P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

She dropped her forehead to her knee and rubbed Zeke's chest. Then on a sigh, she dragged herself to her feet. That kiss had been the knock-out punch for a long, miserable day. She'd deal with the ramifications tomorrow, when she could be more rational about how irrational it was to start a relationship with a man she barely knew. One who could turn her bones to water with just a glance. One who felt like he might be the man she'd been waiting for all these years.

But right now, as she slogged up the stairs to her bedroom, all she could think about was falling into bed.

Sleep. She desperately needed some sleep.

Which wasn't in the cards: At 4:15 AM, she was awakened from a restless doze by Zeke, who exploded into a frenzy of barking and leapt at the darkened silhouette of a man standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

~~~~

Chapter 14

The man reached in, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the bedroom door shut only a split second before Zeke hit the door, scratching and growling.

"Dammit, Kaz! Call off the dog." The voice on the other side of the door was low and muffled, but she would've recognized it anywhere.

"Gary!" She threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. Grabbing Zeke's collar, she flung open the door. "It's about time—I've been worried sick." She hugged him.

He held her close for a moment, then moved her aside so he could cross to the window to draw shut the curtains. He then prowled the small space beside her bed like a big, restless cat. Zeke watched him warily, growling low in his throat.

Even in the shadows, Gary's face was haggard, his cheeks hollow. His forehead and jaw were streaked with dark grease paint, adding to the starkness of his features. And he looked gaunt, as if he hadn't been eating.

She knew better than to comment on those facts. "Where've you been staying?"

"I won't tell you that." He rounded on her. "Dammit, I told you to stay out of this, Kaz."

She folded her arms. "What's going on, Gary?"

"Nothing you can do anything about."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me since I came home?"

"Yes." He came over to where she stood, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I want you to go back to California. Tomorrow. Just pack your bags and go."

She shook her head. "Tell me what's going on," she demanded. "What are they looking for?"

He jerked, startled by her question. "What d'you mean?"

"Someone's been calling here, then hanging up. I had a visitor, around midnight, who was searching through the bookcases in the living room. And the Lundquists' house was tossed earlier today."

"Sonofabitch!" He turned away from her, slamming his fist against the wall.

Zeke snarled, and she knelt to soothe him.

"You've got to go stay with Lucy, where you'll be safe." Gary paced some more, then stopped, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck. I did not want you involved. These guys play for keeps. God, look what they did to Ken."

"Who are these guys?"

"No way."

"Tell me you aren't trying to handle this alone." The thought terrified her. "That's it, isn't it? You're staying here in town—not up in the backcountry where you'd be safer—trying to find out who's behind this. If the cops find you—"

"I've got some people helping me."

"Chuck," she guessed.

Gary shrugged and resumed his pacing. She hadn't seen him strung this tight since right after he'd returned from Iraq. If Chuck was helping Gary, that gave her some measure of comfort. Still, he and Chuck had no business being vigilantes, if that's what they were doing.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Go to Lucy and Ivar, tell them what you know. It's the only way."

He shook his head. "Not an option." He stared down at Zeke, then held out a hand for the shepherd to sniff. "Why do you have that new guy's dog here?"

"Michael left him for my protection after the break-in this evening." She bit her lip. "Someone's trying to frame you, Gary."

His laugh was bitter. "You think I don't know that?"

"The cops found the murder weapon in the back of your truck. They've issued a warrant for your arrest."

"Yeah, Chuck told me." Before she could ask how Chuck had found out, Gary shook his head. "Chuck has his sources—I don't ask."

"Clint Jackson is staking out the house—he's been here off an on since this morning."

Gary snorted. "I saw him. He was sitting in his car, half asleep when I came in the front door. He never even saw me." Gary looked momentarily amused. "You don't have to worry about him catching me."

"But there are others out there looking, according to Lucy."

"I just came by to pick up a few things." He knelt, taking her hands in his. "Stay out of this, Sis. For me."

"Not an option," she said, mimicking him.

"You have to trust me on this. If I'm worrying about you, then I can't concentrate on stopping these guys. This Chapman guy, can he protect you?"

"I can protect myself."

"Not from these guys—don't even think that. If you get in their way, they won't hesitate to kill you." He gripped her arms and shook her gently. "Dammit, you're all I've got left."

"Then you know how I feel."

"At least go out on the water, act like everything is normal. You'll be pretty safe out there—the guys won't let anything happen to you. And don't go anywhere on your own. Promise me that much, at least."

"What about you?"

"Forget about me—I'm not important." When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head and stood, forcing her to look up at him. "You listen to me, Kaz. This time, your stubbornness could get you killed."

"And you don't need to be a hero," she said quietly.

He snorted and let go of her. "No chance of that at this point." His smile was sad, his expression becoming more distant. "But they aren't going to get away with this, not in my town."

He walked over to the window, easing the curtain aside, then swore softly. "Looks like Jackson has actually decided to take a walk around the house. Pity you can't sic the dog on him." Gary pulled a .45 Ruger out of his jacket, chambered a round and flipped the safety on, then handed it to her. "Keep this with you, even when you sleep."

She took the gun reluctantly. She knew how to use it—Gary had insisted on teaching her years ago—but she'd never been comfortable handling it. "Tell me how to get in touch with you."

He shook his head. "If you need anything, find Chuck." He walked to the door and opened it, then looked back at her, his worry evident on his face. "Goodbye, Kaz."

And then he was gone.

Kaz dropped down onto the bed, staring at the empty doorway. She picked up the pillow, shoving the pistol underneath. For several long moments, she stared at the moonlit glow of the white linen pillowcase.

Then she grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room.

#

Lucy sat in her living room in her rattiest sweats early the next morning, mainlining coffee, eating cold pizza, and watching a rerun of a World Cup Soccer match while she cleaned her gun. Normally, she slept until the very last minute each morning, then headed into the police station and had her caffeine hit there. But this case was driving her nuts, so she'd gotten up early, figuring that watching the game and sniffing gun oil would help her relax enough to think things through.

In her opinion, soccer was a great sport. Its players exhibited the perfect blend of grace and athleticism, with the right amount of competitiveness thrown in. She snorted. Unlike football players, whom she'd always been convinced got away with culturally sanctioned assault and battery. Most linebackers and defensive tackles were lucky they'd landed a place on a team somewhere—otherwise, they'd be doing ten to fifteen in the state pen.