See No Evil (19 page)

Skip stared open-mouthed. Gray looked back until Skip couldn't meet his eyes any longer.

“I want to hear why you think it's all right to steal from me.” Gray leaned toward the boy, and I had to admit that I'd be intimidated if he stared at me like that.

Skip opened his mouth a couple of times, but no words
came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I'm not a thief!”

“Then what would you call taking things that don't belong to you?”

Skip swallowed so loudly that I heard it. “We just, like, borrow them.”

“Borrow.” Gray let disbelief drip from the word. “That means you plan to return everything you took in the same condition it was when you took it?”

Skip frowned.

“You're a thief, Skip,” Gray said. “Don't try and pretty it up. And there are consequences to being one.” He looked at Natalie. “I don't suppose they still take prisoners at Alcatraz any more, do they?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. There was such a thing as pouring it on too heavily.

“We should have been satisfied with the stuff we already got,” Skip said sullenly.

Natalie grabbed him by the hair and forced his face up. He squeaked in pain, but she ignored him. “You think you're only a thief if you get caught?” she shouted.

“Easy, Natalie,” Gray said, putting a hand on her arm. “Don't let the big sister get in the way of the cop.”

“Huh?”

“Big sisters pull little brothers' hair, cops don't.”

She let go of Skip and stepped back, anger vibrating from her in waves.

Gray studied Skip for a long moment. “What do you think God thinks about what you did?”

Skip blinked. “God?”

“Yeah, God. What does He think of people who steal?”

From the uncomprehending look on Skip's face, it was obvious that he didn't think often, if at all, about God.

“You do know that one of the Ten Commandments is that you shouldn't steal, don't you?” Gray asked.

“Yeah, well—” He paused, thinking, and I could see the exact moment he had an answer for Gray. “But God always forgives, right? I bet that's even in the Bible.”

Gray looked impressed. “Not bad, Skip, but God always allows for consequences, too.”

Skip turned sullen. “What's that mean?”

“You have to pay for your crimes.”

Skip slouched, frustrated and furious.

Gray studied the obstinate boy. “What if I'm willing to work a deal?” he offered.

I could see Skip's instant transformation, his cocky smile, his snotty smirk, in the dim glow of Gray's light. I couldn't help wondering how the kid actually felt inside. Surely he wasn't as arrogant as he appeared. At least I hoped not, or there wasn't much chance for him to grow into a decent adult. What he really needed was Jesus to change him, but I knew this wasn't the time or place to discuss that option.

“I'm offering you two ways you can work off the debt you owe me. If you cooperate and do both, maybe I won't press charges.”

“What do I have to do?” he asked as if he were being imposed upon. He seemed to have no gratitude for the chance Gray was giving him.

“One, go to Sunday school every Sunday for the rest of the year.”

Skip stared, wide-eyed. “You're kidding.”

Gray shook his head. “I'm not. You obviously haven't understood the concept of right and wrong. Maybe a bit of teaching will open your eyes.”

“That's mixing church and state. You can't do that.” Skip's tone was smug.

Gray made a show of looking all around the shed. “I don't see the state anywhere here, do you? The whole idea of what I'm suggesting is to spare you the ignominy of dealing with the state and ending up with a record, maybe your name in the papers.”

Skip slumped sullenly in his chair.

“As I was saying,” Gray continued, “Sunday school. I'll even pick you up if you can't find a ride.”

Looking disgusted, Skip muttered, “If I go, I'll find a ride.”

“No ifs about it, Skip.” Gray pointed a finger at the kid's nose. “You go under your own steam, or I take you and sit with you all during class.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Try me.”

I couldn't help wonder if Gray got that idea because his mom or dad had gone to Sunday school with him for a while in his younger days. The thought made me grin. I could just picture a young, scarlet-faced Gray slouched low in his chair, his parent seated beside him, smiling at the class.

“The second thing you must do is work for me every Saturday til the end of the year, organizing this shed and picking up any trash or mess around the construction site.”

“Be a trash man?” Clearly Gray had offended Skip's tender sensibilities.

“Yeah, if you want to look at it that way. I think of it as site environmental control.”

After ten seconds of silence from Skip, Gray turned to Natalie. “What time should I go to the station tomorrow to file—”

“How much do you pay me?” Skip cut in. “To be a—trash man.” Scorn for the job went deep.

“Pay you? Kid, you're my indentured servant for the duration. You do not get one nickel.”

Skip jumped to his feet. “That's not fair!”

I rolled my eyes. The kid hadn't a clue.

“You're sort of missing the point here, Skip.” Gray leaned against a shelf filled with small boxes. “You're the one who wasn't fair. You took what wasn't yours.”

“Yeah, well, you have plenty.” He looked all around the shed at the full shelves.

“And that makes it okay?”

Skip shrugged and sat. “Well, yeah.”

“Take off your shirt,” Gray said.

Skip blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Take off your shirt. I want it.”

“You're crazy.”

“Give it to me. You've got plenty.”

“No way.” He hunched his shoulders as if he would protect his ratty T-shirt.

Gray made an umm sound. “I bet you rode here on your bike, right?”

Skip nodded.

“I want it too.”

“You can't take my bike.” He sounded appalled.

“Why not?”

“It's mine.”

Gray shrugged. “So get another.”

“You can't take my stuff!”

Gray just stared at Skip, waiting to see if he got the point. After a few minutes, Skip lowered his eyes and nodded.

I felt myself relax. If the kid actually understood, maybe there was hope for him after all.

“Do we have a deal?” Gray asked.

“Yeah,” Skip mumbled. “Deal.”

After several seconds of silence Natalie spoke. “You were here the night Mrs. Ryder was killed, weren't you, Skip?”

He jerked at the unexpected question and refused to meet his sister's eyes.

“Answer me,” Natalie ordered.

“I want immunity,” he said.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from hooting.

“You've been watching too much television, kid.” Gray's voice was hard. “Immunity?” Natalie leaned down until she and her brother were nose to nose.

“Why, Skip? Did you have something to do with the murder?”

He jumped to his feet, for once scared. “No, never! We just watched. That's all, Nat. I swear.”

They watched the murder?

Natalie's eyes narrowed. “What did you watch, Skip?”

“The cops at the house. That's all. We didn't see the murder or anything. We saw you, Nat. I was proud of you, being so important and all.”

“Stow it, Skip.” She pushed him gently back into the chair. “I'm not dumb enough to fall for a line like that.”

“What else did you see?” Gray demanded.

“Nothing.”

He's lying, I thought, and it was all I could do not to yell it out. But Natalie knew her brother.

“What-else-did-you-see?” she asked through gritted teeth.

He tried to stare defiantly, but when you're handcuffed, hulked over by two very angry adults, and only thirteen, you're at a disadvantage. He broke.

“Just the two people meeting.”

“What two people?” Natalie demanded. “Where and when?”

“I don't know who. It was getting dark, and it was hard to see. I just know it was before the cops showed.”

“Where were you when you saw these people?” Gray asked.

“Not too far from here, which, as you know, is at the opposite end of the development from where the cops were.”

Natalie glared. “Watch the attitude, Skip.”

Skip glared back.

“And what were you doing when you saw these people?” Gray asked.

“Sitting on the big dirt pile a couple of lots over, waiting for the guys to show.”

“In plain sight?” Natalie was floored.

“Well, sort of. I was on the back side, digging a tunnel while I waited. I wanted to see if I could go all the way through without it collapsing.”

Natalie stared at her brother. “Skip, what's your IQ?”

“My IQ? A hundred and thirty-four. What's that have to do with anything?”

“It didn't occur to you that if the tunnel collapsed, you'd be trapped?”

“Oh.”

The kid didn't seem to get the concept of consequences.
Oh, Lord, help him reach his majority without inadvertently killing himself or somebody else!

“Back to the people you saw that night,” Gray said.

“Okay.” Skip squirmed, trying to flex his shoulders. The cuffs must be making his arms stiff. “When I heard the car doors, I climbed to the top of the pile and peeked over. I was lying down so they couldn't see me, you know?”

“And you saw?”

“Two people. And two black cars.”

“Okay, Mr. I-Can-Identify-Any-Car, what kind of cars?” Natalie asked. “Prove you're not just hot air.”

“A Taurus and a Beemer,” Skip said immediately.

“You're sure?” Gray asked.

“Positive.”

My mouth went dry.

Ken Ryder sold BMWs.

Ken Ryder drove a black Beemer.

N
atalie uncuffed her brother and climbed out through the back panel of the shed after him. As I crawled out from behind the counter and came to stand by Gray, I could hear them talking.

“Dad's going to kill me,” Skip moaned.

“I can only hope,” Natalie replied.

“Do I really gotta go to Sunday School?”

“It beats spending time in juvie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very few guys want to beat you up in Sunday School.”

“Huh. And I'm not getting paid?”

“Not one red cent,” Natalie assured him cheerfully as they turned the corner of the shed and disappeared toward the garage that held Natalie's car.

“You and Natalie did a good job.” I felt proud of both of them. “And I loved the punishments. Clever and constructive.”

“Just so they work.” He grinned. “I kind of like the cheeky little guy.”

I blinked. “You do?”

“You don't?”

I shrugged. How did I describe how I felt about Skip?

“He's going to lead people his whole life,” Gray said. “It's just a matter of who and where.”

I grimaced. “That's a thought to make you shudder if he doesn't change.”

Gray tapped a finger lightly on my nose. “You did very well, too, Anna. I know it couldn't have been easy keeping hidden and staying quiet.”

I quirked a brow. “Is that a polite way of telling me I talk too much most of the time?”

“Not at all.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. “In fact, I find you just about perfect, if highly opinionated.”

I studied him through narrowed eyes, trying to decide if I'd just been complimented or subtly criticized.

“I meant that in the best possible way,” he assured me.

“Yeah?” I said skeptically.

“Oh, yeah.” His voice was soft as he leaned toward me. “The best possible way.”

The air between us abruptly thickened as it did on a day with ninety-eight percent humidity when you felt you had to work harder than normal just to breathe. I willed myself to inhale. I couldn't tear my eyes from his.

He kept leaning slowly, slowly toward me, either suffering a very severe though slow-acting case of vertigo, in which case he'd keep on going until he was on the ground, or, more likely I hoped, giving me a chance to move away.

I was not moving an inch. My blood sang in anticipation. I forced myself not to close my eyes for the kiss I expected, wanted, longed for. What if he didn't give it, and I stood there with my lips pursed and my eyes shut? Talk about embarrassing.

When he was scant millimeters from me, his cell rang.

I sighed as he reached for his belt. So much for that kiss.
Was there a WA—Workaholics Anonymous—I could sign him up for?

But he only silenced the thing. He didn't even look to see who was calling. When his hand left the phone, it moved to my chin, lifting it. “Some things are more important than phone calls,” he whispered. His other arm circled my waist.

And he kissed me.

My eyes definitely closed as I sank into him.

I wasn't an expert on kisses, having purposely limited the men I kissed. Certainly I'd kissed Glenn, but I'd decided a long time ago that kissing was too intimate to share with just anyone, at least romantic kissing. All around me I saw women who shared a lot more than kisses in what I considered an indiscriminate manner, creating appetites and memories that would make marriage more difficult than it should be, much poorer than the rich experience God meant it to be.

Kissing Gray made every other buss, even those shared with my former fiancé, seem like cubic zirconia instead of diamonds, the merest pretense compared with the splendid opulence of the real thing. Oh, my, I thought in the portion of my brain still thinking, I'm falling in love with this man.

When the kiss finally broke so we could both get our breath, Gray still had one arm about my waist and his other palm resting on my nape. I had my arms wrapped about his torso.

“Too good,” he said, his voice deep. He gave my nose a quick kiss, then stepped back. “Way too good.”

I knew just what he meant. Temptation for more had never been so strong. I stepped back too.

“We'd better go.” He gestured toward the open back panel.

I nodded, wondering how many women got the kiss of their lives in a construction trailer. I have to admit that I'd dreamed of candlelight and soft music rather than hardware and tools, but I'd just learned that it wasn't where. It was who.

As I climbed outside, I couldn't stop smiling. He'd ignored his cell phone for me. Did it get any better?

Gray slid the panel closed. “Tomorrow we'll fix this so that if the kids try again, which I don't think they will, they won't be able to get in.” He turned to me, hand out. I slid my hand in his, and we began to walk around the shed. I thought that I'd be happy to walk beside this man anywhere.

I glanced at him, strong and handsome, all that I'd dreamed of. Too good to be true? Did he truly care for me, or was it just the intensity of the night? Did he and I have a potential future, or was I just the woman he felt honor-bound to protect?

I thought it was more.
Oh, Lord, please let it be more! And let me mean more to him than his work.
But what if What's-Her-Name, his old girlfriend, came back? Would he leave me for another as Glenn had, and would I find myself once more embarrassed, alone and heartbroken?

The romantic music playing joyfully in my head began to sound off-key and tinny as it ground to a slow stop. Danger, danger, Will Robinson.

But the warning was too late. Gray had the power either to make me incredibly happy or to rip my heart out. And I knew that if he left me, the pain would eclipse the hurt of Glenn's defection as the brilliance of the sun eclipsed the light of the moon.

Gray stopped when we were still in the lee of the building, pulling on my hand to keep me in the deep shadows with him. My heart lightened as I turned to him. Another kiss?

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

I frowned. No kiss. “What?”

“Shh. Listen.”

I listened as instructed and heard a car engine. It came closer and closer until it stopped not too far away. A door slammed.

“What's a car doing here at this hour?” I asked quietly. At least we knew it wasn't Skip returning for a second try at supplies. He wasn't old enough to drive even if he'd managed to escape his sister.

We peered cautiously around the end of the building and saw a tall, slim person leaning against the side of a car, waiting.

A black car, I thought, though I couldn't be absolutely certain in the darkness. A sedan as opposed to a van like mine or a pickup like Gray's. A BMW? Skip might be an expert at recognizing car makes, but I was the class dud. I needed to see the words written on the car to know for sure what any vehicle was.

Another motor purred in the distance, drew closer, and headlights cut the night before they were quickly doused. In that brief moment of illumination, I saw the waiting car was indeed black though I still couldn't tell if it was a Beemer or not.

“Is it a BMW?” I whispered.

Gray nodded.

In the brief flash of headlights I hadn't seen the face of the slim individual who waited because he looked toward the approaching vehicle and that meant looking away from us.

The second car parked, and another person climbed out, easily as tall as the first but heavier, bulkier. I could make out no facial features in the darkness, just the general body shapes. Both appeared dressed in black, which wasn't surprising for a night meeting in a supposedly deserted construction site. Even their body language suggested clandestine.

The two began to speak, and I felt incredible frustration because we were too far away to hear.

Gray breathed in my ear, “The two Skip saw?”

I nodded. I'd been thinking exactly the same thing. But why were they here tonight?

The stockier of the two turned and stalked toward the second car.

The slimmer one moved quickly, and the stockier one stopped. They talked again briefly. The slim one had his elbows sharply bent as if his hands were stuffed into jacket pockets. The stockier one stepped back quickly, reaching behind him.

I stiffened automatically. I'd seen that move before.

A shot tore the silence.

I jumped even though I wasn't surprised. Then I frowned. The stockier man's hands were still behind his back. The slim individual now had the gun out in the open, and a red light shone on the chest of the stocky man.

Another shot.

The stockier of the two began to go down as his knees buckled.

The slim one watched as the red bead appeared again, then fired a third time. Three point-blank hits, one apparently fired from the pocket for surprise, two sighted with a laser to the chest. By now the stocky man lay on the ground. The slim one reached down, straightened, then turned and climbed into the first car. He did a quick U-turn and drove away.

As Gray and I raced to the fallen man, Gray had his cell at his ear, reporting the shooting. We skidded to a stop beside the victim, and Gray shone his penlight.

It was the assassin, as I expected. His black hair was still neatly combed straight back, his jaw was slack below his beak of a nose, and he'd fallen awkwardly on his hands, still behind his back. Seeping slowly from three chest wounds was crimson blood turning his black T-shirt deep red.

Someone had cold-bloodedly shot the shooter, murdered the murderer.

My feelings were mixed. I felt horror that I'd actually wit
nessed a murder this time, not just the murderer leaving the scene of the crime. I felt relief that I didn't have to worry about every shadow, every unexpected noise. He was dead. I was safe. And I felt guilt that I could be glad a man was dead.

Gray knelt, and for the second time in a week felt for a pulse. The very lack of significant bleeding already told the tale, but we had to be certain. Gray shook his head.

I wrapped my arms about myself to ward off a bone-deep chill.