Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (20 page)

"
What
?"

"He got her when she left the library. He wants to trade her for the spell."

"But—" Jaime started, and couldn't go any further with it. The spell was gone, and they'd never fool Derrick with a fake, not in this world of printer paper and ball point pens. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then called, "Kate, something's come up. I'm very sorry, but I'm going to have to leave. There won't be any charge for the lesson."

"Is everything all right?"

Jaime shook her head, too worried to stick with the facade of reassurance. "No, but it's a long story. Can you get Turner loaded up okay without help?"

"No problem," Kate said. "I hope everything turns out okay, Jaime."

Not much chance of that. "Thanks. I'll see you next week, then." She looked at Carey, who preceded her out of the ring with the same ground-eating strides with which he'd entered; Jaime had to jog a few steps before she adjusted to his gait. "What are you going to do?" she asked, as they walked out into the night. Then she'd wished she'd waited, for she couldn't see his face when he stopped and answered, and the ragged quality of his voice was not what she'd expected.

"He's calling back in a few minutes. I'm going to agree to the trade, and then I'm going to go get her. I've already talked to Mark—he wants to go with me."

"So do I," Jaime blurted, her fear for Jess outweighing all sensible factors.

"We've only got two guns," Carey said, his blunt response driving home the danger. "Derrick is sure to be armed, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has his friend with him."

"Give me one of the guns," she said, unswayed. "I may not be very good with it, but the only other thing we've got is Derrick's bow, and I
know
I can't do anything with that."

"That's what Mark said." Carey's voice held a hint of dry humor. "He said you'd want to come. That's the reason I almost didn't tell you—"

"But you needed a ride into town," Jaime supplied.

"Yes." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "And I couldn't talk him out of calling Eric, either. He thinks we're going to want someone there waiting with a car. For a fast retreat, which we'll probably need." He started walking again, leading her into the house. "Put a dark shirt on. If things work out right, I'd like you to stay out of sight—surprise reinforcement."

"
You
knew I'd come, too," Jaime said, almost an accusation.

They'd made it to the kitchen; he stopped and looked at her. "I was pretty sure," he said. "You've meant a lot to Jess. I think she means a lot to you, too."

She didn't answer; she didn't think she needed to. But she thought again that she'd missed something significant earlier in the day, because Carey's expression wasn't quite the cool, matter-of-fact determination she'd come to expect from him. It wasn't cool at all.

At the LK, Mark left the desk in the hands of a sleepy, curious coworker, and slid into the suddenly crowded front seat of Jaime's pickup, holding out his hand. Carey placed one of Derrick's appropriated guns into it, and then dumped a generous fistful of ammunition into the other hand.

"Dayna's coming, too," Mark announced, and Jaime stopped in mid U-turn to lean over the steering wheel and aim a questioning look past Carey to her brother. He shrugged. "I was surprised, too. But she was over at Eric's place when I called, and she refused to stay behind. Didn't even mention calling the cops."

"No," Carey murmured. "We can't do that."

"We know," Jaime said grimly. "You think if we didn't, we'd be doing this dumb-ass hero act? Good lord, look at us. We put Clint Eastwood to shame."

"No choice, Jay," Mark said simply, and for a brief moment, she was swept by affection for her brother. And then it faded, and she pulled out of the U-turn and straight into the sparse traffic.

"The YMCA," she muttered. "What a place for a showdown."

"It's as good as any," Mark shrugged.

"He said he'd be in the lower parking lot," Carey told them. "It doesn't mean anything to me."

"Easy," Mark said. "Two lots behind the building, and one's about eight feet lower than the other, has a short drive connecting the two. The lower one's the furthest from the Y, so that gives us a good chance at sneaking Jaime in against the building. Eric's meeting us out front, but I think he should kill his lights and roll down into place between the two parking lot entrances. Once
we
pull in, Derrick's not likely to notice a car coasting dark."

"I still don't know how you think you're going to get Jess safely away from him," Jaime said, shaking her head as she stopped at the light in front of the courthouse, an impatient foot riding the clutch while she waited out the red.

Carey's voice was full of confidence. "The fake'll throw him for a minute. He never saw the real thing, and Mark said the parking lots aren't well lit. All I need is that minute."

"I don't think," Jaime said quietly, "that Jess will be very happy if you get killed doing this." Despite the silence, she felt some kind of communication pass between Mark and Carey, and she suddenly realized that Mark knew whatever it was that had happened earlier in the day.

As if to confirm her thought, Carey said, "I'm not sure she's too happy with me right now, anyway. It doesn't matter. What's important is getting her out of this. I'd give Derrick that damn manuscript, if I had it."

To her surprise, she believed him. But she didn't have any more time to think about it, because the light was green and they were one turn away from the YMCA.

"Dayna can take the car. I want to be out there with you," were Eric's abrupt words of greeting as Jaime double-parked the pickup beside his little hatchback.

Carey's response was immediate. "No. There'll already be too many people in that parking lot, considering Derrick expects only me."

"Then let me be one of them," Eric insisted.

No
, Jaime pleaded silently. Not Eric, whose soul was too gentle to mar with the guilt of shooting someone. "Carey—" she started in protest, but he was ahead of her.

"Can you shoot better than Jaime?" he asked.

Eric looked away. "No."

"Then drive for us."

A sigh. "What
exactly
do you want me to do?"

Jaime's attention wandered as Mark relayed their half-formed plan; her hand drifted down to the automatic that lay on the seat beside her leg, glad for it but dreading the fact that she might actually have to use it. Lost in thought, she was surprised to find Mark standing outside her door.

"Hey, Jay, you out in the ozone or what? I'll take the truck from here. You follow the building around and wait next to it until you've spotted Derrick. Then get as close as you can without being seen—that gun won't be accurate from any distance—and keep an eye out for Derrick's pal. He may be pulling the same trick you are."

"Great," Jaime said without enthusiasm.

Mark propped his elbows on the truck door and leaned in the open window. "You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "Eric can handle it, if that's what you want."

Jaime took a deep breath. "No. I'm fine. Just wish I'd thought to change out of my breeches—Derrick'll probably smell me coming."

Mark snorted, punched her softly on the shoulder. "Keep your head down."

"Yeah," Jaime acknowledged, climbing out of the truck, hesitating on the running board where she was, for once, taller than Mark. "Be careful." She gave him a rare, sisterly kiss on the cheek and, hefting the gun, left the pickup behind.

The brick YMCA was bordered by shrubs and small trees, tempting her to hide and wait while she listened for signs of company. But she was too driven by the fear that the guys would get into trouble before she even made it around to the back, so she moved quickly from shrub to tree, and finally to the back corner of the building, where she had a clear view of both parking lots. The only light came from two floodlights on the back of the Y and a few sporadic yard lights in the run-down housing that pushed up against the parking lot, but it was easy enough to spot Derrick. He stood boldly in the center of the lower lot, visible to her from only the chest up. Next to him was Jess, a gun shoved against the bottom of her jaw. She stood quietly, and Jaime hoped she had the resources to continue doing so—and then to move when the time was right.

She heard the truck doors slam, one after another, and Mark and Carey walked into the upper lot, almost casually. To her left, Jaime heard the soft tire noise of Eric's car; it stopped at the entrance to the upper lot, unnoticed by the others.

"I told you to come alone," Derrick called to Carey. "Alone and unarmed. You didn't do either—is that all that you care about this pretty little thing?"

Jess twitched in his grip, managed to turn her head enough against the pressure of the gun to look at Derrick; Jaime could well imagine the glare. She took advantage of the confrontation and, going down to a crouch from which she could no longer see Derrick—and hoped he couldn't see her—she crept forward, angling left toward the street, intending to get a clear line of fire.

Carey lifted the strung bow in a shrug. "The problem is, I don't trust you. I want Lady, all right, so I'll give you the spell. It doesn't really matter. You can't get home."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust you either. Especially not since the mare is so insistent the spell's been destroyed by some foolishness on your part."

"
You
are the foolish one," Jess said, her voice barely audible to Jaime. "You come after him again and again. I will kill you when I can."

A chill ran through Jaime as she recognized the utter intent in Jess' voice. She no longer worried if Jess would move when she had to—she worried that she wouldn't wait, wouldn't realize there was more to this than just Mark and Carey. She stretched up, just enough to get her bearings before she crept forward again. The sound of her own movement nearly obscured Derrick's laugh.
Good. He thinks he's already won.

"She's spunky. I can see why you used her on that run. Too bad I didn't get the chance to ride her myself." Then his voice changed. "The spell, Carey. First put that bow down—no, give it to your friend there. It'll keep his hands full. Then bring the spell here—slowly. As soon as I'm satisfied, I'll let your little filly go."

Jaime could see the man now, and got down to her hands and knees, sinking to the pavement each time Derrick seemed to glance her way. Then she was at the edge of the two lots, on her stomach, and not ready to go any further.

Carey took the quiver off his shoulder, held it and the bow up so Derrick could see them clearly, and handed them to Mark.

"Hold them out," Derrick said as Mark's hands fell to his sides and, reluctantly, Mark did so. He and Carey exchanged a quick look before the courier stepped out away from him, holding out their hastily concocted fake, the other hand palm up in placation. He slid down the short, steep bank between the lots without seeming to notice it was there, and stopped a few feet away from Derrick and Jess.

"C'mon, c'mon, let's see it," Derrick said impatiently, snaking his gun arm around Jess' neck to keep that threat alive while he reached for the paper. Jaime held her breath, waiting for Carey to pick his moment—but it was Jess who moved. As Derrick snatched the bogus spell, Jess twisted her head and sunk her teeth into his hand, exploding into offensive elbows and feet.

Derrick yelped as Jess ducked out of his weakened grip and whirled around, but not to run—to attack. Carey was there first, grabbing at the gun. Seconds passed in a scuffle too close for Jaime to identify either man, and she jumped to her feet and slid down the bank, stopping with the gun held out in both almost steady hands. "Derrick!" she screamed, trying to startle him, succeeding only in startling Carey and giving Derrick the opening to slap his gun across Carey's face.

Carey staggered back, stumbled, fell to his knees. Appalled, Jaime tightened her grip on the gun and shouted in best TV cop fashion, "Drop it!"

It didn't work; he didn't even seem to hear her as he brought his gun to bear on Carey, who was still stunned, wobbly, and trying to get to his feet.
Oh my God I'm going to have to kill him
—but suddenly she didn't think she could.

She never found out. Jess was there, wresting the automatic from her grasp, shoving it against Derrick's chest and pulling the trigger not once but three times, creating an oddly muffled noise that matched the jerking of Derrick's body. He fell with the peculiar wet thud of dead meat; Jess stared at the gun in her hand, holding it away from her as if it was a week-old road kill, then deliberately dropping it to the pavement.

Jaime snatched it up and handed it off to Mark as he ran up; he took it almost absently as he knelt to check Derrick's body. It was only a moment more before both Eric and Dayna were there, too, gaping at the man Jess had killed, but Jess seemed oblivious to all of it as she crouched by Carey, touching his face where the blood ran freely. When he finally responded to her, dazed but reaching out a reassuring arm, she dropped her head into the hollow of his shoulder and kept it there, shivering but silent.

Dayna didn't gape long. Ever practical, she said, "We've got to get out of here. The porch lights just came on all the way down the street."

Carey didn't seem to hear her. He gently disengaged from Jess and made it to Derrick's body without ever making it to his feet, feeling around the man's neck. With a small satisfied sound, he pulled out a chain strung with small stones and crystals. As he sat back, his fingers closing around the gems in possessive relief, he glanced up at Jaime and said, "We can go home now."

"Not if the police get here first," Dayna warned.

"She's right, Carey," Jaime said, reaching for Jess, who was still curled up into a shoulder that was no longer there.

"Not even the police can stop me if I invoke this," Carey said, but he drew himself together and stood, wiping the back of his hand across his face, where the blood from his split and puffy brow still ran. He took a deep breath, bent and touched Jess, and drew her upright. "I'll take Derrick," he said almost absently as he carefully brushed a hand over Jess' cheek, clearing away the parking lot grit that had stuck to her tears, but leaving traces of his own blood. "That way no one here can get in trouble over him."