On Thin Ice (Ice 6)

“Thanks for the advice,” she said wryly. “In the meantime …” She heard the shots, a volley of them, and she froze. Beyond the thick wall she heard the muffled cry. MacGowan’s name, shouted in a voice filled with shock.

She knew. There was no other explanation. MacGowan didn’t have a gun and they did. He was dead.

Sun was beating down overhead, slicing through the narrow pocket, which meant it must be around noon. He died at noon, she thought numbly. And she and Dylan would be soon to follow.

It wasn’t as if she cared. She was sorry about Dylan – he was too young to die. But all she could think of was MacGowan, separated from her by the thick, unfeeling wall, bleeding out on the floor of that filthy café.

He was dead, and she didn’t want to live. It was that simple. Surely she was way too smart to have fallen in love with him. It was gratitude that he’d rescued her, a normal reaction to his strength. And god, without the beard he was freaking gorgeous, which didn’t help. It was no wonder that she’d been crushing on him. No wonder she’d grieve his death.

All reasonable. It didn’t explain the aching despair, the blank emptiness that filled her. She could feel the hot tears pouring down her face, and she pressed it against the stone. MacGowan, you stupid bastard, she thought. Why did you have to go and get yourself killed? I care about you.

Care about you. Stupid phrase. She knew the truth, and right then the least she could do for the man who’d died protecting her was to admit it. She was stupidly, idiotically in love with him. He didn’t deserve it, she was smart enough to know better, but all the rationalization in the world didn’t help. It simply was.

The low murmur of voices was getting louder, but it was just background noise to the despair that filled her. The stone wall was rough beneath her cheek, and she realized she had her hands up against it, trying to scratch her way through. Her hand was bleeding again, but she didn’t care.

She heard Dylan’s voice, asking her a question, but it didn’t sink in. If she stayed in this strange, despairing fugue state she’d be all right. If she had to emerge it would be unbearable. She couldn’t face the pain that reality would bring. He was dead, and there was nothing left.

She was vaguely aware of Dylan moving, more light coming in the narrow passageway. And then it darkened again, as someone took Dylan’s place, and a hand clamped down on her arm.

She tried to pull away, filled with panic as the truth started to sink in, hitting at the inexorable hands, hitting at the voice that tried to break through. He caught her again, pulling her, and her hands scraped against the wall as she was hauled out into the sunlight to die.

“Jesus, MacGowan, what did you do to her?” A voice came from a distance, elegant and coolly formal. “I thought you were supposed to be so good with women.”

“Back off, Taka,” a familiar voice snarled from beside her. “She’s had a tough few days.”

She turned in disbelief. It was MacGowan all right, in one piece, blood streaming from his forehead.

She didn’t throw herself in his arms, weeping. She was stronger than that. She straightened, reaching out for the cut. “You’re not dead.” Even her voice sounded reasonably calm, despite the pained rasp in it. “Were you shot?”

He shook his head. The blood had matted in his long hair, adding one more color to the black and silver, brown and sun-bleached. “Piece of the stone wall ricocheted when a bullet hit. What’s wrong with you?”

He was looking at her too closely, and she averted her face, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears on her face. “Nothing,” she said firmly. She looked at the door to the café, now closed, and she didn’t want to ask. “Who are your friends?”

“You don’t need to know,” he said, looking at her oddly out of those flint-gray eyes. “Why were you crying?”

Shit, of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything. She straightened her back. “I thought I was going to die.” That was a reasonable cause for crying, wasn’t it?

“You aren’t usually such a pussy.”

It startled a laugh out of her, the anguish that had been strangling her slowly loosening its hold. He was all right, nothing would kill him. “Shut up, MacGowan,” she snapped. “Everyone’s allowed a moment of weakness.”

A car was coming down the narrow alleyway, moving slowly, and she glanced up to see the flame-haired young tourist pulling up in the sedan, climbing out with indecent energy.

“GPS coordinates are set,” he said in perfect if formal English. “Food in the backseat, blankets

, change of clothing.”(

“We’ll see these two back to their homes,” the more conventional-looking man said. “You’re better off alone.”

“No,” MacGowan said abruptly. Then he laughed. “At least, it’s up to them. You ready to go back home, kid?”

Dylan shook his head. “Don’t have a home to go to. I’ll stick with you and Sister Beth.”

MacGowan glanced at Beth, a question in his eyes, and she knew she should say no, jump for safety with the two faux-tourists who’d doubtless take excellent care of her. Why did MacGowan even give her the choice? Didn’t he want to get rid of her?(Dylan’s words came back to her. “He looks at you like he’s a starving man and you’re a six-course meal.”

Her heart, already shredding, was going to get destroyed if she stayed with him. But she’d played it safe most of her life.

“I’m with you, MacGowan.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her unbandaged hand. “Just try not to get us killed.”