesive tape.

“I'll come back for it.” Given the way he looked, she figured the faster she got him inside, the better. She tried to support him as much as she could, but it wasn't easy. While she was a little above average in height, he was at least a head taller, and even though he'd obviously lost weight, he still outweighed her by quite a bit. He was noticeably weaker, leaning heavily on her, barely able to shuffle his feet along the concrete patio. There was only a small step up from the patio into the house, thank goodness, because she didn't think that even with her help he could have managed more than that.

Tricks ran over and bounced around them, generally getting in the way and making a nuisance of herself, as Bo maneuvered him toward the sofa. “Move,” Bo admonished. “Where's your ball?” Distracted, Tricks dashed off to find her tennis ball. It wasn't in the first place she looked and she began hunting for it, which gave Bo a few extra seconds to get him settled on the sofa.

“Go ahead and lie down,” she instructed, positioning a throw pillow for his head. A look of resentment flashed across his face, followed just as fast by resignation. Slowly he eased down, stretching his long form out. He was taller than her sofa was long, his feet hanging over the other end, but there was nothing she could do about that. A long sigh eased from his chest and he closed his eyes. Bo paused a few seconds, then, because he looked uncomfortable with his legs in that position, she pushed another pillow under his knees for support. He didn't stir.

She straightened and rolled her shoulders, loosening the muscles. The effort of getting him inside had made
her
sweat, too.

Tricks had found her tennis ball and brought it to Bo, nosing it into her hand. “Good girl,” Bo praised, rubbing behind the silky ears. Tricks sniffed at the man on the sofa, then gave a joyous whirl because someone new was in the house. She bounced up and down, woofed softly to Bo, then began racing back and forth from her toy box to the man, bringing toy after toy until there was a heap of stuffed animals, chew sticks, and balls in front of the sofa.

His breathing had deepened. Maybe he'd gone to sleep. At any rate, he was oblivious to the growing heap of offerings, but bringing her toys was keeping Tricks occupied. “Go to it, girl,” Bo said to Tricks and left her still fetching toys while she herself went out to fetch the heavy duffle.