Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

“I told Freddie I wasn’t.”

No doubt she knew that, too. No doubt she was leaving Karin room to tie her cover story into knots.

“Doesn’t matter,” Karin added. “I know the score. I’m not part of this community. That makes me expendable. So I’m looking after myself, and that means not messing with you.”

The woman gave a short laugh and gestured at a long worktable with high-backed stools. “Have a seat.” The table itself was covered with evidence of previous jobs-stains and smears and lumps of dried ink-but no sign of current work. Karin hoped it meant she was in between jobs, and not merely playing it safe after she got Freddie’s heads-up.

Karin didn’t waste any time. She pulled out the picture of the invitation, and then the sheet with the printer specs on it. “Can you make me one of these? Thirty-six hours?”

The woman snorted at her bluntness but didn’t dismiss the idea. “This is pricey stuff. Looks like Houghlin’s work.” She glanced up long enough to receive Karin’s nod of affirmation and then looked at the invitation again, this time biting her lower lip. From above them came a thump and a flurry of giggles; without looking up, the woman called up the stairs, “I’m watching you!” and then, finally, returned the picture.

“I need it to look just like that, but made out to Maia Brenner, for this event.” She handed over the card on which she’d written Maia’s name, and the name of Longsford’s benefit event.

“They’re just going to ask for your money.” She tapped the picture a few times in thought, and then shook her head. “It’s specialty paper. I can’t get it that fast.”

“It’s not about money at all,” Karin said, dropping her voice just in case the words might carry upstairs. “I’m looking to reel in bigger fish. Someone who takes children. He does unspeakable things to them, and then he kills them. He’ll be at this function. I need to meet him there.”

The woman paled slightly. “The water-tower boy?”

Karin gave a succinct nod. “Exactly.”

“Whatever it’s about, I need to get paid. And I don’t take Tiffany’s.”

“Cash for you,” Karin said. “Where it comes from isn’t your problem.” She still hoped to complete the scam and get herself a new start, but nothing was going according to plan for this one. Especially not the man who was meant to be her partner and who was instead now probably trying to do his best to stop her. “Charge for the fast turnaround. Whatever.”

Finally the woman sighed. “No promises,” she said. “The ink’s no problem, but I might not be able to get the paper. Let me know where I can reach you.”

Karin gave her the number, assuring her it was a prepaid cell phone purchased only the day before. “I’m Maia,” she said, and then grinned. “Well, as long as I’m here, I’m Maia.”

“You can call me anything you like,” the woman said absently; her thoughts already seemed caught up in the challenge of the job. “Just don’t try to get in touch. I’ll make contact.”

Sensing her dismissal, Karin pulled out the material for Ranchwood Acres and slapped it on the table. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I also need this material prepared in slicks. The URLs to the Web site pages are included, and there’s a PDF download. Very thoughtful of them. I just need a few pertinent details changed. I’ll get back to you on those when you call about the invitation. Can you do it?”

She snorted. “This one’s hardly worth coming to me.”

“Except for your reputation for quality,” Karin said. “I’m pushing this one. There can’t be so much as a smudge out of place. He’s got to take the bait hard and fast.”

“And you’re sure-”

“Oh, this is him.” She smiled thinly. “And I’m going to stop him.”

The woman looked at her with dark humor that seemed out of place on her otherwise urban young mother face. “Not exactly something I’d expect from someone in your line of work.”

“No,” Karin admitted, her voice tinged with her own surprise. “I don’t suppose it is.”

Karin Sommers’s Journal: On the Make Again

Dear Ellen,

Believe it or not, here we go. I was so glad to get away from Rumsey, so eager to start my new life. Now it looks like I’m starting my old life instead.

But one of these days when I pick up this journal, it’ll be to tell you that Longsford is behind bars. I just hope I’m not behind bars right along with him.

Dave took a giant swig of spring water and tossed his apple core into the garbage. He patted the Maxima’s dash. “I know, baby. You weren’t meant to be a surveillance car.” Not that the car wasn’t comfortable, but blending in wasn’t one of its virtues. Especially in this high-class Old Town neighborhood.

At least it wasn’t red.

He’d been here since midafternoon, not far from the Potomac waterfront-outside Longsford’s redbrick home, waiting for the cocktail benefit to start. Like many homes in Old Town, the house was tall and narrow and beautifully landscaped. The neighbors were close on either side of the tight property, and those attending knew better than to expect parking in the tiny driveway.

Then again, few of those attending did their own driving.

The day was gorgeously springlike, over seventy degrees and already humid. No doubt the event would spill into the backyard, a considerable stretch of land in this tightly developed area. The first hour or so Dave had slouched to observe arriving caterers, florists, the environmental beneficiaries with their give me money materials and the event coordinator who fluttered out to hurry the worker bees along. Now the guests were arriving, and Dave straightened to see who’d come to the party.

And if Karin was among them. Or if he was wrong, and she’d just plain skipped out on him.

Sunshine splashed down through the long, narrow sunroof; Dave shifted to keep the glare of it from sneaking in behind his sunglasses, and almost missed her.

She’d found a driver-one who hopped out from behind the wheel to open the back door of the dark blue Cadillac Catera and offer her formal-looking assistance as she disembarked. They’d pulled over behind several other cars, and she had half a block to walk before reaching the house.

Dave could intercept her, and he did. He slipped out of his sedan and jogged across the street, into the shade of the giant maple in the lawn adjoining Longsford’s.

If he hadn’t been looking for her…if he hadn’t seen this dress when she first tried it on…

She was all class this afternoon, the cocktail dress short and swingy and just the right combination of traditional and original. Midnight blue cut a diagonal swath across the skirt and bodice; she’d covered the spaghetti straps with a light, sparkly shawl she wouldn’t need once she hit the sunlight. Her hair was gathered in a perfect updo with just the right amount of loose fringe at her nape to make it look casually chic; her earrings dangled just so. Even the wrist cast was covered with a gauzy scarf.

She was Karin, and yet not Karin at all.

She stopped short when she saw him, her hand clutching down on a fashionably small purse. And then, by apparent sheer strength of will, she relaxed. “Took you long enough.”

“Took me way too long,” he said shortly. And told himself, don’t be an asshole.

He just hadn’t expected to be affected by the sight of her. Or the sound of her. Or even the awareness that snapped into place between them. Fool, to have forgotten the strength of it, in defiance of all that had now separated them.

She cocked her head. “You here to stop me?”

“Stop you? I said I’d help you.”

“You did,” she agreed. A slight breeze shifted the sunshine-blond wisps of hair over her forehead-not enough there to be called bangs, but they softened her hairline and in some strange way brought out the fullness of her lower lip, made the unusual straightness of her upper lip into something sexy. He felt suddenly as though he didn’t know her at all, and at the same time as though she’d become part of his life. But she brought him down to earth quickly enough, and so did the quick flash of hurt in her eyes. “You offered to help, and then something changed. You changed. You didn’t really know what you wanted, I think. Do you now?”