What the hell had happened to him today? Twice he’d almost gotten them killed because of her. He’d taken one look at her bruised face streaked with tears and wished he’d killed the man who hit her twice over. Taka had given him a long, assessing look when he did it. He could have left the son of a bitch for Barringer to find.
But he’d heard what the man had planned to do to Beth, what he’d done to other women, and that had pretty much sealed his fate, even if he hadn’t hit Beth.
This was no life for someone like her, and he knew it. He should have insisted she go with Taka. Taka and his cousin would have made sure she got on a plane back to America, to the nice cocoon of all that money. Once away from him she probably wouldn’t think about him again.
Which was why he couldn’t let her go. He wasn’t finished with her. He didn’t know why, or what was left, but it sat between them like the proverbial elephant in the livin
g room. He needed to get it settled, make peace with it, before he said good-bye to her.
Not that saying good-bye was in the cards. He was a man who simply vanished when it was time to go, no note, no farewell. He was just gone.
But he wasn’t quite ready to leave.
He drove through the night, while Dylan slept beside him, sprawled out like the gangly teenager he really was. Beth made no sound from the back seat, but he knew when she was awake and when she slept, even if she pretended otherwise. The old stone farmhouse was a sprawling old building, with half a dozen bedrooms behind the crumbling façade. He could put her in the one on the first floor behind the kitchen, out of reach in case he decided to wander. The only problem with that was she’d be alone down there if anyone decided to come calling. In all the years no one had ever breached the farmhouse. It was far too badly maintained, deliberately so, with overgrown shrubbery and a road that looked barely passable. The roof looked as if it were about to cave in, though underneath its ravaged surface was a new and solid one.
He could put her on the second floor in one of the five bedrooms. Most of the rooms were utilitarian, made for soldiers in hiding, but one was elegantly decorated. Madame Lambert had insisted she wasn’t going to camp out in a barracks if she had to stay there, and her room had pale colors and florals. Putting her there was the obvious choice, but it had an adjoining door to the room he habitually used.
Not that he’d ever touched Madame Lambert. The Ice Queen had frankly scared the shit out of him, and he still couldn’t imagine her running off with any man, even Serafin the Butcher.
He could go downstairs. In fact, that would make more sense – he’d be the first line of defense down there. Yes, that was the smart thing to do.
And he wasn’t going to do it. He was going to put Dylan in the room under the eaves, at the far end of the house, and maybe even lock him in. And then he was going to turn his attention to the woman in the back seat who was pretending she wasn’t awake.
“You should go back to sleep,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting to wake Dylan.
For a moment there was silence, and he wondered if she’d keep faking it. “I’m trying,” she said finally. “I keep seeing … there’s been too much blood.”
“Then why did you come with me? Taka would have taken you straight to the airport.”
She said nothing, and he could have kicked himself. Putting her on the spot was no way to keep her talking to him, and he wanted to hear her voice. It seemed as if it had been weeks since he’d slept. The nights he’d been alone on the ship he’d tossed and turned, unable to get used to the feel of the ship beneath him. Or maybe unable to get used to Beth being so far away.
“You’ll like the farmhouse,” he said. “It’s a safe place – no one ever comes there.”
“Why are we heading there?”
“I need to figure out what I’m going to do now that I’m back in civilization. There were people who shouldn’t have left me to rot in the jungle, and they’re going to answer for it. And there’s the future. The man who was responsible has taken over. If I kill him I’ll probably lose my job.”
“You think?”
He laughed. “Then again, I’ve got enough money to last me a good long time, maybe forever, stashed away. Plus they owe me for the three years in captivity.”
“Again, that might be hard to collect if you kill your boss.”
“Not my boss,” he said swiftly, instinctively. He controlled his anger with an effort. “No, maybe he is. The woman I answered to retired, leaving Madsen in charge. So yes, I think it’s time I found another line of work, even if I don’t gut him.”
“Aren’t you tired of killing people?”
The words hung in the air, a slap in the face, and he responded instinctively.
“Oh, hell, no, I get a real kick out of it. Didn’t have nearly enough scope for my genius while my ass was being held hostage in the Andes.”
“I’m sorry …”
“Tell you what, Sister Beth.” His words were like knives. “Next time someone holds a machete to your throat I’ll just let him cut. Or rape. Or do whatever the hell he wants to. I’d hate to upset your tender sensibilities.”
“I didn’t mean …”
“Sure you did. I get the job done, as quickly and efficiently as I can, and I don’t worry about niceties or whether someone is a very bad man or just a slightly bad man. If he’s a threat I kill him. It’s that simple.”