At the end of the hall, Raine sat on a stiff-looking wooden bench, looking gray herself, though not dingy. Her clothes were badly wrinkled and streaked with plaster dust, and her hair had mostly sagged from its habitual twist atop her head.
Max paused mid-stride as the sight of her reached inside him and grabbed at something. His heart, maybe, or even deeper than that. Damn her for being so beautiful, he thought. Damn him for being a sucker. He forced himself to keep walking when part of him wanted to head down the stairs and never look back. But that would be running away, and that was her routine, not his.
Never his.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, his voice coming out deeper than he’d intended.
She shook her head. “A few minutes. I was gathering my strength to call a cab.”
He scowled and snapped, “No cabs. No going out alone. Not until we figure out who’s after you, what they want and how we can stop them. Got it?”
He halfway expected her to leap up and get in his face, reminding him she was the boss, she was in charge. Instead, a worried pinch developed at the corners of her eyes. “So you
do
believe I’m not the villain here. What do you know that I don’t?”
He’d thought about shielding her from the information. Instead, he went with the blunt, naked truth. “Tori and Agent Bryce helped put together a head count of who should’ve been in the office. Everyone’s been accounted for except Jeff and the two techs. But there were only two bodies in your office.”
Someone hadn’t been where he was supposed to be. Their bomber, perhaps?
She paled further, swallowed and nodded. It took a moment, but she met his eyes when she said, “I hope Jeff got out. Then again, part of me hopes he didn’t.”
“They don’t know yet.” Max thought of the charred remains and grimaced. “They’re probably going to need DNA samples for comparison.”
“Oh.” Raine looked down at her hands. “God. Those poor men. And Jeff. He was practically a kid.”
Feeling the ache of the day in his soul, Max squatted down so he was eye level with her, close enough to see the wariness in her expression. “It’ll be okay,” he said, knowing it probably wouldn’t be. “We’ll get through this.” Almost without thinking, he took her hands and squeezed them when he felt the shocky cold of her skin. “I’m here for you.”
Their eyes met on a singe of memory.
I’m here for you,
he’d said back at Boston General, giving her reassurance when she’d
needed it, when she’d had nobody on her side. She’d leaned on him when she’d needed him, and left when she hadn’t.
A familiar pattern.
He pulled his hands away abruptly and stood. “Come on,” he said gruffly, more mad at himself than her. “The SUV’s outside.”
“What about your truck?” She stood and the worried questions in her eyes asked about more than just the truck.
What’s next? Where do we go from here?
Trouble was he didn’t know what came next, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit. He needed more information. He needed help, damn it, but William was flat out, and they were still just a two-man shop.
Lucky for him, he had an ally on speed dial.
“I won’t need the truck,” he said, answering Raine’s spoken question and ignoring the unspoken ones. “I’m sticking with you.”
“Because I’m a suspect or a victim?”
He started to brush off the question, but her expression cracked, showing him the need beneath the veneer of strength. Relenting, he said, “You’re not a suspect anymore. Not in my book, anyway. Like I said, you’re no killer.”
Instead of relief, her eyes darkened with something hotter and more complicated. “Which makes me a victim.”
“A protectee,” he countered. He jerked his head
toward the exit. “Come on. We’ll find another hotel, maybe get a pizza. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
THEY AVOIDED RETURNING to the Guildford Inn on the theory that a moving target was harder to hit.
The idea of someone—anyone—watching her put a hard knot in the pit of Raine’s stomach. But in a weird way, she almost hoped there was someone working against her because that would give them a tangible goal. A target. If—no,
when
they found her adversary, the Thriller deaths would be explained.
She hoped.
Their room at the new hotel was nearly identical to the last—complete with two double beds done in a generic beige print, greenish carpet and innocuous wall art flanking a central mirror. This time, though, Max had rented two adjoining rooms. While Raine sat cross-legged on one bed, he unlocked the connecting door and propped it open, mute testimony that he still considered her a flight risk.
She supposed it was an improvement over sharing one room, at the very least.
When a knock sounded at the door, she unfolded from the bed and stood, stifling a groan at the pull of bruises and sore muscles. “Pizza’s here.”
Max waved her back from the door and
checked the peephole before unlatching the door. “Nope. It’s Ike.”
Before Raine could react to the cryptic statement, Max threw open the door and pulled a tall woman inside. “Hey, babe!”
“Hey, yourself!” The stranger grinned and stepped into Max’s arms. Their embrace lasted longer than dictated by simple friendship.
Long enough to have an ugly ache settling in the pit of Raine’s stomach.
The woman pushed away. “Let me look at you!” Her ten-second perusal gave Raine ample time for her own examination, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.
The stranger was thin and looked whipcord strong. Her angular features were set off by a short cap of jet-black hair, and three gemstones winked in one ear. Her clothes were tight and black, and her boots had three-inch heels.
It should’ve looked overdone and foolish, but it worked, damn it. She looked slick and dangerous, and when Max half turned toward Raine, it became obvious that he and the woman made a striking couple.
Worse, the easy way they moved together made it clear that they were—or had been—exactly that.
“This is Ike,” Max said. “Short for Einstein. She’s a freelance information specialist. She’ll
figure out who did what in your computer system, and when.”
“Oh.”
Oh, hell,
Raine thought. This was the “someone” he’d wanted her to meet.
She gave Ike a second look, hoping to mitigate her first impression now that she knew the woman was going to be part of the team.
Nope. Still didn’t like her, for no more reason than she looked good and nearly reeked of the self-confidence Raine so woefully lacked.
The faint sneer on Ike’s face suggested the instant dislike was mutual.
Falling back on false politeness, Raine crossed the room and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ike.”
“Here, take this.” The woman slung two straps across Raine’s outstretched hand, nearly dropping her with the weight of a computer bag that had to be full of rocks. “And this.” A duffel followed before Ike turned back to the hallway and dragged a final bag inside.
The luggage was black and expensive, like the woman herself.
“That’s all of it.” Ike shut and locked the door to the hallway and took a quick look around the room. She pointed toward the small desk in the corner, where Raine had piled her sad stash of toiletries. “I’ll set up over here.” She cleared the sur
face with a sweep of her arm, grabbed the rock-filled computer bag from Raine and swung it up as though it weighed nothing.
Within moments, she had assembled a computer station that looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. “Talk to me, Vasek. And talk fast, since you’ve only got me for forty-eight hours.”
“Pizza’s here,” he said apparently unaware—or not caring—that Ike had just completely taken over Raine’s space without a word.
Max dropped the pizzas on the bed nearest the darkening window and gestured for the others to join him. “Let’s eat while I bring you up to speed.”
Feeling excluded, Raine sat at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with her legs crossed, wishing she could shower and change.
All she had left were the jeans and shirt she’d picked up that morning, but she was sore and bedraggled. She felt especially grungy in comparison to Ike, who scooted the desk chair over to the side of the bed and smiled in silent victory when Max grabbed a second chair and arranged it next to hers rather than sharing the bed with Raine.
“I gave Ike the general rundown over the phone,” he said. “Basically, we have five things to explain—the drug-related deaths, the fire, the airplane ticket, the database entries and the office bombing. I can think of three explanations that cover most or all
of these events. One, the drug is a killer and someone is trying to cover up that fact in order to buy time.” By
someone,
Raine knew he meant her. She stiffened but didn’t bother to protest her innocence yet again—he either believed her or he didn’t. There was nothing else she could say. After a moment, he continued, “Two, the drug is a killer and someone—likely a bereaved family member or loved one—is out to get revenge on Raine and her employees. But that doesn’t explain the plane ticket or the database unless we stipulate that Raine knew Thriller use carries a risk, and was trying to cover it up.”
“Or three,” Raine snapped. “Someone is out to get me.”
“Not necessarily.” Ike reached for a slice of pizza. “Could be that they want your drug off the market and you’re merely collateral damage.”
Raine started to snarl a response, but checked herself because Ike was right, and at least her explanation didn’t start with the words
the drug is a killer.
“I think we can rule out the first two options,” Max said. He shot Raine a look before he said, “While I’m willing to believe you might fudge some paperwork on behalf of career and company, and we both know you’re capable of taking off when things get tough, I don’t see you setting the fire or bombing your own office. It doesn’t play.”
Tired of defending herself, Raine said only, “Where does that leave us?”
“Trying to figure out what’s the real target here—you or Thriller,” Ike answered for Max. Ignoring the pizza, she balanced a small handheld computer in her palm and held the stylus poised. “So give us something to start with. Who has it in for you?”
Raine simply stared at her. “Who are you again, and how are you going to help?”
When Max drew breath to answer, Ike waved him quiet and said, “My official title is communications director of Boston General Hospital, but I dabble in providing information to outside clients, as well. I know a little bit about everything.” She reached over and patted the mean-looking laptop, which purred like an expensive sports car. “You give me an hour and a name, I’ll tell you things even their own families don’t know about them.”
Raine glanced at Max. “I wish you’d talked to me before hiring a consultant.”
“You’re my client, not my boss,” he said, expression shuttered. “You want me to figure out what happened with those women and your drug? Stay out of my way and let me do my job—which involves you answering Ike’s question.”
Stung, Raine said, “I don’t have any enemies.”
Ike’s lips curved. “Everyone has someone who doesn’t like them. You got a family member who
thinks you got the inheritance he deserved? Bitter ex-husband? Psycho ex-lover? A former coworker? Fired employee? Think a little. You’d be surprised.”
“I doubt it.” At the uptick of one of Ike’s carefully shaped eyebrows, Raine blew out a breath and said, “Fine. Give me a few seconds to think.” As though she hadn’t been thinking about it for days now, trying to figure out who might be after her. Two minutes later, she was no closer to having a suggestion. She didn’t have many friends, but she didn’t have many enemies, either. She didn’t consider herself the sort to inspire strong emotions. Killing emotions.
She shrugged. “I haven’t got any family. I never knew my father, my mother lost custody when I was very young, and I grew up in the system. I haven’t kept in touch with any of the foster families I stayed with, and wouldn’t say I made much of an impression either way. Same with college and work. I’m…”
Unremarkable, she wanted to say. Wishy-washy.
But wasn’t that what she’d tried to combat these past few years? So instead she said, “I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt me.”
“What about your ex-husband?” Max asked.
“Rory?” Raine paused to buy herself a moment. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not because I have any great faith in his moral
fiber, but because this is too elaborate for him. It would’ve required too much planning. Too much effort.”
She pictured her ex-husband as she’d last seen him, the morning after the stupid bout of goodbye sex that had gotten her pregnant.
An aging musician she’d met waiting tables, Rory had never made it as a rocker, never managed to be anything else. He wasn’t a bad man, or an evil one. He’d tried to take care of her, tried to protect her from a world that had given her too few breaks. But he hadn’t been able to manage his own life, never mind theirs.
If their split hadn’t been amicable, it had been necessary once she’d grown up enough to realize that security without ambition wasn’t security at all.
Max was watching her intently. “Your ex might have resented the fact that you would have been a huge financial success if Thriller sales took off.”
“I still could be a success,” she countered. “I
will
be. Thriller is safe. You’ll see.” When Max raised an eyebrow and Ike smirked slightly, Raine grimaced. “Rory would be more likely to complain to his buddies over beers rather than actually do anything about it. Besides—” she shrugged “—when the money starts rolling in, I fully expect Rory to sue me for alimony. That’s his style.”
And she’d probably give it to him, partly for old
times’ sake, partly out of guilt that she’d never intended to tell him about the pregnancy.
“Then who could be after you?” Max leaned forward, eyes intent on her. “Your old boss? You left Falco in the lurch when you took off. Think he’d want to get back at you?”
Raine shook her head. “Unlike some people, Erik forgave me without hesitation. He understood that sometimes it takes distance to put things in perspective. And no, before you ask, I can’t think of any coworkers or former employees who might have it in for me, either. I told you, I don’t have any enemies.”