Hush (7 page)

Charlie used his thumb and forefinger to thump her shoulder. “Who you calling rank?”

He always knew how to make her smile, no matter the circumstance, and once again she felt grateful to have him at her side—dangerously grateful. Sliding out from under his arm she said, “Be serious please.”

“Okay. The police think employing a conservative, watch-and-see approach is best. And I can’t say for sure they’re wrong about that, but I’m not really a watch-and-see kind of guy. So you tell me, Anna. Your family—your call. Do you want to start looking for Simone and Bobby on our own, or do you want to wait and let the law handle it?”

Maybe they’d find something in the news articles that would prod Hawkins into action. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing.” And she couldn’t think straight either. “But I’m tired, and I need something to sharpen my senses. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to need coffee.”

“Lots of it,” he agreed.

“Let’s go through these clippings at my place.” Dropping the manila folder into her shoulder bag, she said, “I can return this file in the morning, and Mrs. Marlowe will never have to know I took it.”

She snapped her bag shut.

An explosion of sound echoed through the room.

Her heart lurched as she processed the noise.

Gunshot!

Ears ringing, she spun around.

Suddenly Charlie was on top of her, throwing her to the floor, crushing her with his weight. “Stay down. Don’t fucking move,” he whispered urgently in her ear.

Gasping for air, she bucked violently beneath him. He touched his cheek to hers. She stopped struggling. Charlie was not the enemy. She drew a shallow breath, then another, some of her panic fading.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk
.

Heavy footfalls on hardwood.

Peering beneath the reading desk, she spotted a pair of boots about twenty feet away. Coming closer.

Closer.

Downright predatory boots. Black leather shafts inlaid with the star of Texas. Silver alligator skin covering the toes.

She shuddered.

Charlie shifted his weight. He whispered something that sounded like
stay here
into her hair. But she knew it didn’t matter, because the reading desk they were hiding behind couldn’t stop a bullet. Her heart pounded against her ribs, magnifying her pulse everywhere in her body. Her ears, her wrists, even her elbows buzzed with terror.

Crack!

Another gunshot boomed through the room. She jerked against the floor. Slivers of wood rained down from above. The bullet had slammed through the desk, inches from where she and Charlie lay. Her cheek was wet. Blood? She swiped her hand across her skin. No, not blood.

Tears
.

Charlie’s lips moved against her cheek, but she couldn’t decipher what he was saying at all—it sounded like a tuning fork was humming in her ear. She tried to scream but no sound came out. When she recognized the familiar sensation of her vocal chords going slack and useless, an even greater panic set in.

As she watched, stunned and horrified, Charlie reared up and waved his arms in the air.

Her throat convulsed. Past the fear she pushed out a scream. “No!”

But it was too late. Charlie darted across the room, drawing the shooter’s attention. His words floated through the air in slow motion: “Over…here…ass…hole.”

Charlie must’ve made it to the entrance because the lights switched off just as another shot rang out. Charlie had drawn the shooter’s fire and given her the cover of darkness. He’d risked his life to give her a chance.

Her brain locked into safe mode—that place where time slows down and fear enhances the ability to plan and act. Charlie had given her a chance, and she had damn well better take it.

Noiselessly, she eased the shoulder bag onto her back and out of her way, then began inching across the floor on her belly. Her shirt climbed her chest, and the floor felt cold and slick against her skin. Her pupils hadn’t accommodated to the darkness yet, but once they did, she knew she would be able to see again—and so would Boots.

For now, she couldn’t see more than an arm’s length ahead.

Crack!

Another shot split through the cotton in her ears. She kept moving, scraping her body across the floor with one goal in mind. She might not be able to see her way, but she knew this library well. She put out her hand and patted the cold metal legs of a cabinet—the card catalogue—it would serve to map her route. A full-body tremor set in, but she kept going, crawling around the corner.

Just another yard or so.

She needed to make it that far if she was going to get out of here alive.

By now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and with the light of the moon sifting into the room, she could see well enough to make out more than just shadows. Keeping her body flat, she lifted her head, searching the room for Charlie, praying she wouldn’t find him.

Please let him have made it out alive.

She couldn’t see Charlie, but Boots was there, his feet planted a few yards away, alligator toes pointed her direction. Her gaze climbed the shiny sliver vamps, up the black shafts with the inlaid star of Texas. Her throat closed. She forced her eyes to keep going, and saw baggy jeans, dark jacket, ski mask.

Gun!

A crash sounded on the other side of the room.

Boots whirled and fired a flurry of shots—too many and too fast to count.

Her heart tried to split in her chest.

Stay focused
.

She dragged her body forward again, arms shaking from the stress of her combat crawl. When she reached her target, the narrow section of carpet along the north side of the room, her elbows started to itch. Back pressed against the wall, she inched up, up, up, and then felt around until she found the smooth rubber handle she sought.

Boots stepped from the shadows into a slice of moonlight, raised his arm, and pointed his pistol—straight at her.

Her heart stopped. She felt the sudden absence of its beat like a blow to the chest.

Then she saw it: the open slide on the gun.

Boots was out of bullets.

He’d surely have another clip, but she’d have a split second to act before he could reload.

She yanked the handle.

The fire alarm rang out so loudly the wall shook behind her back.

Flinging her hands out in front, she found a desk, began yanking drawers, desperately searching for a weapon—a letter opener, a paperweight,
anything
. She grasped a bottle and hurled it with all her might. It shattered against Boots’ head. A sickly sweet smell exploded in the air.

Mrs. Marlowe’s brandy
!

The blare of the fire alarm deafened. Boots heaved his back into a file cabinet, setting off a domino effect. She dove to the side to avoid being crushed, landing with her cheek to the floor. Wood vibrated beneath her ear. Then she let out a breath so long her lungs deserved a medal for having held it.

Boots, the deadly swamp predator, was running for the door like a spooked rabbit.

Chapter Six

Tangleheart: Tuesday, 12:45
A.M.

N
O ONE HAD
followed them from the library—Charlie had made certain of it. Having put a good ten minutes between them and the scene of the crime, he guided his new Camaro to the road’s soft shoulder, then released his death grip on the steering wheel, cut the engine and turned to Anna. “You okay?”

She nodded, but her body was trembling like a child with a fever. He reached in the backseat, found his warm-up jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

“Thanks. I—I don’t know why I’m cold on a night like this.”

“Most likely you’re a bit shocky.” When he pulled his arms back to his sides, his muscles jittered beneath his skin—like he’d just bench-pressed twice his weight instead of lifting a windbreaker. “Me too, I guess.”

Their gazes met and held. Moonlight painted her face in broad strokes, leaving her skin luminous. Fear dilated her pupils and changed the soft blue of her eyes to midnight. His eyes dipped to her full lips. He leaned toward her. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to make an ass of himself—only ten minutes ago they were fighting for their lives, and now all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

Earlier, at his place, they’d nuzzled and played, and
almost
kissed, but Nate had interrupted them with his news. Charlie had been operating primarily from lust at the time, and he had to admit that lust was still there, but right now he needed to feel the warmth of her body, needed to hold her in his arms for a different reason—he needed to verify that she was still here, still breathing, still very much alive. He’d finally found her again after all this time. He wasn’t prepared to lose her so soon.

“Anna, I…” He swallowed dryly.

“Yes?” She laid her palm on his knee, but then hurriedly pulled it away.

“I…wanted to tell you…I was proud of you back there. You saved our lives.”

Suddenly headlights flashed on the road behind them. As one, they ducked, stayed down until the car had moved safely past. He started the engine, but kept the car in park, headlights off. They needed time to recover, time to think, but they couldn’t sit here on the side of the road all night. That passing car was a warning to get the hell out of Tangleheart. “We need to make some decisions,” he said. “I don’t care what the nine-one-one operator told us to do. I don’t think we should drive to the police station.”

“Agreed.”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re not going to put up an argument? Anna Kincaid is going to defy authority—just like that?”

She gave him the one-eyebrow lift right back. “I realize that while I was on my cell, you were concentrating on driving like hell, but I promise you, I told both the nine-one-one operator and Nate everything that happened—absolutely everything we know. Nate should have no problem lighting a fire under Hawkins after this. But if we go to the station they’ll confiscate this file as evidence.” She lifted her purse. “The police won’t have any idea which of those clippings would have meaning for Simone, but I might be able to figure something out.”

Anna scanned the area surrounding the car. “Besides, the shooter obviously followed us to the library. Now that we’ve lost him, I can’t see marching into the station and filing a complaint. He’s expecting us to drive straight to the authorities, and that will give him a perfect opportunity to get back on our tail. Boots is probably staking out the station right now, waiting for us.”

“
Boots
—that’s what we’re calling him?”
Motherfucker
seemed like a better fit, but he supposed he could go along with whatever shorthand Anna chose. “Okay by me. But if we’re not going to the station, where are we going?” No safe place immediately sprang to mind.

“How about my father’s old hunting cabin? It’s an hour’s drive—isolated. And there’s always a chance that’s where Simone took Bobby. I should’ve remembered it before, although I doubt she’d go there. She always hated that place.”

Thinking, he pressed his fingers to his eyelids. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. If Boots knows your family, he may know about the cabin.”

“Four years ago, my father wrapped his car around a tree…” Looking at him like she was unsure how much information she needed to fill in for him, she paused.

Nate had already told Charlie the story. A few years back, Anna’s father tied one on and plowed into a tree. “I heard your dad lost the use of his legs.” His hand found her knee. “I’m so sorry, Anna.”

“Thanks.” She kept her tone matter-of-fact. “He hasn’t had a drink since. My point is this: Since the accident, Daddy’s been unable to work. Nate stepped in and paid off his home mortgage, but we all agreed it was best to let the hunting cabin go back to the bank. We haven’t owned it for years.”

“But if you don’t own the cabin anymore—”

“Then no one will expect us to hide there. The couple who bought it from the bank planned to tear it down and build a luxury vacation house on the property. But the guy must’ve lost his job or something because they’ve never done a thing with the land. I think we’d be safe at the cabin. At least long enough to get our ducks in a row.”

He hated to burst Anna’s bubble, but a row of ducks wasn’t going to stop a cold-blooded killer. Without cutting the engine, he opened his door, flicking off the overhead light just as it flashed on. “I’ve got an HK 45 and ammo in the trunk. I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Seven