McCabe Page 17

  “We took different life paths,” McCabe told her. His eyes never left James. “It happens sometimes. Good friends turn. Kids grow. People change. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

  And as ambiguous. He’d told her nothing; however, it was all she’d get right now. Bombs and the specifics of a deadly feud didn’t mesh well; she’d save her digging for a more appropriate time.

  They started down the corridor, toward one of the side exits. Rowena spotted men lurking in ancillary hallways, but none of them made any attempt to draw closer, or reach for their weapons.

  “Very good,” McCabe said to Mockerie. “Keep the dogs at bay until we’re outside and lost in the crowd.”

  James merely snarled a monosyllabic response.

  Was she angry about this? Possibly. McCabe hadn’t mentioned a bomb to her. Well, yes, he had but not in such an intimate context.

  Not happy here, she reflected. Although it seemed they might actually get away from the Lily Koi with their lives.

  Mockerie opened the computer-secured fire door. Cool night air poured in. Rowena heard crowd noise—laughter and chatter and music—but thankfully no one rushed them, and James only growled a little louder when McCabe gave him a rough forward shove.

  “Keep walking,” he directed. They were headed toward the fountain where hundreds upon hundreds of people stood mesmerized by the colorful light dancing among cascading bursts of water.

  “See anything?” McCabe asked.

  Rowena shook her head. “Tourists. But that doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

  “Can’t argue with you there. James is getting quite a bit ahead of us. Another few seconds… Okay, that’s good enough. Reverse your wig, Ro, and the jacket.”

  With an eye on James’s receding figure, she did as he instructed. Dipping down slightly, she removed her wig and flipped it over to reveal bright red hair. The other side of the jacket was green and fluffy. She whipped off her short black skirt, leaving only leggings behind.

  McCabe simply lost his wig, donned a baseball cap, and removed his leather jacket. The gray hoodie he wore underneath it hid the bomb.

  “SUV,” he said, nodding to the left. “Go.”

  They ducked out in the midst of the throng. Rowena had no idea where James was by now; she just kept running. The SUV was a silver Subaru and McCabe had it in gear before she closed her door.

  Twisting around in her seat, Rowena looked behind them. “I don’t see him or anyone following us. Not that I would see them yet. Still, so far, so good. And honest to God, McCabe.” She snatched herself back toward him, right fist clenched and poised to strike. “If you weren’t a damn bomb, I’d punch your lights out for not telling me what you had planned down in that office. You knew he’d come, didn’t you?”

  He disconnected several wires and released the detonator. “I knew the possibility existed. He’s unpredictable, but our paths tend to cross when I least expect it. Given that, I planted a mini cam outside the elevator door while you were struggling with the entry code.”

  The desire to punch him remained strong. “I have a kid, McCabe. I want to see him grow up. I want to help shape his life, not explode like a Fourth of July firework.”

  “That wasn’t going to happen. Look behind us.”

  “There’s nothing. And how the hell do you know it wasn’t going to happen? James is totally out of control.”

  “Heading toward out of control,” McCabe corrected. “He’s not there yet. He doesn’t want to die. And he’s not suicidal. Never has been, never will be.”

  “So the bomb’s real, then.”

  McCabe’s only response was to shoot her a level stare.

  “Shit.” Rowena’s head dropped onto the rest. “You’re as crazy as he is. And don’t say it takes one to catch one. I’m not in the mood for platitudes or clichés. Any chance at all that you could still explode?”

  Another stare, this one mildly humorous. “Do I seem totally out of control?”

  “You have your moments.”

  “Put it this way. You could plant your fist anywhere on my body and, while that might piss me off, it won’t set me off. Mockerie values his life, Ro. Revenge will always come a distant second to survival.”

  Rowena fell silent for a moment. “He’ll take his failure tonight out on someone, you know that, right?”

  “He’ll want to, but he’ll also know I have people watching him. Or he’ll think I do, which is the same thing.”

  “Great.” She managed a small laugh. “So he’ll store his rage up until he thinks no one’s looking and then unleash it on whoever happens to be in the vicinity. That doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. We need to end this. Find a way to bring him down.”

  McCabe checked his mirror, prompting Rowena to glance back again.

  “We’re still clear,” he said. Then he arched a brow at her. “Do you have the flash drive?”

  She patted the zippered pocket of her jacket. “Safe and sound.”

  “Then there’s your answer. Depending on what information you hacked out of his computer, we might have enough to destroy his little empire.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  McCabe regarded her without expression. “In that case we still have Bert.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What are the odds I’ll ever meet this mystery person James has apparently taken to hanging out with?”

  After twenty minutes of absolute silence between them, it was the first and only question Rowena asked. McCabe kept his response to an obscure, “About the same as mine.” Which, as so many of his responses did these days, told her nothing. Lucky for him, beyond a shake of her head and a faint sound of irritation, she let it go.

  He imagined she was inured to the complexity of the situation. Not happy about it, but willing to trust that he knew what he was doing.

  McCabe wished like hell he actually did. Unfortunately, the variables were killing him. He’d risked a great deal trapping Mockerie tonight. Knowing there was a chance he’d show up and testing his desire to survive. He’d put Rowena’s life on the line along with his own. She had every right to be furious with him. Almost as furious as he was with himself.

  And yet, despite a quick flare of temper, she hadn’t gone for his throat. She truly was an amazing woman.

  Why had he done it? The question plagued him for the remainder of the journey. No question, he’d been testing Mockerie, trying to evoke and gauge his response to a direct threat on his life. And he’d gotten the reaction he’d expected. Mockerie had backed down rather than call him out.

  So, bottom line? Mockerie was still unwilling to die. Afraid of pain? Probably. Inflicting it and enduring it were two entirely different things.

  McCabe opted to stop the memory there. Mockerie would hate him even more after tonight. And if he wasn’t very, very careful, Rowena would be the one to suffer for it.

  McCabe didn’t realize she was studying him until they neared Carmina. With a foot hooked up and under her on the seat, she’d let her head fall onto the rest and was regarding him through speculative eyes.

  “You are such an enigma. Not that I ever think I’ve got you completely figured out, but just when I feel I’m making headway, you throw a massive curveball, and bam, I’m right back where I started. We made love last night and again this morning. That’s as intimate as it gets. And yet, I swear you were holding something major back. Do you have a secret second life you are not telling me about?”

  It took an enormous effort not to react. He thought about lying outright, but a twinge of guilt stopped him. This was Ro. Maybe he couldn’t be all the way truthful with her, but she had the right to know more than she did.

  “I had some trouble when I was in my teens,” he admitted. “I had to hit the therapy trail for a while.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Is that supposed to shock me? Make me think less of you because you needed help dealing with life as an adolescent?”

  “No. I just thought you shoul
d know. I used to walk in my sleep.”

  “The way I sometimes talk in mine?”

  He grinned a little. “Walking’s a bit scarier than talking. I woke up one night in the garden behind my parents’ house. I was holding a bloody knife.”

  “And?” she pressed when he hesitated.

  This wasn’t something he wanted to say. Or recall for that matter. “I thought I must have killed something. Maybe someone. I was terrified. Should I hide the knife or go to my parents?”

  He saw her eyes in the light from the highway, saw the gentle understanding in them, and the certainty.

  “You showed it to them.” The fact that it was a statement rather than a question earned her a smile.

  “I showed it to them,” he agreed. “A search turned up a dead rabbit.”

  “Which you hadn’t killed, right?” Her brows rose. “James?”

  He nodded. “His fingerprints were on the knife along with mine. The difference was the rabbit’s blood was on his sneakers. He probably didn’t realize that.”

  “Did he know you were sleepwalking and put the knife in your hand, or just abandon it after he killed the rabbit?”

  “I lean toward a deliberate act, but only because he seemed to find the whole thing quite funny.”

  A full minute passed before she asked, “Was he ever not sick and sadistic?”

  “After the age of two, I doubt it.”

  “Did he have any treatment after the rabbit thing?”

  “Nothing that took… Ro.” He had to watch for the exit, but he glanced over at her. “I’m not entirely sure I don’t still walk in my sleep sometimes. And I’m not as naive or as nice as I was at fifteen. I’ve killed a fair number of people over the years.”

  “In the line of duty.” Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re not going to frighten me away. I was lucky enough to have an uncle who’s a shrink, or who knows how much money my parents would have needed to shell out over the years. I had stuff, too, McCabe. Deep down I think we all do.”

  “Did you ever suspect you’d mutilated a rabbit?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Her lips curved. “But who knows what horrible memories I might have repressed. I’m working on blanking out the bulk of my time with James. Not the Parker part, of course. Just the before and after things.”

  He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d also told her something about his past. Not the big bad wolf stuff, but a portion of a moment that had taken place during his teenage years. A turning point if he was honest. The question was, had he turned the right corner that night?

  …

  Rowena couldn’t wait to get out of the clothes she was wearing and wash the Goth makeup from her face. The fake body rings could go as well, and the six-month pregnant body suit.

  She’d stopped noticing the suit after a while, but damn it felt good to shed the thing. She removed both it and her fluffy jacket with its black leather lining the moment she hopped out of the SUV.

  She was draping both items over her arm when McCabe set a hand on her shoulder. “Someone’s inside the hotel.” His gaze swept the upper floors. “There’s a light on three.”

  She looked, squinted and finally spotted a slit of light shining just below the drawn shade.

  “The kids who were here before?” she suggested, then shook the idea off. “They wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “Wait here,” McCabe told her, drawing his gun.

  But Rowena had heard that before. “Last time I didn’t go with you, I tripped over a corpse.”

  “Better to find one than be one.”

  “You know, for a tiny town, this place sees a whole lot of action.”

  “Largely because we’re here, I imagine.”

  Rowena bumped his hip. “Are we sure Dancer’s not responsible for the light?”

  “I gave him the night off. He’s in Vegas.”

  “Maybe he decided not to go… Okay, fine,” she said when he slanted her a dry look. “We have an intruder. You have a gun or three. I have one. You also have an inert bomb. We were locked in the white dungeon with James a few short hours ago. We should be able to handle whatever this is. Please agree, because my adrenals are all over the place right now.”

  “We can handle it.”

  “Thank you.” She waited a beat. “How?”

  “Stealth and guile. We’ll go up the rear staircase.”

  “Those stairs creak like a rusty door.”

  “Not near the edges.”

  She stared at him. “How on earth would you know that?”

  “Spy training,” he replied. “In the army. When we get in, walk where I walk.”

  “‘Mark my footsteps,’ said Good King Wenceslas,” she murmured. His lips quirked, but he kept his gaze on the line of light.

  “Punch me in the back if you see or hear anything I miss. This could be a trap.”

  “Like we’ve never been down that path before.”

  It didn’t feel like James to her, but who knew? Whatever McCabe might have anticipated, she hadn’t expected him to show up in the white dungeon.

  Giving McCabe a small poke, she whispered, “Are you sure you’re not keeping something from me? Like the whole hotel is wired to explode because you left a trail of breadcrumbs leading here from the Lily Koi?”

  Taking her hand, he squeezed lightly. “No more explosive devices, Ro. I’m sorry for not telling you what I was thinking earlier. I was only fifty-fifty on Mockerie showing up, and I didn’t want to make you any more nervous than you were.”

  “Right, because I’m such a stranger to dangerous situations. News flash, hotshot. Faking my death in Florida was a piece of cake compared to entering James’s white dungeon. Not,” she added with emphasis.

  “I’ll bear that in mind next time I’m tempted to strap on a bomb.”

  Opening the side door, he stepped inside. Rowena raised her head. “I smell flowers. Violets.”

  “Fuck. I told her to stay put.” McCabe swore and hit the light switch. A few seconds later, brisk footsteps gave way to a bulky shape that quickly resolved itself into a man.

  “I don’t believe it.” With a whoosh of breath, Rowena let her forehead drop onto McCabe’s shoulder.

  “Surprise, surprise.” Grinning broadly, B. B. Beckett lowered the knife in his hand and came toward them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They discovered Beckett had been making sandwiches, with provisions purchased at the extremely limited local market. McCabe left him to it and took Rowena with him to find Robbie. And apparently Amanda, as well.

  He located them up on the third floor, in a room that could have come out of the late 1800s. Dainty floral paper adorned the walls above an ancient wrought iron bed. A washstand with a bowl and basin stood on the adjacent wall. There were petit point curtains at the shaded windows and portraits of two gentle-faced women above the bed. Robbie sat in a high-backed chair sipping a glass of sherry while Amanda sorted through her jewelry box.

  The whole scene felt peculiar to him. Or maybe it was the residue from his run-in with Mockerie.

  “Ryan!” Rising quickly, Robbie rushed to embrace him. “I’m so happy to see you. I always worry when you and James are within fist-fighting range of each other.”

  He held her back slightly so she wouldn’t notice the bomb. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “It isn’t like you to come anywhere near Mock— James.”

  Robbie faced him stiffly, defiant. “I love my son. You know I do. He won’t harm me. Or Amanda.”

  A mix of anger and understanding coursed through him. “What about Beckett? James would kill him without a second thought.”

  “For what purpose? Because he exists? Because we’re friends?”

  “To hurt you, Robbie.” He continued to grip her arms. He wanted to shake her, but it simply wasn’t in his nature. It also wouldn’t do any good. Robbie could be as stubborn as ten mules when she chose to be.

  “Hello to you, too, Ryan,” Amanda call
ed out cheerfully from across the room. The underlying sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on him. She flapped a bony hand. “At least lovely Rowena here stopped and gave me a hug. You flew by like an auto racer trying to break a land speed record. Don’t you ever slow down and smell the roses?”

  “Sometimes he does,” Rowena replied. Her eyes twinkled. “With the right incentive. We both smelled violets when we came into the hotel.”

  “That’s my perfume,” Robbie said. She hugged Rowena tightly while McCabe returned to where Amanda sat in a padded vanity chair. Bending down, he kissed her papery soft cheek. “Why did you leave Laurel Key, Amanda?”

  She clutched the sleeve of his jacket. “Because James blew up his boat not ten miles from my home. We heard there were people aboard, a dozen or more men and a woman. No one survived.”

  “I know.” Crouching, he looked her straight in eyes made much larger than normal by her pop bottle glasses. “I still don’t believe he’d hurt you or Robbie, but that’s only for the moment. He’s losing more and more pieces of his control every day.”

  A faint nod was her only response. She glanced at Rowena who was busy talking to Robbie. “I saw the silver heart.” The look she cast him was contemplative. “You gave it to her.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  Because he loved her, dammit, and the heart meant something to him. More than she knew or he was prepared to admit. Aloud, he said simply, “She’s important, Amanda. Having the heart will be a way for her to remember me when I’m gone.”

  “Horse feathers!” She made a sound of disgust. “Since when did you become a coward? That’s James’s arena, not yours. Man up and talk to the woman. Tell her the whole truth, not just bits and pieces of it. She’s got more backbone than…” Halting, Amanda pressed her lips together. “Well, at any rate, she has backbone. I’m not saying you don’t. I just…”

  McCabe nodded and kissed her cheek again. “I get it.” He stood. “I need to talk to Robbie. If you ask nicely, I’m sure Rowena will help you unpack. Keep Beckett busy if he brings those sandwiches up.”