Owen drove his all-too-sensible rented sedan down the dead-end street to the safe house, letting Dave sit in grateful silence. Owen had finally acknowledged that Dave wouldn’t discuss Karin’s role in the Longsford case. Not the newly gathered evidence; not the man’s death. None of it mattered so much anyway, given the small skeletons recovered from the graveyard beneath the broken concrete. And the second Ruger at the scene had been wiped clean; as skeptical as the feebs were about Dave’s claim to have had two guns, they couldn’t prove he hadn’t fired the weapon-not at the dead errand boy and not at Longsford.
He’d have to do something about Karin, but it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make while he still sometimes saw double and when he still wasn’t quite sure where his feet would end up at each step. Walking on land wasn’t supposed to feel like navigating heavy seas. “Give it time,” the doctors had all said. And meanwhile the world had gone on without him-tying up the legal ends to Longsford’s activities, ignorant of Karin’s role in the whole thing. Owen said the feebs had interviewed Dave. Evidently he’d said the right things.
“Earth to Dave.” Owen’s tone was light, but his hard-featured face was worried as he turned to Dave, the keys already out of the ignition and his seat belt released. Owen had gotten the Hunter nose, but little else of his features reflected those of his siblings. If Dave was the sleek potential clothes horse, Owen took up the other end of the spectrum. Fullback material. Always the responsible one, the compass for the Hunter world. Dave tried to remember when his older brother had given him that particular look, that worry.
“I’m here,” Dave said. “I’m okay. The doctors said so, remember?”
“Just…” Owen paused, also not a common thing. “Reconsider my suggestion to stay at the home place for a while, okay?”
For once, Dave was able to hear the genuine concern behind one of Owen’s suggestions. “I will,” he said. “I just have a thing or two to get straight in my head first. If you can give me a day or two-”
Owen nodded. “I’ll return the rental and we’ll drive your car back home.”
Dave snorted-carefully, because the dizziness still hit if he did anything too abruptly. “Which of us took that hit on the head? The car’s AWOL.”
In reply, Owen nodded toward the safe house.
Only then did Dave realize they were parked at the curb of the cul-de-sac. Only then did he realize there was already a car in the driveway. His car.
That someone sat on the porch, waiting.
Karin.
“What the…”
“Let’s just say we’ve been in touch,” Owen told him drily, then gave Dave a gentle push, unlatching his seat belt as though he were a child. “Go on. I’ll talk to you later.”
No more prodding necessary. Dave pushed the car door open and pulled himself out, still careful with uneven surfaces and still nearly overpowered by his light overnight bag. Owen’s watchful gaze was nearly a palpable thing; Dave did his best to ignore it. He did his best to grapple with a sudden wash of mixed emotions as Karin waited, motionless on his steps. The one thing he suddenly understood very clearly was the overwhelming nature of his relief. Only then did he realize he had a stupid grin plastered on his face.
“Hey,” she said, looking up at him with her chin in her hand. “You greet all your witnesses like this?”
“Only you.” Damn, he was breathless already.
She looked little like she had a week ago, vibrant in her Maia persona. Her eyes were bruised and strained. Her newly blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that should have been unflattering but instead drew his eyes right to her wide, unusual mouth, to the strong structure of her face. She kept her wrist cradled in her lap. Somewhere along the way she’d ended up in a flimsy drugstore brace. Her clothes looked familiar, though. Black jeans, newly stained with something that hadn’t quite come out. Tight black T-shirt under a field jacket that had definitely seen better days and now bore something that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole.
In response to his inspection, she held out a credit card. “Here,” she said. “I suppose Owen could have canceled it any time this last week. I probably owe him for that.”
He turned the card over in his fingers. The Hunter credit card. “You took this when you left?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
His balance faltered. “Okay. Sitting down now.”
She took it as a response to her confession. “I know. I’ll go-”
“No,” he said, a you’re not getting it voice. “I mean, I’m sitting down now.”
Enlightment widened her eyes; she jumped to her feet and helped him make a graceful landing. “Owen said you still weren’t right. I’m surprised he left you alone.” The car, at some point, had disappeared.
Dave grinned. “I don’t think he figured he was leaving me alone.”
She gave him a squint. “I already ran out on you once. And I’m still wanted by the law, and my stepfather’s all stirred up. It won’t be long before the whole Ellen-Karin thing falls apart. I figure my best bet is to sell the farm as fast as possible and go deep. Unless, of course, you turn me in for the California warrant right now.”
Dave hesitated so long that Karin thought maybe he’d already called the California cops. Dear Ellen: no stupidity goes unpunished, right?
But when he shook his head there was frustration in the gesture. “I don’t have all the details about that day,” he said. “But I have this distinct memory of being on a very hard floor with my head turning inside out, and hearing your voice talking about killing two old people, and thinking to myself, I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t?” Her mouth quirked rebelliously, unable to decide between a smile and a quiver of hope.
He shook his head. “No. Not you. I guess for a while I thought it was possible, but you can chalk that up to fear.”
She blinked.
He reached over and took her good hand. “Yes. Big brave investigator. Scared of being involved with someone who doesn’t live in his black-and-white world. Scared of someone who comes in infinite shades of gray.” He took a deep breath. “I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have driven you away like that.”
Another blink. Some hidden hurt place inside her filled with warmth.
He sighed. “I’ve spent my life holding on to what I do-having to be unreproachable just to defend my choice to break from the family business. I couldn’t-”
“I get it,” she said, and she did. Owen Hunter, so strong, so exacting. She’d felt the force of his personality this past week. She knew what it was like to live under someone’s expectations…and what it was like to break away. And he’d been doing it for years.
“You did an amazing thing,” he told her, and reached out to her cheek with an unsteady hand, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “You did what I couldn’t. Maybe it’s time I learned there’s merit to those infinite shades of gray.”
Karin shook her head. “There is a line,” she said. “Rumsey crossed it. That’s why I left.”
“Convenient for him, apparently. You made quite the scapegoat.” He caught her gaze, watching her with one of those long, silent looks that always made the backs of her knees tingle. “We can fix that, you know.”
She almost said, My knees? but at the last moment, understood. “Fix what? The warrant? It’s already fixed. That’s how Rumsey took care of things-he’s got friends where he needs them. I learned a long time ago that the people who are supposed to come through for you, the people who are supposed to see justice done…don’t.”
He cleared his throat. Then, when she didn’t respond, too lost in bitter thoughts of how futile it would be to buck the warrant, he did it again. More meaningfully. She looked at him in surprise. “I did,” he said. “I pulled you off that mountain. I found you in that factory.” Then he grimaced, and said, “Okay, maybe I didn’t actually do much there after I found you. But I meant to.”
She couldn’t bring herself to speak for a long moment. The big damn fat lump in her throat might have had something to do with it. He waited, looking paler than anyone should, his hair in ultimate chic scruff mode and his thrift-store T-shirt tight enough to emphasize that gorgeous line of his shoulder. She couldn’t look him in the eye any longer; she stared at the notch between his collarbones. Finally, she managed, “I’ve got to do more than fix the warrant. I’ve got to see Rumsey behind bars for killing those people.”
He gave a minute shrug, a silent and?
“You really think-”
He put a finger to her lips. “Fixing things is what I do, right?”
She looked down the street. Owen had really gone. In spite of all his suspicion these past days, he’d left his vulnerable brother here in her company. In her care. “Hey,” she said suddenly, more than ready for a change of subject. “How about Atilio?”
“Back with his family.” Dave relaxed a little, as though the conversation had been a little intense for him, too. “They were recent immigrants, their papers still in transition. Longsford sent some men their way to suggest that under the circumstances, the authorities would take all their children away and reconsider their immigrant status.” He snorted, shaking his head in a gingerly fashion. “But Atilio hadn’t been at the dry-ice place for long. Longsford never had the chance to-”
“Good,” Karin interrupted him. She added more pensively, “I saw the newspapers. That broken concrete…I should have known it meant something. They’ve found all the boys now?”
“All of them,” Dave said, and closed his eyes, tightening his mouth on pain. His head or his heart, she wasn’t sure. He opened them with obvious determination. In spite of his paleness, he gently bumped her shoulder with his own. “What’s with your wrist?”
She looked down at it. “Longsford’s guy smashed my cast. I didn’t figure it was safe to go to any of the city hospitals. If you’d-well, if you’d told them-”
“Nothing,” he said. “They don’t even know you were there. Atilio kept your secret. But I know you were there. Among other things, I remember an excellent kiss. I remember screaming, and then this guy in the door was coming for you…” He shook his head, his gaze going vague as he hunted for more. “No, that’s as good as it gets.”
“You played the hero,” she said, and laughed at his frankly skeptical look. “No, seriously. It’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“It could be what you do, too.”
She laughed, loudly enough that he winced. “Sorry,” she told him, shifting her aching wrist to a more protected position-a gesture that hid her sudden longing. The rush of being the rescuer had been so much more intense than the jazz of any scam. The rush of doing it with Dave…yow. But she shook her head. “You’ve forgotten which side of the law I’m on.”
“Were on.” He said it firmly. “We’ll take care of the warrant. And after that, what’s the problem? I liked working with you. I want to do it some more. I’m the black-and-white guy, you’re the creative gray. We’ve got it all covered.”
“Creative.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a term that’s been applied to me before.”
“Let’s go inside. Talk about it.”
“Trying to lure me into your lair?” she asked, but her words were teasing and her hand ached to hold his.
“My butt’s cold,” he said. “I’m wounded. I want the nice soft couch. I want you on the nice soft couch next to me, telling me that you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about thinking about it,” she corrected him. “There’s a lot about my life to straighten out first.” But she stood, and she extended her good hand to help him up. “Come on. Let’s go sniff some Cardhu together.”
He took her hand, but his lean face with its wide jaw and lurking early smile lines reflected nothing but confusion as she hauled him to his feet. “Sniff it? Is this something new we came up with that I don’t remember, or-”
She held the screen door open so he could fumble with the key and unlock the front door, and gestured at him. “You, head injury. Me, not drinking without you. That leaves sniffing. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at it this last week.”
“I’m touched. You waited.” He opened the door and made it just exactly as far as the couch.
She shrugged, and gave him a wicked grin. “Or maybe I just wasn’t sure you hadn’t drugged it.”
He regarded her with horror. “Drug my Cardhu?”
No. Not Dave. Not the Cardhu. Her grin turned genuine, enough so he realized he’d been had. She dropped his overnight bag at the side of the couch. “Hold on,” she said. “I’ll get the flask. We can sniff a toast.”
He still looked bemused when she pulled the flask from her courier bag, uncapping it. “Sniffing requires a silent toast,” she told him, sitting down beside him. “Like this.” She closed her eyes, dared to hope that Dave was right about clearing her name, and toasted their chances. Then she moved the flask under her nose, breathing deeply of the peaty essence of scotch. When her sinuses reached the stinging point, she opened her eyes and passed the flask over. Dave imitated her thoughtful silence and was purely a natural at the scotch-sniffing.
And when he opened his eyes and caught her gaze, she had no question about his silent toast. About his beliefs…or about his wants.
Good thing the couch was comfortable.