Like a Knife (13 page)

"This must have cost a fortune," she said, flipping through the book.

He threw her a tight smile. "It's on Rennie."

Rennie.
She was so sick of that name. "Anything else I should know?"

He hesitated, and she sensed he was debating how much to tell her. Finally, he said, "I went to see a friend."

Before she could press for more details, a knock sounded on her office door. Quickly he stepped behind it, and Rachel opened the door partway.

Felice stood at the threshold. "You've got a visitor." She thumbed over her shoulder at a woman standing in front of the finger-painting display. She turned and smiled.

The writer.
The one from the disaster at her aunt and uncle's dinner party. What was she doing here?

"I told her this wasn't a good time," Felice said in a low voice,"but she insisted."

'Thanks, Felice."

"No problem." Felice winked and returned to her classroom.

"Get rid of her," Nick whispered from behind the door. As if she needed to be told. She closed the door behind her as the woman came forward.

"Dana Gershon," she said, extending her hand. "We met at your aunt and uncle's."

How could Rachel forget?

Standing guard over the office door, she said to the writer, "I thought I made my feelings about your project clear."

Dana gave her a conciliatory glance. "Let's forget about the book, okay? Chris told me so much about your school. I'd really like to see it."

"Why don't you call me, and we'll set up an appointment?"

The woman laughed. "Once you get to know me better, you'll find I don't brush off that easily."

"I'm sorry, but this just isn't a good time." Her palms were slick against the doorknob, her mouth dry.

Dana peered at her thoughtfully.
Do I look like a scared rabbit?
Rachel hoped not. But whatever her face gave away, it did the trick.

"Okay, some other time. But I'm not giving up. I know what you're doing here is an intensive process that takes patience and money. You're begging for handouts, and from the looks of things"-she waved her arm, indicating the pathetic state of the classrooms lining the halls-"people aren't tripping over themselves to help you out. I even hear you're on shaky ground with the Parish Council, and your space may be taken away."

No maybe about it.
The thought sent a stab of pain through her. "Thinking about doing a piece on me, now?"

Dana laughed. "It has crossed my mind. But actually, I was hoping to help."

In spite of the secret guest behind her door, Rachel's ears perked up. "Help? Help how?"

A small smile turned up the edges of Dana's mouth. "Chris told me your dream is to start a permanent institute to help victims of violence. I'm pretty sure I can work a deal with the publisher to set aside a portion of the book profits for your seed money."

"You're joking."

Dana's smile widened.

"You're not joking." Rachel's jaw dropped.

"It would be great PR for them, and besides the cash, it would be terrific publicity for you, too. You'll never find permanent funding if people don't know about your work." She paused, thaen spoke with frank sincerity. "I believe in this book about your father, Rachel. And I know it won't be successful without your help. You don't have to answer right away. Just think it over. Here's my number." She handed Rachel a business card. "In the meantime-" She took a checkbook out of her purse. "Can I make a donation?"

Five minutes later, Rachel ducked back inside her office, Dana's check in hand.

"Sorry," she murmured to Nick as she clipped the check to the notes for Felice. For a second, she yearned to stop and savor Dana Gershon's proposal. It felt like a godsend, a lifeline of hope when she'd been drowning in misery. But she stowed that thought for later because she had other things to worry about now. like walking away from her school and turning her back on the only thing that could bring Rennie Spier down.

As if he'd read her mind, Nick said, "Where's the knapsack?"

Her heart slammed against her chest. "In the closet."

"Get it out, it's time to go. I called Rennie while you were talking, and we have half an hour." Her stomach fell to her knees. "I picked up your car when I was at your apartment. Bring the knapsack and meet me in front in five minutes."

When he was gone, she ran down the hall to give Felice the lesson plans and to tell her she was leaving. On the way back to the office, Rachel grabbed a canvas tote and stopped in the kitchen to pack a box of graham crackers and some apple juice. Her fingers were stiff, the tips icy. She hadn't even asked where they were going. Bringing the tote with her, she returned to her office and unlocked the closet.

She scrutinized the shelves, pointedly ignoring the knapsack. Except for stacks of used greenbar paper donated by area colleges and corporations, the closet was mostly empty. Mechanically, she pulled off a chunk of paper and tore along a perforation to separate it from the rest of the pile. Pale green stripes filled with indecipherable numbers and equations marred one side of each page. But the back side was unlined and clean, perfect for drawing. She stuffed the hunk of paper into the tote and threw in some crayons, wondering if Isaac liked to draw.

Then she turned to the other items in the closet.

Leaning against Isaac's knapsack, the bear sat spread-eagled on the floor. Lifeless brown eyes stared back at her, as empty as all the others in the roster of death surrounding Rennie Spier. Her heart began to thud. The tote dropped from her hand.

She couldn't do nothing, she just couldn't. Not after the horrors Spier had committed against her and so many others. The horrors he would continue to commit if he were free and whole. His specter would haunt Isaac for years; she knew firsthand what that fear was like. Besides, she knew with absolute clarity that Spier would never hand back the boy and walk away. Somehow, someday, he'd make Nick pay. The printout was power, the only protection he had.

Slowly, she bent to touch the knapsack. Running her ringers over the edges, she debated one last time. She took a breath for courage, closed her eyes.

Then she opened the flap.

The printout sat right on top. She removed the rubber band and unrolled the documents. The first page stared up at her, striped green with columns and numbers that burned into her eyes.

What should she do? What could she do?

Too late now to copy it all. The job would take fifteen minutes, and she only had one or two before she had to meet Nick. Precious seconds passed before the idea came to her, and when it did, she rejected it even as her hands moved to complete it.
Are you crazy?
But the thought didn't stop her from separating the bulk of Spier's papers from the first four.
Stark, raving insane?
Swallowing a huge lump, she replaced the missing pages with the recycled computer paper in her tote bag. Then she rolled up the whole thing, wound the rubber band around it, and put the fake printout in the bag, just as Nick had left it.

Oh, my God.
For a scant second, she closed her eyes, clutching the rest of Spier's papers to her tightly. She breathed a small, fierce prayer, then placed the stolen documents below a stack of computer paper on the closet shelf.

Before she could change her mind, she shoved the knapsack out of the closet with her foot and slammed the door shut.
Done. It was done.

Almost immediately, she began to shake. Pressing hard against the closet door, she clamped her lips together, knowing she could still change her mind, still walk away.

Suddenly her father's voice echoed inside her head.
God, not now. Not one of your speeches, Daddy, please.
But it was as if his hand had touched her.

Victim, but not victimized. Take control You have the power. Nothing will change unless you and I change it.

The words he'd said over and over strengthened her resolve. She'd taken control, grabbed her power. Switching the printout not only paid Spier back-payment he dearly deserved-but protected Isaac and gave Nick the leverage he needed. And no one had to die for it.

She straightened, willing herself to stop quaking, and in a few moments brought her breathing under control. Refilling her satchel with paper, she shoved the bear on top, gripped the knapsack by its shoulder straps, and left to meet Nick.

He was waiting at the foot of the church steps, leaning an elbow on the humped red back of her VW Beetle and watching the street.

"I staked out the place an hour before coming in," he said as she threw the knapsack in the back. "I don't think Rennie has anyone watching it." But his gaze moved ceaselessly until she'd slid into the passenger seat.

Sitting on her hands so he wouldn't see them shaking, she said, "I want to help, Nick. What can I do?"

"Nothing. The last thing I need is for Rennie to see you with me."

"How are you going to make the trade?"

"At the zoo in Central Park."

A distress signal went off in her head. "You're just going to walk in there blind, carrying the printout? What's to stop them from grabbing it and running?"

He gave her a long, tolerant look. "Me," he said evenly.

"Oh, I forgot. King Kong in human form. Meet Nick Raine, the ultimate badass."

Ignoring that, Nick reached over the seat for the knapsack. A jolt of panic sliced through as he lifted out the printout and brought it into the front with him. He slid off the rubber band and began to unfurl the pages.

"What are you doing?" The yelp burst out of her before she could stop it.

'Take it easy. I just need a little something-" Carefully, he removed the top page and rerolled the rest. He handed the printout to her and stuffed the sheet he'd removed in a pocket "Let's go." He put the car in gear and took off.

"Nick-"

He looked at her questioningly.

She gripped the printout tighter and took a breath. "I could... why don't you let me take it in for you?"

He didn't even think about it. "No. Rennie's sure to have the place covered. It's too dangerous."

"Nick, they're looking for a black-haired man, not a brown-haired woman. They don't even know we're together. No one will notice me."

"That's because you won't be there."

"Have you ever been to the zoo? Do you have any idea how the place is laid out?"

"No, but neither does Rennie. That's why I chose it."

"I've been to the zoo with the kids dozens of times. I could find my way in the dark if I had to. Nick, you're going in there completely unprotected. You need an edge, an advantage. I can give it to you."

He threw her a narrow-eyed look. "You're pushing pretty hard here, Rachel. How come? Why are you so hot to do this?"

Because she couldn't let him near the damn printout, or he might look at it too closely. And because she was tired of being Rennie Spier's pawn.

"I'm human, Nick." She said the first thing that entered her head. "I want my own little piece of revenge."

Nick stopped at a red light and studied her. "All right," he said slowly. "But only because I can understand you wanting to personally pay Rennie back. After what he did to you, he has it coining. I admit it would be smarter not to walk in with the printout in plain sight, but if I don't like the way things look when we get there, you don't go in."

She nodded, her mouth dry. "Fair enough." She hoped he couldn't hear the clattering racket of her heart.

* * *

By the time they reached the tunnel that would connect them to Manhattan, Nick was regretting his decision. Rachel sat beside him, rubbing her wrists compulsively, obviously terrified.

"You don't have to do this." His knuckles shone white as he clutched the steering wheel. If anything happened to her...

"I want to."

He bit back a growl. The worst part of any operation was waiting for it to begin; the best way to endure was to distract. Right now, they could both use some distraction.

"I overheard part of your conversation with that writer. I didn't know you wanted to start a permanent institute."

Her shoulders lifted in an ironic shrug. "Everyone has pipe dreams."

"Is that all it is?"

"Unless you have a few spare millions floating around."

A shaft of black amusement arrowed through him. He kept his gaze on the road, but in his mind he saw the tiny key he'd used at the bank for the first time in six years. The key that opened the box to all his past misdeeds. By rights he should have burned all the money, but weak, greedy bastard that he was, he couldn't bring himself to. So he'd locked it all away. Tainted money. Blood money. Money he'd vowed never to touch again.

Never say never.

"Are you going to help with the book?"

"I don't know." She sounded irritated, and he suspected she didn't want to talk about it.

"The money must be tempting." She answered with another shrug. "Not tempting enough?"

"I'm not interested in digging up the past."

"Why not? I'd think you'd be proud of your father."

She threw him a cynical glance. "I leave that to his fans."

Arms crossed, the obsessive rubbing now forgotten, she sat in crabby silence, staring out the window. But anger was better than fear.

"Well, for someone who professes no great love for him, you sure collected a lot of stuff about David Goodr man. You have enough pictures in your room to start a museum."

Her scowl deepened. "What's your point?"

"No point," he said mildly. "Just making a few observations."

"Well, don't. My relationship with my father is nobody's business but mine. Everyone else may think he was a great man, but to me he was just a lousy dad. I've spent years trying to come to terms with it, and I don't want to explore that territory all over again. Why you and half the world think you can-"

"Look." They had reached the zoo. He cruised past the entrance of Fifth Avenue. 'There," he said softly, "the guy in the sports coat leaning against the wall read-' ing the paper. And there." He nodded in the other direction. "That bum on the bench. Rennie's men you'll have to pass."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Are you sure? The guy on the bench doesn't look like he*s had a coherent thought in a decade."

"He was coherent enough to stuff Martin into a body bag last night."

She drew in a sharp bream, but said nothing.

The streets were jammed, and the closest he could park was a garage on Sixty-fifth. The attendant's booth was empty when Nick drove in, but the man jogged over as Nick backed the car into a .small niche on the lower level, out of sight of the booth and the street. The alcove wasn't a real space, but it accommodated the VW's small size without hemming in the vehicles parked in normal slots, and it gave Nick instant access to their ride out. The attendant wasn't happy, but he accepted Nick's hundred dollars to leave the car there and another fifty to leave it without the keys, which Nick pocketed after turning off the engine.

The attendant left, and Nick and Rachel sat in silence. Her hands lay in her lap, and though an air of sharp awareness hovered about her, he sensed her fear wouldn't get in the way of her mission.

He took off his watch and handed it to her. "Put it in your pocket if you don't want to wear it."

She shook her head. "You keep it. I won't be long."

"Okay, but don't get distracted." They got out of the car and he opened the trunk, retrieving his gym bag, which he'd picked up that afternoon. "Here, put the printout in this." He stuffed the printout into the bag, pushing it down between his sweats and sneakers, and shoved the bag in the bottom of her tote. "Drop off the bag, and I'll pick it up like we planned. It'll take you a good ten to twelve minutes to walk there, and the same amount back, plus a few minutes to stash the bag. Thirty minutes in all to place it and get back here before I leave. so don't get sidetracked. And listen." He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. Beneath his fingers her body felt small and vulnerable. "If anything looks off-I mean anything-drop the bag and run." He searched her face, wanting to brush her hair back, stroke her cheek, touch her once before she left. What if something happened? What if she didn't come back? An uneasy foreboding tilled him. "Promise me, or I won't let you do this."

She lifted her chin. "And how exactly are you going to stop me?"

"How about a right cross to that chin you're sticking out?" His words were light, but the tone was deadly quiet. He met her eyes and saw the message had gotten through. She gave him a curt nod.

"I promise. I'm not any more eager to get caught in the crossfire than you." She reached up and loosened her braid.

" What are you doing?"

"I look a whole lot different with my hair down."

She shook her head, freeing the hair. Soft and thick, it settled in waves around her shoulders and framed her face. Nick's breath caught at the sudden transformation. Unable to help himself, he touched the honey-brown mass. Not because he reveled in the feel or ached for an excuse to touch her. Not because he worried something would go wrong and wanted one last intimate moment with her. No, he ran his fingers through her hair purely for tactical reasons, to settle it strategically around her face.

At least that's what he told himself.

"Good idea," he said with sudden difficulty. "Your hair can hide your face." Such a gentle face. A kissable face. With great reluctance, he dropped his hand. How would he ever manage to stand still and let her go? "AH right, then. Good luck. And Rachel-"

She turned to look back at him, and the moment froze in his mind for all time.

"Keep your head down."