Sandra Brown - Lethal

Wouldn’t it have been funny if he’d been done in by Thomas the Tank Engine?

Honor and Emily were watching him warily, and he realized that neither had ever heard him laugh. “Inside joke,” he said.

Happy once again, Emily asked, “Can we have breakfast now?”

Coburn considered, then said under his breath, “Why the hell not?”

He got out and opened a toolbox that was attached to the back of the truck’s cab. He’d discovered a denim jacket in it the day before. It smelled of gasoline and was covered in grease, but he pulled it on. Standing in the open wedge of the door, he leaned in. “What do you want?”

“Would you rather I go?” Honor asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“You still don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that. In this crowd…” His gaze moved over her tousled hair and whisker-burned lips. It took in her snug T-shirt and the clearly defined shape beneath it, which he knew by feel was the real deal, not fake. “You’d attract attention.”

She knew what he was thinking because her cheeks turned pink. She had ended last night’s kiss, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t liked it. In fact, he figured it meant she’d liked it a lot. Too much. He’d stayed on the deck for half an hour after her speedy retreat, but when he did go below, he’d known she was still awake even though she’d pretended otherwise.

Even after he’d lain down on the bunk, he’d stayed restless and hot for a long time. If she’d been as worked up over that kiss as he’d been, it was no wonder that she was blushing now and having a hard time looking him in the eye.

Face averted, she said, “Anything you get will do.”

He put on the cap and sunglasses he’d found in the truck, and, as he’d expected, he blended with the other customers. He waited in line to use the microwave, then took his heated breakfast sandwiches to the cash register and paid. As soon as he’d handed the sack of food over to Honor, he started the truck and drove away.

While driving, he ate his sandwich and sipped his coffee, which was chicory-enhanced and bracingly strong. But his mind wasn’t on either the hot food or the coffee, because it was busy assessing his situation and deciding on his next course of action. He was in a jam, and he wasn’t certain how to proceed.

Like the time in Somalia when his weapon had malfunctioned just as his target spotted him. He’d had to make a choice: Abandon the mission and save his own skin, or carry out his assignment and ante up on surviving it.

He’d had a nanosecond in which to make up his mind.

He’d dropped the weapon and used both hands to snap the guy’s neck.

He didn’t have much more time for decision-making now. He couldn’t see his pursuers yet, but he sensed their urgency to find him.

The odds weren’t in his favor, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, abandon his mission, and let The Bookkeeper continue conducting business.

He wasn’t even ready to call Hamilton and ask for backup from Tom VanAllen, because he didn’t entirely trust his own agency. The bureau probably didn’t entirely trust him either.

For all the FBI really knew, he had gone postal and mowed down everybody in that warehouse on Sunday night. If it became expedient for the bureau to pass him off as a veteran suffering from P.T.S.D., then that’s what they would do, and no one, probably not even the woman sharing a stolen truck-and a wanna-fuck-you-bad kiss with him-would believe otherwise.

Chances were good that he wouldn’t be around to see the smoke clear on this case. He wouldn’t be available to exonerate himself for the warehouse massacre. He’d wind up on a slab, growing cold in infamy. But by God, he wasn’t going to take the fall for The Bookkeeper’s handiwork without putting up a hell of a fight.

This morning had been a close call. As sure as he was still breathing, that engaged cell phone had brought people running to that damn tub, and in all probability Doral Hawkins had been leading the pack. If Emily hadn’t awakened him when she had, they’d all have been shot in their bunks.

Risking his own life was a job requirement. Risking theirs, no way.

Mind made up, he said, “You mentioned a friend yesterday.”

Honor looked over at him. “Tori.”

“Aunt Tori,” Emily chirped. “She’s funny.”

The gender of Honor’s friend shouldn’t have mattered to him at all. He was surprised by how glad he was to learn it was a woman. “Good friend?”

“Best friends. Emily thinks she’s family.”

“You trust her?”

“Implicitly.”

He pulled off the road, rolled to a stop on the shoulder, and dug his cell phone from his front pants pocket. Then, turning to Honor, he laid it on the line. “I gotta dump the two of you.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he said emphatically. “Only thing I need to know, when you’re free of me, are you going to call in the cavalry?”

“You mean Doral?”

“Him, the police, the FBI. Last night, you enumerated all the reasons you came with me. One of them was mistrusting the authorities. Does that still hold?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I won’t call in the cavalry.”

“All right. Do you think your friend would hide you for a couple of days?”

“Why a couple of days?”

“Because that’s how long Hamilton gave me.”

“He gave you less than that.”

“Will she hide you?”

“If I ask her to.”

“She wouldn’t betray your trust?”

Without an instant’s hesitation, she gave an emphatic shake of her head.

“That means she can’t call in the cavalry either,” he said.

“That would be the last thing Tori would do.”

It went against his nature, as well as his training and experience, to trust anyone. But he had no choice except to give Honor the benefit of the doubt. As soon as he was out of sight, she might very well sic Doral Hawkins on him, but that was a risk he had to take.

The alternative was to keep her and Emily with him. If he did, they could very well get hurt or killed. He didn’t think even he, who’d seen unimaginable atrocities, and had inflicted a few himself, could handle watching the two of them die. It was his fault they were in this. He should have left Honor blissfully ignorant.

But second-guessing was a waste of energy, and he didn’t have time for regret.

“Okay. You’re about to put that implicit trust in your friend to the test. What’s her number?”

“It won’t work if you call. I’ll have to.”

He shook his head. “If you do, you could be implicated.”

“Implicated? In what?”

He glanced at Emily, who was singing along with Elmo. The ditty had annoyed him at first, but he was used to it by now and, most of the time, able to tune it out. Coming back to Honor, he spoke softly. “Implicated in any shit that may come down when my deadline expires.” Her green eyes stayed fixed on his; he read the question in them. “If I do nothing else, I’m going to take care of Doral Hawkins.”

“Take care of?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You can’t just kill him,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I can. I will. I am.”

She turned her head away and stared through the bug-spattered windshield at the glowering sky. Visibly distressed, she said, “I’m so far out of my element here.”

“I realize that. But this is my element, so you’ve got to trust my judgment.”

“I know you’re doubtful about Stan. But he would-”

“Not an option.”

“He’s my father-in-law, Coburn. He loves us.”

He lowered his voice even more, so that Emily wouldn’t be distracted from her singing. “Do you want Emily around to witness the confrontation between him and me? Because you know it will eventually come down to that. Do you think he’s going to let me just walk into his house and start going through Eddie’s things? No. Whether he’s guilty of partnering with The Bookkeeper or Marset, or an honest citizen safeguarding his dead son’s good name, he’s going to resist my intrusion. With force. Not only that, he’ll be good and pissed with me for dragging you and his granddaughter into this.”