Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

Karin took a deep breath. She managed to make herself sound tremulous near the end, knowing he’d hear it. “I will,” she said, and if her voice was shaky, it was through the effort of holding herself in check. Keep it together, Karin. You’re almost there. “I promise,” she told him, and shifted to a pleading note. “Taking care of this is the most important thing in my life right now. I can do it. Okay?”

Swallow it…swallow it…

“You’d better,” he said, and hung up.

Karin scowled at the phone again. A good, hard scowl, one that made her face hurt. A sudden tremble made her sit down, and in the next moment she pondered a dash to the bathroom, not even sure she could make it in time to suit her roiling stomach. She wanted to bail out here and now. If Rumsey truly became involved, she’d not only lose the chance at Longsford and her own second start-third start, this time-she’d likely lose her freedom altogether.

But the reasons she was doing this…they all still mattered.

So she kicked a pillow around the room, uttered an explosive curse at it, and turned away to prepare for the day. Right now that meant getting ready for lunch at the Med Grille, Longsford’s restaurant of choice.

Karin threw on the jacket-and-slacks outfit. Because she wanted Longsford to see that she had her mind on practical matters, she made no effort to dress up her cast.

She made it to the flower shop as Bill arrived with the classy Caddy, but when she opened the door she found herself near to gaping at the large wicker basket on the seat. A spray of fuchsia orchids leaned over the end, and flawless pears and apples were tucked in among chocolate-covered nuts, assorted cheeses-and a familiar-looking flask.

She guessed that Dave had found the tracker.

“I wish I could take credit, miss, but this fellow came into the office this morning and-”

“That’s fine,” Karin murmured, reaching for the note taped to the back of the flask. “I know who sent them.”

As Bill closed the door behind her, she unfolded the note to find a few words in Dave’s slanted, spiky script. If you need me… She leaned back in the seat with a sigh, not sure what the warm spot in her chest was all about. If you need me…

He had to know she’d ditched his bug, whether or not he’d actually recovered it. And if he’d tracked her down enough to get this basket in place…

She checked the basket over for one of the little tracers. Finding nothing, she looked out the back window, hunting for any sight of his distinctive sedan. That she saw nothing gave her little comfort. If he’d tracked down the limo service from their encounter the previous afternoon, he could easily have followed the Caddy from a safe distance and Bill, the dear man, wouldn’t have had a clue.

She resigned herself to the possibility. As long as he didn’t interfere. As long as he didn’t spook Longsford.

Bill knew the Med Grille as well as he knew the rest of the town, and at ten minutes before the hour Karin found herself standing just inside the door, looking around with surprise. She’d expected Longsford to go for something posh and impressive-something on the ostentatious side. She hadn’t expected this airy interior with well-spaced tables, their black marble surfaces gleaming. A bar lined the back of the room and old movie posters dotted otherwise stark walls. At this time of day the light was mostly natural, pouring in from huge banks of windows along the south wall. At a table near those windows, a man stood, so strongly backlit that his features were obscured. But Karin already had a bead on the formal manner in which Longsford held himself, and she headed in that direction. It wasn’t difficult to thread her way through the tables to reach him, and by the time she sat down she’d been able to assess his company. Dave’s notes pay off…

The slight man who sat with his back to the window-strong nose, weak chin, losing the battle of the hair-was a man who’d been with Longsford for years. Not his official financial advisor-more like a jester in the king’s court. A man Friday who considered meeting Longsford’s need his priority, and not necessarily constrained by petty rules, morals or expectations. She got the impression the man probably knew just about everything of Longsford’s business over the years…if not anything about his unsavory obsession.

At least, that was what she’d gotten of him from Dave’s notes. Scribbled slashes of words, strong with his personality.

Another man stood as she approached, hovering behind Longsford’s shoulder. Karin’s casual smile of greeting froze for an instant; her stomach felt as if she’d just walked off the edge of a cliff and stood waiting for the solidity beneath her feet to dissolve as she plunged a thousand feet to her death.

It was one of the goons from her very first encounter, before she even knew who Longsford was or what he’d done or that he’d dated her sister. The ex-boxer. The one whose face she’d ripped open only a few days earlier.

It hadn’t been nearly long enough for his healing to begin. His eye socket hid behind a plain black patch; his nose and the features on the left side of his face were stitched, distorted and swollen. Even the right side of his face had swollen in sympathy, especially around the eye; she’d be surprised if he had a full field of view. He’s only got one eye, she told herself. Probably can’t see really well out of it. And you don’t look anything like you did.

Her fingers, lightly grasping the portfolio she’d brought along, subtly crossed one over the other. Saint Dismas, keep me safe…

But she was still smiling, and she held out her hand to shake Longsford’s even as she looked around the table to include the others in her greeting. “Gentlemen. Nice to be here.”

“How’d you hurt your hand?” the ex-boxer said bluntly, drawing surprise from Longsford. He squinted his one eye at her, confirming his visual difficulties. If he wore contacts, he couldn’t wear them right now, and there was no way glasses would fit on that swollen face.

Karin breathed a little more easily, and was able to keep her answer light in spite of his rude tone. “It’s a long story,” she said. “And an embarrassing one. Let’s just say it involves some stealth skinny-dipping, a slippery surface and towels that got blown away by the wind.”

For an instant, all three men froze. Karin kept her smile inward, knowing that they were visualizing the situation.

But the ex-boxer shook his head, almost defiantly. “I could swear I know her-”

“Yes,” Longsford agreed. “She looks like someone we both knew.”

“Not much,” snorted the man who hadn’t bothered to get up. “There is more to any woman than a mere general cast of feature.”

The ex-boxer snorted back at him. “Think you got a fancy turn of phrase, don’t you?”

Longsford spoke, short and sharp. “That’s enough. Diffie, I’ll catch up with you later. Let Landry know.”

Unhappy but accepting, the ex-boxer nodded, gave Karin another squinty look, and left without further comment. Longsford turned to her. “Please sit,” he said. “I’m sorry for the delay.”

“I’m Carl Rucsher,” the smaller man said as Karin sat, fending for her own chair. Their server had been hovering invisibly in the background, but now correctly assessed the situation as ripe for intrusion. She brought out a pitcher of ice water and left behind a basket of butter herb bread sticks, murmuring about returning shortly to take their orders.

“Carl is my long-term financial advisor,” Longsford told Karin as she picked up a menu. “Sometimes I think he knows more than I do about my business.”

Oh, I doubt that. But Karin only smiled. And then, with the menu open but not yet perused, she asked, “Do you gentlemen prefer to separate the dining and the business, or would you prefer that I dive right in?”