Moonrise (17 page)

“I figured it was time she knew the truth.”

“But I don’t,” she said sharply.

“I don’t know if anyone does,” Martin said. “You got any more of that coffee, Annie?”

“It’s instant.”

“I’m not fussy.”

The Martin she knew, the Martin she’d spent three years of married life with, insisted on Sumatran beans, dark-roasted and freshly ground. Annie shrugged, turning away from him to deal with the coffee, deceptively docile.

James threw himself down on the ratty sofa, seemingly at ease. “How’d you find out where we’d gone, Martin?” he asked gently.

“Give me a break, Mack. I can find out what I need to know. The fact of the matter is, Clancy trusted me, even if you didn’t feel like you could.” Martin didn’t seem the slightest bit offended by that fact. “He thought you might need someone else to cover your back. In case something happened to him. And he was right about that, wasn’t he?”

James’s expression didn’t change. “Why are you here, Martin?”

“To help you.”

“What if I said we don’t need any help?” he said.

“Don’t be an asshole. You need all the help you can get. You may be close to invulnerable, but sooner or later someone’s gonna catch up with you. I don’t want Annie around when that happens.”

“So you’ve appointed yourself my bodyguard?”

“Don’t be so damned amused. I’m good, and you know it.”

“Not as good as I am.”

“You want me to get a tape measure to see which one is bigger?” Annie demanded from the kitchen.

Martin’s laugh was easy, familiar. “James always wins,” he said. He took the rickety, straight-back chair, turned it around, and straddled it. His voice dropped. “I’m sorry about Clancy.”

“Yeah,” said James. “It happens.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“That depends. You still haven’t told me how you managed to get here without Carew knowing. Where does he think you are? And how did you get out of the little clean-up detail?”

“You mean L.A.? I flat-out refused. Told
him I couldn’t do a decent job—I was too conflicted. Carew probably knew the truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“I was scared shitless. I’m no match for you, James, and we both know it.”

He didn’t even blink. “Did Carew send Mary Margaret after me?”

Martin looked startled. “I don’t know. She doesn’t even work for him anymore. Since Win’s death she’s kept a low profile.”

Annie brought Martin his coffee. There was no other place to sit but the sagging loveseat next to James. She didn’t want to. But she was even more loath to show it bothered her.

“I haven’t seen Mary Margaret in years,” she said as she perched gingerly next to James, careful not to brush up against him. She could feel Martin’s eyes on her, watching the physical byplay, and she knew him well enough to know he would jump to conclusions. She wondered whether they’d be the right ones. “What’s she been doing with herself?”

“She’s dead.”

She turned to James, and something in his flat tone goaded her. “Does everyone around you die, James?”

He flinched. That very human reaction surprised her, but a moment later it was gone. “Sooner or later, Annie,” he said. “You got any more of that coffee?”

“Get it yourself.”

His mouth curved in a smile that was far from pleasant as he glanced over at Martin. “As you can see, we haven’t exactly hit it off. It’s just as well you’re here—maybe you’ll keep me from murdering her.”

A look flashed between the two, so brief she didn’t have time to decipher it. And then Martin smiled up at her with his old charm. For some reason it left her unmoved.

“What James is trying to say is that we need to talk without you listening, Annie. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make a lot of noise? Cook us some breakfast or something while James and I confer?”

She didn’t move. “You can’t pat me on the head and dismiss me the way my father used to, Martin, Too much has happened in the past six months. The past few days.”

Martin froze, staring at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. “I’m afraid Annie isn’t the docile, unquestioning creature you remember,” James said with a lazy drawl. “If we want to get rid of her, we’ll either need to threaten her, knock her out, or tie her up.”

“You haven’t tied me up yet,” she snapped.

“There’s always a first time,” he replied evenly.

“I’m not really into this tiresome macho
posturing,” she said. “How about I go for a walk?”

“Sorry,” James said, sounding not the least bit sorry. “I don’t know if it’s safe yet. Go into the kitchen and turn on the radio.”

It was an order, not to be disobeyed. For a brief moment Annie considered doing just that. And then cold, harsh reality settled over her. This wasn’t a game they were playing. It wasn’t really macho posturing. It was life and death. He’d saved her life once already. In return he expected obedience.

She was tired of being an obedient little girl. Of doing and being what other people expected of her. She was turning into her own person, and that person didn’t slink away politely when she was dismissed.

“Or I’ll tie you to the bed,” James added sweetly.

“Don’t overplay your hand, James,” she muttered gracelessly. “You’re just lucky I’m hungry.”

She wasn’t, of course. The crackly AM radio could pick up only salsa music, but she turned it up anyway. CNN was a reasonable alternative, but she didn’t want to risk hearing about the California brush fires, or the bodies found in that tiny rose-covered cottage.

She stood at the stained, rusty sink and peered out the obscured window, ignoring the
quiet murmur of voices in the sitting area. The sun had come up, and the bright light of the desert day fought past the greasy coating of the window. She could see a couple of trailers in the distance, in equally bad shape, and a few abandoned cars. And the barren landscape, going on for miles upon endless miles.

Where the hell were they? And did she really want to know? Where were they going? Were they going to find the answers she needed?

She leaned forward, resting on her forearms. There was a cockroach crawling in the sink, a small one, and she considered squashing it. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. There’d been too much death in the past few days. Let James the hunter do it.

She thought about revenge. She’d toyed with the notion for months now, as her belief in her father’s murder grew. Someone had killed him, the man who’d been the center of her life, her guiding force, her mentor. Someone had ruthlessly snuffed out his life in his prime, and she desperately needed to know who had done it, and why.

She didn’t necessarily need revenge. She could count on McKinley for that. Once he found the man who murdered Winston Sutherland, he’d destroy him. And Annie could finally put the past to rest.

But she needed answers. And she wouldn’t rest until she got them.

“How much does she know?” Martin pitched his voice low enough so that there was no way Annie could overhear.

“Enough. Too damned much.”

“Does she know what happened to her father?”

“She knows he was terminated.”

“Does she know why?”

Their eyes met. It had never been discussed, yet James had little doubt that Martin knew as much as anyone about Win’s death. If James had been Win’s oldest protégé, Martin had been his dearest.

There’d been a time when James had been jealous of Martin. Martin had been and done what Win wanted. He’d been groomed to take Win’s place, to take Win’s daughter, when it became clear that James would never lose himself completely to Win’s causes.

But in the end he had lost himself. He was nothing but a soulless shell. And Martin had survived.

“No,” James said after a moment. “She doesn’t know.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“You think I’m crazy? Why the hell would I tell her?”

“Because you have a perverse sense of honor. I know you, James. They may call you Dr. Death, but deep inside you’re still human. You probably need confession and absolution.”

“I haven’t been a Catholic in thirty years.”

“And Annie’s not the Holy Mother. That doesn’t mean you won’t do something stupid and self-sacrificing.”

“It would mean her death.”

“Yeah, well, you could probably find some justification in that. You iced Mary Margaret, didn’t you? Have you slept with Annie yet?”

He’d almost forgotten how cool and clinical Martin could be. It was one of the things he despised most about him. It was one of the things he most needed from him.

“No.”

“Why not? You know perfectly well the best way to bind someone to you is to fuck her. Make her emotionally and physically dependent on you. You aren’t the type to let sentiment get in your way—you do what needs to be done. Why haven’t you slept with her?”

James glanced over at her. She was standing at the sink, staring out through the grimy window, her back straight and strong, her hair tangled from sleep. He wasn’t about to explain to Martin that he wanted her too much.

“Maybe I was saving her for you,” he said
lazily. “I thought you’d probably show up sooner or later. You usually do.”

“Just like a bad penny. Hey, I’m not picky. I don’t mind your leftovers, if you don’t mind mine. She’s not into Mary Margaret’s kinky games, but she’s actually quite … endearing in bed. I’d take her back in a flash if she wanted it.”

Endearing. The phrase was damnably evocative. James forced himself to smile. “Maybe you should take care of it, then. She’s used to you—it would make things easier.”

Martin shook his head. “Not that I wouldn’t mind. She’s the one who broke off our relationship, not me. But I don’t scare her the way you do. You’ve always had a powerful effect on people when you choose to exert it. If you want her too overwhelmed to question orders, you’re gonna have to be the one to do her.” He laughed, half to himself. “Would you listen to us? It sounds like we’re talking about some unpleasant chore. Trust me, I wish I could justify taking over. But in this case, keeping the two of you alive is the first priority, and you stand a better chance of that if you’re the one.”

“I think I can handle it,” James said in a cool voice.

“You just need to handle her right,” Martin continued, ignoring the warning signals.
“She’s amazingly timid about sex. Got all these hang-ups, neuroses. You gotta do her in the dark with her nightgown on, so help me, God. Otherwise she freezes up, and nothing can loosen her. I blame Win for it. I think he must have had some Wagnerian governess brainwash her.”

“Are you finished settling the fate of the world yet?” Annie had turned from the sink, calling out over the sound of the radio.

“We’re getting there,” Martin said cheerfully. “Make us some breakfast, would you?”

The look she cast Martin was laced with pure irritation, a fact which pleased James. But that pleasure worried him. He didn’t like the fact that Annie had slept with Martin again. Didn’t like the image of the two of them, in the dark, under the covers. Didn’t like it so much that he was having a hard time trusting the only man in the department he could count on.

“Listen, I’ll make myself scarce and you take care of it. Whaddya need—a couple of hours? More? Less?”

James looked at his hand. It wasn’t curled into a fist—it was resting loosely on his thigh. It was amazing how instinct always kicked in. “It depends,” he murmured. “Why are you in such a goddamned hurry? Do you want to watch?”

Martin grinned. “Not through your windows, buddy. She’s like a time bomb waiting to go off, and there’s only one way to defuse her. If you don’t do it, I will.”

“Be my guest.”

“Nope. It’s you she wants, in case you haven’t figured that out yet. And I want what’s best for you. She makes you vulnerable. If you’re vulnerable, then the whole damned house of cards may collapse. As soon as you get this taken care of, then you’ll be more in control.”

“You think I’m not in control?” he murmured in a lazy voice.

“You’re always in control, man. But this is the biggest mess we’ve ever been in. I just think we should cover all our bases.”

“That’s one way to put it. I could always kill her.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed calmly. “And it might come to that. But you don’t really want to, do you?”

“Maybe that’s exactly why I should do it.”

Martin shook his head. “She knows stuff, James. I’m willing to bet you. Stuff she doesn’t know she knows. You silence her now and we’ll never find out. And if we don’t, we’re dead men.”

“We already are.”

“Speak for yourself. I have a lot of plans for my future.”

James looked at his old friend. Martin was almost ten years younger, the product of the kind of Ivy League background Win had concocted for James. Princeton, Yale Law School, a good family. Perhaps it was just as much of a lie as James’s past. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the knowledge, the bond between them.

“You know, you’d make a hell of a pimp,” James said dryly. “You missed your calling.”

“Not necessarily,” Martin said. He rose, and James watched him, instinctively prepared for any sudden moves. Martin wouldn’t make them, but old habits died hard. James wouldn’t have trusted his mother if she were still alive. “I’ll make myself scarce. You know what you’re going to do next?”

“I have an idea. Win was in Northern Ireland right before he died. It seems as good a place as any to start looking. He must have had a reason for being there.”

Martin’s grin was faint. “What do you think about that? How long has it been?”

“I don’t have any problems with it,” he said evenly. “I’ve been back any number of times.”

“On clear-cut jobs. This is different. You know that. And you’ll have Annie with you.”

“You think I can’t handle it, Martin?” he said in his softest voice.

Martin looked momentarily unnerved, which pleased James. “You can handle just about anything. I’ll be back later.”

Annie had switched off the radio, eyeing the two of them suspiciously. “Have you finished your little conspiracy?” she demanded.

Before Win died she wouldn’t have demanded a thing. Even Martin looked startled at her tone of voice, and he cast an amused, commiserating glance at James.