Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

Karin snatched it out of the air with satisfaction, and then gestured with the pistol, suggesting that the sullen man join up with Freddie. “You’ll find the bike in Old Town, a couple of blocks from the flower shop.”

The man snorted. “What do I know about Old Town?”

“Not my problem. You shouldn’t have interfered with my business. And oh-they use parking meters on that part of the street, so I wouldn’t dawdle. I’m really low on change right now.”

Freddie grunted again, but this time with amusement at the man’s expense. When he turned to Karin he said, “Go on. He won’t try to stop you. You played this clean…come back if you need to.” He ran a meaty thumb over the watch face and added, “Bring another nice gift if you do.”

Karin grinned. “Always do.” She pulled the door open just enough to slip through, and found the motorcycle half a block down, up against the curb. A big solid Kawasaki Vulcan-no wonder the guy was anxious about it. Well, he’d have it back by morning.

She hopped on the bike, started it up and slowly released the hand clutch to pull out into the thinning traffic of late evening, reveling in the trickle of excitement that told her well done. Tomorrow she’d meet with the printer and see if they could pull off the invitation.

Just like old times. From the bump-and-snatch on the street to her ability to handle Freddie to keeping on track in spite of the complications caused by the bike’s owner. It might have been easier with Dave at her side, but-

The excitement took a strange dive as she realized how he would have reacted to the watch, how he would have reacted to her casual use of the gun. To how easily she’d performed the little dance of acceptance with Freddie.

No, it wouldn’t have been easier with Dave after all. She’d made the right decision, going solo.

But her excitement had disappeared, to be replaced by an unexpected, sullen fatigue. She rode the motorcycle north, winding her way through unfamiliar streets until she found a good spot, and left the bike by the curb. She dropped a few coins in the meter, and then wondered if she’d have done the same had she not been thinking about Dave and his damnable honor.

Damnable was right. “It was good work,” she told the bike in defiance, and then left it there, walking the blocks to the hotel. She plucked up her room key card out of the potted plant, buffed it clean against her thigh and went to her room. She needed a good night’s sleep, and then she’d head off into tomorrow.

And this time she’d be sure to leave the anchor of Dave’s conscience behind.

She was still here somewhere. Dave propped his forehead in his hands and muttered a sound of pure frustration.

She just wasn’t here as Ellen Sommers, Karin Sommers or Brooke Ellington. Big surprise, she’d had another identity to fall back on.

But she was out there. She’d taken the list of links, the society page printouts, the pages of notes about the people who ran in Barret Longsford’s circles…everything she needed to continue the scam.

And she’d taken his gun. That irritated him the most. It seemed…personal. He’d already replaced the Ruger, although not before he’d spent the morning alternating between fury and pain as he unsuccessfully hunted Karin.

He hadn’t expected her to leave.

And exactly what, his almost-buried common sense asked him, had he thought she would do? He’d given her plenty of reason to doubt him. She’d broken her cover to offer him her expertise, and he’d given her grief.

Even now, unease made his stomach do a slow roll. Her skills were built on a lifetime of theft and deception, and it wasn’t a morality he could accept. Nor was the California warrant something he could ignore, even if he hoped the charges weren’t true.

But leaving her out there to carry this off on her own wasn’t an option, either.

He looked at the thick Yellow Pages spread open before him-all the hotels he’d called marked off with neat X’s. “Where are you, dammit?”

But she wasn’t going to be easily found. He shut the phone book with a thump and turned his thoughts to Longsford, reaching for the thick sheaf of notes he’d collected on the man so far.

That was when it hit him.

He didn’t have to find Karin. He knew what she was after. If he put himself in the right spot at the right time, she’d find him.

And meanwhile, he had work to do. One way or the other, Longsford was going down.

Dave wished he didn’t think Karin would go down with him.

Karin walked out into the crisp morning, depositing her key card into its damp hiding spot with no more hesitation than a woman recovering from a slight misstep. She had the Ruger in the field jacket, but she didn’t expect to use it. Today the printer might decide to work for her or he might not, but either way it would be a genteel encounter as compared to the gauntlet she’d run to get this far.

And if the printer refused to work with her, she’d find another. Definitely not an optimal plan; her timetable depended on this step. And on Longsford’s next big social whirl-cocktails at an environmental benefit event held in his own home.

Too perfect, really.

She walked past where she’d parked the motorcycle the night before; the bike had been reclaimed. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t really wanted him to lose the thing. Be it on his head that he’d walked into the wrong shop at the wrong time and acted like a jerk.

Well, she’d done what she had to. And she’d made it back to the hotel safely, and here she was in the same clothes-her laid-back tough-girl outfit-ready to take the next step.

Today’s destination wasn’t far from the pawnshop, but it nonetheless crossed one of those invisible lines between neighborhoods. The new neighborhood upgraded from scum-of-the-earth sordidness to merely plain, old and crowded. Touches of leftover class peeked out through the architecture, the occasional Victorian paint job and the windowsill plantings. The cabbie took her through a business strip and into a small warren of streets, and when he pulled to the curb, it was at a pleasant little house with a Big Wheels out front and toys scattered near the sidewalk leading to the front door. Barbie, baby, G.I. Joe-they all met the same naked fate. The tiny clothesline strung between two azalea bushes went a long way toward explaining that one.

Had she been anyone else, Karin might have hesitated, assuming she had the wrong address. But she had reason enough to know that scammers had family, too.

The woman who opened the door was plump with rich brown skin, marked with random ink stains on the old men’s shirt she wore. She took one look at Karin and said, “Ah. The Tiffany watch and the big black gun.”

“It’s a Ruger,” Karin told her. “Can I come in?”

“Do you have it with you now?”

She didn’t answer directly, just gave the smallest of shrugs-a little bit apology, a little bit matter-of-fact. “After my reception at Freddie’s?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” But when she stepped back so Karin could enter the foyer, she pointed at a high shelf over the door. “Put it there. My kid’s in the house.”

Karin complied, though not without a quick assessment of the woman, who gave her a scornful look. “No, I don’t have a gun. What did I just say about my kid being in the house? Besides, people here know better than to harass me. I’m the best this city has, and we do look after our own.” She glanced back at Karin as she led the way to the basement, a stairwell and low-ceilinged area so well lit that it might as well have been daylight down there. “You’ll learn that fast enough, if you’re looking to move into this area.”