Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

That sounded like a plan. Karin closed her eyes, determined to sleep. It took her somewhat by surprise when she found them open again mere moments later, staring at that same old ceiling.

Because it didn’t really matter if she felt like calling Dave. She was a con artist, not a skulk, a thief or an officer of the law. The factory lead had too much potential to mess up…and if there was one thing she did know from her lifetime under Rumsey’s guidance, it was not to let pride or ego get in the way of a successful finish. And that meant Door Number One: the phone.

Smothering darkness turned to flashing lights, the background full of grief and wailing, the rural ground uneven beneath his feet. Curiosity foremost, overlaid with a child’s naive certainty that everything will turn out all right-

Nom de Dieu de bordel de merde! The words cut through the night, unfamiliar and yet shattering his naiveté to inspire the first shard of trepidation. Endless barking, then, and the lights and noise and emotions turned to a smear of sensation. Irresistible, it drew him onward-and suddenly resolved in a crystal-clear image, a battered face, a shock of curly red hair, a stench of corruption-

Dave pulled himself from the dream with a grunt. Only a grunt, because he’d had so much opportunity to train himself to deal with it. So many deaths…so many dreams. If only he hadn’t been half asleep by the time his father pulled into the dump site. If only he hadn’t foolishly run toward the solemn cluster of adults and the excited police dog. If only he hadn’t tripped upon reaching them, sliding forward with momentum until he met the dead boy face-to-face.

Yeah, right. What if. Whatever. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up in bed, surprised when a farsighted glance at the clock told him it was only a little past midnight. Great. Could be a long night.

Especially after a day in which the feebs had tracked him down and told him to go home. No uncertain terms there. And Dave had told them he was here with a friend and he’d damned well show her the sights if he wanted to.

He hadn’t fooled them.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to. But he didn’t intend to be chased away, either. Not with Rashawn’s death dogging him. Not with Karin still out there, a killer hunting a killer.

It occurred to him then that she’d had Gregg Rumsey hanging over her head for every bit as long as he’d had his own nightmare.

It wasn’t a thought he knew what to do with. It made him suddenly hurt for her in a way he hadn’t done before, empathizing with the child she’d been, understanding how her young life had been changed. And yet she was wanted for killing an elderly couple who had recently emptied their savings accounts. Didn’t take a lot of dots to connect that line. If she’d done that…

It didn’t matter what had been done to her as a child. What she’d lived with. Who had failed her. She was still responsible for crossing that line.

For killing.

He headed for his laptop on the dresser. His OneNote files about Longsford were displayed in LCD glory. Dead children in a newly extended list, based on Ellen’s photos. Dated photos. How had Longsford ever let her take them?

Because he thought he had her under control.

His cell phone rang, echoing in the silent room. He jumped, snarled at himself for being so reactive and flipped it open to discover an unfamiliar number on the caller ID.

No. Not unfamiliar. Recently learned. He thumbed the on button, still torn over who she was and what she’d done. And dammit, still eager to hear her voice. “Karin.”

“Tell me you’re not tracing this,” she said warily.

He gave a short laugh. “The tracker is my only big toy.”

This time she was the one to laugh. “It most certainly isn’t.” A palpable flush of emotion filled the silence between them, and her next words came out chagrined. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t… I shouldn’t have…”

He couldn’t remember hearing her at a loss for words before. “It’s okay,” he said. “And no, you didn’t wake me. What’s up?” Because there was no point pretending this was just a casual call.

She said, “I think he’s going to go for it. Which is kind of a problem. I really thought I’d have to woo him longer. I think your Kimmer could have been a great con artist-”

“No,” he said bluntly. “She couldn’t. She’s about helping people.” Not ripping them off. He didn’t have to say it out loud.

“The point is,” Karin said, her voice gone cool, “that I’ve got some decisions to make, earlier than I thought I’d have to make them. And I need to know-if I drop out of sight, are you going to let me go?”

He sat heavily on the edge of the rumpled bed. How could she even think-? “Karin,” he asked, “why didn’t you tell me about the warrant?”

“Oh, crap.” And then she didn’t speak for a moment, long enough that he almost checked to see if she was still on the line. She said, “How long have you-? No, wait. I know. Since that first night at the safe house. When you got strange over pizza.”

“Since that night,” he agreed.

“Fine. Now you’ve had it confirmed that I’m a bad egg, which I’d pretty much told you already. That doesn’t answer my question. I’ve gone out on a limb here. I’ve set up this scam and I’m already pulling in information. If I get you enough to come down on Longsford and then quit the area, are you going to come after me?” He didn’t hear any worry in her voice, no implications that he would actually catch her. Just that he could complicate her life.

The casual nature of her response floored him. “You must be kidding,” he said, and couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice. “Do you really think I’m the kind of person who can ignore a murder warrant?”

“A murder-!” Her speechless pause didn’t last long. “That giant bag of frog pus! That scum-sucking son of a bitch!” Her voice came from afar, as though she’d moved the phone away from her mouth. Then she said, “No. I don’t think you are.”

And she hung up.

Dave stared at the cell-phone display, trying to parse all the things that had just happened in that single short phone call. The reappearance of their unmistakable connection…it was still there. But her casual initial response to the warrant, followed by that outburst and then…

He could only call it loss of hope.

He stared at the phone a moment longer, then dialed her number. Whatever she’d been going to tell him, she’d never gotten around to it. Nor, he realized with disgust as the phone flipped over to voice mail, was she likely to do so now. He was still out in the cold…and she was still in the thick of it.

Wait and see was getting old fast.

Murder. What the hell had Rumsey thought he could do? Palm that old couple off on Karin to keep his own prospects free and clear? As if!

Except, Karin realized grimly, he’d obviously gotten away with it. And she knew he’d done it well. No doubt there’d been plenty of evidence planted in her apartment, in the almost-empty bank account she hadn’t tried to access since her “death,” in numerous sly comments and with his fix in the local police department.

She also knew better than to think the police would listen to her if she told them the truth of it.

Ah, crap.

Which was about how she’d slept the night before. Now it was midmorning on North Payne Street and Karin shuffled her sneakered feet, hugging herself within the army surplus field jacket as she cast a wary eye at Longsford’s old factory. The one he was so certain no one knew he owned.

She’d already walked up along First Street, the road that ran behind the factory. The water tower squatted just beyond its sharp turn, white and huge and looking like a marshmallow on legs even from this ground vantage point. The grass beneath it appeared damaged; around its perimeter, tire tracks skewed off the road and dug ruts into the soft spring ground. Crime scene tape still marked off one corner of the ground beneath the tower. She didn’t have to imagine how the little body had looked. There had been pictures.