Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

But it looks like he wasn’t careful enough. Maybe my escape rattled him. But somewhere along the line, the cops must have gotten close-and he pointed the finger at me.

That bastard.

I don’t even know what I’ve done. The cop wasn’t talking. So I guess it was bad enough. You know, I had planned to be me again. I planned to give you back what’s yours. Your name. Your own headstone, for God’s sake. But now it’s just about staying out of Rumsey’s way until he doesn’t care anymore. Now I’m Ellen…at least long enough to find out what I’ve “done.” And to hope the statute of limitations is…limited.

Crap.

Well, you’ll have your headstone one day. I’ve already made arrangements. When I’m beside you, they’ll swap the headstones. Then things will finally be right again.

But until then, I’m you. Even if poor Dave Hunter can’t understand why Ellen Sommers isn’t even willing to try.

Karin closed the journal, her hand lingering over the sturdy leather binding.

No cheapo little diary for her letters to Ellen, oh no. Deep burgundy leather over thick, sensual pages, a blank book already half filled with her impossibly tiny, impossibly tidy handwriting. A book she shouldn’t even be keeping, given the risks of it…but a book she couldn’t stop herself from writing if she’d tried. Her final connection to Ellen.

She shouldn’t have taken the time today. She had decisions to make and livestock to feed. But the book had drawn her-the day’s events gave her reason to think of Ellen. Of the funeral. Of her new life here, now threatened.

Anyway, the rifle was up here. So were the cartridges. And from here Karin could look out over the driveway, watching Dave Hunter refuse to leave while she went about her business. Which-aside from sending a quick “just in case” e-mail to Amy Lynn, the neighbor who swapped chores with her-meant double-checking her retreat options and varied stash of IDs.

Pack a suitcase, Dave Hunter had said. If only he knew. She was packed and ready to go, but not with him. If she could help with this investigation, she would…and she half wished she could. But putting herself into the middle of it when she had nothing to offer…nope, not in the plan.

Karin slipped the journal into her big leather courier bag, next to the lining pocket she’d created for her IDs. She slung the strap over her shoulder and picked up the.22 rifle, heading down to the main floor to deposit her things by the door.

At the rumble of a male voice, she discovered Dave Hunter on the porch bench, yellow pad of spiky-scribbled notes balanced on his knee as he spoke into the phone. Tea sat on the bench beside him, condensation trickling down the glass and a blue steel and black composite semiautomatic pistol looking incongruous beside it. Ruger. The porch wind chime stirred only enough for a trill of notes, then silenced again.

He didn’t notice her. Because surely if he had, he’d have lowered his voice. His peeved, impatient voice. “I don’t know how long, Owen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Does it matter? After that business in Pittsburgh and Kimmer Reed, I think I’ve earned enough family player points to get myself a safe house for as long as I need it.”

Owen, whoever he was, must have said something conciliatory. Dave sighed. “Ribs are ribs…they take a while to heal. Collarbone’s taking a while. Wouldn’t set properly…I don’t know. No-no, I-”

Interesting. Family player points. And someone who not only interrupted this strong, straightforward man, but who got away with it. Older brother.

“Okay, I hear you. It’s not gonna happen, but I hear you. Now-that safe house?” He straightened on the bench, closing his eyes with evident relief at the response even as he winced, rotating his shoulder without lifting his arm. “Good. Great. Thanks. I’ll let you know more when I have it.” He closed his phone and tipped his head back against the siding. She watched him, resting her eyes on his profile-a nose for which the word aquiline had been invented, and a jaw angled sharply from ear to chin. Misleadingly, really, given the width of it. Maybe that was why he had those little parentheses of dimples that lay quiescent in repose.

They’d be there all the time when he got a little older, she decided. It would be a nice look. Mature without being weathered. One of her favorites.

For what it was worth.

Rumsey supplied her with the answer to that. Absolutely nothing. Wasn’t cash, wouldn’t save her hide, wouldn’t catch her an advantage. If anything, the opposite. It’d be too easy to go mmm, nice and lose track of her priorities, especially the one that said the sooner she separated from this man, the better.

Karin nudged the door with her foot, opening it farther. She knew it would squeak; she counted on him to notice, whatever deep thoughts ran behind those closed eyes.

Squeak.

His eyes flashed open, eerily, icily blue in the afternoon light. His gaze landed unerringly on hers. She kept her voice soft, but the words had no give to them. “Making plans?”

“Trying to.” He placed the iced tea on the porch floor, tucked the Ruger into his coat pocket. “Come out and talk to me?”

She came out, but she didn’t sit down in the spot he’d made for her. “Come out and be talked into something, you mean.”

He didn’t bother to deny it, though it did give him an instant’s hesitation, a double take. Recognizing something other than Ellen, not knowing what to do with it. “It doesn’t really matter what you remember. Longsford isn’t going to let things rest once they’ve gone this far.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “His errand boys sure didn’t seem to be empowered to consider it.”

“And that means you must know something that can damage him-something that can help me.”

She dropped her head to look up at him. “Or it means he thinks I know something. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me spilling the beans on his other endeavors. What did you call him? A player? Likes his money, likes his power? He’s probably got plenty of things he doesn’t want me to talk about.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s protecting. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe until I work this thing through.”

“We’re agreed on that,” she muttered, knowing full well that his concept of safe had nothing to do with hers.

He looked up at her, hope showing in his eyes. “Then you’ll come with me now. I’ve got a place just outside Alexandria-”

“Now? You think I can just walk away from all this?” She gestured around the yard, realizing it would mean nothing to him. The animals and the garden were half hidden beyond the trees and the hill behind the house.

He didn’t back down. In fact, he stood up, moving in on her until she retreated to the screen. Not intimidating…just close. Close enough to take in all the personal things. The scents, the small white scar in his brow nearly hidden in the blond hair, the faint gust of breath on her lashes. She should have been annoyed or offended or concerned. She wasn’t. Instead, a smile lurked at the corner of her mouth.

“We think he keeps them alive for a while. Long enough to manipulate and control. And that means I’ve still got a chance to find Rashawn-but I can’t risk scaring Longsford into moving too soon. And you’re-” He blinked. “You’re smiling.”

Karin glanced down, as if she could see her own mouth. “And you…you’re close.”

It startled him. He looked at her, he looked at himself. Then he said, “Huh.” As in, look at that.

She didn’t ask him to move. He didn’t. He lowered his voice and he said, “I need you. I need your help.”

She pitched her own voice to match, meeting his gaze with a boldness she was quite certain Ellen had never shown. “And what if I don’t remember anything? Ever?”