Like a Knife (11 page)

Rachel froze at the sound of the gunshot, a sound she'd heard once and hoped never to hear again. Crouched in the hallway outside the office when the boy flew out the door, she moved too late to catch him. He didn't even notice her; in his fear, he ran blindly down the hall away from her.

Frantic, she wondered what to do. Had Martin shot Nick? The thought made her knees go weak, but before she could decide, she heard the bone-crunching thud of fist meeting flesh, heard a grunt and then nothing.

Oh, God

Another grunt, as if someone-Martin? Nick?-had hoisted a heavy load. Then footsteps plodding toward the door. She looked around, desperate for a hiding place, and saw a stack of mildewed crates piled against one wall. Legs still feeble," she stumbled and fell, scrabbling behind cover just as Martin emerged from the room, carrying Nick's body over his shoulder fireman style.

Her stomach lurched, and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. What had he done to Nick?

Suddenly an airplane droned in the distance, and Martin's head popped up.

"Isaac!" He looked up and down the corridor, cursing. "Isaac, where the hell are you? The plane is here." He stepped into a room across the hall, and she heard the sound of wood splintering. Another moment, and he came back out alone. He ran up the hallway, opening doors and checking rooms, calling for the boy. Heart in her throat, she watched him pass right by her as he went down the hall.

Outside, the plane rumbled closer. The sound seemed to echo the buzz of fear in Rachel's veins. What if Nick was- No, she wouldn't let her brain finish the thought Nick had to be alive, or else Martin would have left him where he fell.

She eyed Martin's big back, her mouth dry, her hands clammy with sweat. Would she have enough time to run to the room where Martin had taken Nick? Sick with fear, she measured the distance. Two steps. Surely she could make it there before Martin spun around and saw her.

But just as she was about to step into the hallway, Isaac ran out of a room, and Martin scooped him up, jogging back toward Rachel with the boy under his arm like a football. Isaac clutched his teddy bear, and the two of them bounced in the huge man's arms. For the first time she was able to get a good look at the boy. What caught Rachel's attention was not the almost humorous picture he made, but his small white face, his dark hair.

And Nick's dark eyes.

Shock rippled through her, and she almost gasped before remembering where she was. No wonder the boy in the photograph had reminded her of someone.

Their voices filtered through to her hiding place.

"Where's the bad man?" Fear laced the boy's voice.

"He's gone."

"Are we leaving now?"

"Yeah, we're going. Look, you got everything? Where's your knapsack?"

"I don't know."

Martin stopped and muttered a curse. Glancing up at the ceiling, he seemed to be listening to the growing sound of the plane and calculating what to do. "Doesn't sound like we have time to look for it."

"But my truck's in there."

Rachel slid farther into the pile of crates. From between the slats, she saw the tension in the big man's face. His meaty hands tightened over the boy. A new wave of trembling washed over her. What had those hands done to Nick?

"There's lots of important stuff in there, but I have to signal the plane, or they'll leave. Look, you don't want the bad men to get you, right? So we gotta go now. You got your bear, don't you? We'll just have to make do with that." He hurried toward the door, muttering to himself. "Shit," she thought he said. "We'll just have to make do with that."

That was the last she heard, as the two of them disappeared out the door. The minute they were gone, she dashed from her hiding place and into the room Martin had taken Nick.

Except for a broken chair, it was empty. Was she going crazy? She had seen Martin bring Nick in here. Nerves jittery, she had trouble standing still, but she forced herself to calm down and scan the room again. This time she saw the piece of wood shoved through the handle of the steel door cut into one of the walls. A piece of wood that looked suspiciously like a chair leg. She raced over, to it and using the heel of her hand, tried to nudge the chair leg out. It was wedged in tight. She shoved again, the circling plane getting louder as she worked. Finally she bent down and, with a heave, shouldered the wood out and opened the door.

At one time, the room must have been some kind of freezer. Shelves for stacking various types of seafood lined the walls, and the smell of fish was powerful. Nick was just starting to sit up when she came through the door.

Relief at seeing him alive brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away in the rush to help him stand. "Are you all right?" She ran her hands over him, searching for wounds over the wide plane of his chest and the broad splay of back and shoulders. "I heard a shot and saw Martin bring you in here. Are you hurt? Bleeding?" Her fingers skimmed over muscled arms, stroked his neck and face.

He grabbed her hands, stopping their frenzied invasion. For a minute their gazes locked, and heat welled into her face as she realized what she'd been doing. Touching him: Caressing him.

He stepped back, dropping her hands. "What are you doing here?" Clearly he wasn't as happy to see her as she was to see him. "I thought I told you to stay by the gate."

She smothered the fierce electric spark touching him had produced. "I got worried when the car left, so I came in to see if you were all right. I was in the hallway while you were arguing with Martin. I didn't hear all of it, but-"

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Did anyone see you?"

"No."

A long, relieved breath eased out of him and he raked a hand through his hair. "Okay. Good." He rested a shoulder against the wall and took a breath, gathering himself together. "And, well... thanks for the rescue."

"My specialty, remember?" A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she was careful not to let it spread and embarrass him further. "Besides, I owed you one."

He shot her a look of wry acknowledgment, then glanced toward the door as though he had no more time for jokes, not even small ones. "Where's Martin?"

"He took Isaac and left, but I don't think they've gone far."

"Why not?" His head had already drifted upward, his attention caught by the buzz of the plane.

She followed his gaze. "Because I think that's Martin's ride."

Nick took a moment to steady himself, then focused on the drone of the plane. "Which way did they leave?"

She led him to the entrance. Through the crack in the doorway, he saw Martin and the boy standing at the edge of a pier while a seaplane landed in the bay.

"So, that's what the lights back here were for," he murmured.

He could still feel the power of Martin's punch rattling his insides, but the residual effects faded at the sight of the man and boy holding hands, waiting for their ticket out. Searing the picture into his memory, he watched the two shapes-one huge, one tiny-brace themselves against the sudden gust of air. The wind blew back their clothes, making their struggle to stand appear almost heroic.

"They look like soldiers trying to beat the odds," Nick said, his throat tightening with emotion.

"You can still stop them."

He could, but he didn't. Never mind what Rennie would do to him. And Rachel... He turned to look at her. Her brown eyes gazed back at him, soft and kind. She understood.

"Martin was behind the attack on your apartment," he said quietly.

She nodded. "I heard."

"What else did you hear?"

"Only that Shelley kept the boy hidden from Rennie."

He turned back to the pier for one last look. "I could make Martin pay if you want me to."

"No, let them go. It's what you want. And it's the right thing to do."

"I want the boy safe from Rennie."

"I know. So do I."

They watched the plane door swing open and Martin step through, holding Isaac's hand. And then.., something went wrong. Martin backed up onto the pier again. He staggered and jerked and then, like a statue toppling, the huge man clutched his chest, crashed to his knees, and fell face forward on the pier.

Nick froze. Jesus Christ, what the-

Then Rennie stepped out of the plane.

A sound that was half squeak, half gasp came from Rachel. She was dead pale, her gaze riveted on the body lying on the pier, a screaming child standing over it. No one had to tell him what she was seeing. Her mother's death. Herself. She opened her mouth to scream, and he quickly covered her cry with his hand, pressing her face into his chest so she could no longer see the scene on the pier.

Holding her shaking body, he watched Rennie scoop up the hysterical boy. Isaac kicked with savage desperation, but Rennie paid no attention. Without another glance, he disappeared inside the plane while Frank and two men retrieved Martin's body.
Two men.
God, that's what the team had been for. They hosed down the bloodstains and sealed the plane's entryway. Another few seconds, and the aircraft took off.

Fast, efficient, deadly. The whole thing had taken place before Nick's brain could register it.

Now he stood motionless, denying the evidence of his own eyes. His body didn't seem to be working; the arm that held Rachel lost its grip, and released from his hold, she staggered outside and sank to the ground, retching.

The sight of her suffering snapped him out of his stunned lethargy. He slipped off his fie and stumbled down one of the dilapidated piers to dip the strip of cloth in the water so she could wipe out her mouth when she was through. Something lay at the edge of a piling.

Isaac's brown bear.

Nick picked up the toy as if it could help him understand. It couldn't. Nothing could. No words, no explanation, nothing could blot out the picture of the boy's anguish as he stood over Martin's body.

Or the fact that Nick stood by and let it happen.

Rachel was sitting on her knees, staring off into nothing when he returned. He handed her the wet tie and she blotted her mouth dully, then sat back again. Laying the bear on the ground, he knelt beside her. She was still shuddering quietly.

"He'll m-miss his bear," she said sadly.

"Maybe we can get it back to him."

The minute he said the words, his purpose firmed. What he felt, what he wanted, none of that mattered now. If he had to hurt people again, if he had to kill someone again, he'd do it. Nothing mattered but getting Isaac back.

Rachel turned to face him. She didn't ask how or when, she didn't ask anything. She just looked deep into his eyes, and the vow passed between them, silent and resolute. They would get the boy back.

But first they had to get out of there.

"Can you walk?" He put an arm around her shoulders to. help her stand and felt the tremors rushing through her.

"Of course. I'm... I'm fine."

She wasn't fine; she was rubbing her wrists obsessively and still quivering like a mouse. But she'd walk across the parking lot and hike the miles with him anyway. Grateful, he brushed escaping tendrils of hair away from her face. "You can stay here. I'll find a phone, call a cab, and come back for you."

"No. I want to go,"

"I don't know how far we'll have to walk before we can find a phone."

"It doesn't matter."

His throat closed up. Somehow he didn't think he could make it through the rest of this night alone, but he would never have asked it of her. And now, he didn't have to.

He held out his hand, and she took it. But they'd barely turned the corner toward the parking lot when Rachel stopped.

"Look." With a trembling finger, she pointed out a pile of rocks and broken wood pieces just out of sight around the corner. The plant blocked most of the light from the bay, but between the remnants and the moon they could make out the crude, fortlike structure, just big enough to hold a small boy. Nick walked over to the aerie, knowing what small boy had built it.

He stared down at the center of the fort, and a shadow caught his eye. He knelt down and felt around inside.

A knapsack. He held up the blue bag along with a red track that had been lying next to it, and walked back to Rachel.

"It must be Isaac's," she said, grief creeping into her voice. "He couldn't remember what he'd done with it, and Martin couldn't take time to look for it."

She looked so forlorn, his heart twisted. "Come on, we'll take it with us."

She nodded. "When we f-find him, he'll want his things back."

Not if, when. His respect for her went up another notch.

But still she didn't move. He rose and walked back to her, and she stared at the knapsack as if it were a ghost come to life.

"What's wrong?"
Stupid question. What wasn't wrong?

He tipped her face up. Tears shimmered in her eyes, tears he would have given anything not to see.

"Tell me he'll be all right. Tell me we'll get him back."

"We will. I promise."

And suddenly she was in his arms, burrowed in the circle of his body. He held her tight, letting her cling to him.
I've got you, baby. I've got you.
They stood that way for endless minutes. Eyes closed, he reveled in the soft feel of her, in the illusion of safety his body provided. If he could, he would have held her forever, but the sound of an approaching speedboat made him pull away. * Rachel rubbed at her teary face. "What is it?"

"I don't know." Motioning her to stay still, he sneaked back to the corner of the building and saw the boat heading for the dock. Two men were inside. He ran back to Rachel.

"We have to get out of here." Stuffing the bear and the truck inside the knapsack, he grabbed her hand and started running, shouldering the bag as he went.