"I know—only you grew up to
become
John Wayne. Jay worships the ground you walk on."
"At least he used to, you mean."
He was silent, his gaze darting out to where his brother slept, wishing things were different, but glad that before Jay left he would at last know the truth about Chase. He had to bite down against the sudden urge to confide in KC as well—loose lips, he reminded himself. Besides, her mission and his were at loggerheads.
KC seemed comfortable with the silence, allowed it to lengthen, then pulled him back to her with a touch of her finger on his hand.
"He still does," she assured him. "Just the knight's shining armor is a little dented and rusty now. He's a good kid, even if he's sorely mistaken about what makes for a good western. He'll die defending the Duke in
The Searchers
." She shook her head mournfully. "Someday the kid will come to his senses, learn his mistake."
Chase squeezed her hands, appreciating her change of topic. "You mean to tell me there are better westerns than John Wayne's?" he asked in an incredulous voice.
"My grandfather adored movies, any movie as long as it was black and white. Technicolor was the biggest mistake this society ever made, he used to say. It made movies seem too lifelike, removed the barriers between the fantasy world and the audience. Made that dream world too ordinary, seem commonplace."
"I think my father would have liked your grandfather," Chase said. "He could spend hours dissecting a film, tracing it back to its Jungian and mythic archetypes."
"Exactly. Westerns were Konstantine's favorites. Beowulf retold with six shooters."
"Let me guess, your favorite is," he paused, scrutinizing her face, enjoying how ordinary this all felt—as if she wasn't carrying at least one gun and prepared to use it on him, as if he weren't busy hiding the truth from her, "
High Noon
. Because of Grace Kelly, right?"
That earned him a wide smile. "Most people don't appreciate how feminist that movie was for its time. Gary Cooper isn't really the hero, he never changes, is the same from start to finish. But Grace Kelly, she first stands true to her principles, then forsakes them to defend her man, finally makes the ultimate sacrifice and takes a man's life. She decides her love for her husband is worth sacrificing everything—her honor, her religion, her life. Then in the very last seconds of the film—"
"He hands her the reins to the wagon," Chase finished for her. She looked at him in surprise, obviously pleased with his response. "Because she's chosen him, he chooses to leave his old life, start a new one with her, as equals."
"Partners. That's right."
"Too bad we can't do something like that—just ride off into the sunset, forget who we are, what we are—"
Her gaze shifted away from his once again. "We can't. There's Jay, for one thing."
"You do care about him."
"Not in that way. I'm responsible for his safety. Just as I'm responsible for the safety of all my people." She leaned back, looked at him, this time with a serious expression. "People who could get hurt depending on what you do next."
He stepped away, pulled his hands from her body, wincing as the connection between them was broken.
"You think I'm going to sell you out to Bruno or Deacon."
Of course, she still thought the worst of him, he hadn't given her any reason to trust him. If their positions were reversed, he wouldn't trust her either. Even now, despite the feelings she aroused in him, he couldn't trust her with the truth. Much as he yearned to.
"You know I won't do anything that might get Jay hurt," he said.
"And once I have Jay in protective custody?"
He turned away, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he thought. He could tell her the truth, maybe they could work together—no, even if he trusted her, he couldn't trust any of her coworkers, not after what happened to Lucky. Too many leaks in the Justice Department to risk it. He wanted to tell her everything, but what he wanted wasn't important, the job came first.
"Give me time to think," he pleaded. She looked at him with doubt in her eyes. "I could have said something to Bruno back at his place, but I didn't," he reminded her.
She considered that. "All right," she said, jumping down from the counter. She walked past him, then turned back. "You know, Jay has a chance to make something of himself."
"Unlike his big brother, you mean."
To his surprise, instead of moving to the garage door, she went into the dining room.
"Where are you going?" He followed her out into the living room.
"You wanted time. You and Jay have," she pushed back her jacket sleeve, looked at her watch, a large black skull and crossbones with purple numbers, "twenty minutes before we have to leave."
Before he could say anything, she shook Jay's arm. Jay's eyes fluttered, then opened. He raised an arm to swipe at his face as he blinked in confusion.
"Chase, you're okay?" Jay asked, his voice still blurry with sleep.
"I'm fine, just a little sore."
"KC, what are you doing here?"
"Change in plans, Jay. We're leaving in a few minutes. I thought you'd want to say good-bye to your brother." She stood, looked Chase in the eye. "I'll go use the facilities, give you two a little privacy. Jay, keep an eye on your brother for me, all right?"
She didn't bother hiding her smile when Jay immediately whirled on Chase, demanding, "Damn it. What did you do now?"
CHAPTER 23
A woman called Lucky's name, rescuing him from the frozen darkness he'd lost himself in. She stood, surrounded by a lush forest of trees, streams of sunlight dancing through the rich canopy of leaves to illuminate her in golden radiance. Long, thick dark hair swirled over her shoulders, but could not camouflage the rich curves of her body. She held out a hand, beckoning for him to join her.
The forest felt primeval, removed from time and space. Lucky stretched his hand, yearning to join the raven-haired beauty. Pain came at him from every direction, but still he tried to reach her. Their fingers touched and joined. She was almost as tall as he was, their hands fit together perfectly, and suddenly the pain was gone. For one blissful moment, she was his entire universe and he felt peace.
Not the calmness of surrender. Rather a deep, certain knowledge that he would survive. He had to, how else would he ever get the chance to meet her? He couldn't give up, not now that he had something to live for, something more than loyalty to a cause or to a friend.
She was his life and he was going to find her again. All Lucky had to do was stay alive.
He choked on his own blood, and her image faded as Lucky coughed himself awake. The shack was empty. Where'd his Lady go?
His thoughts were hazy, and he fought to focus his vision.
She was never there
, a cruel whisper from the recesses of his mind taunted him as he struggled to sit up. Just a mirage conjured from the Art Survey course he'd taken to impress that sophomore—what was her name?
Juliet—no that was what Lucky had called her. Julie, that was her real name, plain old Julie. He remembered sitting in the dark auditorium, holding her hand while larger than life Raphael and Botticelli paintings floated on the screen before them. Man, those guys had it right—women should be life sized, warm flesh you could get a hand on, not waifs too fragile for a man to touch.
He spit out a mouthful of blood. Bit his tongue during that last session—was it the third, or the fourth? No matter.
Fergus had been joined by another man, a man who was obviously calling the shots. Making him a bigger fish than Deacon, even. Rose Prospero had said there was more going on than a single nutso militia group led by an ex-gangbanger. Looked like she'd been right on the money.
Lucky hadn't said anything, had kept his attention focused on trying to find any distinguishing characteristic he could use to identify The Crusade's true leader. Fergus addressed the man only as Preacher.
Lucky would be the only law enforcement officer alive able to confirm his existence and give a description.
Make that alive for now.
Just a little longer. Sooner or later, Fergus, Preacher's Taser-happy dwarf, would make a mistake and Lucky would take him down. All he needed was a chance.
He ran his tongue over parched lips. His entire left side was tingling with sharp jolts that ran from his heart down to his fingertips. He tried to wiggle his left hand, but it flapped useless in his right.
Lucky blew his breath out, fully awake now. He thought he might have had a seizure after the last electric shock session—or maybe a heart attack. His chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. Ugly purple marks where the prongs of the stun gun had burnt his skin were grouped over his heart.
Hey, he was still breathing, time to worry about the rest later. In between each session, he'd been busy prying the metal trim free from the base of the desk. The painstaking process had loosened a two inch by one inch strip of metal that he had managed to bend out before the last session. Thank God, they hadn't noticed it.
Now or never, Lucky told himself as he inched over across the floor, his arms and legs screaming in agony from their position hogtied behind him. Finally he reached his destination. He hauled himself upright and began the painful process of sawing through the duct tape that bound him.
Within minutes blood was seeping over his wrists and hands, dripping onto the floor. No way to camouflage that, he thought, realizing this was his last chance.
That was all right, he was long past ready to blow this joint. Had a date with a pretty lady to keep—although he suspected that he was more likely to find her in an Art History textbook or hanging in the National Gallery than in flesh and blood. Didn't matter. Life was hope.
He mumbled the words in time with his movements until at last he was rewarded. The tape began to give. He pushed harder, his breath coming in small grunts that formed ice vapor clouds in the frigid atmosphere of the shack.
Finally he was free. Lucky peeled the tape off, carefully not allowing it to bunch up. He turned to the job of breaking his sharp edged piece of metal trim free from the desk. As a weapon it was puny, laughable—but the only one he had.
He twisted it back and forth until a fissure formed and the metal snapped off in his hand. Wrapping one end, the one less jagged and therefore less lethal, in his hoarded duct tape, he leaned against the desk and stood.
Immediately he regretted it. The movement made his vision go black. When it returned, the small room was spinning. He retched, but there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. Lucky thanked God for small favors and took some deep breaths, ignoring the pain spiraling through his chest, until his vision cleared. He searched the desk drawers but they were empty except for a few yellowed scraps of paper and rusty paper clips. The door was padlocked from the outside.
Just you and me, he told his trusty homemade shiv, teeth chattering and goosebumps covering his naked body. Good thing his Lady of the forest wasn't here, he wasn't exactly at his best right now.
He got into position and waited.
CHAPTER 24
Let them argue, say their farewells, KC thought. Short of placing Chase in handcuffs, it seemed the easiest way to make certain he didn't run off. She moved past them into the hallway and the bathroom across from Jay's room.
She held the door open, listened to their voices. Damn the kid, what had he been thinking, telling his brother the truth. What the hell was she going to do to avoid Chase blowing her op? Or was it already too late?
No, Chase wouldn't sell her out until he knew his brother was safe. Then all bets would be off. She could take him into custody, except for the niggling little fact that she had no proof that he'd done anything wrong except come home for the holidays at exactly the wrong time. She leaned over the sink, splashed cold water over her face, tried to clear her mind.
It was her own damn fault. Should've gotten Jay out last night as soon as Chase showed up. Should've never gotten soft, giving them time together—time which Chase had used to sneak in and try to seduce her, she reminded herself.
Except it had been the other way around, hadn't it? She'd jumped him—in her persona of KC, the teenaged bitch, of course. She remembered the way his touch scorched through her, igniting her passion instantly. Maybe she wanted him to seduce her.
Her fingers stretched along her abdomen, following the path Chase's mouth had taken earlier, where her temporary tattoo was. She'd been surprised when Raymond showed her his sketch of the body art. It was the most intricate that he'd ever designed for her. He'd been right, though. Bad girl KC with her cropped tops, leather and chains, piercings and less than subtle body art, had taken Coalton by storm. No one would be surprised when Jay Westin disappeared with her, never to be heard from again.
She looked at the tattoo in the mirror, its bright colors a technicolor swirl in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. A chameleon juggling karma. Pretty much described the life of an undercover operative. Right now bad karma seemed to be all that she was getting.
This was what she got for breaking all her rules. Her operation, her chance to nab Gianotti, Lester Dinkum and take down The Crusade was now on the verge of falling apart. All because of one man.
KC looked at the bathtub with longing and sighed. A vision of her and Chase in there together filled her mind, his large hands overflowing with soapsuds as he circled them over her body. The scent of wild, exotic flowers, promising passion, the taste of his flesh, the feeling of him inside her, rocking her to her core...
She shook her head to clear it. She needed a plan, some way to keep Chase from blowing things before the meeting at noon.