Killjoy

  She’d hit the mark dead center. “No, I didn’t. Dictators are like weeds. You rip one out of the ground and two more pop up overnight.”

  He opened his eyes again and watched her as he recounted one of his bloodier assignments. When he was finished, he noticed she hadn’t pulled her hand away. She was still stroking his chest. Her touch was soothing.

  “So now you’re a carpenter,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Yeah, I am. I’m still using my hands, but now I build things that will last. I don’t break necks. It’s odd.”

  “What is?”

  “The urge to kill. I never had that before. I do now.”

  Her eyes widened. He’d made the confession so casually. “Oh? Who do you want to kill?”

  “Skarrett.”

  She shivered in reaction. “No,” she said. “I don’t want him to die.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m serious. I want him to live the rest of his life behind bars.”

  “Yeah, well, if I get the opportunity . . .”

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “Okay,” he said when he realized she was getting upset.

  “I mean it.”

  “I said okay,” he said.

  “I won’t mind if you kill Monk,” she said then. “But I hope someone brings him in alive. Can you imagine the things he could tell them?”

  He shook his head. “He won’t talk. He’s not the kind of man who likes to boast. Maybe, if the interrogators work him, treat him like a professional, he might give them a little insight, but I honestly don’t see that happening.” He shrugged and added, “I think they ought to squash him like a bug.”

  “And Jilly?”

  “You call it.”

  “She needs to be locked up in an institution for the criminally insane, and she needs to stay there for the rest of her life.”

  “You don’t want her dead?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t think she can help being the way she is. I just want to make sure she can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

  He brushed his thumb across her lips. “You’ve got a gentle heart,” he said.

  “So do you.”

  “The hell I do,” he grumbled. “But I’ve got great hands,” he added as he reached for her.

  She slapped his hand away. “I already know you’re good with your hands,” she said.

  She got an impish gleam in her eyes as she rolled on top of him. He locked his legs around her to keep her from making a eunuch out of him.

  “Now I’m going to show you how good I am,” she cooed.

  It wasn’t an idle boast. Avery had a vivid imagination, and what she did to him with her hands and her mouth was magical, and probably illegal in some states, but of course he wasn’t about to mention that to her.

  That night they slept entwined in each other’s arms even though both of them knew that the interlude would be over in the morning. They couldn’t push reality away any longer.

  Avery awakened before John Paul did and quickly showered and dressed in the bathroom so she wouldn’t disturb him. Then she went into the living room, softly closing the bedroom door behind her, and checked the time. There was a digital clock on the wall above the table. She hoped it was accurate. Five forty-five Colorado time, which meant it was seven forty-five in Virginia.

  She thought she heard the shower running as she reached for the phone. “Stay predictable, Margo,” she whispered. “Don’t get spontaneous now.”

  She dialed information, got the number she needed, then hung up and waited, her gaze locked on the time.

  At exactly seven-fifty, Avery dialed. The phone was answered on the third ring.

  Avery made up a name, told the employee it was an emergency and that he needed to put Margo on the phone. She described her friend and added, “She comes in every morning at seven-fifty.”

  “Yeah, the short lady, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “She just left.”

  “Go after her,” Avery shouted. “Hurry. Get her back. Go.”

  The phone clattered against the wall when the employee dropped it. She heard him shouting Margo’s name, and then a minute later, she could hear Margo arguing.

  “No one knows I’m here. What do you mean it’s an emergency? Hello,” she said.

  “Margo, it’s me, Avery.”

  “Oh, my God, Avery. How did you know I would be here . . . how did you . . .” She was rattled.

  “You always pick up doughnuts on your way into the office.”

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Avery countered.

  “Why did you leave that police station in Colorado? The agents are there to protect you.”

  “I have protection.”

  “Renard?”

  “Yes,” she answered impatiently. “Tell me what you know.”

  The bedroom door opened, and John Paul stopped in the doorway, staring at her incredulously. She put her hand up when he started toward her.

  “Hold on, Margo.” Cupping the receiver with her hand, she said to John Paul, “Trust me.” Then she raised the phone to her ear again. “Okay, Margo. Start talking.”

  “The trial begins July tenth,” she said. “But Avery, the parole hearing is still on too. Skarrett might pull it off this time. He could get out.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Jeez, don’t talk like that.”

  “Is the hearing still scheduled for the sixteenth?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you sure or not?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Don’t get all hostile on me, Avery. They know about Jilly. Your aunt told them. That had to have been a hell of a shock. I’m so sorry—”

  Avery interrupted. She didn’t want sympathy. “Do they have any idea where Jilly and Monk might be?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “What about my aunt? Have they moved her from the hospital yet?”

  “No, not yet. Don’t worry about her. A gnat couldn’t get into that hospital. Security’s unbelievable.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “Monk can’t be in two places at once.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m going to keep him busy. He’s going to have to try and stop me from testifying at Skarrett’s trial.”

  “What does he care about Skarrett?”

  “He doesn’t,” she said. “But he’s working for Jilly now, and she wants Skarrett out of prison. I’ll bet, if you check the records at the prison for visitors over the past year, you’ll find that Skarrett had a female visitor listed more than once. I think she’s made some kind of deal with him.”

  “For the millions in uncut stones that he stole,” Margo said.

  “I’m sure Skarrett thinks they’ll share the loot and that he’ll live happily ever after with Jilly. But when they have what they want, Jilly will let Monk kill him.”

  “Avery, you’re in over your head.”

  “Maybe,” she whispered. “I can’t stop now, though. About the trial . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Find out who the prosecutor is, and make sure I’m on his witness list.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Can I tell Carter I talked to you?”

  You’re going to tell him anyway, she thought. Margo was her friend, but Avery knew she would believe she was being helpful by filling Carter in.

  “Yes, please do.”

  “Where are you now? He’s going to ask.”

  “Alabama,” she lied. “I’ve got to go now. Tell Carter I’ll call him.”

  “Wait,” Margo cried. “What are you going to do?”

  Avery knew what she wanted to do. She just didn’t know how yet. The conversation with Jilly popped into her head. What had she called her? Oh, yes, how could she forget?

  “I’m going to be a killjoy.”

  Joh
n Paul trusted her. Otherwise he would have ripped the phone out of her hand and hung it up. He’d sat down on the sofa beside her and impatiently waited for her to finish her conversation. He looked relieved when she told him she’d caught Margo at the doughnut shop.

  “Clever,” he said with approval.

  “She’s a creature of habit.”

  She told him what Margo had said. “I promised I’d call Carter,” she added, “when we get to Florida.”

  “But not before.”

  “You better think hard before you agree to go with me, John Paul. It could get . . .”

  “Bloody?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m in,” he said. “For the long haul.”

  He reached over, cupped the back of her neck with his hand, and drew her toward him. He kissed her possessively and said, “Did you hear me? I’m in it for the long haul. And like it or not, babe, so are you.”

  “Until we get Monk and Jilly.”

  He let go of her. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  She pulled away and went into the kitchen. She fixed breakfast, cereal and toast, and then, because she was feeling restless, did the dishes while he looked over the map, figuring their route to Sheldon Beach.

  She was putting the bowls back into the cabinet when he called out to her.

  “We’ve got company.”

  She dropped the tea towel and ran into the living room. John Paul was standing by the front window, cautiously looking out. He held his gun at his side, pressed against his leg.

  He saw the car when it came around the grove of trees and relaxed. “Better get packed,” he said as he flipped the safety back on the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans. “Our ride’s here.”

  What ride? “You were expecting someone?”

  He nodded. He couldn’t see the driver yet because the sun bouncing off the windshield obstructed his view, but the make and model were right. It was a new, gray Honda.

  “Who is it?”

  He shrugged. “I told Theo I needed transportation. The police will be looking for my car, and I figured you didn’t want them to hold us until the FBI took you into custody.”

  “The FBI wouldn’t do that unless they had my permission.”

  He snorted. She assumed that meant he didn’t agree. “They would not trample all over my rights as a citizen.”

  “Sure they would,” he said. “And they’d tell you that they were only doing what they felt was best for you.”

  She wasn’t going to get into a full-blown argument about the Bureau now. Besides, deep down, she was concerned that there was a kernel of truth in what he’d said. She wasn’t willing to risk it.

  “Theo drove all this way from Louisiana?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered. “He wanted to come, but I talked him out of it. I reminded him that he’s going to be a father and that he’s a lousy shot. If he gets himself killed, then I’ll have to become the kid’s father figure. Said I’d raise his son or daughter to be just like me.”

  “And that gave him chills?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “And like I said, he’s a lousy shot. He’d probably shoot himself getting his gun out of its holster.”

  “And you don’t want him to get hurt. You better watch it. You’re beginning to sound nice.”

  He squinted against the sunlight trying to see the driver. “Theo said he knew someone who could keep quiet and help. Who wouldn’t mind breaking some rules. Ah, hell,” he groaned when he finally saw who was behind the wheel. “Not him. That son of a . . .”

  “Who?”

  “Theo. My brother-in-law has a sick sense of humor.”

  “John Paul, what are you talking about?”

  “Theo sent him,” he snapped, stabbing at the air with his finger.

  “Who?” she demanded. She was beginning to feel like an owl.

  “Clayborne. He sent Noah Clayborne.” He spat the name out as though it left a foul taste in his mouth.

  She was thoroughly confused by his attitude. “But you called Noah from the spa. I heard you on the phone. Why are you angry now?”

  “Yes, I did call him, but I didn’t think I’d have to see him,” he muttered. He turned to her, gave her a quick once-over from head to toes, and barked, “Put some damn clothes on.”

  She looked down at herself. Yes, there were clothes. White tennis shoes, navy shorts, white T-shirt. “What’s the matter with what I have on?”

  “Too much skin showing. Ah, hell, it wouldn’t matter if you were dressed like a nun. He’s still gonna hit on you. Then I’m gonna have to shoot the bastard.” He stomped to the door, all but pulled it off the hinges when he opened it, and went out onto the porch. “Just see if I don’t.”

  Oh, brother. “He’s bringing us a car.” She called out the reminder. “Stop complaining about him.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he called back. “We’ll make him stay here or take my car. He doesn’t need to go with us.”

  Avery stepped back to the window. John Paul had made her curious about Theo’s friend. She knew Noah couldn’t possibly be as obnoxious as John Paul had implied. No one could be that awful.

  The car stopped in front of the house, and Noah Clayborne opened the car door and emerged into the sunlight.

  Avery felt like whistling. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair, the man was dressed casually in jeans and a gray T-shirt. He wore the old-fashioned shoulder holster and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. John Paul scowled at him, but Clayborne smiled back, as though the joke were on Renard. The man had a dimple and definitely oozed sensuality.

  She wasn’t interested in him, of course, not in that way. John Paul was sexier—everything about him appealed to her—but Noah, in appearance anyway, could be a close runner-up. Of course, her analysis was strictly clinical. She had never taken the time to notice such things about a man before, or if she had, she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself. Had finally having sex again turned her mind into mush?

  “I’m going to need therapy when this is over,” she whispered. “Big-time therapy.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she went outside to meet him. He’d reached the steps but stopped when she walked onto the porch.

  John Paul’s social graces definitely needed work. She waited a couple of seconds for him to introduce her, then realized he wasn’t going to. She would have stepped forward, but John Paul put his arm around her shoulders and jerked her close to him.

  Noah’s response to the ridiculously possessive action was to widen his grin. He removed his sunglasses and looked directly at her. Blue eyes. The man had intense blue eyes. Bet he breaks a lot of hearts, she thought, as she felt John Paul tighten his hold.

  Was he married? She hoped not because she could think of at least three friends to fix him up with, providing, of course, he wasn’t just a body without a mind. Margo wouldn’t be bothered by that, but Peyton, her childhood friend, would definitely want a man with a brain.

  “What the hell are you staring at, Clayborne?” John Paul barked.

  She put a stop to the pissing contest. She pushed his arm away and walked to the edge of the porch.

  “Thank you for coming,” she began. Extending her hand, she added, “My name’s Avery Delaney.”

  Noah came up the stairs and shook her hand. He didn’t let go as he introduced himself and then said, “I gotta know.”

  “Yes?”

  He glanced at John Paul and said, “How’d a sweet thing like you get hooked up with him?”

  “She’s lucky,” John Paul snapped. “Now let go of her.”

  Noah smiled at Avery and continued to hold on to her hand. He was enjoying himself by deliberately provoking John Paul. He seemed to know what buttons to push to get John Paul riled. Come to think of it, it didn’t take much.

  “We appreciate your help, don’t we, John Paul?”

  She had to elbow him to get him to answer. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Please, come inside. Are
you thirsty?” she asked as she led the way into the cabin.

  “If he’s thirsty, he can get his own damned drink,” John Paul said. “You don’t have to play hostess, Avery.”

  She whirled around. “Stop being a jerk,” she ordered. “I was being polite, something you know precious little about. Now stop acting like a rooster and get rid of the attitude.”

  He immediately backed down. “Yeah, all right.”

  Noah tried not to laugh.

  John Paul looked a bit sheepish as he said to Noah, “She’s got a temper.”

  “Uh-huh,” Noah drawled.

  “Look, it’s not what you—”

  “Yeah, it is. Never thought you’d fall. Hell, I never thought any woman would want—”

  “Drop it, Noah.”

  “Hey, I’m just here to do Theo a favor,” he explained. “Don’t take your frustrations out on me.” The fact was, he liked John Paul, and he respected him. Maybe even admired him a little because he’d had the guts to walk away from a job that usually broke a man.

  Avery had gone into the kitchen to get a cold soda for Noah. She stopped in the kitchen doorway. The men had returned to the porch, and she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She put the bottle back in the refrigerator and decided to pack her bag.

  She heard a couple of crude and colorful expletives; then she heard laughter. They’re nuts, she thought as she went into the bedroom and shut the door. The bed looked as though acrobats had practiced their act on it. She quickly stripped the sheets, put on fresh ones, and dropped the soiled linens in the hamper.

  There wasn’t much to pack. She changed into her khaki pants and searched through her bag for her pink blouse. The clothes the woman at the police station had taken home to launder for her were folded neatly on the side of the duffel bag.

  It was such a sweet thing to do, washing her clothes. When this was over, she would have so many people to thank for their kindness. She’d have to do something especially nice for the police chief. Letting them use his cabin was above and beyond his duty.

  She went into the bathroom to collect her toiletries. Glancing in the mirror, she was startled at how tired and pale she looked. She put on a little makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes, added some blush and tinted pink lip gloss. Then she brushed her hair, gathered up her toothbrush and toothpaste, and put them in her makeup bag. She tossed John Paul’s toothbrush on top.