Like a Knife (5 page)

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Rachel jumped as the phone rang in her office. She took a breath to steady herself, but her hands still shook as she reached for the phone.

"Rachel, dear, how are you?" Julia's voice trilled over the phone and Rachel's heart sank. Her mother's sister, Julia, had taken Rachel in after her mother's death and her father's virtual abandonment of her. Along with her husband, Elliot, and her son, Chris, Julia was the closest thing Rachel had to a family, and right now, she was the last person Rachel wanted to talk to.

"I... I'm fine," she lied. If her aunt found out what had happened two nights ago, she'd only say, I told you so.

"Well, I wouldn't blame you if you weren't fine. We saw that man's picture in the paper, the one involved in the Spier hit-and-run. Rachel, I had lunch with Patricia Sydney today, and she's still interested in talking with you about the headmistress job at Bellwood."

Rachel put a shaky hand to her forehead. "I already have a job."

"But why put yourself in this position? Exposing yourself to the dregs of society, to murderers like that man who works for you."

She gripped the phone tighter, holding on to her patience with difficulty. "He's not a murderer. And you can stop worrying. He resigned. But largely because of the publicity, not because he did anything wrong."

"The police seem to think differently."

"Then the police are wrong! Nick had nothing to do with Shelley Spier's murder. I know, because I was with him that night." She groaned inwardly. What she wouldn't give to take those words back! Sinking back into her chair, she braced herself for Julia's reaction.

"Another effort to rescue the starving masses?" Rachel could picture the condescension chilling her aunt's face. "Isn't that school bad enough? Do you have to drag every stray cat to your door?"

"Julia-"

"If your father was here, oh, wouldn't he be laughing now? You have no idea how it hurts me to see his influence in you. My God, the man's been dead for three years, and you're still his little socialist pawn."

She'd heard this so many times, she should have been deaf to it. But she wasn't. "I don't want to have this fight now."

"He killed your mother, Rachel, as surely as if he pulled the trigger himself."

Rachel gasped. "That's an outrageous thing to say, and you know it."

"I know he dragged my sister to the ends of the earth to live with scum, and they killed her for it."

"The Bronx is not the ends of the earth, and he didn't drag her. She
wanted
to help people."

"I couldn't bear it if the same thing happened-" Tears suddenly choked Julia's voice.

No, she could never tell her aunt what had happened the other night. Rachel rubbed her forehead in an effort to push back her looming headache. "You're upsetting yourself over nothing. Nick is ... is gone. Look, your mascara is probably starting to run. And I'm... I'm busy. I have to go."

Not a good idea, Rachel.
But she hung up anyway. Another moment, and she'd have burst into tears.

She closed her eyes, hoping the nightmare would go away. But no matter what she did, she could still feel the hood going over her head. Still feel the darkness, the terror.

And Nick.

God, Nick.

What had happened to him? She'd woke to find him gone, and been unable to reach him ever since.

A knock sounded. What now?

"Come in."

Father Pat stood at the threshold. Tall and gaunt, he had a kind face that, at the moment, wore a stem expression.

"Rachel, I've just received a phone call from Bill Hughes. He's been trying to reach you for days."

"I know. I just haven't had a chance to call him back." Or the desire to.

"He tells me you've been harassing the Murphys about their niece, Carla."

"I didn't harass them. I made a home visit to ask them to reconsider their decision to pull Carla out of the program."

"These incidents can't continue. You must realize that. The council meets next week, and I can't guarantee they'll extend our agreement. At least not now. You can't expect people to support you if you ignore their concerns."

The warning was clear. "I'm sorry. You're right, of course. I'll call him." She held up a hand. "Promise."

"And the Murphys?"

She sighed. "I'll... I'll slow down."

"Good." The priest peered at her closely. "Are you all right?"

She made her mouth form a smile. "Yes, of course."

"You were out yesterday. Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Just a summer cold. I'm fine."

The priest nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

A burning sensation wafted through Rachel's consciousness. She looked down; she was rubbing her wrist, right over the bruises. God, she hadn't done that since she was a child. She'd rubbed her wrists raw for years after her mother's murder. The unconscious, obsessive gesture scared her more than anything.

You are
not
going to fall apart.

Separating her hands, she sank back into her armchair. If only she could tell someone what had happened. Vomit up every detail until she was free of them all. But she wouldn't risk hurting the school by telling anyone, not even for her own peace of mind. Nick was the only person she could talk to, and he had disappeared.

Fortunately, everyone assumed the publicity about Nick's connection to Shelley Spier's murder had caused the dark circles under her eyes and the strain in her voice. Rachel let them think what they wanted. She was still hiding the truth a few days later, when Felice poked her head into Rachel's office.

"That good-for-nothing Bill Hughes called me at home." The large woman stepped in. As usual, her massive, square frame was swathed in a swirling mass of bright color-hot pink today. "Said the Parish Council had doubts about your judgment. He wanted some dirt on Nick, but I didn't tell him anything."

Rachel sighed. "There isn't anything to tell."

"That's exactly what I said. He did his job, right? He never did anything else but his job. They can't shut us down for that, can they?"

"They can try."

"But they won't. You've pulled us away from the edge before. You'll see, you'll do it again."

Her confidence put Rachel on the verge of breakdown, unable to handle anything, much less Bill Hughes and the rest of the Parish Council. Misinterpreting, Felice gave Rachel a friendly smile. "Look, I know you're bummed. But this'll all blow over soon. In a week or two, everyone will forget about Nick."

If only
she
could forget him. Why did whoever it was drop her at Nick's door? Who would want to terrorize her? Why? The questions haunted her, making it impossible to put the experience behind her. But the only one who could give her the answers she needed had vanished. God, what had happened to him?

Just then, someone rapped on her door. Rachel looked up to see a small, scrappy man with a hangdog face and sharp, watery blue eyes.

"Miss Goodman? I'm Detective Pat May." He stepped in and shook her hand. "I understand you wanted to talk to someone about Nicky Raine?"

She'd completely forgotten the phone call she'd made to the police a few days ago after wrestling with her conscience about Nick. Now it was as if the universe had heard her cry and sent an answer to it.

Felice slid out the door, and Rachel settled into the chair behind her desk, gesturing the detective into the seat across from her. He opened a notepad.

"Raine says he worked for you."

She nodded. "He was a... a handyman. He cleaned up, fixed things, helped with the kids. We needed another teacher, but I couldn't afford one. Nick was a big help."

He eyed her speculatively, as if he didn't believe her. "And what was it you wanted to tell us?"

She sighed, aware this would pull her in further, but committed to the truth by her phone call. "Look, Deteclive. I wanted to let you know that I was with Nick the night of Shelley Spier's murder."

May's eyebrows rose. "Raine didn't mention it"

She looked down at her hands. She'd been afraid of that. "That's why I called you. Nick didn't want to involve the school any more than it already was."

"A real boy scout," May said dryly. "So where and when were you together?"

"One of the grocery stores had a large donation they couldn't deliver. Nick helped me pick it up. We had a pizza afterward." She gave him the details, including times and addresses.

May wrote everything down in his book. "Nice and convenient, you coming up with an alibi for him."

She bristled. "It may have been... convenient, but it's also the truth."

"Is it?"

"Why would I lie about it?"

"I don't know, Miss Goodman. I just know people do from time to time,"

"If I were going to lie, I wouldn't have called you. The last thing I need is for this school to have any association with Nick or Shelley Spier's death."

He rose. "Well, the city appreciates you coming forward. We'll check this out." He turned to go.

She rose to see him out, trying to decide whether or not to ask about Nick. This might be her only chance to find out what had happened to him, but it wasn't smart to ask; the less she knew, the better. And yet questions about her kidnapping and his safety gnawed at her, an open sore that wouldn't heal.

Still debating, she walked Detective May to the door, where he gave her shabby office a sharp-eyed scan. "Hard to imagine Nicky Raine working here."

She remembered Nick's tense dedication and found her mouth tilting up in a small smile. "He did a good job. Never missed a day."

The detective shook his head with a curt laugh. "The conscientious janitor. Well, I guess he's back in more familiar territory now."

Her awareness sharpened. "What do you mean?"

"He won't be hammering nails for Rennie Spier."

"R-Rennie Spier?" She frowned.

"That's right." May tucked his notepad into his pocket. "Swimming with the sharks again."

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "As sure as anything in life." He threw her a cynical smile and left.

Rachel closed the door behind him, a sick lump in her stomach. Nick couldn't be working for Spier again.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob. What was it her father used to say?
We may have been victimized, but we don't have to be victims.
Well, she was tired of feeling like a victim.

Setting her jaw, she reached for her purse. The local branch of the public library was only a few blocks away, and she strode down the streets doggedly. When she got there, it didn't take long to find the information she needed; the accident had put Spier and his arms-dealing business on the front page for days.

She copied the articles and spent the night reading them. Compelled to devour every scrap of information, she ignored the rumbling in her stomach that meant dinnertime had come and gone. She didn't stop to check the clock on the wall or stretch her legs. She read the. words again and again, each time hoping they would say something different. Something better. But it was always the same.

Spier represented a vast empire that fed on violence, the kind of violence that had killed her mother. How could Nick be a part of that horror?

It must be a mistake. A misunderstanding. She wouldn't believe it. Not until she heard it from Nick's own mouth.

Nick stood in the center of a neighborhood park on Staten Island and held up the surveillance photographs, comparing them to his surroundings. Around him, kids ran while mothers watched. Wrinkled men played dominoes at a cement table. He counted benches, swings, all the ingredients except one. No gnarled tree. He clamped his jaw down on a howl of frustration.

Every day. Every goddamn day for weeks, he'd tramped through the five boroughs looking for the park with the gnarled tree.

Every day he came up empty.

Marty had been no help. "You want to fuck Rennie," he'd said, "don't expect me to help you pull down his pants."

Marty was off on his own search for the boy, vying for the prize of Rennie's approval. It was a sad, one-man competition; Nick could care less.

Clenching his hands into fists, he walked the two blocks to his car, searching for the dead zone he'd lived in for the last six years. The numbness was gone. He was furious at Rennie, panicked he wouldn't find Isaac, and Rachel-every day guilt racked him. Was she all right? Was the light back in her eyes? Newly awakened feelings thundered inside him. On his way to the car, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and forced himself to breathe normally.

What he wouldn't give for a drink. Fot the once-familiar whiskey haze. Anything to dull the roar.

He looked down. The photographs were crumpled in his hand. Slowly, he released his taut fingers and smoothed out the boy's image. Two faces haunted him now. The one in the dream and this one. Every day both faces pulled him in deeper and deeper. One was beyond help, but the other... Was he happy? Was he safe? And that one final question. The one Nick pushed to the back of his mind, where it churned inside him day after day: Is he mine?

He slid into the car and stared blindly out the windshield. What if he did find the kid? What then? Would he hand him over to Rennie like a new puppy?

He shoved the key into the ignition and jerked the car into gear. He didn't know what he was going to do. And he had to hurry if he was going to make it to St. Anthony's in time to shadow Rachel home.

He braced himself for the ordeal. This was his life. Morning and evening, he made the silent run from Rachel's apartment to the church and back again. A guardian angel two car-lengths behind, anonymous, invisible. Twice a day he faced the one thing he wanted most
in the world and couldn't have. And in between, he chased down different kinds of ghosts.

Murdered moms and missing children.

But it was better this way.

The word echoed inside his head all the way to St. Anthony's.

Better. Better. Better.

When he got to Astoria, he cruised the block where he'd seen Rachel park her car that morning.

It wasn't there.

He rechecked the street. No, he was sure this was the right street. He checked the time; she never left this early.

Something was wrong.

Mouth dry, he used the car phone to call the school. Felice answered. He asked for Rachel without identity-ing himself.

"She left early today. Would you like to leave a message?"

He declined and disconnected.

Where had she gone?
Don't panic.
But knowing she could be anywhere and he couldn't protect her sent waves of alarm rushing through him.

He raced to her apartment, cursing the traffic. He always knew she was home because he could see her windows from the street, and the first thing she did was turn on the lights. They were dark now. Making doubly sure, he searched every corner of the parking lot and the surrounding streets. No sign of her car anywhere.

Damn.

This was exactly the kind of moment Rennie waited for. Get her alone. Unprotected.

A new wave of fear washed over him. Tines squealing, he turned the car around and flew into Manhattan.

He was on the east side of Gramercy Park, speeding for the underground garage, when he saw her.

Clutching a folded piece of paper, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, .looking lost Her braid was its usual sweet tangle, and she wore a loose sleeveless dress that skimmed her knees, leaving bare legs and sandaled feet.

He slammed on the brakes. Blinked. Was he seeing things?

No, there she was, cool and fresh, her dress a minty green. Just as she'd looked that morning when he'd watched her climb the church steps.

What was she doing here?

He parked the car and got out. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure the whole block could hear it.

Just then she turned and saw him. Surprise made her stare. She half raised a hand, as if to wave, hesitated, then took a step forward. "Nick?"

Jesus Christ.

He lengthened his stride, almost running, grabbed her arm and pulled her off the sidewalk into the alley between two brownstones. He didn't mean to growl, but panic exploded inside him. "Are you crazy? Why did you come here?"

Rachel stared at him, speechless. What could she say when she didn't even recognize him? The suit and tie, the Italian shoes... She could have passed him on the street and not known him. He looked like his picture now. Like the picture in the newspaper after Shelley's death. Slick. Fast.

He shook her. "What are you doing here?"

His anger jolted her out of her dazed confusion. "I'm... I was looking for you."

"All right, you found me." Impatient, annoyed. "What do you want?"

To throw her arms around his neck; he was alive, he was all right But relief warred with outrage. Look at him. She'd been frantic with worry; how could he look so... so good? So angry. "I want you to let go of me, for one thing." Her voice came out hard and tight. "You're hurting me."

"Better me than someone else." He released her arm, but his face was still tense and irate. "Look, you have to get out of here. Now."

He was right; she had a bad feeling about this. The clothes, the attitude, none of this was the Nick she knew. "Not until you answer some questions."

"I don't have time for questions."

"Make time."

He muttered a curse under his breath, scanned the alley as if for enemy infiltrators. "Five minutes."

Gee, thanks. "I spoke to the police about where you were the night Shelley died. They told me you're with Rennie Spiers now. Is it true?"

He looked as though he wanted to strangle her. "You spoke to the police? For God's sake, are you
trying
to set yourself up as a target?"

She curbed her impatience. "I'm trying to do what's right. You were with me, Nick. You didn't kill Shelley. But you did disappear. Right off the radar screen. For all I knew you could have been lying in a ditch with your throat slit." She paused to look him over. "But you weren't, were you? You were just getting a makeover."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

She could have bitten off her tongue. "I didn't say I was disappointed." Not yet, anyway. "So..." She looked at his face, at his dark eyes sharp with anger, at the rough twist of his mouth, and hoped against hope. "Is it true? Are you working for Spier again?"

She held her breath. His jaw tensed. "Yes."

The word hit her like a fist in the stomach. The man who had held her all night, who'd been sweet and gentle and made her feel safe in her darkest moment, that man would not work for a monster like Spier.

So it must have been some other Nick who checked his watch and said, "Four minutes."

She bit back a nasty reply, but even so her words came out on the edge of sarcasm. "So... is this your new uniform?" She waved her hand in front of him, in-dicating his attire. Somehow, the expensive clothes made his betrayal all the more real. And her own feelings all the more confused. Because much as she wanted to turn her back on him, the truth was, he took her breath away. She hated what he was doing, why couldn't she hate him? Why couldn't she turn around and walk away?

"It's wicked of you to look so good," she said.

His lips thinned into a tight smile. "Rennie demands a certain... standard from his associates." He watched her with unfeeling black eyes. "Three minutes."

That was it. She'd had it. She didn't know this man. "Forget it." She stalked off. "I don't need you. It says right here Rennie Spier's headquarters are in Gramercy Park." She'd brought one of the newspaper articles with her, and now she waved it over her shoulder. "I'll find it eventually and ask
him
my questions."

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute!" He captured her arm, spun her around. "You stay away from Rennie."

"Why? What's he got to do with me?" She yanked her arm out of his grasp. "Or is he behind that little unexpected visit your friends paid me?'' Did his face blanch? In the dimness of the alley she couldn't be sure. They were
your
friends, weren't they?"

"That's not the word I'd use."

"Really? What would you call them?"

The wall of steel softened. "Rachel, I-" He took a step toward her. She backed away.

"He used me, didn't he? The... kidnapping. Releasing me at your doorstep. He wanted you to do something. Something you didn't want to do." Nick didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The answer was in the stricken look on his face. "What did he want?"

"It doesn't matter."

She pivoted toward the street. God, she was tired of fencing with him.

He ran to block her way. "All right. He wanted
me."

"And you went? After six years, he snaps his fingers, and you come running?"

His eyes hardened into two black coals. "He didn't exactly snap his fingers, did he?"

No, he hadn't. Rennie Spier had used
her.
Hurt her. All at once she understood. "You did it for me, didn't you? My God. That's why you disappeared so suddenly, why you haven't contacted me, called... You were afraid he'd use me again."

He looked away, as if ashamed. "You don't have to worry about... about anything like that happening again."

"Oh, Nick." Her throat squeezed shut. Her anger dissolved, and suddenly she felt like crying. That he would do that for her. Turn his life upside down to protect her. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just go."

"No one's put themselves on the line like that for me. Ever. Not even my father."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her backward toward the street. "You're welcome. Now get out of here."

His hands on her shoulders felt good, but she ignored the little skip her heart took. Instead, she dug in her heels, stopping his backward drive. "What does Spier want you to do?"

"Rachel-"

"The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I'll go. Spier wanted something from you. What?"

He dropped his hold. Propping one elbow against the side of a building, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "The usual stuff-rob from the poor, fight for the rich, inspire corruption, and reward greed. Bring death and destruction to one and all."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall, eyeing her.

"And are you enjoying your work?"

"Yeah, I love it. Great benefits."

A wave of warmth for him washed over her. He was such a liar. "Nick, I can't let you do this."

'It's not up to you."

I'll be all right. I'll call the police. I'll tell them what you said."

He langhed, pushing himself off the wall. "The police? You think the police can protect you from Rennie? They couldn't protect his own wife from him."

"His wife? What do you mean?"

"He killed Shelley." Nick said the words with quiet conviction.

A ripple of uneasiness fluttered low in her stomach. "He killed his wife? But Nick, why?"

"Let's just say he had his reasons."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. So don't think he'd hesitate a second before doing the same to you." The look he threw her said, Do you see now? Do you understand? "Get out of here, and don't come back."

She bit her lip, the reasons for his insistence shimmering inside her. Hanging around him could put herself and her school in danger. Nick was a grown man; he didn't need her help.

But how could she abandon him here, especially after what he'd done for her?

"Come with me," she said, knowing it wasn't smart but saying it anyway.

"You're not listening. I can't see you. Ever."

"Look, if it means getting you away from Rennie Spier, I'll take the risk."

"You will?" But before she could take another breath, he grabbed her from behind, pinned her arms and imprisoned her against him. "Remember what this feels like?" His voice rasped in her ear. "The tape over your mouth, the hood over your head? You struggled, didn't you? Just like you're struggling now."

"Let me go." She twisted, but he only tightened his hold.

"You're locked in darkness, drowning in fear. Will they hurt you? Kill you?"

"Stop it"

"Will the sound of your dying be just like your mother's? Will you scream like she screamed? Bleed like she bled?"

"I said, stop it!" Heart pounding, she fought him, but her efforts were as useless now as they were then. He was too big, too strong. The memory of that night slammed into her. The swift-surprise, the helplessness, the bowel-loosening trip in the car. She heard the shot that stopped her mother's life, saw the lifeless look in her eyes as she lay on the ground. The two memories merged into heart-thumping hysteria. "Let me go. Stop it,
stop it!"
But the voice in her ear crooned on.