The Desperate Game: (InterMix) (17 page)

“Are you?”

“Yes. I’ve enjoyed working with you on this project. It’s been almost like old times.”

“Almost.”

Guinevere could feel the tension in Zac as he crouched beside her. As if she could read his mind she knew he was waiting for even the smallest opportunity to launch himself at the Elf. She looked at the gun in Elfstrom’s hand and tried not to think of how the bullet would feel when it entered her brain.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time,” Russ Elfstrom announced. He motioned ever so slightly with the nose of the gun. “On your feet, Miss Jones. You have to die over there near the holding area. People might ask questions if you were found in this aisle. Zac, you stay where you are until Miss Jones is in front of me.”

He was going to use her as a shield to keep Zac from making any rash moves before reaching the holding area, Guinevere realized. She didn’t make any immediate effort to climb to her feet. The Elf grew impatient.

“I said on your feet, you little bitch! You’ve caused me enough trouble.”

Guinevere drew a painful breath and clutched at her side. “I—I don’t think I can get up. I think I’ve cracked a rib.”

“The hell you have.” Elfstrom motioned to Zac. “Move back out of the way. Slowly, Zac. Very, very slowly. You should be good at that.”

Zac inched backward unwillingly as the other man came forward. Elfstrom kept the gun and his gaze trained on Zac. Clearly he considered his old friend the greater risk. He set the large flashlight down on the concrete and then reached out to snag Guinevere’s hand and yank her forcibly to her feet.

This was going to be her only chance. From out of nowhere the adrenaline exploded in Guinevere’s system. She screamed as she stumbled to her feet under the impetus of the Elf’s hand on her wrist. The scream echoed in the warehouse and caused the Elf, already clearly tense, to flinch. In her other hand she clung to the crowbar she had found at the workbench. It was supposed to provide an option. She swung it wildly.

Out of the corner of his eye the Elf saw the movement. He yelled as the metal bar caught him fiercely on the arm holding the weapon. The gun in his hand dropped to the concrete floor with a clatter. Zac was already moving, launching himself at the other man from his crouched position.

But in the last instant Elfstrom reacted. He still had hold of Guinevere’s wrist, and he used it to yank her forward and send her spinning into Zac’s path. Elfstrom’s wiry strength was more than enough to lift her off the ground.

For the second time that night Guinevere felt the air being driven from her lungs. Zac swore, a muffled, infuriated sound that was cut off as he was pushed off-balance. Guinevere tried frantically to roll to one side to get out of his way. She opened her eyes to find the glare of Elfstrom’s flashlight full in her face. There was the sound of running feet disappearing into the darkness, and then she looked up to find Zac staring into the shadows, a gun in his hand.

It wasn’t the same one that Elfstrom had dropped, she realized dazedly. That one still lay on the floor.

“A real Laurel and Hardy act,” she muttered, staggering to her feet. Her hand went to her ribs. She was going to be very sore, although she was fairly certain nothing was badly damaged. “At least he’s unarmed now.”

“No.” With a swift motion Zac leaned down and turned off both flashlights. “He’s not unarmed. Elfstrom always carried a second gun. And we don’t need these flashlights acting like spotlights.” He grabbed Guinevere’s bruised wrist. “Come on. Let’s move.”

“Where? Zac, shouldn’t we—”

“Shush, Gwen. Not another word.”

Fear returned in full force again as the temporary surge of energy faded from her bloodstream. Guinevere felt unaccountably cold and realized she was shaking slightly. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she followed Zac down the aisle. Her eyes began adjusting slowly once again to the darkness. She wanted to ask where he was leading her, what plans he was making, but she didn’t dare break the silence he had imposed.

Straining to listen, Guinevere tried to catch the sound of a closing door, which might indicate that Elfstrom had left the building. There was no such reassuring noise. Zac rounded the corner of one aisle and started cautiously up another.

Perhaps Zac was heading for an exit, Guinevere theorized. There was a risk because over the exit doorways the fluorescent bulbs still glowed, the only lighted areas in the building. To get out one of the doors, they would have to pass beneath the light. If he were watching the right door, the Elf would see them. They’d be sitting ducks.

Apparently Zac had figured that much out for himself. He led the way down another aisle and over to the far wall, a section of the building that seemed to be in deepest shadow. Guinevere could see only a few steps in front of her now. Zac moved forward with more certainty. Perhaps he had come this way earlier and knew there weren’t any unexpected objects waiting to trip them in the aisle.

Guinevere tried to tell herself that if she couldn’t see far in the gloom, neither could the Elf. But the realization that he was out there somewhere in the shadows, stalking her and Zac, made her shiver again.

How long could this unbearable tension go on? Surely one of the players would have to make a move. For Pete’s sake, Guinevere thought wildly, they all couldn’t just spend the night in this place, wandering around in the dark until they blundered into each other. The thought was terrifying.

In the computer game of Elf Hunt at least one had choices to make, and there was the knowledge that the right answer did exist. All the player had to do was find it. In this real-life version of the game the possibilities didn’t seem to be presenting themselves in any clear-cut fashion. And even if they did, choosing the wrong one would be choosing death.

Zac was heading for the far end of the warehouse, Guinevere suddenly saw. There was an exit down there, but it was illuminated, just as the others were. Maybe he planned to make a dash for the outside, hoping the Elf was at the wrong end of the room.

A soft sound from the next aisle over on her right made Guinevere freeze. Zac halted too. His fingers tightened reassuringly around her wrist, and then he released her hand. He pushed her down against the wall, into the deepest shadow. Then he crouched down beside her. She could just barely see the gun in his hand. The soft, gliding sound continued down the aisle. It had to be Elfstrom.

He was ahead of them now, Guinevere thought. It made her feel less vulnerable. Probably only an illusion, she told herself. Then she realized what had happened. The roles in the game had been reversed. She and Zac were now the stalkers. Zac rose silently, his head turned toward the direction in which Elfstrom had gone. Guinevere got up beside him, and this time Zac didn’t take her hand. She knew his whole attention was on the hunt.

Guinevere eyed the approaching area of light, beginning to think in terms of predator and prey. It would be easy for Elfstrom to set up an ambush near the door and wait for them to walk into it.

There was a soft scraping sound from up ahead. Zac halted at once. For a long moment there was no movement from him, and Guinevere worried again about someone hearing her breathing. Then she felt Zac’s hand on her shoulder, urging her down into a huddle at the foot of one long aisle. This time he was going to leave her, she thought in sudden anxiety. He was going to go after the Elf on his own. Hastily she grabbed at Zac’s arm, trying to convey her disapproval of the action.

He ignored her. His strong fingers dug firmly into her shoulder for a few seconds, emphasizing the silent command to stay where she was. Guinevere surrendered reluctantly. This was Zac’s area of expertise. She recalled how quickly the gun had appeared in his hand after the tussle in the aisle.

He left her there at the foot of the aisle and faded into the shadows. He was heading toward the lighted doorway. Guinevere peered after him. With every step closer to the door in the wall Zac’s figure seemed a little more clear-cut, more visible. His shadow took substance and shape as he approached the weak light. If he was becoming more visible to her, she thought anxiously, then he was becoming more visible to Elfstrom. It was almost as if Zac were deliberately making a target of himself.

Then, even as Guinevere watched, shocked, Zac stepped sideways into the concealment provided by the end of an aisle of stacked crates. He just vanished. One moment he had become almost clearly visible, and then he had disappeared. He called roughly to Elfstrom.

“It wouldn’t have worked, anyway, Russ. You must have hurried that business at Hixon’s house after you heard the news about those hikers finding Cal’s body. You hit Larry a little too hard. He bled a little. That living room was so dark you wouldn’t have noticed. Probably had your hands too full to take a last look around anyway. You had to get him outside and into the car before dawn. But the first cop who walked in the door would have started asking questions about how someone the size of Guinevere could have struck Hixon that hard and then dragged his body outside to the car. It would have looked more like the work of a man. And that wouldn’t have fitted with the scenario you had arranged here. Sloppy, Russ. But then you always tended to get nervous in the crunches, didn’t you? Remember Tallah? Remember how you froze when that soldier pulled a gun on you?”

“Shut up, Justis. I saved your goddamned life in Tallah!”

“What are you going to do now, Elfstrom? This whole thing is coming apart around you. You’re probably getting jittery, as usual. After all, this is the crunch. You know how upset you get when things go wrong. How are the nerves? You’re smoking more than ever these days, Russ. Your hand started shaking yet? Is it shaking as badly as it did in Tallah?”

The tension and panic in the air seemed to beat down the aisles in waves. Before Guinevere could figure out what the conversation meant, there was a loud scrape of sound from near the door. An instant later Elfstrom appeared silhouetted in the overhead light. It gleamed off his bald head, just as Larry Hixon had once observed, and it made him, not Zac, the target.

“Damn you, Justis! You were supposed to be dead by now!” The frustrated shout was followed by the explosion of a gunshot.

Guinevere instinctively pulled her head down against her chest, huddling into herself. When she glanced up again, Elfstrom had disappeared. There was no sound except the echo of the gunshot fading into the gloom. It had been like watching a character on the computer screen appear and then disappear. Unnerving.

It seemed to Guinevere that there was a new element in the tense atmosphere. Impatience and fear and maybe something close to hysteria seemed to surround her, and the sensations weren’t all emanating from her own highly charged emotions. The Elf was beginning to panic, she sensed. He was the one who was finding the game unnerving. He had lost his edge, been forced out of hiding. And now he was panicking.

There was another sound from the vicinity of the doorway. Guinevere looked around the corner of the aisle in time to see Elfstrom dart once more into the light and grab for the door handle. He was going to make a run for it. To cover himself, he fired two quick shots back down the aisle as he wrenched open the door.

“Elfstrom!” Zac moved out of the shadows. “Hold it, right there.”

Almost out the door, Russ Elfstrom whirled and fired once again. This time there was an answering shot, and the Elf screamed as he crumpled to the cold concrete.

Ears ringing from the explosions of gunshots, Guinevere stared at the scene at the far end of the aisle. Even as she watched, Zac moved slowly forward into the light. He stood gazing down at the man who had once been his friend. Russ Elfstrom was breathing harshly, his hand clutching at his left shoulder. Vaguely Guinevere realized that he was bleeding from the right arm, not the left. The ringing in her ears receded.

“You were right, Russ. Most of the time I’m slow,” Zac said. He sounded unbelievably weary. “But once in a while I’m fast.”

“Like you were on the way out of Tallah.” The Elf’s voice was harsh and bitter. “It was all so perfect, Justis. I had it all planned. I was getting rich. And life is so goddamned short.” He coughed and groaned.

Zac dropped to his knee. “You’re okay, Russ. That bullet only caught your shoulder.”

“It’s not the bullet that’s going to get me, Zac. Pills. Right pocket.” Elfstrom had his eyes shut in agony now. He gasped for breath.

“Oh, Jesus,” Zac whispered, clawing into Elfstrom’s pocket for a small vial. “Gwen, find a phone. Get the police and tell them we need an ambulance. For two people.”

“Two?”

“Hixon’s stuffed into a crate headed for Alaska.”

Guinevere raced for the phone near the workbench.

Chapter Ten

Guinevere paused in the hospital room doorway and, through the array of brilliantly colored flowers she was carrying, studied the interesting sight of her sister comforting Larry Hixon. Carla seemed more than politely concerned with the small task of pouring Larry another glass of water. She was handing the glass to the man in the bed when she glanced up and saw her sister. She smiled. There didn’t seem to be much residual depression left in that smile, Guinevere decided.

“Oh, there you are, Gwen. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. I called your cell phone half an hour ago, and there was no answer.”

“I stopped to pick up these.” Guinevere moved into the room and found a place for the huge bouquet on the wide window ledge. “How are you feeling, Larry?”

“Like I’m gonna survive.” He tried a weak grin. “Sorry I don’t remember much about last night. My first clear image is of some medic calling into the emergency room from the ambulance. I wondered if I was watching TV, and then I realized I was the one he was notifying the hospital about. I think I woke up in that crate a couple of times, but I kept blacking out again. Doctor said that was common after a bad blow to the head.”

“Believe me, you were better off sleeping through the main event.” Guinevere walked to the bed. “I’d like to have done the same.”

“The police have already been here. They said Elfstrom died in the emergency room last night. Massive heart attack. I gather I owe my life to you and Zac.”

“Not me,” Guinevere told him. “I was just part of the cheering section. Zac was the star player.”

“And to think you used to call him a frog.” Carla gave her sister an admonishing glance. “You said he was just like a large frog crouching all day long on a lily pad.”

“Well, you know how frogs are,” Guinevere said. “They sit there contemplating life for hours and days on end, and then, without any warning, they move. Very quickly, I might add.
Zap
!”

“We frogs always get our flies.”

“Zac!” Guinevere swung around to see him filling the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, and his small attempt at humor rang hollow to her ears. She found herself wanting to put her arms around him and comfort him the way Carla was comforting Larry. Very firmly Guinevere reminded herself that her business relationship with Zachariah Justis was over. She had no idea what, if anything, existed between them now.

Carla looked at Zac. “Have you had any sleep?”

“A couple of hours this morning after I finished with the police.” Zac came into the room and stood at the foot of Larry’s bed. “How’re you doing, Hixon?”

“Still got a headache, but my vision’s cleared up. It was a little shaky for a while after I opened my eyes this morning. Like I’d spent too long sitting in front of a computer screen. I haven’t had a chance to thank you, Zac. I never even heard Elfstrom sneaking through my kitchen window last night. The cop who was here earlier told me what happened.”

“Forget it. You’re the one who was responsible for putting the pieces of the puzzle together. If you hadn’t played out Elf Hunt and left notes behind, we’d still be trying to figure out where the missing shipments were going.”

“It was Gwen who got the new version of the game to me.” Larry flicked her a half-sad smile. “I’m still having trouble believing Cal’s dead. Murdered. Shit.”

Carla broke in bracingly. “And you were slated to be next. It’s over, Larry. You have to put it behind you. We all do.”

“Still going to try to market the game?” Guinevere asked.

Larry nodded. “I think so. For a while I thought I’d have to rework the whole thing, but I finally found Cal’s copy of the original game in his house. I’ll make sure his name is on it somewhere.”

Guinevere thought of something. “Does Hampton Starr know what’s happened?” She glanced over at Zac.

He nodded once. “I’ve been in touch with my client. Finally. It was tough tracking him down. He was at some resort, drinking scotch in front of a roaring fire and enjoying the onset of winter along the coast. Very scenic, he tells me.”

“I’ll bet.” Larry made a face. “Somebody in the printing department was saying just the other day how really scenic the new photocopy clerk is.”

“I didn’t ask him if he was enjoying the coast with the new photocopy clerk,” Zac murmured. “We stuck to business.”

“How very discreet of you.” But Guinevere was watching her sister’s face as Hampton Starr’s name came into the conversation. Carla didn’t appear to be paying much attention to the discussion. She was arranging Larry’s pillows.

“Was the king surprised to find his wizard elf was the one who had been quietly ripping him off for the past couple of years?” Larry asked interestedly.

“He seemed . . .” Zac hesitated. “Very surprised. Yes.”

Larry grinned. “Stunned, you mean. Starr likes to think he’s an infallible judge of character.”

“He also likes to think he’s the one running all the little intrigues around StarrTech. He loves to plot and scheme,” Carla put in unexpectedly. There was no real bitterness in her voice, only mild disgust. “It must have really startled him to find out that someone was running an intrigue against him right under his nose. Serves him right.”

Zac glanced at Guinevere with an unreadable expression. “He recovered nicely. Right now he’s orchestrating the press release. I get the feeling that it’s going to look like trapping Elfstrom was all his idea. But I doubt if Hampton Starr has even the faintest idea of how many little schemes actually are hatched under his nose at StarrTech.”

“Management is often blissfully unaware of a great deal.” Guinevere smiled serenely. “Usually it’s best for all concerned that they stay unaware. Mustn’t bother the higher-ups with petty details.” She turned back to Larry. “When you’re up and about again, I’d like you to finish playing out Elf Hunt. I want to satisfy my own curiosity about one of the last options in the game.” She explained the tunnel and her suspicion that when it was followed someone would find an elf at the other end.

“I’ll check it out.” Larry stretched and then winced, putting his hand to his head. Instantly Carla was busy soothing him. “I was playing the game when the lights went out,” he continued. “I remember it was very late, maybe three or four in the morning. But you said the computer was off when you got there that afternoon?”

Zac nodded grimly. “Elfstrom was in a hurry, but he did take the time to shut down the computer. He didn’t want any questions being raised about why you’d simply disappeared, leaving your computer on and a game in progress.”

“It was dark in your living room, though. You had all the lights off, I suppose, while you worked on the computer,” Guinevere explained. “So the Elf didn’t notice the—”

Zac cut in before she could tell Larry about finding the bloodstains. “We’d better get going, Gwen.” He glanced meaningfully at his watch. “I’ve made Sunday brunch reservations, and we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.” He took her arm. “I’ll be back later, Larry. In the meantime, get some rest, okay?”

“I’ll see that he does,” Carla said.

Guinevere found herself being escorted out the door and down the hall before she quite realized what had happened. She started to protest and then smiled wryly. “I take it you don’t want me mentioning the bloodstains?”

“I left that detail out when I talked to the police,” Zac told her. “If I’d mentioned it, they might have taken offense at the fact that we hadn’t called them. As it was, I made it sound as if we were just pursuing some hunches and were as startled as everyone else when we found Larry and had Elfstrom walk in with a gun.”

“Gotcha.”

He slid her a speculative glance. “My small sin of omission doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“Heck, no. I’ve been involved in much bigger sins of omission myself.” She reached out and punched the elevator button. “Believe me, I’m happy to keep the story straight.” Then she eyed him with sudden wariness. “There are some sins I don’t forgive easily, however. Have you really made brunch reservations?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I’ve had my hands full all day talking to the police, tracking down Starr, and getting over here to the hospital.”

“I was afraid of that.” She sighed. “I’ve been duped again.”

He didn’t respond to her melodramatic complaint. Instead, Zac lapsed into silence as he walked with her out onto the street.

“I took the bus,” she said.

He nodded. “I grabbed a cab.”

They could have caught the bus back down from First Hill. With so many of the city’s hospitals and medical clinics clustered in that area of town there was plenty of good bus service. But somehow by mutual, if silent, consent they continued walking. It was a fairly long walk back downtown, but it was all downhill.

Guinevere made no further efforts to breach the silence. She sensed that Zac had had his fill of talking this morning. Talking and explaining and dealing with formalities were difficult when a part of you probably wanted to mourn a dead friendship. Zac had released her arm when they’d entered the elevator. Halfway back to town Guinevere impulsively reached out and took his hand. He twined his large fingers with hers and gripped her hand with a tension that made her wonder exactly what he was thinking. But he continued to say nothing.

They were almost down to First Avenue when Guinevere decided to take charge. “Come on,” she said abruptly. “Let’s go to my place.”

Zac came up out of his reverie long enough to give her a questioning glance, but he didn’t argue. He allowed her to guide him back through Pioneer Square to her apartment. The afternoon was wearing on. It was almost three o’clock.

Inside the apartment Guinevere pushed him gently in the direction of the sofa, and then she went into the kitchen and found the bottle of tequila she had bought several months ago when she’d decided to have a margarita and nachos party. There was still a quarter of the bottle left. In another cupboard she found a bag of potato chips.

She carried a couple of glasses, the tequila bottle, and the chips back out into the living room, set them down on the table in front of the sofa, and poured two short drinks. Then she handed him one.

Zac took it, staring first at the liquor and then into her face.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Thanks, I needed that,’” she told him.

He took a sip and nodded. “Thanks, I needed that.”

She let him drink in silence for a while longer, contenting herself with a few tastes of the raw tequila and several potato chips. Gradually the tension in Zac began to diminish. When he finally spoke aloud, though, Guinevere jumped a little. She’d grown accustomed to his brooding silence. It had reminded her of the evening he had been thinking so deeply and then fallen asleep on her sofa.

“He really did save my life once, you know.”

Guinevere waited, saying nothing.

“It was in a dirty little hellhole of a place named Tallah.”

Guinevere thought of asking exactly where on the globe Tallah was and then decided she could check out the geography later. Something told her just to sit quietly and let Zac talk.

“Things had gone wrong. Very wrong. The U.S. firm I was supposed to be advising badly misplayed its hand. In its infinite widsom management had managed to mortally offend the honchos who ran the town. By the time I was sent in to consult on the problem, it was too late to do anything but try to get the U.S. personnel out of the area. I was able to get the firm’s people out on a chartered flight. But at the airport the soldiers showed up and started demanding that the plane not take off. I stalled the soldiers while the pilot got the plane off the ground. In the end I was the only foreigner the Tallah authorities had left to punish for the big insult.”

Silence hung again in the air, and Zac took another swallow of tequila. He hadn’t touched the potato chips, Guinevere noticed.

“I found myself in a filthy jail cell waiting for a kangaroo court to be convened. And then Russ Elfstrom walked through the door, waving a hefty bribe and a lot of phony authority. Our company’s head office had decided to try a quick grandstand play to get me out of jail rather than risk going through channels. Russ was the closest member of the firm who could be reached and coached on how to make the attempt. The soldiers weren’t sure what to do, but in the end they decided the bribe looked too good to turn down. Russ was smart enough to tell them that the only way they could collect the money was at the border, where he had someone standing by to pay off. We got to the border, and the commanding officer decided to take both the money and me back to Tallah. Russ found himself looking down the wrong end of the gun and started to come apart at the seams. This had been a rather different job for him. He usually got the more civilized assignments. But that close to freedom I wasn’t about to let that damned soldier take me back to Tallah.”

Again Zac stopped talking, gazing out the arched living room window. Finally Guinevere dared ask, “What happened, Zac?”

“I jumped the guy. And I got lucky. I got him before he could kill Russ. Russ and I worked together off and on after that. Our areas of expertise were different. He was the electronics ace, the one they called in to deal with computer security and alarm systems. I got the more primitive kind of work. But it was a long trip back from Tallah. Crossing the border was only the beginning. And after that there was always a kind of bond between us. He left the firm three years ago to come back to the States.”

When the silence descended again, it hung around awhile. Guinevere munched a few more potato chips while Zac worked on the tequila. She felt at a loss to know what to offer in the way of comfort. So she kept quiet.

The shadows lengthened in the living room. Outside, the sky was darkening early as rain moved in over Elliott Bay. Guinevere wondered if Zac had had anything at all to eat that day. He didn’t seem even remotely interested in the chips. His eyes were filled with ghosts the color of the rain clouds overhead. Finally, at five o’clock, she got to her feet.

“I think we should go out and get a bite to eat,” she announced.

Zac blinked, focusing on her as she stood assertively in front of him. “I’m not hungry.”