Bending the Rules (37 page)

It took Jase seven minutes that felt like seven hours to clear a space large enough for Hohn to drive up onto the sidewalk. He loped back to the car, gave the roof a slap and dove in. “Sonovabitchin’ morons.”

Hohn turned on the siren and hit the gas, rocking up over the curb.

Jase leaned forward in his seat, his shoulders tense and his hands clenched between his spread knees as they left the congestion behind. It wasn’t until they were out of the district that he sucked in several deep breaths to get a handle on himself, then shot a glance at his friend. “You’ve been married a long time,” he said.

“Seven years of wedded bliss, bro,” Hohn agreed.

“How do you do it?”

“Same way recovering addicts do, my friend—by taking it one day at a time.”

Jase turned his head to stare at him. “Wow. A ringing endorsement like that almost makes a guy wanna go get hitched himself.”

“Hey, it’s like the all-knowing one says, man—”

“Do not quote Nietzsche at me,” he interrupted impatiently. Hohn had an unnatural attachment to everything the guy had ever written and usually Jase just shook his head. But he was in no mood for it today.

“No, listen, I’m telling ya. This one is dead-on.” He took a deep, theatrical breath, took one hand off the steering wheel to place over his heart and said, “‘Ah women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.’”

“Shit.” Thinking that this was what he got for broaching the subject of marriage—or hell, not even that, just relationships in general—from a smart-ass, Jase went back to staring out the windshield, silently willing his friend to get them to their destination.

Now.

P
OPPY CREPT
on cautious feet a little deeper into the dim, cavernous warehouse. The place was still and silent and she was at a loss about what to do next. Pausing, she looked around her, trying to get a feel for the layout.

That was more difficult than it should have been considering the space was basically a vast concrete cube. But while it might lack room-type walls, it was piled high with row after row of boxes that stacked nearly to the exposed steel girders overhead.

But as she stood trying to figure out where to look first for Cory, she suddenly became aware of a murmur of sound. She realized it was either a man talking or a radio playing. It seemed to be coming from the lake end of the warehouse. Nervously palming her little canister of pepper spray, she slipped down a narrow passageway between two rows of boxes, trying to get closer to the murmuring voice without making any noise herself.

Her heart was already pounding like a kettledrum and she didn’t know what she’d do if Arturo suddenly popped up at the end of her cardboard canyon. Nothing that ended well, she was sure. If heart failure didn’t get her, a hail of bullets was sure to do the trick.

She froze for an instant before forcing herself to start moving again. But she could have done without that last thought. Of course Arturo would have a gun—he was a gangster, for cri’sake. She’d be a lot happier, however, without the Godfather-style imagery suddenly burrowing into her consciousness.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if she had the luxury of turning tail and leaving Cory to fend for herself. She was probably too stupid to live for coming in here instead of waiting for Jason, but living with herself if the girl was injured—or worse—and she hadn’t tried to help wasn’t exactly a workable option, either.

And, hey, the good news was she’d reached the end of the row without incident. It was always nice to have one thing go right.

Even if she was promptly faced with a new problem.

Breathing a little too fast, she stared in frustration at yet another towering wall of cardboard, this one at a right angle to the chute she’d just left. What was this place, a goddamn fun-house maze?

Taking deep, calming breaths, she constructed a mental strongbox for her stress—fueled anger the way Aunt Sara had taught her a long, long time ago, back in their commune days.

Apparently good tips never died, because the exercise was still effective. If she got out of this mess alive she’d have to be sure to thank the older woman. Barring that, she felt calmer, more in control, and tuning in on what had to be Arturo’s voice she allowed the sound to guide her as she inched forward.

“…probably won’t believe this,” she heard him say clearly as she neared the end of yet another row, “but I’m not really thrilled with the idea of hurting a little girl.”

Warily, Poppy craned her neck to take a peek around the end boxes. Heart pounding, she immediately whipped back behind the protection of her wall, images from the strobe light–quick glimpse seared with surprising detail on her retinas.

Of a small cleared space in the surrounding forest of boxes.

Of a stocky, well-dressed man standing with his back to her, casually scratching behind his ear with the barrel of a gun.

Of Cory, all scared eyes, trembling lips and that damn stubborn chin raised just slightly despite the bruise starting to darken it, looking pale and frightened as she huddled on a sagging couch.

Thank God she’s all right.

“Uh-huh,” the teen said with a transparent show of bravado. “That must be why you’ve got that gun.”

“What, this?”

Poppy peered around again in time to see he’d lowered the weapon and had it aimed at the girl. Saw, too, that Cory had seen her. Poppy put a cautionary finger to her lips, then pulled back out of sight. And wondered what the hell to do next. God, I have got to get her out of here. Somehow, some way. She glanced around her for inspiration, but all she saw was boxes.

“I really don’t wanna use it,” Arturo said. “But I will, of course. Because if it comes down to a choice between you or me, kid, I choose me every time.”

“I’m sure the gangbanger who killed my daddy had the same attitude,” Cory retorted bitterly. “But what do you care that I learned my lesson about talking to the cops from what happened to him—you had to try to run me and my teacher down anyway.”

“That wasn’t one of my better ideas,” the thug agreed. “I saw the cop there and thought you’d given me up.”

“Sh-yeah right,” she muttered. “Haven’t you listened to a word I said? Talking to cops leads to nothing but trouble. No way would I squeal you out to them. And if you kill me, they’ll never quit hunting you. So why don’t you just let me go? I’ll go home to my mom and you can go back to whatever it is you do.”

Poppy marveled at the girl’s coolheaded negotiation skills when Arturo didn’t immediately shoot the idea down. This just might work.

Then, hearing a sound from the direction in which she’d made her way through the warehouse, she whirled to face the possible new danger, hoping it was help for her but fearing it might be backup for Arturo instead.

Swinging around too fast, she cracked her elbow against one of the boxes. A soft cry escaped her as pain zinged from her funny bone to her hand. The pepper spray canister fell from fingers gone lax and skittered across the concrete floor.

She froze, hoping, praying, that the thug hadn’t heard—then lunged for the pepper spray when she heard footsteps crossing the cleared area. There was no place to hide and she shook the little container to activate the ingredients before tucking it into her palm.

Although why she thought it might help her against a bullet—

Arturo stepped around the wall, his gun pointed straight at her. “Well, well,” he murmured. “If it isn’t the blonde.”

You think maybe this is why Jason wanted you to wait outside for him, genius? Poppy took a step forward, then stopped. Brushing a curl out of her eyes, she watched him slowly approach. When he stopped and gave her an impatient get-over-here gesture with the gun she saw that the wall of boxes was solidly between the teenager and his weapon. “Cory, run!”

“Fuck!” Lunging forward, he snatched her wrist in his fist then all but yanked her off her feet as he sprinted back down the wall of boxes, dragging her behind him. Rounding the end, he came to a dead halt, causing Poppy to stumble against his back. “Sonuvafuckingbitch!”

She peered around him, relief nearly dropping her to her knees when she saw that Cory was nowhere in sight.

Unfortunately that left her the sole focus of Arturo’s attention. And he was not happy when he swiveled to face her.

Her confidence that she’d someday die in her own bed surrounded by her great-grandchildren wasn’t enhanced by the knowledge that her tiny canister of pepper spray was in the hand going numb beneath the punishing grip on her wrist. Slowly, trying to keep the movement off his radar, she inched her free hand toward it.

He raised his gun and pressed its cool steel against the damp skin between her eyebrows. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off.”

“Um…you might need a hostage when the cops get here?” Terror clogged her throat, but she was grateful at the moment simply to still be among the living.

And crazily enough, that she hadn’t wet her pants. Talk about sweating the small stuff. Still, it had been touch-and-go there for a second when she’d realized she probably wouldn’t even hear the shot that killed her—and she’d just as soon Jason not find her in that condition.

“Don’t try to con a con man, lady. No cop in his right mind would let you just waltz in here by yourself the way you did.”

“You’ve had her for, what, five minutes?” Jason’s voice demanded coolly. “Try dealing with her for months.”

With the speed of light, Arturo whirled her around and pulled her back against his chest, releasing her wrist and clamping his arm across her upper body so fast she had vertigo. All she understood for a second was that she was suddenly pinned against him with his gun now pressed against her temple instead of between her eyes.

It wasn’t a huge improvement.

Neither did it help that she was looking into Jason’s gun, which was braced by his opposite hand and pointed at her as well. Dragging her horrified gaze from the muzzle, which appeared to be the size of a cannon’s, she raised her eyes to look into his steely gaze. Try dealing with her for months?

“I didn’t give the bitch permission,” he continued flatly. “But as you’re no doubt finding out, she does exactly what she damn well pleases.”

Okay, he wasn’t happy with her—she got that. But Jason didn’t call women bitches. And to sympathize with the man who had tried to run her and Cory down, who had kidnapped the teen? That was so not the man she knew. The man she loved.

Slowly, her fog of fear began to lift.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, though,” he said companionably to Arturo. “She may be a pain in the ass, but my job is to serve and protect—even her. And so far, Mr. Arturo, no one has died. There’s no murder charge pending against you, no Man One. And you’ve got something I’m willing to bargain for.”

The arm around her loosened a fraction, the pistol against her temple pulled back so that it was no longer digging into her skull. “Schultz?”

“Schultz.”

Arturo seemed to be considering it. Then he stiffened behind her and she knew on a visceral level he wasn’t going to take the offer. “I’ve thought about that—I won’t pretend I haven’t,” he said slowly. “But Schultz’s got long arms. And I ain’t spending the next however many years you get my sentence reduced to looking over my shoulder waiting for some Bubba with tats on his knuckles to take his homemade shiv to me.”

“So we talk to the feds. Get you into Witness Protection.”

She felt the rude noise Arturo made rumbling in the chest against her back. “Living in a cinder-block motor court in Butt Fuck, Idaho? Might as well be dead.”

She unclenched her fingers from around the canister, flashing it at Jason.

Who didn’t so much as blink. “I’m an excellent shot, Arturo, and she’s not big enough to hide behind. You might want to rethink that as your final answer.”

“What for? I’m pretty much screwed no matter how you look at it.” The arm around her torso started cinching up and she could feel the hand with the gun moving back toward her temple.

“You’ve got the wrong idea about Witness Protection,” Jason said as if he had all day to discuss its merits. “It amazes me, frankly, how high on the hog some of you mopes live on the taxpayers’ dollar.” His eyes shifted briefly to her. “Now,” he said without changing tone.

She shot the gas over her shoulder, scrunching her eyes shut against stray fumes and wrenching to the left at the same time that a shot rang out.

The grip on her slackened, then fell away entirely, and she felt Arturo’s body slide away from hers, heard it as it hit the cement floor. She stumbled toward Jason on uncoordinated feet.

Reaching out, he grabbed her, swinging her behind him in one smooth move. “Get behind the boxes.”

“Jason…”

“Get behind the boxes.” His voice was surgical steel, slicing with cold precision to the bone.

She got behind the boxes. But peeked around them to watch him.

“Hohn,” he roared and moved cautiously across the open space toward Arturo, his gun still firmly trained on the fallen man. “Should have taken the deal, chief,” Poppy heard him murmur. Kicking Arturo’s gun away, he knelt at the thug’s side and reached out two fingers to feel for a pulse in the man’s throat. Swearing, he yelled his partner’s name again.