The Dark Horse - lanyon Josh - Страница 23
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«So what was Plan B?» I asked. «If you pushed hard enough I might have another breakdown and hopefully do the job myself.»
«If you had another breakdown and … did yourself, that would be like your choice.» He was reasoning with me as though he believed he could somehow make me see it from his point of view. «I mean, you could have a breakdown a few years from now and off yourself and it wouldn't help anyone – whereas this way you'd be saving my life.» «But Dan kept running interference.» «Yep.» I owed Dan an apology.
I glanced down at my drink, the ice melted in the glass. «So what happens if I drink this?»
«You just go to sleep,» he said earnestly. «Very peacefully and naturally. There's no pain or anything. Your heart just stops. That would be the best way. I don't want to …» he glanced down at the gun lying between us, and swallowed. «Why not? You shot Hammond's double. You killed Lenny Norman, right?»
His eyes did this queer little flickery thing, like his brain was short-circuiting. But before I had time to react, he smiled, once more in control. «Lenny Norman was an asshole. I thought you might actually appreciate that one.»
Years of training, but I couldn't quite control my expression, and reading my face, Steve said thickly, «I thought for sure that would be the end of that damned film. And I figured that might tip you over the edge – you were so obsessed about that role. But it was … bad. He begged me …»
«My God, Steve.» I put my hand over my eyes, and then remembered I needed to keep watch on him. «Think about what you've done.»
«I know exactly what I've done, and we both know I can't go back now. Look, I don't want to hurt you, Sean. Just drink the stuff and … go to sleep.»
I stared into his eyes. This was Steve. Steve whom I had known forever. My partner, my friend, my former lover. I just couldn't seem to wrap my mind around it. Maybe because I didn't want to. I picked up the glass. «You know what? You're right. Living is overrated. Between you and Dan – I am a little tired.» I put the glass to my lips and his eyes flared with – surprise? Excitement? Fear? Maybe he didn't know himself.
Wet touched my lips and I paused. «But you do know, Dan isn't going to believe this suicide scenario. Not unless I leave some kind of a note.»
He hesitated, glanced toward the house, and I chucked the glass with all my strength at his head. It connected with a satisfying thunk and he fell out of his chair, nearly taking the table with him. As he collapsed, he grabbed for the gun, which went off with a bang, taking a chunk out of the railing a few inches to my left. Jeeeeesus.
I hopped up from my chair, wiping my mouth with my arm. I hadn't swallowed anything but who knew what the hell he'd laced my drink with. «God damn you, Sean!»
His fury triggered a hysterical laugh. He was angry because I was trying to stay alive. And I was the crazy one?
Jumping from the deck, I hit the sand and sprinted for the side of the house, yelling, «Markowitz, where the hell are you?»
I slammed into a wall. A wall of hard muscle and bone and warm flesh. The wall reached out and steadied me. Dan. I blinked up at him dazedly. With his free hand he was holding a gun. Definitely not a movie prop.
Without a change of expression he put me behind him and trained the gun on Steve who had paused at the stairs of the deck. «Freeze, Krieger.» Steve stared down in disbelief. Blood trickled from a cut in his hairline. «What are you doing here?»
«Drop the gun.» Dan ordered, adding, «Or I'll blow your fucking head off.» Which was probably not LAPD-approved script.
Steve hesitated. I could see him running his options, weighing the risk, figuring his odds: always the gambler.
Dan was like a statue; he didn't flick an eyelash, didn't move a muscle. He was ready and waiting – and despite the fact that Steve had wanted me dead, had cold-bloodedly plotted and planned for that very thing – I couldn't take the idea of seeing his head blown off. I croaked, «Please, Steve …»
I spotted Markowitz edging behind the railing on the other side of the deck, his own weapon drawn.
Steve's eyes met mine over Dan's shoulder. He laughed the old Steve laugh and dropped his gun. It landed on the sand with a dull sound. «Hey, what the hell.» He held his hands out. «Book 'em, Danno!»
Dan went up the stairs, shoved Steve back into the table hard, and while Steve was picking himself back up, jammed his gun in his back waistband and took out a pair of handcuffs. Markowitz joined him a moment later.
«So it was a trap,» Steve said, trying to look over his shoulder at me. «You knew and you set me up?» «It's called acting,» I said.
Dan's eyes met mine briefly. Blue and bleak. I had no idea what he was doing there – I had set my «trap» with Markowitz's assistance – but I was glad to see him. The wail of sirens floated in the distance.
Steve was still trying to make eye contact. He said urgently, «Hey, Sean. I'm sorry, man. If there had been another way …»
My throat closed up, choking off anything I could have said – if I'd had anything to left to say. «Very touching, asshole,» Dan growled. * * * * * «When did you know?» I asked Dan.
The sheriffs had come and gone, taking Steve with them. Markowitz had followed shortly after, and it was just Dan and me now. Past that adrenaline overdrive, I felt a little numb and a lot shaky. I'd have given anything for a hug from Dan, but there were no hugs forthcoming. Dan looked like Dan, but there was a force field around him that even the Starcatz would have trouble neutralizing.
«That Steve was planning to kill you?» His smile was humorless. «I knew for sure this afternoon. That bullshit story of his – the only possible reason for that was to play on your insecurities and distrust. To drive enough of a wedge between us that either you would send me away or I'd get fed up and leave.» «He was running out of time,» I said. «It made him desperate.» «And stupid.»
«I need a drink,» I said, and went to the bar. I poured myself a Bushmills. Dan's whiskey. Apparently the one and only reminder of his brief stay in my life. «Did you want something?» Anything? «No.»
I could see the tiny lines of weariness around his blue eyes and unsmiling mouth, but he didn't sit down, and he didn't take his jacket off. He wasn't staying. He didn't want anything I had to offer.
I tossed back the whiskey, welcoming the burn in the back of my throat. It distracted me from the burn at the back of my eyes. That wasn't going to get me anywhere. It would just embarrass us both.
Refilling my glass, I said, «But you already suspected Steve, didn't you? That's what you meant today when you said you weren't sure who was sending the postcards.»
Eyes on my glass, he said, «You were right about the odds of attracting two aggressive stalkers in such a short space of time; so I knew after Hammond's body turned up that I needed to look for someone with another motive for getting rid of you. Steve fit the bill.»
I forced myself to meet his gaze. It was hard because, as I feared, there was nothing in his eyes. No emotion. «Thank you,» I said. «You saved my life.»
He shook his head. «I was just tagging along. It was Markowitz's show – and yours.» «Markowitz told you –?» «He thought I'd be interested. He thought I had a right to know.»
There was no accusation in his voice, but I knew that he was sore about that. I took a deep breath. «Dan, I owe you an apology.»
«You don't owe me anything,» he said flatly. He looked at his watch. «If you're okay now, I've got some place to be.» «I'm okay.» If he walked out that door I was never going to be okay again.
I set my glass down and followed him through the rooms to the front door. Hand on the door knob, he paused. «That reminds me.» He pulled his keys out and began to work one off the ring.
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