Like a Knife (22 page)

Rennie laughed. "You think I am an idiot? You have nothing. Just time enough for us to rind your girl. For me to do to you what you did to me. Only I'll make you watch."

Nick struggled to keep his voice from shaking. "No, you'll let her go, and the boy. You don't want to take the risk."

Rennie looked at him sadly. "You could have been the best there is, Nicky. I would have given you everything. But you took from me. From
me."
Anguish and outrage warred in Rennie's voice before it became deadly again. "And now I'm going to take from you."

Nick gathered the last vestiges of his strength. "You want to take from me, you take from me, old man. Not them. Me. You want to cut me up a piece at a time, cut off my balls, my head, I'll let you do whatever sick little thing you want I'll crawl for you, Rennie, and maybe even deserve it, but first you have to let them go."

"Let me shoot him right now and put an end to this," Frank said.

"Go ahead." Nick's voice was weary. "You think I care? Christ, it would be a relief." He looked at Rennie, keeping himself from passing out by sheer force of will. "So... do we have a deal?"

Rennie studied him. It was all Nick could do to return the other man's stare.

"All right," Rennie said at last. "Tell me about this"- he waved a disbelieving hand in front of Nick's face- "this copy you say you have."

A tiny bud of hope flowered. "It was in the kid's knapsack. Your men didn't find the kid's things when they searched the fish plant, did they?"

Rennie looked at him skeptically and squeezed the mangled mess of Nick's ear.

He grit his teeth, hissing through the pain. "A hidden pocket... concealed a computer disk. It goes to... the
New York Times
in twenty-four hours. Twenty hours-" he amended, checking the clock above one of the stainless steel sinks. It was nine-fifteen. God, he'd been here almost five hours. He only hoped it was long enough.

"Where is it?"

Nick shook his head. "I'll take you to it. You'd kill me right now if I told you."

He felt rather than saw the wordless conference between Frank and Rennie. Closing his eyes, he leaned as far back over the steel table as he could, searching for an infinitesimal moment of relief that the tiniest shift in position would give his tortured shoulders.

He heard Frank speak. "We can always finish him off later."

Rachel fired the gun again. The intruder dove behind the couch,

"For the love of God, don't shoot!"

Rachel ignored him and squeezed off another round. Like the other two, the bullet went wide, this time smashing into the wall to the right of the ruined door.

Then the bedroom door opened, and Isaac stumbled out. "Rachel!"

"Get back in the bedroom, Isaac! Don't come out, do you hear me?"

But the distraction was all the man needed. Without even knowing how he did it, Rachel found herself thrown to the floor, a knee in her back, her gun hand wrenched behind her, and the weapon yanked out of her hand.

That's when Isaac began to scream-high, earsplit-ting sounds so full of unhinged terror, they sent shivers down Rachel's spine. They worked on the man, too, because almost immediately, he released his hold.

"Go!" he yelled over the awful shrieks. "Go to him."

She rushed to the doorway, where Isaac stood frozen, his eyes closed and his mouth open in rigid horror. The minute she touched him, he fought like a demon, and impossibly, his screams intensified.

"Hush, baby, it's me. It's all right. I'm all right."

But he didn't hear or even notice her.

"Oh Isaac, please. Please open your eyes. It's me, everything is all right." She managed to contain his flailing arms and began to croon, rocking him tightly against her breast. His terrible sounds drowned out her voice, but slowly, gradually, she made headway. In a few minutes the screaming lessened in intensity. A few more, and Isaac opened his eyes.

When he saw the man, his voice started to rise again, but Rachel quickly took him into the bedroom and closed the door. The stranger made no protest, but that didn't stop her heart from pounding. As she rocked and gentled Isaac, all she could think about was the man in the next room, who was now armed with her gun.

"Hush, baby, shh. It's all right. I'm right here, I've got you. I won't let you go."

She held him until he fell asleep in her arms, but when she put him back to bed, he awoke and clung desperately to her.

"It's okay, I won't leave you. Shh, close your eyes now. That's right." She held him against her until he was sound asleep; then, holding him in her arms, she opened the door a crack and peeked through.

The man had pushed the couch away from the door and was sitting on it, elbows on his knees, head down. Lean and wiry, he looked to be in his late forties, dressed casually in khakis and a windbreaker. Not exactly the Renme Spier uniform. Then again, maybe he was a hired hand-a day man, Nick had called it.

She bit her lip, wishing there was a window, a secret door, anything that would make-escape possible. But unless she wanted to stay in the bedroom for the rest of her life, she had no choice but to go out there. Heart pounding, she opened the door a little wider and stepped out

The man jumped up, "Here, sit down. The boy must be heavy."

Keeping a vigilant eye on the stranger, she settled into one corner of the couch while he sat on the opposite arm. She began to notice other things about him, like the intelligence in his green eyes and the Irish lilt in his voice.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said with an apologetic smile. "Just didn't see how we could talk if you kept on shooting at me."

She saw the amusement in his eyes and ignored it, looking at him darkly, suspicion rife in her mind. "Did Rennie Spier send you?"

The man's brows rose in surprise. "No. My name is Danny Walsh. I'm a friend of Nicky's."

"A f-friend of Nick's." She heard the uneasy quiver in her voice.

"I arranged for the house." He waved an arm, gesturing around the room. "Not exactly up to Nicky's usual, but suitable. I trust it's been useful."

"You
arranged this house?"

"Nick met me about a week ago and said he needed a safe house. He mentioned a child."

Rachel thought back. The day she and Nick left the preschool to get Isaac, Nick had said he'd seen a firiend Had it been this man?

He looked down at the boy sleeping in her arms, and she followed his gaze. Isaac's face was tearstained and hot. Strands of black hair stuck to his forehead. Danny lifted his eyes and met Rachel's. He seemed to ask for an explanation, but she offered none. Instead, she said bluntly, "Who are you, Mr. Walsh?"

"like I said, an old friend of Nick's." He looked around the room."Where is he? I've got to talk to him. Been trying the phone for days, but no one answered."

"We unplugged it."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You unplug the phone, you greet callers with a gun." Danny gave her a long, serious look. "What kind of trouble are you in? Does it have anything to do with the shipment?"

"What shipment?"

Danny sighed and stood, pacing the small room. "Look, Miss-"

Rachel hesitated, not sure if even giving her name might be dangerous. But if Rennie Spier had sent this man, surely he would have known who she was. Sud-denly relief washed through her that was so profound, tears came to her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. This man was Nick's friend, not Rennie's.

"Goodman. Rachel Goodman. Please, call me Rachel."

He pursed his lips. "Rachel... Isaac. Quite a biblical collection you've got here. We Irish always have our nose out for the hand of God." He winked at her, and she could see he was trying to put her at ease.

"You're Irish?"

"Used to buy little sundries for the IRA, which is how I met Nicky. I'm working for the peace now. When Nick asked me to help him find a safe place, I'm guessing for you and the boy, he traded some information about an arms shipment to the Irish Liberation Council. Maybe you've seen the news reports."

Rachel nodded. In spite of their isolation, she would have had to be deaf as well as blind not to know about the spectacular capture of that floating munitions dump. Nick had been responsible for that?

"The ship was very important to a broad coalition of Irish terror groups who're against the peace in Northern Ireland. Those arms would've blasted the provisional government into smithereens and set us back years. But the people who paid for them, well, this has been a great blow." He sat back down and steepled his hands. "These people don't take kindly to traitors. There's already talk about blaming the loss of the arms on the shipper."

Her mind was whirling. "The... the shipper?"

He spoke quietly, as if he thought it best to break this next bit of information to her slowly. "That information could only have come to us through someone on the inside."

"I see." She began to tremble all over again.

"Of course, they can't know exactly who it was. I've never used Nick's name. But it isn't hard to figure out it must be someone in Spier's organization. Somehow, somewhere, they'll take revenge on Rennie Spier. We're already hearing the rumors. Nick and I-well, I've known the lad since he was seventeen, bright and shiny as a new penny. I'd like to warn him."

Rachel looked blindly into the room. When was it going to end? When would their lives become normal again?

God, she couldn't breathe. Isaac's hot, sweaty body and the tiny, windowless cabin were smothering her. Gently she disengaged herself from the boy, and though he shuffled in sleep, he didn't wake.

She crossed to the door and, as she opened it, saw the bullet holes she'd put there. Her hand began to shake, and she quickly stepped outside where the day was bright and clear. The cool morning air tingled on her face. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sharp scent of the ocean.

"Are you all right, girl?" Danny put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she gave him a shaky laugh.

"If terrified and scared to death qualify as all right, I guess I am."

"If I can get to Nicky, I can help."

She, looked down the dirt path to the car at the end. Her earlier fear of it seemed silly now.

"He took the car, so Isaac and I are stranded. If I tell you where he is, will you take us with you?"

"Of course," Danny Walsh said. "Anywhere you w.ant to go."

So once again Rachel found herself huddled against Isaac in the backseat of a car. The drive was shorter this time. Danny wasn't worried about being tailed and took the most direct route. Even so, the trip seemed to take an eternity. For a little while he tried to amuse them with stories of Nick, but all the tales inevitably ended in drunken carousing, which was inappropriate for a six-year-old.

Eventually they drifted into silence. Isaac fell asleep, but Rachel woke him when he began to jerk and whimper. He didn't ask about Nick, only observing once that he had gone away.

"Yes," Rachel said, "but he'll be back. We'll see him in a little while."

Isaac didn't respond, and she knew he didn't believe her. She couldn't blame him; she hardly believed it herself.

The clock on Danny's dashboard read nine-thirty by the time they reached Spier's headquarters. She'd spent half the ride scraping at her wrists, the other half with her hands gripped into such tight fists, her nails had gouged out half-moon craters in her palms.

"Oh, God, there's the car." She pointed across the park to the familiar shape of the VW. "The old-fashioned Beetle. It's mine. Nick took it last night."

"Good. He's here, then."

Danny insisted she stay in the car while he went in, and if it hadn't been for Isaac, she would have ignored him. But she couldn't leave the sleeping child alone. Torn between protecting the boy and her own intense desire to see Nick alive with his soul intact and no more deaths on his conscience, she stared out the car's windshield until her eyes burned. Danny jogged toward a building whose entrance in the middle of the block was the only one on that street.

* * *

Frank's gun was a pitiless escort at the back of Nick's neck. He stumbled through the underground tunnel to the garage where the limousine was parked, his hands still tied behind his back. Beside him, Spier marched in silence. No one said a word. No one had to.

When they arrived at the limousine, Frank opened the passenger door and pushed Nick toward it. "Get in."

But Nick shook his head and turned to face Rennie. "I do the driving."

Spier eyed him with suspicion. "What difference does it make who drives?"

Nick clamped down on the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the burn of the gashes in his face, neck, and chest. "You want the disk, I drive. Otherwise, kill me now and see what the press does with the information."

Rennie's jaw clenched. His gaze flicked to Frank, who shrugged, and then- back to Nick. Doubt turned to certainty in the older man's eyes.

"No. This is some kind of trick. I know you, Nicky."

A hot dart of panic stabbed Nick at the truth of Rennie's words.
You know me too well, old man.
But he sehooled his face to show nothing. "And I know you. I let Frank drive, he could take me anywhere and put a bullet in my brain. No thanks. This is my deal. I'm in control. I drive."

Rennie scowled. Nick could see he was only half convinced. Despair almost pulled Nick under. His arms were weak and shaky, his brain fuzzed with the effort of staying upright
Focus. Clear your goddamn head.
He had to get control of the car. Everything was wasted otherwise.

An eternity passed while Rennie's gaze bored into Nick. Then the stiletto was under Nick's chin again, pushing back his head and drawing blood. "All right But travel under the speed limit. And Frank sits in front, his gun on you every minute."

"He can bring a cannon for all I care."

"You make any kind of crazy move, and Frank will grab the wheel. You'll be dead before you can blink."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Rennie released him and sliced through the thongs binding Nick's hands. Massaging the places where sweat had rubbed his wrists raw, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Frank grumbled, but eased around the front and settled into the passenger seat while Rennie got in the back. Nick slid into the driver's seat, and as his hands touched the steering wheel, a great calm settled over him. Down the long, dim drive to the exit Nick kept his mind on the low bridge connecting the mainland to Long Beach Is-land. The causeway skimmed the surface of the water. All he had to do was gun the engine and spin the wheel. The limo would crash through the railing and plunge into the water.

Too well. You know me too well

Frank was a problem, but Nick could handle him. He had to. Everyone depended on him, and this time he'd get it right. He pictured Rachel's face laughing in the moonlight He remembered the feel of Isaac's small hand.

Keep them safe.

The only way to do that was to see Rennie dead. And if that meant Nick died too, well, he'd protect those he loved and clear his own debt at the same time.

At the garage entrance, he waited calmly for traffic to clear, then pulled into the street. Rachel had said she saw the good in him; for the first time he felt a glimmer of it.

* * *

Through the windshield, Rachel watched Danny Walsh climb the steps of the building that housed Rennie Spier's empire. A converted warehouse, Danny had told her, it was surrounded by streets filled with gentle brownstones, elegant wrought-iron railings, and graceful urns filled with ivy and pink geraniums. A pot of flowers added a splash of red to Spier's exterior too, making it blend well with the mannerly neighborhood. But she shivered at what the building hid inside.

Tense with anticipation, she clutched her wrist in a death grip as Danny reached the door. Just as he put his hand on the knob, a limousine turned the corner.

The car curved around in slow, stately progression, and Rachel had plenty of time to recognize it from the preschool. The chiver's side was closest to her, and the window was down. She caught a glimpse of a dark head behind the wheel, someone else beside him. Was that Nick driving? Hope made her heart leap.

The black beast of a car halted halfway into its turn as if the driver had caught sight of something. Danny, perhaps? Unable to stop herself, Rachel bounded out of Danny's car and ran toward the limousine.

"Nick!"

The head turned toward her. It
was
Nick. And he'd seen her. Happiness swelled into her chest. He was alive. Alive!

"Rachel! Stay in the car," Danny called to her from the entrance.

For an instant, she looked away from the limo toward Danny.

Her mouth opened; she intended to reply.

But before she could, the world exploded into flames.