Burn (43 page)

She put on her fleece jacket, grabbed her purse and
car keys, and began unbarring and unlocking her front
door. Her breath caught in her chest, sweat ran down her
spine, her vision blurred. Dizzy with panic, she fumbled
with the locks, her fear growing with each passing
second.

Her skull seemed too tight for her brain, forcing her
thoughts to jumble into a senseless knot. She threw open
her front door to hear the crash of glass from three sto
ries below. Her throat closed, stopping the scream
building in her lungs, and her bladder threatened to
empty. Forcing herself to keep her cool even as she heard
slow footsteps climbing the stairs, she closed her door and locked it.

The fire escape.

She dragged the suitcase into her bedroom and
unlocked her window. Cinder threw the suitcase out first.
In less than thirty seconds, she would be in her car and
on her way to the police department. After that, she
would head to a new town to make a new start. One foot
on the fire escape and the other dangling in her bedroom,
she straddled the window sill.

A new start.

How many of those had she already gone through? How many were in her future? How many times would
she have to escape from Sumchai Wyatt?

She had tried to escape Sumchai once, and he’d nearly
killed her to stop her. Here he was again, forcing her to
run. From him. From Zae. From Gian. She hadn’t spent
six months learning to fight only to run. Not when she
had so much to fight for.

Sumchai wasn’t looking for a fight, she was certain of
it. He had nothing to fight for. He wanted revenge, plain
and simple.

She hadn’t asked for this war, but Sumchai had
brought it to her door. He wouldn’t have the advantage of a blitz attack, not this time. This time, she would see
the enemy coming. If nothing else, Gian had taught her
the most important thing about war.

“Stand or surrender,” she murmured.

She pulled her leg back inside.

C
inder’s dark leather library chair faced her front
door, and it was there she sat, her legs crossed, her arms on the wide armrests, when Sumchai stepped into view.
The door stood wide open. Cinder wanted him to know
with absolute certainty that he was welcome to enter.

He entered slowly, his steps deliberate, perhaps even
cautious, as he stepped into the foyer. Without taking his
eyes off Cinder, he closed the door behind him. He
locked it, securing the chains as well.

Her lips pursed, Cinder watched her ex-husband
approach. He was still tall and handsome, although
prison had eliminated the softer aspects of his features.
The planes of his face were hard, his skin appeared to be
stretched too tightly over his high cheekbones, one of
which sported a purple-black bruise. New lines curved
around his eyes and wide mouth. A scant crop of gray
hairs glinted at his temple. Accustomed to seeing him in
well-tailored clothing purchased with her income, it took
her a moment to get used to him in his off-the-rack
denim jacket, no-name work pants, and scuffed sneakers.

“What?” His tone was casual as he walked toward
Cinder with open arms. “No hug?”

“If you touch me, I’ll kill you. ”

Despite the gun loosely held in his right hand, his
steps faltered. Cinder gave him a grim smile.

His eyes raked over her ribbed tank top. “You look
good, kitten,” he said, using the nickname she most
hated. “The past couple of years have been real good to
you.” He sat a few feet away on the arm of the sofa, his
gun hand resting on his right knee. “I love your place. It’s
a
lot bigger than it looks from the outside. The high ceil
ings are really special. I figured I’d have to hunch over like
Quasimodo up here.”

“You came here to talk architectural details?”

A deep cackle rose from his chest. Cinder squinted
and locked her jaw to stop herself from screaming.
Sumchai had the laugh of a cartoon witch. It was com
pletely incongruous with his physical appearance, and
there had been a time when the mere sound of it had
made Cinder laugh, too. But now she cringed at the
high-pitched, wheezy sound with its broken, staccato
notes. It was the laugh she heard in her nightmares.

“No, I didn’t come here to talk about your new digs. I want to talk about us.”

It was Cinder’s turn to laugh. “You really are insane,
aren’t you?”

“I was here for two weeks before I finally saw you, on
Halloween. It was like love at first sight all over again. I
saw you there on the street, and you were more beautiful
than the day I met you. I was surprised at how fast your hair grew back. But then I saw you at that karate school the next day, and I realized you’d been wearing a wig. I
loved your hair long, but I like that you’re still wearing my mark.”

“What you like isn’t really my concern anymore. I
don’t have a choice when it comes to your marks. They’re
all over my body. Plastic surgeons did what they could,
but I’ll have my scars for the rest of my life.”

“I meant your hair.” He drew a fine gold chain from
his collar. “I had this made while I was in lockup. See
t
hat?” Pulling it taught over the tip of his thumb, he
leaned forward to show it to her. “You probably can’t see
it from over there, but I’ve got one strand of your hair
woven in it. Just one strand. That’s all I’ve had of you for
the past couple of years. It’s the only thing that’s kept me
connected to you. That, and the internet. You’d be sur
prised at how well-equipped the prison library is. My
cellmate runs an online dating service for cons and the women who love them. He posted profits of more than
fifty grand last year.”

“That’s fascinating,” Cinder said dismissively. “You
didn’t find me on the internet. I don’t use your surname
or my maiden name, and my clients don’t list me on their
websites. Nothing significant comes up if you search the name I use now.”

“Yes, I realized that a few months into my search.
And your parents . . . they were no help at all. I searched
their house from top to bottom, and they didn’t have so
much as a holiday card from you.”

Cinder’s skin broke out in gooseflesh. “If you hurt my
mother and father . . .”

“They were at the Cape when I broke in,” he said
blithely. “But I didn’t leave entirely empty-handed. Did you know that they use your birthday for the combina
tion to the safe behind the bookcase in their den? They
really should change it. Birthdays are so obvious. Very
easy to guess.”

“What did you take?”

“Just a few pieces of jewelry. Your mama is like a rac
coon. She likes anything that sparkles. She probably
n
ever even noticed anything missing. It was like
Blackbeard’s treasure in there.”

She stood, slowly, so as not to startle him into firing
the gun. She moved toward the kitchen. “Why did you rob them?”

Sumchai followed her, keeping close. “I needed fun
money for this little vacation to Webster Groves. My par
ents have me on an allowance, can you believe it? It’s
barely enough to cover my bar tab, let alone to travel
halfway across the country and woo back my wife.”

“How did you find me?” Cinder made a point to stay
clear of the cordless phone mounted on the wall just
inside the kitchen. She went to the freezer and took out a half-gallon of milk.

“Zae.”

With a loud thunk, the frozen milk landed on the
butcher block counter. Shocked, Cinder’s tongue seemed
too thick as she said, “She wouldn’t . . . liar.”

“Oh, she didn’t tell me where you were. But Professor
Azalea Richardson was an easy search online. I knew that
if I found her, you would be close by. I almost came to
you on Halloween. I dressed as a ninja, in keeping with
your current interest in martial arts.”

“Why did you attack Zae’s daughter?” Cinder asked
abruptly.

“Zae screwed around in our life for too long. I figured
it was time to screw her right back.”

“By going after one of her children? Why didn’t you
go after
her
?” She smiled bitterly. “Oh, right. Zae would
have ripped your nuts off and force-fed them to you. Is
that why you always hated her so much? I used to think
it was because she’s a tenured, published professor, while
you couldn’t even get a job teaching primary school.
Then I thought maybe it was because she’s the only one
of my friends you couldn’t intimidate and drive away. It’s
pretty obvious to me now that it’s because she’s ten times
the man you’ll ever be.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “That mouth of yours is
always what got you into so much trouble. Got you out
of it, too, especially when you did that thing where you circle your tongue—”

“I don’t do that with Gian.”

Sumchai flinched.

“Gian’s a lot bigger than you are.” She opened a cab
inet above the counter and took out a drinking glass. “I
don’t have the room to maneuver the way I did with you. Of course, I could have shoved a whole Twinkie in my
mouth alongside you . . .”

Snarling, Sumchai charged her, only to be caught in the face with a quick, hard whack with the frozen milk.
A comical squawk of pain and surprise flew out of
Sumchai’s mouth, along with a bloody tooth and a pink
rope of saliva. With a dull tink, the tooth landed on the vinyl tile floor. Cinder’s second blow, which connected
with his chin, knocked him off his feet.

On his hands and knees and drooling blood, Sumchai
glared up at her. “I’m going to kill you slow this time,
kitten.”

He lunged at her, only to introduce his chin to her
heel. It came at him fast and hard enough to drive his
h
ead backward, his body flopping after it. He scrambled
out of the kitchen, grabbing the gun he’d tucked into his
waistband. Relentless, she didn’t stop to gauge the effect
of her first kick. She pursued him, a series of powerful ax
kicks driving Sumchai toward the living room wall.

Her final kick, a sweeping roundhouse aimed at his
head, missed its target. Sumchai clumsily ducked under
it and vaulted over her sofa, positioning himself on the
far side of it to give himself a chance to regroup and catch
his breath.

Fists clenched, Cinder stood ready for her second big
battle of the day, a deadly smile cloaking any fear or reser
vations she might have had about resorting to lethal
force. “Threaten all you want, Chai,” she stated evenly.
“I’ll have an answer for you. Gian’s a really good teacher.
But I guess you know that, since one of his former stu
dents kicked your face in at the mall earlier tonight.”

He cocked the gun, almost playfully aiming it at her.
“His students might show a bit of talent, but your big
boyfriend was off his own game tonight. He couldn’t
dodge a single bullet. Are your reflexes any better?”

Cinder’s heart seemed to stop. Her lungs ceased func
tion. Her brain couldn’t digest Sumchai’s implication.
The warning call. It had come from Gian’s phone, but
Gian hadn’t made it . . .

Sumchai spat out a gooey clot of blood. “Only three
bullets left.”

“Y-You—”

“He took the first two on his knees,” Sumchai
sneered through a sinister laugh. “He was flat on his back
f
or the last one. Some hero. He’s a lot tougher on paper
than in real life.”

Cinder withstood his taunts, battling with her
stomach to keep its meager contents inside her. She swal
lowed hard, over and over, fat beads of sweat tickling
down her face. “Did you kill him?”