Текст книги "One Book in the Grave"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 8

Later that afternoon, the irresistible aroma of warm baked bread filled the kitchen as Mom pulled the last loaf pan from the oven. She set it on a rack next to two other loaves, then whipped off her apron and turned to me. “The bread can cool while you and I go downstairs to perform a peace-and-safety ritual.”

My eyes widened and I looked around for an escape. “Gosh, Mom, I should probably go help Dad with…something.”

“No, young lady,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me out of the kitchen. “You’re coming with me.”

My shoulders slumped as we walked down the hall to the basement stairs.

“I’m very worried about you going off to find Max,” she said. “So humor me.”

Fine. I could use a little peace and safety in my life. Downstairs, she lit a fat stick of white sage and whooshed it around. “Now, when you find Max, I want you to bring him here. We’ll do sacred chanting and I’ll treat him to a cleansing Bhakti yoga shala bliss.”

“What in the world is that?”

“It’s a little concoction I dreamed up all on my own. Last week in my Ayurveda stretch class, Yoganina Robayana declared it delicious.”

“Good to know.”

“Now sit, and we’ll meditate. Have you seen my new drum?” Mom sat on a fat, fluffy, Indian-print pillow; picked up a two-sided drum off the table; and began to beat its sides in a slow rhythm. “First we’ll do the sacred chanting. Ohmmmmmmmmmmm.”

And she was off. I couldn’t just walk out and leave her, so I folded my hands together in a yoga pose and prepared myself for the show.

“Ohmmmmmmmmmmm.” She closed her eyes and smiled beatifically as she tapped both sides of the drum double time. “Dig this vibration, sweetie.”

“That’s quite a groove you’ve got going.”

She put down the drum, then waved her arms over her head in an undulating movement. “It’s the dance of the divine.”

“Awesome.” I made a face.

“Are you making a face?”

I gulped. Could she see with her eyes closed? “Never. It wasn’t me, Mom.”

She smiled patiently. “Have a little brahmacharya, sweetie.”

That meant “self-control.” Self-control was one of the yamas, or ethical codes of conduct outlined in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. There were others: nonviolence, truthfulness, nonstealing, nonpossessiveness.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and I think she went into a trance as she began to sing, “Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram.”

“Oy vey,” I muttered.

“Sing with me! ‘Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram / Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram / Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram.’”

“Mom,” I said loudly, but she kept singing the same phrase over and over again. She picked up the drum again and beat her fingers and thumbs rapidly against the skin in rhythm with her song.

“Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram.”

“That’s beautiful, Mom,” I yelled over the lyric, “but I’ve got to go upstairs and get ready. Thank you for taking care of my peace and safety.”

“Wait,” she cried. “There are forty more verses!”

“I’ll be humming along,” I said.

She sucked in another breath and kept singing, “Shri Rama Llama Jala Walla Ram Ram.”

“Namaste. Love you, Mom,” I shouted over the pulsating rhythm, then clapped my hands together and bowed to her before escaping up the stairs.

That night, despite my reluctance to enjoy life while Max might be in trouble, Derek and I joined Mom and Dad for an incredible dinner at Savannah’s restaurant. My brother Austin and my pal Robin sat nearby at a cozy table for two. My sisters London and China and their husbands showed up for the occasion, too, along with half of Dharma. There were a few unfamiliar faces that might’ve belonged to those reviewers from San Francisco I’d heard about. I prayed their meals were excellent. For me, the service was impeccable and the food was phenomenal, and not just because my sister owned the joint.

I had moments of uneasiness during the meal whenever I remembered that Max was still alive. None of my sisters knew it and I couldn’t tell them. Not yet, anyway. Since there was nothing I could do about it for a while, I tried to relax and enjoy the fun company and the incredible meal.

Savannah came out later to say hello, and the entire room burst into applause. She wore the traditional white chef’s jacket over checked pants, but instead of the tall white toque on her head, she wore a red beret. It was adorably jaunty, but, yes, she still had a bald head. Somehow it worked for her.

I couldn’t believe everything I’d eaten was vegetarian. I’d been scared to death that we’d be chewing alfalfa sprouts and raw lentils, but no. I’d ordered an endive, goat cheese, and pear salad with all kinds of yummy little goodies sprinkled on top, followed by an amazing entrée of handmade raviolis stuffed with butternut squash and wild mushrooms, all floating in a creamy herb butter sauce. The pinot noir our waiter recommended went perfectly with everything. And, hallelujah, there was chocolate mint soufflé served with a pot full of whipped cream for dessert.

By the time the check came, I was forced to admit that my loony, bald-headed sister had become a true artist with food, even if she refused to include red meat in her palette. At least she hadn’t turned her back on chocolate.

There were no freeways, no shortcuts, no easy way to make the long, circuitous drive west from Sonoma to Point Reyes Station in Marin County. There were only narrow two-lane roads that twisted and wound through rolling hills and mountain passes for more than fifty miles. But since it was a beautiful—if slightly treacherous—drive, and since I was being driven by Derek in his sleek Bentley Continental GT with Gabriel in the backseat—in other words, two of the most handsome men in the northern hemisphere—you wouldn’t hear me complain about it.

After checking the map and his GPS, Derek decided to drive a few miles north up to Santa Rosa, where we would pick up Highway 101 going south. It might have seemed like we were going out of our way, but the highway was actually faster and we’d make up some time before we had to turn west on Petaluma Point Reyes Road. That’s where we’d start to lose time on those winding mountain roads, but Derek assured us that the Bentley would handle the turns and switchbacks with class and ease.

“I’ll let you know how that works out from the backseat,” Gabriel said amiably as he squeezed in his six-foot-plus frame. I had offered to sit in the back, but he insisted, so I moved my seat forward to accommodate his long legs, and we hit the road.

As Derek drove, I filled in some of the blanks in Max Adams’s history. I told them about Emily and how much I’d liked her, and how much she’d loved the Beauty and the Beast book I’d given them.

I was glad I’d brought the book along with me on this trip so I could show it to Max—if we were able to find him, of course.

I was still having a hard time believing that Max was alive. And oh, my God, Emily. How could he have done this to her and to all of us? How had he managed to keep us in the dark for three long years? Max, what were you thinking?

I pulled out my cell phone to double-check my voice mail. But Emily hadn’t returned my phone call. It had been two days already, and I had to wonder why I hadn’t heard back from her. I knew I’d called the right number. Her voice hadn’t changed at all.

Would the people who lived at the address Guru Bob gave us be willing to lead us to Max? Did I really want to see him? Yes, but I had questions. Too many, really. I needed to know how his tools could have shown up next to a dead man and buried in my tire. I knew he hadn’t killed Joe. Max was too good a person to ever have killed anyone. But, then, the Max I knew would never have lied to his friends and family for three long years. Could he have turned into a cold-blooded killer?

Absolutely not. But I had to admit that I was getting a strange feeling about this whole adventure.

Derek touched my knee. “Stop worrying.”

“How do you know I’m worrying?”

His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin as he applied a little more pressure to my knee. “Your leg is shaking enough to overturn the car. You always shake your leg when you’re fretting over something.”

“I do?” I slapped one hand to my knee to hold it still.

“Yes, love, you do. And another thing.” He kept his eyes on the road but reached over and stroked my forehead with his fingers. “You get the tiniest, most adorable frown line right here, between your eyebrows.”

“Damn, I thought the Botox would take care of that.”

I appreciated the snicker I heard from Gabriel in the backseat.

Derek tweaked my cheek. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“There’s nothing adorable about frown lines,” I muttered.

“Everything’s adorable on you, darling.”

I smiled adorably at him, then laughed when Gabriel began swearing under his breath. I couldn’t quite catch what he’d said, but was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Derek said easily, keeping both hands on the steering wheel now as the twists in the road became more unwieldy. “We’ll find Max and bring him back to Dharma. Robson and Gabriel will make sure he’s unharmed until the police find the murderer.”

My leg was shaking again. I pressed my hand on my knee to make it stop, then shot Derek a look. Did I really have such obvious tells that he could know what I was thinking or feeling? Or was he just tuned in to me? I was tuned in to him, too, but I could no more tell what he was thinking than I could move that mountain on the other side of the pasture we’d just passed. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m not really worried,” I lied. “I’m more angry. And hurt. I was just thinking about Max and Emily and Beauty and the Beast, and, you know, everything that was happening back then.”

“This situation has brought up a lot of old feelings for you,” he said.

“True,” I admitted, then realized that Ian had said the same thing to me. The men in my life were a little too observant sometimes. “But that’s not what’s bothering me.” I turned in my seat so Gabriel could hear me, too. “I’ve been thinking that it wasn’t Joe’s murder that set everything into action to draw out Max.”

“What do you think it was?” Gabriel said.

“It was me.”

Derek took the curve too quickly and swerved, then swore ripely as he maneuvered the Bentley back into the lane.

“Are you okay?” I asked, clutching the dashboard.

He said nothing, just glared at me with his teeth clenched in…anger?

“What did I say?”

“It’s okay, babe,” Gabriel said, and patted my shoulder. “Our driver’s got shaky nerves. Now, where did you get this idea that you’re the catalyst in all this?”

I cast another uncertain glance at Derek, then related what Ian had told me on Friday. “The book’s so-called owner suggested to Joe that he call the Covington to buy the book. Ian thought it was because the new children’s wing was getting a lot of attention, but I think it’s because they knew about Ian’s connection to me, knew that he would call me in to restore the book. They also knew about my connection to Max and that as soon as I saw the book, I would recognize it and go looking for Joe.”

“And find him dead,” Gabriel concluded.

“Exactly.”

I looked at Derek again. His jaw was clamped shut and it was pretty obvious why. Okay, so maybe I was able to tell his moods better than I had thought. And since it looked like he wanted to chew on the steering wheel, I decided to follow his lead, stop talking, and try to enjoy the scenery.

It was noon when we drove into the deceptively sleepy town of Point Reyes Station. The center of town consisted of one main street that stretched for three short blocks. The town had a faded sixties vibe with an eclectic blend of upscale cafés, building-supply stores, bakeries, cheese shops, art galleries, a funky old auto-repair garage, and a fresh fruit stand. On one corner was the Old Western Saloon, a Victorian-era bar that was a little seedy but had clean bathrooms, a classic rock jukebox, and a friendly bartender who took only cash.

It was hard to believe that this town was the driving force in the multimillion-dollar organic and artisanal food industry that served the San Francisco Bay area and beyond. The cafés and restaurants in and around Point Reyes Station were like nirvana to food fanatics, who drove from all over northern California to sample the local artisanal cheeses, vegetables, baby lettuces, free-range chicken, grass-fed beef, pâtés, fruits and preserves, and oysters.

Derek drove around the corner and parked the car in front of the Cowgirl Creamery store.

I smiled tentatively. “Maybe we can get something to snack on here.”

“You can snack all you want,” he muttered. “I need a drink.”

He settled for a local beer on tap at the saloon. Gabriel had one, too. I ordered ginger ale. Gabriel took one long sip, then looked at me and Derek. He checked his pocket for change, winked at me, then walked over to the jukebox.

“Here’s the thing,” I said to Derek once we were alone. “I know you don’t like that I might be a target.”

“Don’t like it? I bloody well hate it.”

“I hate it, too. But for some reason, it’s happening again. So let’s not make it worse by being angry with each other.”

He slid an astonished look at me. “Do you think I’m angry with you?”

I looked at him evenly. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

He stared at his glass and absently smoothed away the condensation with his thumb, then finally met my gaze. “No.”

“Thanks,” I said, not feeling it.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled me into his protective embrace. I went gladly, needing to feel his hard chest pressing against me, marveling at how complete I felt in his arms.

Say what? What was I thinking? That I wasn’t complete a moment ago? Ridiculous. I shoved that pathetic thought right out of my head. I was a complete person, damn it.

“I can feel your mind working even when you’re silent,” he murmured, chuckling.

“I can’t seem to shut it down once I get going.”

He leaned back and made eye contact with me. “You’re right; I was angry. It was a knee-jerk reaction and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I gave him a quick, hard hug; then I stepped away and took a sip of my drink.

“No, it’s not.” He drank his beer, staring out the wide picture window at the front of the bar. “But I promise I wasn’t angry at you.”

As Bob Seger’s whiskey-smooth voice wafted out from the jukebox, singing about secrets shared and mountains moved, Derek turned and looked at me for a long moment. “You know I’m in love with you. And I think you’re the smartest, most courageous person I know. So, yes, I’m angry at the thought that you might become some idiot’s target again.”

My eyes stung with tears at his words. “I’m…I’m angry, too, Derek.”

“I know.” He trailed his fingers along my forehead, smoothed my hair back. “Darling, I work in dangerous situations all the time. I’m used to it. I know how to protect myself. But you…the thought of you…” He shook his head, exhaled heavily. “The thought that you could be hurt and I would be powerless to stop it? That scares me to death.”

I slipped my arms around his waist and held him. The bar was beginning to fill with the noontime lunch crowd, but I didn’t care. If people didn’t like public displays of affection, they would have to get over it.

I pulled away finally and we both sipped our drinks in silence. After a minute, I faced him. “I need to rephrase what I said earlier. The book is the catalyst, not me. The book started everything. I’m just incidental.”

“You could never be incidental, darling,” he said, holding back a smile.

“Oh, stop it,” I said, smacking his arm, then rubbing the spot I’d hit.

“All right. I think you’re spot-on about the book being the catalyst.” He nodded as though it had already occurred to him, which it probably had. “Unfortunately, whatever the killer had in mind, I believe we’ve played right into his hands.”

My throat went dry and I glanced around the bar. “Do you think we were followed here?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I was careful to watch the cars all the way over here.”

“That was smart of you.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said, and drained the last of his beer.

“Must be. I never would’ve thought of it.” I tapped my fingers on the edge of the bar. “I’m more convinced than ever that Max had nothing to do with any of it.”

“You know him better than I,” he said, “but one thing is certain: someone wants him out in the open.”

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” I said, then looked around for Gabriel. Right or wrong, we needed to get going.

As if he’d been watching for the right moment to return, Gabriel walked up just then. He plunked a ten-dollar bill on the bar and said, “Let’s go find this guy.”

We followed Sir Francis Drake Boulevard for almost fifteen miles. It was hardly a boulevard. More like a two-lane country road, I thought, as we wound our way up and down and around the rolling hills, through narrow, tree-shaded hollows and rich, open, green farmland, past pastures and ponds and farms so old they’d earned official state historic markers.

We were close to the ocean and I could smell it in the briny air. We drove higher into the hills, past cypress trees surreally misshapen by years of blustery winds blowing in from the rough northern California ocean.

“This is it,” Derek said, and carefully turned off onto a dirt road, then wound around another hill and climbed higher, past another two farms. Scattered across the hillside were black-and-white cows chewing grass. A wire and wood-post fence separated the pasture land from the road.

“Are we there yet?” I muttered.

“There’d better be someone at home when we get there,” Derek said.

“And they’d better know where Max is,” Gabriel added.

Finally, Derek brought the car to a stop on the narrow verge. Up the hill on our left was a set of pitted stairs carved out of bedrock that led up another fifty yards to a two-story farmhouse.

“That’s the place?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, opening his door, then glancing back. “This should only take a moment.”

“Maybe so,” Gabriel said, pushing the driver’s seat forward, then stepping out of the car. “But you’re not going alone.”

“I’m coming, too,” I said, unwilling to wait by myself.

“We’ll cause too much attention if we all go,” Derek insisted.

“Your English accent will cause more attention than anything else,” I countered. “And then there’s the Bentley you’re driving.”

Gabriel snorted. “She’s got you there.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve lost control of the situation, haven’t I?”

“Not sure you ever had it, pal,” Gabriel said helpfully.

“True.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”

We’d barely walked ten feet when the front door of the farmhouse opened. A tall, bearded man carrying a high-powered rifle stepped out on the porch and aimed the gun right at us. A dog stood at his side. It barked once and the man nudged him quiet with his knee.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

Derek swore under his breath as he held his arms up.

“Ah, hell,” Gabriel said, raising his arms high over his head. “That’s never a good thing.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, my voice unsteady. “That’s Max Adams.”

Chapter 9

“Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.

Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.

Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.

Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?

But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Did he wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.

What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?

Did he kill Joe Taylor?

“Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.

“What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

“They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”

“Robson knows you’re here?”

“He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.

I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”

“Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max—er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”

As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.

Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.

“Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”

“Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.

Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.

Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.

“Anyone hit?” Derek asked.

“No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”

“We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.

I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too. What is going on?

“We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”

“How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.

Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowing gaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”

I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”

He glared at me with the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Derek and Gabriel had positioned themselves at opposite sides of the picture window and were taking turns peering outside. I’d forgotten about the shooter in the past ten seconds or so. Luckily, my companions hadn’t. I pondered whether it might’ve been an errant hunter whose gun had gone off accidentally.

No, I didn’t really believe that, either.

Max and I continued our staring contest until I noticed the lines bracketing his mouth soften a bit and the storm clouds in his eyes clear. And just like that, he was the carefree Max I knew from my youth. Outwardly, anyway. There had to be demons inside him. How could there not be after all this time alone?

“Fine, Brooklyn. Go ahead and say what you were going to say.”

I smiled tentatively. “Can I have a hug first?”

He huffed. “Damn it, Brooklyn.” Two seconds later, he grabbed me in a tight hug. The dog barked cheerfully. I laughed in surprise, then buried my face in his barrel chest and breathed in his scent. After a moment, I eased back.

“You look good, honey,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.

“You do, too, Max. You look alive, and that’s a good thing.” I sniffled as misty tears fogged my eyes.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, ill at ease.

“Yeah, about that,” I echoed, then stepped back and punched him hard in the stomach.

The dog barked once.

“Ow!” Max rubbed his stomach. “What was that for?”

“Oh, please,” I said, shaking and flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again. “That hurt me more than it hurt you. And you know what it was for. You’ve been lying to all of us for three years.”

“It was important. Still is.” The dog came over and nudged his leg. Max patted his back, then glared at me. “You know, I always wondered if my enemies would ever discover I was alive, but I never figured it would be my friends who would lead them straight to me.”

Gabriel took a step forward. “You’ll want to ratchet back on the accusations, Jack.”

“Brooklyn didn’t lead anyone to you,” Derek retorted as he flanked me. “Your enemies know you’re alive. It was a matter of time before they found you. You’re lucky we found you first.”

“Lucky?” He snorted. “How the hell would they know I’m alive if not for you?”

“Because it didn’t begin here today,” I said softly. The Lab came over and sat in front of me, staring and panting.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I bent down to let him sniff my hand.

“It’s Buckminster,” Max said. “Bucky when he’s good.”

“Hello, Bucky,” I said, patting his back as I observed Max.

But Max wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Maybe he was starting to figure things out for himself. But then, obstinate to the end, he threw me another angry look. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, well, about that.” Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. Glancing around for the first time, I pointed at the couch and chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Before you get into it,” Derek said, first meeting my gaze, then looking at Max, “do you have a back door?”

“Yeah,” he said, jabbing his thumb toward a doorway. “Through the kitchen.”

“Good. Gabriel and I will circle the area, and if the shooter’s still out there, we’ll trap him from behind.”

“I’ll go with you,” Max said, grabbing his rifle from the corner of the room where he’d left it.

Bucky immediately stood at attention.

“Somebody should stay here,” Derek said, casting a quick look at me.

“It’s my land,” Max said.

Derek studied him. “Are you willing to return fire if it comes down to it?”

“Stone’s in security,” Gabriel said, as if that explained Derek’s question.

“What do you do?” Max said, scowling at Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. Right now, I’m your best defense against whoever’s out there shooting at you.”

Max’s jaw clenched as he glanced at me. I could see the turmoil in his expression. He was a big man and used to living on his own. But he didn’t have the same kind of killer instinct Gabriel and Derek possessed, and I could tell he was beginning to realize that.

Reluctantly he nodded once, acquiescing to stay behind.

Derek moved into the kitchen with purpose, followed by Gabriel. I rushed after them. “Are you really going out there?” I whispered, feeling my throat dry up.

“Yes,” Derek said. “If there’s the slightest chance someone followed us here, I want to make sure they don’t follow us home.”

“But there haven’t been any more gunshots,” I said a little desperately. “Maybe he’s already gone.”

“That’s what we’ll need to determine,” Gabriel said, and pulled a powerful-looking handgun out from behind his back.

“Oh, my God, what’s that?” I asked stupidly. “That’s a gun. What are you doing with that?”

He grinned. “Relax, babe.”

I stared wildly at Derek. “He’s got a gun.”

“Yes, darling,” he said, and pulled his own weapon out of a holster under his arm.

I felt my eyes cross. “You—you’ve had that with you all this time?”

“Just since we got out of the car,” he said. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Don’t worry? Are you insane?”

He chuckled, leaned over, and kissed me. Then he looked at Max. “You’ll stay with her.”

“Of course. We’ll cook something.”

I laughed a little hysterically. They have to be kidding, I decided.

Max opened the back door and pointed out a few details. “The fig orchard should provide enough cover until you get to the barn. Don’t go inside unless you want to hear a deafening chorus of bleats from the goats.”

“No, thanks,” Derek muttered.

“It’s wide-open on this side—no cover except for the oak tree.” Max pointed the opposite way, then gazed up at the sky. “But it looks about to rain, so maybe he’s already gone.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Gabriel said, and zipped up his black leather jacket against the cold.

I watched them steal out of the house. Derek moved off toward the fig orchard while Gabriel hustled in the opposite direction, out into the open field.