“Anything in particular?”
He gave her a goofy, foolishly happy grin. “I'm not fussy.”
The water pressure was better than he expected in a dive like this. He relaxed under the hot, pounding spray for a long time, and when he came out, she was asleep. He tiptoed around the room, trying not to wake her. He felt like he was floating. Wanted to laugh and cry at every little thought that passed through his mind. He pulled on his jeans and silently scooted the armchair up next to the head of the bed, so he could just sit there and stare, openmouthed, at how beautiful she was. Every tiny detail fascinated him. The faint, rosy flush that stained her cheek was the most heartbreakingly perfect thing he had ever laid eyes on. He could spend the rest of his life exploring her.
And he would. She might not know it yet, but she was never getting rid of him. He was sticking to her like glue.
She jerked awake when the phone rang. She gave him a sleepy, satiated smile as she reached for it. “Hmm? The... oh, yes. Thank you. How much? Ten ninety-eight. OK, thanks ... we'll be right down.”
“Food's here?” He yanked on his boots and sweater, shrugged on his jacket and shoved his SIG into his pants. “I'll go get it.” One kiss, to send him high and flying, and he set off down the dark path in a loose, easy lope. The rain had eased off, and the wet pine needles were springy beneath his feet. It smelled good. He was ravenous.
It wasn't sound that alerted him, because the guy was utterly silent. It was a weird rush of displaced air. A shiver on the back of his neck, like the sigh of a lover's breath—but cold, not warm.
He spun just in time to see a cannonball of darkness hurtling towards him. The glow from the curtained window of their cabin glinted across the dark surface of a long blade, stabbing for his gut.
He lunged back, parrying the stab with a chop of his arm, but the guy was in too close. The tip of the blade slashed down Seth's side, a thin, white-hot line. He spun, slammed his elbow into the guy's jaw, felt the jolt, the grunt. Jerked to the side just in time to take the guy's knee in his thigh instead of his balls, fucking ouch, but no time to feel it, no time to grab for the gun. He was dancing back to evade another slash, then another. Ducking back, parrying. Sliding in wet pine needles, going down backwards.
The attacker followed up his advantage and leaped, but Seth blocked his knife arm and grabbed his wrist. He slammed both booted feet up into the guy's stomach, lifted and flung. The guy somersaulted in the air and rolled smoothly back up onto his feet. Seth rolled back over his shoulder, sprang up and yanked out his gun. The guy's leg snapped out, quick as a whip, and kicked the gun right out of his hand.
The light behind him brightened as the porch light switched on. He hoped it would blind the guy and give him a split-second advantage, because he needed one, and fast.
“Seth? What's... oh my God!”
The killer launched himself with a menacing shout. Seth spun back sideways alongside him, seized his knife arm at the wrist. Wrenched it up, twisted it back, whipped it down. There was a loud snap. The guy let out a gurgling, agonized grunt. The knife dropped.
There was a small cinderblock structure adjoining the cabin, and Seth opted for the simple and handy expedient of wrenching up the guy's broken arm until he shrieked and bent over, and then slamming him into the cement blocks headfirst He hauled him back and gave him another one for good measure before he flung the guy down to the ground like the sack of shit that he was. He stared down at the twitching form, chest heaving, and started to shake with retroactive terror. Wow. That had been way too fucking close.
Raine darted towards him, her bare feet flashing over the muddy ground. “Seth, are you all right?”
His breathing was labored. He was pressing his hand against his side, and it was warm and sticky. He yanked up the sweater, glanced at it. No big deal. His sweater and jeans were slashed, and the cut was long and messy, but it looked relatively shallow.
He pushed Raine's hands away, blocking out her anxious questions. He couldn't even hear her, with the unthinkable thoughts pounding at the door of his mind. He would have welcomed another assassin. A whole pack of them, so they could keep him too busy to mink, to reason. To use his worthless brain for the first time in weeks and ask himself how the rack this guy had found them, with all the tricks he had pulled. All the lengths he had gone to. And right after he had confessed every goddamn secret he had been keeping to his archenemy's only heir.
He hooked his foot beneath the guy's carcass and flopped him onto his back. He leaned over with a hiss of pain and yanked the ski mask off. The top of the guy's head was a bloody mess, but his face was recognizable. Short dark hair, mid-thirties. Average, unnoticeable. Close-set, empty brown eyes, staring up. He put his finger to the guy's carotid artery. Nothing. Just as well, though it would have been interesting to question him. Not the Templeton Street guy. This one had been lighter, quicker. Far more deadly.
He straightened, trying not to wince at the sting in his side. He pulled Raine closer and made her look. “You know this guy?” he demanded.
She shook her head, her hands clamped over her mouth.
“How did he find us?” he asked.
She stared down at the cadaver, her eyes wide and blank. He slapped her hands down from her mouth, grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake. “Answer me, Raine!”
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She gasped in enough breath to finally voice the words, on one stuttering exhalation.
“D—d—don't... know!” She began to shake violently.
There would be no questioning her until she calmed down.
He retrieved his gun from the bushes and stuck it back into his pants. Raine was standing right where he'd left her, staring down at the hit man, oblivious to the rain beating down on her head and shoulders. She looked lost The corpse’s face was beaded with rain.
He ducked into the cabin to grab his gear, and took her by the arm. “Come on,” he said, pulling her down the path. Raine stumbled beside him like a zombie, her bare feet covered with mud.
He scanned the parking lot and counted the same number and make of cars as there had been when they arrived, with the addition of one black late model Saab sedan, the engine still warm. The bluish light of the TV still flickered from the window of the reception cabin. No faces at the window, no shots out of the dark. No sound, just the rustle of the rain. He unlocked the car, shoved Raine into it and pulled out onto the road, driving as fast as he dared.
His cyborg side was back, cold and effective. He could kill a man and leave the body lying in the mud, no problem. He could drag a shivering, weeping, half-naked woman barefoot over rocks and gravel without a qualm. The bright, shining sensation that had invaded his mind and soul, thanks to Raine, could now be observed from all sides with chilly detachment, like the bizarre, dangerous phenomenon that it was.
A silent half-hour later Rained teeth had stopped chattering. He decided that he had waited long enough.
“That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?” he asked.
“What?” Her voice was soft. Confused. All innocence.
“Me, surviving. Inconvenient, isn't it? Throws off the whole plan.”
“Seth, what are you talking about?”
He had to hand it to her. She was believable down to the last detail.
“Come on, Raine. There's nothing left to be gained by holding back. Tell me how your buddy tracked us down.”
“You can't think that I—” She stopped, shook her head. Tears glittered on her face, worthy of a highly trained actress.
“I'm clean. You're clean. The car's clean. We haven't used any credit cards. We're in the middle of nowhere, signed in with a fake ID. Sure, they would have found us eventually, but how did they find us so soon? Can you explain that to me, sweetheart?”