Like a Knife (21 page)

Rachel didn't know how long she stayed outside. Long enough to hear the endless sound of waves overtake the noise of the car engine that took Nick away.

Stiff and exhausted, she dragged herself to her feet, eyes swollen and gritty from crying, and trudged back to the cabin. Without Nick, the room seemed bigger, emptier.

Like her life.

He'd left a cabinet door open, and she reached up to close it, but her hand stopped in mid-task. Inside lay a gun he' d left behind.

She stared at the thing. What had he called it?

It's a Ruger,
she heard his voice say so many days ago.
Mark II model.

A Ruger.

This was what had taken him. away. This lethal piece of steel. A tear trickled down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily. Damn you, Nick Raine. Damn you and Ren-nie Spier and your whole sick, violent world.

She closed the door on the weapon.

Just then, Isaac whimpered in his sleep. Turning her back on the cabinet and its deadly contents, she slipped into his room. He'd kicked off his covers and lay on top of the sheets, a dark little angel in a too-big bed. She covered him up, retucking his bear beside him.

Sleep, baby. Sleep hard and long, and maybe by the time you wake up, your daddy will be back.

But even as she thought it, she knew Nick wasn't coming back. Not to Isaac, and not to her.

She sank onto the bed, wanting desperately to believe hi Nick's promise. But even if he did come back, he would never be the same. If he killed again, it would haunt him forever.

She lay down beside Isaac, needing the comfort of his warmth, the closeness of his presence. Somehow, it seemed to bring her nearer to everything that mattered. Especially to Nick, She curled up around the boy and, shutting her eyes, let darkness take her.

She awoke with a start, and for a minute thought Nick was beside her. Then she realized the body beside her was too small. She was inside the cabin, not out on the beach, and Nick was gone.

Gone.
The word held endless heartache.

She thought of the child sleeping next to her. How could she tell him that one more person had "gone away"? She sat up. At least he had a few more hours of peace. He wouldn't have to know his father had left him for a while yet. She slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door.

Closing it behind her, she stared at the beat-up couch and tiny kitchenette that had become her world. A world where all she could do was wait.

How long had she been sleeping?

Nick had taken his watch, and they had no clock, so she had no idea how much time had passed. She opened the cabin door, hoping to get some sense of the time by looking at the height of the rising sun or the color of the sky.

The first thing she saw was the car.

A car she'd never seen. Where no car had ever been before.

Ok, God.

A rapid step back, and she slammed both the screen and wooden doors behind her. She leaned heavily against them, as if her weight could somehow block out the vehicle's existence. What did it mean?

Nothing. It meant nothing. Just some early-morning tourist, stopping to gaze at the picturesque sight of the lonely cabin.

But almost as quickly as that explanation flitted through, another sank inside her with the heaviness of stone.

Rennie had found them.

Slumping against the door in a sudden wash of fatigue, she blinked away tears. She could not, she just could not deal with any more.

Then don't.
She was making herself crazy anyway. It was only a car, for God's sake. Nothing more sinister than that

But still, she locked the front door. And just to make sure, she pushed and pulled the sofa until it was tight against the door. Then she clambered up on the kitchenette counter and peeked out the window high up in the wall.

The car still sat there, waiting like a vulture.

Who was it? Who the hell was out there?

Should she wake Isaac and try to leave? But the only exit was through the front door. And that would lead right into the path of the car and whoever was in it.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, her options crumbling. No choice. She had no choice. Jumping down, she faced the cabinets. With a deep, deep breath, she opened the one that hid the Ruger.

You don't have to use it.
The car was probably nothing anyway. But just in case, she picked up the gun with a trembling hand and turned it over in her palm. Was this the safety? She was still trying to remember what Nick had shown her when the knock came.

She started, and the gun flew out of her hand, landing with a metallic crash on the floor.
Oh, God.

"Nick! Nick Raine!"

Shuddering uncontrollably, she scrambled to retrieve the weapon.

Whoever was out there rattled the doorknob. "Are you in there, Nicky?" He tried pulling the door. "Let me in! Open the door!" He started pounding, such tierce, deafening blows they should have awakened the dead.

A heavy weight slammed against the door.

Once.

Twice.

And a third time.

Rachel's hands shook like an earthquake. Slowly, she raised the gun.

God, please keep Isaac asleep. Please let this be the safety. Please...

A loud splintering cracked the stillness. Clutching the Ruger tighter, she faced the door and dug her feet in. The man burst through. She squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Nick sped over the causeway separating the island from the mainland. Slung low, the road hovered over the ocean, water gleaming black and fathomless on either side. If he hadn't had things to do, he would have run the car right over the edge, drowning himself and the last reminder of David Goodman.

Christ. As long as he lived, he would never forget the look on Rachel's face when he got into her father's battered old Beetle and drove away.

His hands tensed on the steering wheel.
She loves you.

Fat lot of good it's done her.

His throat tightened, and for a minute he let his guard down, let himself think about the miracle of her love, the secret light in his heart of darkness.

But it only made him want to turn around and head back to her. So he gripped the wheel and toughened himself, remembering only that his love had brought her suffering, and staying would bring her more. Gaze fixed on the road, he headed north, sure of what he had to do. Rachel and Isaac would never be safe otherwise. And keeping them safe was all that mattered.

The sun was just starting to rise by the time he arrived at Gramercy Park and the refurbished warehouse that harbored Rennie's empire. Nick knew the four-square block around the park intimately. He had seen it in the shadow of dawn, as now, and in the bright light of day. When he was younger, he would walk around each street, counting doors and wondering whether the people behind them could possibly lead lives as fantastic and amazing as his own.

He could barely believe he'd been so naive.

As he drove past, he stared through the park's wrought-iron bars to the neat bushes and well-groomed paths. He remembered Rennie opening the gate with his owner's key, the two of them sitting on one of those benches to feed the pigeons. He saw the ghost of himself, thirteen or fourteen, so jazzed up with new clothes and hundred-dollar sneakers that sitting like an old lump on a bench and tossing stale bread to a bunch of birds was the last thing he wanted to do. But he'd returned with Rennie again and again, and after a while it began to seem less like the price Rennie exacted for whatever he had bought Nick that day. Until finally, weeks later- God, was it only weeks?-Nick had looked forward to the park, to the smell of grass and the sound of the birds fluttering at his feet.

And the sound of Rennie's deep, strangely accented voice.

Nick saw them then, two whispering forms on the bench. Fagin and his Artful Dodger. It seemed as if fhe mesmerizing sound of Rennie's voice floated over the iron fence like snake charmer's music.
If you are smart, if you pay attention and concentrate, you will see the world... places you have not even dreamed about yet. And you will be rich, richer than anything you could ever imagine.

Nick stopped the car. He closed his eyes, the picture of his younger self burned in his brain. Rennie should have killed him that first day in the kitchen. He should have let Frank pull the trigger on that old Luger when he'd had the chance twenty years ago.

But Rennie had chosen life, and Nick had thrived. He'd fed on excitement and drunk in power. Every promise Rennie ever made had come true.

And now it was time to pay him back.

Nick eyed the front of the building, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Part of him, the part that remembered the street kid he'd been before Rennie found him, that part wanted to walk away and forget all about Rennie Spier.

But that would leave Isaac and Rachel unprotected.

Leaning his head against the back of the seat, he drew the Uzi up to his chest. His fingers drifted over the shape of the weapon, its form hard and unyielding and as familiar as his own: stock, grip, trigger, magazine, barrel, sight, muzzle. He knew every detail; at 1,300 rounds per minute, it would take only two seconds to empty a 32-round magazine.

Slowly, Nick loosened his grip on the gun. He'd been holding it so tightly, his fingers had cramped up. He opened and closed his hand to get the blood flowing again, thinking about Rachel and Isaac, and the brief dream he'd had of them together. She would take the boy. If he could keep them alive, if he could make one last deal, she would shelter his son and keep him safe.

He watched the sun make its slow, bright journey up. How many men did Rennie have inside?

Enough to cut him down before he drew a last bream.

No, he couldn't go in shooting. He'd have to go in clean, and hope he stayed alive long enough to lure Ren-nie out.

Stashing the submachine gun underneath the seat and the Magnum in the glove compartment, Nick opened the door and walked toward the brownstone. Rising light glinted off something on one of the rooftops. The sun striking a corner of a building, or the gleam of a rifle scope?

Just in case, he came forward slowly, letting them get a nice, long look. Carefully, he raised his arms and placed both hands on top of his head. At the door, he turned around, so they could see he had no weapons at his back either.

The elevator was waiting for him. He stepped inside and watched the descent, hands pressed tight against the glass.

Frank stood at the bottom with a 9mm Glock clenched in his fist. Face tight, he shoved Nick ahead of him, through the courtyard and into a corridor. Every few feet, a gauntlet of armed men silently guarded the way. Nick stopped counting after twenty.

Expecting Frank to lead him to the SATCO elevator, he was mildly surprised when they passed it by, leaving the armada behind.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." The Glock jabbed Nick in the back, pushing him forward.

Bastard.
He whipped around. "Why don't you give me a hint?"

Frank drove the gun into the side of Nick's mouth. "You always were a real wise guy with a smartass mouth. I should have wiped it off your face years ago, when I first found out you were screwing that little tramp."

Nick went cold. So Frank
had
known. "You didn't tell Rennie."

"And break his heart? I don't think so. Besides, he wouldn't have believed me anyway. His golden boy a traitor? If I hadn't seen the two of you with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it myself."

"You saw us?"

"Why else do you think I told Rennie to send you to Panama? I had to get you out of the house before the whole thing with Shelley blew up in our faces." He leaned in closer. "But it blew up anyway, didn't it, Nicky? Didn't it?" He rammed the gun tight against Nick's jaw.

Needles of panic shot through Nick's chest, but he fought them back. "You going to shoot me, and rob Rennie of the pleasure?"

Frank loosed his grip. "He loved you like a son."

"No. He just used me."

"And you paid him back, didn't you?" Frank gave him another brutal shove. "I hope you get everything you deserve."

Nick stumbled down the corridor, giving himself time to think. The wasteland of the last six years, the death toll that kept rising-it hadn't started in Panama, as he used to think. It all started with Shelley and his uncontrollable desire for her. If he hadn't slept with her, if he hadn't chosen faithlessness over fidelity, none of the rest would have happened. Call it suicide or revenge, as Rachel and Frank had, or call it lust, the name Nick gave to it, the end was the same. From the man in Panama and the nameless boy in the alley to Shelley, Martin, and now Felice, the deaths unfurled like a red carpet that ended at his feet

Frank was right. Nick deserved everything he had coming.

They turned a corner, and now he knew where they were heading. The kitchen. Frank was taking him to the kitchen. He laughed to himself. His life with Rennie had begun in the kitchen. Fitting it should end there.

Rennie stood alone at the center of the gleaming room. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit, he looked as strong and potent as ever. His thick white hair slanted fiercely back from his forehead, and bis eyes had a chilly blue clarity to them. Even the lines on his face, the slight sag of his chin-these signs of experience and age- added to the aura.

One look, and Nick was breathing faster, but he met Rennie's gaze with a level one of his own. All Nick had to do was stay alive long enough.

"No helpers today?" He didn't bother- hiding his sarcasm,

"Some things are best handled personally," Rennie said.

"It's been a long time since you got involved so intimately."

"I assure you, my skills are as sharp as ever."

Their gazes locked, a moment of acknowledgment. Before this was over, one of them would die.

Then Rennie gave Nick a thin smile, and gestured him forward. Frank prodded him with the gun until Nick stood beside a stainless steel prep table, a few feet from Rennie. Frank shoved him into a chair and jerked his arms backward over the table, tying his hands to a chair on the other side. The cold of the steel bit into him, the tabletop hard and unforgiving.

Rennie watched dispassionately. "When I was younger, I was caught running guns into Algeria. This is a trick the French taught me. They call it the Little Rack."

Taut and imprisoned, Nick's arms and shoulders stretched backward at an excruciating angle. Rennie leaned a hip against the table edge and stroked a hand down Nick's head, gently at first, then firmer until he gripped the back of his neck. Rennie exerted just the slightest pressure, but the move pushed Nick's body forward and tightened the pull between his already aching shoulders and arms. A gasp of pain hissed from between his teeth.

Rennie smiled. "You should not have used those phony papers from die school and put so many innocent people at risk. I was surprised, it isn't like you."

Nick's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, accepting the blame to avoid exposing Rachel.

Rennie looked amused. "Are you angry, Nick?"

Angry didn't begin to cover it.

Rennie backhanded him across the mouth. "Are you angry?"

"Yeah." He tasted the metallic wash of blood. "Yeah, I'm angry."

Rennie spread his hands in a gesture of disbelief. "But what do you have to be angry about? Has someone you trusted betrayed you? Has someone you gave the world to thrown it back in your face and tried to ruin you?" He didn't watt for as answer, but moved closer, leaning in. His voice hardened. "Now that I've discovered your little deception, where are me rest of my documents?"

Nick remained silent, calculating how long he could hold the older man at bay.

"Where are they?" Rennie pushed Nick's shoulders forward, and he screamed in pain. "The papers, Nick. And Miss Goodman and the boy. Where have you hidden them?"

"I'm not going to tell you that, and you know it"

Rennie moved faster than Nick thought humanly possible. He didn't even see where the knife came from. One minute he was whole, the next Rennie's stiletto sliced through Nick's cheek close to his ear.

Another scream ripped through him, and Rennie smashed him hard across the mouth again. "Where are they?"

Jesus. Nick couldn't move without creating more agony for himself. "I'm not going to tell you, Rennie." His voice sounded hoarse and papery, but he managed to keep it steady. "If that's what you're after, you might as well kill me now and get it over with."

"Ah, I see." Rennie's smile was ghastly. "A noble sacrifice. How very like you. But no, I do not think we will kill you so fast We have hours of enjoyment ahead of us. Isn't that right, Frank?"

"We know they're on the Jersey shore," Frank said from somewhere behind Nick. "Your girlfriend called her uncle yesterday, and we traced it to a phone booth on Long Beach Island. I got men out there now. They'll find her and the kid eventually. Why not spare yourself all this mess and tell us where they are?"

Panic overrode the pain. Rachel hadn't said a thing about a phone call. Christ. If they found Rachel and Isaac before he could... No, stick to the plan. Just stick to the plan. "I can't do that, Frank."

Rennie sighed and signaled Frank to push Nick's head forward. Frank complied with a shove that almost separated Nick's arms from his shoulders. He screamed in agony, and Rennie clamped his hand around Nick's throat, forcing his head up. The stiletto was now an inch closer to Nick's eye; if he wanted to, he could have seen the blurred outline of the thin, sharp tip. Sweat poured down his back and his muscles tensed, but Rennie only traced a line down the side of Nick's face with the flat of his blade.

"Do you believe in love, Nicky?" He trailed back up Nick's cheek, the knife moving closer to his eye. "They say love comes from Cupid's bow, but I think love is more like a knife than an arrow. Love is a weapon you hold in your hand. One that stabs and wounds. Close. Intimate," The knife reached the corner of his eye and stopped. "You're a bigger fool than I thought if you are doing this for love."

Nick met Rennie's gaze, treacherous as deep water. "Fuck off."

The older man slashed downward, cutting through Nick's brow and slicing off a piece of his ear.

They played with him like that for what seemed like an eternity, and Nick held out long enough to make it real, but not so long that they had time to find Rachel and Isaac.

Unless they already had.

He pushed that thought away, concentrating on staying alive another few minutes.

"So. Are you ready to tell us what we want to know?" Rennie pushed him forward again, stretching his arms to the point of breaking.

He groaned. "I'll... make you a deal."

"No more deals, Nicky."

"The papers are gone. Burned in the fire. But I found another copy of the books. Let Rachel and the boy go and you can have it."