Survival Instinct (12 page)

“From what I understand, that particular activity will be someone else’s pleasure,” Karin said sweetly. “But yes. I mean scamming to get inside his world. That’s what you haven’t been able to do, isn’t it? See his world from the inside out?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “We’re on the outside looking in. We can’t even get disgruntled ex-employees to talk.”

“Which should tell you something. Supposing you didn’t already get the message with the Messieurs Ruthless at my place.”

He let go of her fingers; he covered his face briefly and then let his hands fall away to expose the weariness, the awareness of the odds…the battle within. “I don’t know,” he said. “I really…I just don’t—”

And that means you do know, and you don’t want to face it yet.
The best time to back off totally, to remove the pressure. “I’m hungry,” she said. “I’m thinking lots of carbs. How about you?”

“I’m thinking of that Cardhu in the backseat of the car,” Dave admitted. “But let’s get some food on board first.”

Karin nodded, getting back into the Maxima. Already playing the game, whether Dave knew it or not. The jazz of it returned in one big rush mixed with the way it would give her a chance—for the first time ever—to make a positive difference in someone’s life. To give Rashawn justice and revenge.

But yeah. The jazz of it…

She took a deep breath, sinking deeply into the car seat as Dave backed out of the parking spot.
Oh yeah.

She felt she could get used to it again, just that fast.

She wasn’t sure she liked that.

In the past, she’d been able to blame Rumsey for how she lived her life. How she’d been brought up…what she’d turned into. But the truth was, once she’d stopped resisting Rumsey, she’d been too damn good at it. And now it looked like she just couldn’t stay away from the life after all.

Chapter 13

Karin Sommers’s Journal, March 16

Dear Ellen…it looks like I’m a little more hooked than I ever thought. But hey, maybe there’s a twelve-step program. Maybe good old Saint Dismas, patron of reformed thieves that he is, will lend a hand.

Or maybe…it’s just who I am.

P
eripheral vision alerted Karin; she instantly recognized Dave’s movement. Sure and masculine, but also with a strange sense of grace. By the time he sat down opposite her, she’d closed her journal and stuffed it back into her courier bag.

He noticed, of course. “It’s never far away, is it?”

“What’s that?” Useless misdirection and she knew it.

He nodded at her bag. “Your book. It’s more than just a diary.”

“Damn your investigative eyes,” she said cheerfully, and then still didn’t answer. The letters to Ellen were too private. Sharing the fact that she wrote them…too vulnerable. “Did you decide on your dinner?”

He looked at her long enough to let her know he wasn’t stupid, but let it drop anyway. “The four-cheese burger,” he said. “Lots of carbs. So what were you thinking?”

The menu suddenly seemed like too much trouble. Karin found herself tired, ready for an early bedtime or at least a hearty nap. “That burger sounds fine.”

He smiled again, more briefly this time. “I meant, thinking about the situation. Your big plans.” He reached for one of the miniature muffins that had appeared in a wicker basket while he was gone. Poppy seed, blueberry, carrot, zucchini…

Okay, yeah, she was still hungry. She went for blueberry as she pondered his question, slathering the muffin with butter. Reminded herself that he wasn’t sold on the idea yet. Reminded herself that he was her partner, not her mark; she had no reason to withhold anything from him.

Except possibly the extent of her proficiency.

“Classic layered real-estate scam,” she said. “I’ll rope him in, but we’ll need someone to play the inside man—phone ought to do it—and you’ll need to fill in as an extra for a handful of minor roles. I assume he’ll recognize you, but we can work around that.”

He held the little muffin between thumb and finger and seemed to have forgotten it. “What makes you think he’ll even go for it?”

Karin let his obvious skepticism sit unanswered a moment. “A couple of things,” she finally told him, and then had to pause while he gave their orders to the waiter. Suited her fine. She drank down half a glass of ice water and licked the rim of it off her upper lip. As the waiter left, Dave raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. “You said it yourself…he’s greedy. He likes to feel powerful. He’s a player. Any scam depends on underlying greed. And to this one I’m going to add layers—the chance to do a big loud public good deed. The chance to make someone else look politically stupid for opposing that good deed.”

That took him back. He thought about it a moment, until he remembered his little muffin, gave it a puzzled look and ultimately put it down on the bread plate. “That sounds almost too good to be true. What makes you think he’ll buy it?”

She smiled. It wasn’t her sweet smile, or her genuine smile, or to be mistaken for anything but the most predatory expression. “You’re forgetting. We’re not really doing this. He doesn’t have to buy it, not in the end. He only needs to be interested.” And there it came again, that little thrill. The anticipation of reeling in this mark, even if this time, it didn’t actually include a payoff. “All I’m doing is buying
us
the opportunity to nose around his life from the inside out.”

But Dave didn’t respond to her certainty, to her enthusiasm. He sat over there with the muffin he’d somehow crumbled into tiny pieces along the way, and he didn’t really respond at all.

“What is this?” she asked. “Is this you not trusting me, or not thinking I can pull it off?”

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off hers. “This is me thinking that you’ll be in pretty deep when he realizes he’s been had.”

She took it as a personal affront. “Timing is everything in grifting. You think I don’t know how to balance the pieces?”

He cast her an annoyed look, his ice blue eyes gone remarkably broody. “I
think,
” he said distinctly, “that I don’t want to take the chance. Not with you.”

“You don’t even know me.” The words popped out of her mouth, and she instantly wished she could take them back. The best she could do was an angry twist of her perfectly innocent napkin as she admitted, “Okay, that was wrong. You do know parts of me. I just think there are other parts you might not care so much about. That you already don’t care so much for.”

His response was pure silent frustration, burning across the table at her.

Well, good. She had him off balance. She had him turned around so much he didn’t know what he wanted or what he felt. And that was the moment of opportunity—the moment when she then got to make those decisions for him. She didn’t do it blatantly; blatant was what got you caught. No, she just shrugged and said, “The truth is, I can do this with or without you. I can walk into that city and plug myself into the right circles and get the tools I need. And I’ll have your information before I’m done.”

Of course, if things went that way, Rumsey would find her all too quickly. And Rumsey would alert the cops, and that mystery warrant would come crashing down. And that was why she didn’t really want to run this one on her own. That was why she backed off, eating the meal the waiter set before her, waiting for Dave to finish his own while deep in scowling thought, waiting for the complimentary sherbet dessert. Trying to make up her own mind about how badly she wanted to give Rashawn his justice…how much she really wanted to risk. Would she or wouldn’t she?

And that was why she heaved a silent sigh of immense relief when Dave finally scowled at her and said, “What do you need to get ready for this thing?”

And why she gave a casual, thoughtful lick of the sherbet on her spoon when she smiled at him, covering the relief fluttering through her chest, and said, “Plastic is a girl’s best friend. Let’s go play makeover.”

Dave got them settled at the Woodward House, a bed-and-breakfast overlooking Front Royal. Then came the errands…sucking up beauty-parlor fumes at Eclips, not to mention the nail-polish lacquer. Dave sat in a comfortable spouse-oriented corner with his laptop, digging into news items on Rashawn. Doubting the path he’d chosen…doubting Karin. She offered him an opportunity he wasn’t sure he could turn away.

He wasn’t sure he could deal with it, either.

Lost in dark thought, he was taken unaware when Karin emerged and struck a pose for his benefit. He floundered in a double take, classic man-lost-for-words.

Her dark honey-and-chestnut hair had been cut and shaped into something shoulder-length and classy but with a definite kick. The darkest shade came from her former honey highlights; the rest of it was pure sunshine, and the carefully placed spike of bangs added an edge of punk. It was a style suited to the newly dark-eyed woman before him, with her bluntly manicured hands and waxed brows. Nothing here spoke of Karin; nothing spoke of Ellen. Even the clothes—clothes Dave had looked at all day—appeared different on this woman.

He cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, Karin gave him her most wicked grin, the one he’d never seen until she’d completely dropped her Ellen persona. “Now,” she said. “Shopping.”

Dave swallowed hard.

Shopping with a vengeance. Karin seemed to know just what she wanted and just where to find it. They walked out of Royal Quality with two mix-and-match business outfits, trendy wide-cuff trousers, a slim-line skirt, a tailored jacket that highlighted her athletic form. A couple of colorful camisoles. On top of that, a sleek evening dress that Dave vaguely remembered as deep blue and sparkly, but his mind’s eye couldn’t much get past the way it turned that athletic form into something just-right curvy.

From there they hit Cato, where she picked out clothes for the casual side of this new self he was watching her create. Someone who looked enough like Ellen to get Longsford’s attention, but not so similar that he’d even consider it might be her look-alike sister. Features obscured by the new coloring and makeup, body a stronger, more capable form than Ellen’s and covered in clothes Ellen wouldn’t even have considered. “My new name is Brooke,” she informed him, standing over the chair provided for weary Significant Others to gesture at his laptop. “Brooke Ellington. Two
l
’s.” And she waited for him to pull up a new document in OneNote. Pointedly. So she’d already caught on to his compulsive note-taking nature.

“Hey,” he said. “It works for me.” He meant the note taking, but if she took it to mean the name, that was fine, too.

He had the feeling she knew exactly what he meant.

He dropped her off at the Woodward House, disappearing inside only long enough to help carry her haul, including the small suitcase he’d purchased to carry it all. She’d insisted on something pricey for the suitcase, reminding him that she needed to play her role on all levels. The implication that Longsford might be in her hotel room made his voice rough and Karin looked at him in surprise as she picked out the tapestry carry-on case.

He kept his mouth shut for a while after that. Long enough to drop her off and run out to grab a couple of subs, lingering in the room only long enough to leave her food, grab his briefcase and head for the veranda. Before they’d left the farm, Karin had offered him another small box—the things she’d taken from Ellen’s desk. In light of the newly discovered photo, she thought they might have meaning to him. It was time to take a look. He shuffled through the contents, skimming at first, and then making notes. Checking his old records.

And then he sat and looked out at dusk over Front Royal. The bed-and-breakfast sat above the village, offering a clear view of a vista framed by layered ridges on the distant edges. Another couple came out to cuddle in a wicker love seat, leaving him to his scowls.

There was plenty to scowl about. All the dark thoughts and doubts of the day might plague him, but they wouldn’t sway him. Not after what his briefcase had spilled out for him.

Ellen had dated Longsford for several years; Dave had known that. Always a decorous, low-key relationship. She appeared on his arm in public at decent intervals, and she had a variety of keepsakes from those events. Museum brochures, benefit programs, a few matchbooks from clubs most people couldn’t get into.

And then there were the travel brochures. Not faraway exotic places, but national parks within a day’s drive of Alexandria. Special nature programs, traveling historical displays, modest day hikes…

Dave recognized those places. Places where children had disappeared, never to surface again. Not all cases that he’d worked, but cases he’d looked into while he was hunting Terry Williams. Hunting patterns, just in case.

Well, now he had it. Longsford was a park predator. Neighborhood park, national park…he liked variety.

Ellen must have picked up on it. When she came across that photo after he’d interviewed her…she must have realized what she’d been dating all that time.

Right through the shopping, Dave hadn’t been sure if he would let Karin go through with her plans. Right up until the moment she made contact with Longsford, he’d left himself the option to change his mind.

Not any longer.

Ellen had discovered a monster. Karin would unmask him.

And Dave wasn’t about to stop her.

When he returned to the room, the misty scent of shampoo and soap lingered on the air and the room was empty. He stared around at the heavily decorated room—log-cabin quilt over a queen bed, heavy antique bed frame offset by a flowery white pair of wing chairs. Visual overload for masculine eyes, but he’d have been happier to find one more thing in it.

Karin.

He squelched an impulse to go find her, suddenly suspicious of the entire day. She had a whole new look, a new wardrobe. She could well have gone on the run again.

He didn’t like himself for thinking it.

He didn’t like himself much for the thought that came next, either.

The one that wondered just what lurked in her past. The one that noted the ease with which she’d transformed herself. The one that urged him to check up on her.

First he took his own shower. He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a Bully Hill T-shirt. Not all that far from Hunter’s Full Cry Winery, the family business that had once supported the development of the agency. Now it supported itself…and then some.

Owen could have gotten him answers about Karin Sommers’s secrets. But the safe house was already one favor too many.

Still damp, Dave sat in one of the wing chairs, pulling the other chair over for a footrest. He fired up his laptop for a quick e-mail check—there was one from Owen, with the safe-house details—and then found the e-mail for a good feeb friend in California. That much he knew: Karin had come from California. Those old notes were occasionally good for something after all.

He made the query vague, protecting the lie about Karin’s death.

For now.

And when he’d written the e-mail, he stared at it a moment. He rubbed his hands down his face and scruffed his wet hair and wondered if he truly wanted to know.

And then he hit Send.

That was when she returned, of course. He heard the key in the lock and flipped the lid down on the laptop. It beeped plaintively and went into hibernation, hiding only his innocuous e-mail inbox.
Guilty conscience, Hunter?

Hey. He wasn’t the one with all the lies layered around him. The one pretending to be dead. The one who had spent his life scamming people out of their savings.

She slipped inside the door, closed it and leaned against it to regard him. The silence stretched between them.