Robert Bidinotto - Hunter

“I didn’t want to bring it up, then. I figured it might scare you off.”

He covered her hand with his. “I’m still here, Annie.”

She looked at his hand on hers. “Me too.”

*

They were both a bit tipsy when they arrived back at the apartment. She could not completely relax and sensed that he could not, either. There was still a slight wariness, a dull edge of caution, in their interaction. She could not suppress her awareness of her suspicions about him; but neither could she suppress her knowledge of his motives, of the reasons that may have turned him into an outlaw.

Inside the door, he drew her into his arms again. Her mouth responding to his, she felt as if she were spinning dangerously, deliriously, deliciously out of control. She was overpowered by it, by the restored feeling of oneness with him, by the sheer power of him and how it possessed her. For a fleeting instant, she knew that the danger that he represented only added to her intoxication, and to the intensity of the passionate tension between them.

If everything would only freeze in place, right here, right now. If only it would go on forever this way…

They stumbled, laughing, toward the bedroom, toward the waiting bed. She tugged off his jacket and dumped it on the floor. Then he pulled her to the bed and sat on it, facing her. Holding her eyes, he undid the buttons at her throat, then down the front of her blouse. He slid the straps of her bra down her arms, then reached behind her to release it. As it fell, he buried his face between her breasts.

But she pushed him back, then held up her hand to stop him. With deliberate slowness, she unbuttoned his shirt. She ran her flat palms over the hair of his chest, up to his shoulders, then down his arms to free his sleeves-

– and exposed the bandage wrapping his left arm.

*

In an instant, he saw her half-closed eyes snap open, her half-parted lips widen in a gasp. Saw the shock as she gazed at his arm.

He had to cover it, give her the excuse he had prepared.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing. I just had a run-in last week with a friend’s pet poodle.”

The shock didn’t vanish as her eyes turned to his. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then: “You say a dog did this?”

He tried to keep the smile fixed in place. “A poodle. If you count them as real dogs.”

But she didn’t smile. He watched closely as something faded in her eyes.

She knows.

*

Their love-making had a frantic quality, he thought, as if both of them were trying desperately to convince themselves that what they knew could not be true.

At first, he almost felt as if he was forcing himself upon her. She seemed to be fighting him, as she had in the past, when it had been only playful; but for a few moments it seemed real as she twisted away, seeming to recoil from him, to reject him.

“No,” she gasped, flailing at his shoulders with her fists.

At the word, he felt anger rise within him, and he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back.

“Yes,” he said. He began to kiss her naked shoulders, then breasts, then throat. He heard her gasp again, and he covered her open mouth with his.

In a moment, something changed. She began to return his kisses and to move with him. She drew up her legs and wrapped them around him; her arms snaked around his back and she began to rake his skin with her nails…

*

Afterward, they lay quietly, wrapped in each other’s arms. He stroked her hair with his fingers, feeling his pulse slow, feeling the heat rising from their bodies.

Yet as close as they held each other, he felt a widening chasm between them.

His hand touched her cheek. It was damp.

She knows.

*

He didn’t sleep. Hours later, when her breathing at last became long and steady, he slid carefully from beneath the sheets. Gathering his bathrobe from a hook on the door, he stole from the room, drawing the door shut behind him. Then he entered the den. In the dark, he felt for the hidden latch at the bottom of his bookcase and eased open the panel. His fingers probed inside for what he needed. He withdrew it, then clicked the drawer back into place.

In the living room, he pulled his key card from his wallet, then carefully opened the door to his apartment and headed for the elevators.

Three minutes later, his task completed, he returned.

Then sat alone in the dark on the living room sofa, stroking the cat.

He knew that tomorrow, they would engage in a complex minuet of forced affection. Both would try to be light and frivolous, pretending that everything was normal.

And of course it would not be. Could not be.

Until morning, he would sit here and try to learn to live with this new pain.

Bethesda, Maryland

Monday, December 22, 5:02 a.m.

He arose at five in the morning. He pulled on his sweats and went down to the gym on the first floor. After warming up with some katas, he hit the machines and free weights, using the ultra-slow-repetition routines that he’d practiced for many years-the kind of high-intensity workouts that build the most muscle in the shortest amount of time.

After just over half an hour, sweating profusely, he went back to his apartment and headed directly into the shower. He winced as the hot water stung the places on his back where she had scratched him. In spite of everything, he had to smile, marveling at the intensity of her passion even after she had discovered the truth about him. Some things about women, he thought, would always remain a mystery to him.

After feeding Luna, he dressed, sat at his desk in the den, and went back to puzzling it all out.

She had left yesterday in the early evening, telling him that she had to get ready for work on Monday morning. He’d expected that; keeping up the charade any longer was just too awkward for both of them.

There was no way he’d fool her again, of course. Her reaction to the dog bite made it clear that Cronin had told her about the Doberman. Now she had confirmed, at least in her own mind, not only that he was a vigilante; she also knew, specifically, that he had to be Navarro’s shooter. She’d tell Cronin all about it later today. They still wouldn’t have proof, of course, but with their suspicions now confirmed, they would be all over him like fleas on a dog.

He would still have ways of eluding them, even while they were watching him closely. However, before he disappeared, he had some unfinished business to take care of.

For now, though, he had to put himself in their shoes. How would it go down today? He had begun to work it out on Saturday night, while lying awake next to her in the dark.

It was unlikely that she’d tell Cronin much by phone; he would need a detailed report from her, and that would take at least an hour, plus travel time. And other members of the task force would probably attend, too.

But where and when? Maybe at police headquarters in Alexandria, though possibly somewhere else. And probably after work-unless she was so upset that she’d take the day off and go see them in the middle of the day.

Timing was important. To make sure he had enough time to react before they arrived later today, he had to know exactly when she left her house or workplace and went to meet them.

Which is why he had sneaked from bed on Saturday night while she was asleep, gone down to the garage, and hidden the real-time GPS tracker in her car.

*

He was filling another coffee cup at 7:47 a.m. when he heard the computer program for the tracker start to beep. It automatically activated a computer alert when the subject vehicle was in motion. He went back into the den, sat, and zoomed in on the screen map.

The flashing red dot representing her car entered the maze of highways in Falls Church, moving east toward Route 29. He remembered that she worked for an insurance company in Fairfax; so she’d probably get on 29 and shoot straight west. Once he was sure she was on her way to work, he’d probably be okay for hours, maybe all day.