Kill and Tell cs-1 Read online

  The plane landed with a slight bounce, and they taxied to the terminal. As soon as the plane lurched to a stop at the jetway, passengers ignored the instructions to remain seated until the captain turned off the seat-belt sign and crowded into the narrow aisle, taking down bags from the overhead bins, dragging them out from under seats. Karen remained seated; the rear of the plane was always the last to empty, and she was in the very last row. Except for stretching her legs, standing up would serve no purpose because she certainly wasn't going anywhere for a while.

  But eventually, the line began to snake forward, and the plane emptied in fits and starts. Karen crawled out of the cramped seat, wincing at her sore ribs, her sore knee, her sore hands. She ached all over. This morning, she and Piper had solemnly bandaged each other, then hugged good-bye and laughed and cried at the same time. Piper had argued at first against the entire preposterous idea that someone was trying to kill Karen, but the more she thought about it, the more worried she became, and finally she had agreed the safest thing to do was get out of Dodge.

  Piper had been right about something, too. With her hands bandaged, people rushed to handle her one suitcase for her.

  Though her wardrobe was limited to what the policewoman had packed, when Karen finally stepped off the plane into the heat and humidity of the jetway, she realized she was better dressed for New Orleans weather now than she had been before. Other than a couple of uniforms, her wardrobe currently consisted of two pairs of jeans, a lightweight flowered skirt that fell to mid-calf, three cotton tops, some socks and underwear, sneakers, and a pair of sandals. She wore the skirt and sandals and felt much cooler than she had before.

  Marc nabbed her as soon as she set foot in the terminal. That was the only word for it. A hard hand closed over her nape, dragging her to a halt, and he said with suppressed violence, "What the hell is going on?"

  Chapter 16

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  He was still angry, Karen thought. No, angry wasn't an adequate word; he was furious, his eyes glittering, his lips a thin grim line, pale around the eyes and nose. She was so glad to see him that she closed her eyes as a sigh of relief soughed out of her lungs. "Hi," she said, another inadequate word. Then she was in his arms. He eased her there, as if afraid of hurting her. She felt his heart hammering under her cheek, his breath soft on her hair, the hard bulge of his gun in the holster at his waist, and it felt so wonderful to be where she was that the cessation of solitude was almost painful. She had never felt this connection with anyone else, this lightness as her body touched his, this pure, delicious sense of homecoming.

  "You look like hell," he said, the blunt statement so far from his usual courtesy that she thought he must be rattled. She did look rather battered: limping, both hands bandaged, a bruise on her cheek, and that overall pinched, pale look that came from too little sleep and too much stress.

  "Yesterday was an eventful day."

  "Are there any injuries I can't see?" The words were tight.

  "Ribs. Sore, but not cracked."

  He muttered another curse under his breath. "Let's get out of here. Any bags?"

  "One."

  "Do you need a wheelchair?"

  She leaned her head back and gave him an appalled look. "No! That would make me more conspicuous. My knee is stiff, but I can walk perfectly well. Let's just get my suitcase and get out of here."

  The line of his mouth didn't relax, and the hard glitter in his eyes didn't soften, but he slowed his long stride to match her much more leisurely gait, his arm around her waist as if he felt she needed steadying. The more she walked, the more her knee loosened, and if she went slowly, she didn't limp. She said, "If someone had the means, how long would it take him to find out I took a flight here?"

  "If someone had the means, he could have someone here waiting for you or be here himself." He looked as if he wanted to do something violent.

  She stopped, her heart jumping with panic. "Get away from me," she said fiercely. "If you're with me, then you're in danger, too."

  He turned to face her. "You're going with me," he said between clenched teeth, "if I have to pick you up and carry you. Then you'll be conspicuous." He took her arm and steered her toward the escalator.

  "After your message, I took precautions. I'm not here alone." She decided not to push him any further. From what she could tell, his temper hadn't subsided at all during the past two days. He looked dangerous, his gaze hard and restless as he surveyed the people around them, and she suspected he would welcome the chance to unleash that temper on someone. Getting off the plane had taken so long that the luggage was already being unloaded. After a few minutes, the carousel chugged her suitcase around; she pointed it out, and Marc snagged it. He was parked at the curb. Another car had pulled up close behind him, and a lean, good-looking young black man stood on the sidewalk beside them, his eyes shielded by sunglasses. "See anything?" Marc asked as he stowed the suitcase in the trunk. He had put on sunglasses, too, making him look hard and expressionless.

  "Nothing out of place. Everything's calm as a convent."

  "Good. Karen, this is Antonio Shannon. Antonio, Karen Whitlaw."

  "Pleased to meet you," Karen said. "Are you a detective, too?"

  "Yes, Ma'am." Shannon smiled at her. Like Marc, he wore a jacket despite the heat. Marc opened the passenger door and ushered her into the car, his hand warm on the small of her back. The touch was so familiar, so possessive, that she shivered.

  "I'll watch your six and make sure you aren't followed," Shannon said quietly to Marc.

  "Thanks. I've put in a call to McPherson, but I'm routing everything through you so there won't be any direct connection to my house or my home phone."

  Shannon nodded. "Got it. Go on, get her stashed. I'll handle things." Marc clapped Shannon on the shoulder in appreciation and slid behind the wheel. As he pulled away from the curb, he watched in the rearview mirror as Shannon did the same, falling back far enough that he could see if anyone tried to follow Marc. Shannon had good instincts, maybe a result of his military training, maybe because he was naturally sharp.

  Karen cleared her throat. "Is Detective Shannon your partner?"

  "Detectives in New Orleans aren't teamed. But he worked with me on your father's case, and we get along. I trust him."

  "Who's McPherson?"

  "Someone who might be able to give us some information. Now—" His tone was measured, but she still heard that suppressed violence beneath the control. "Tell me what happened yesterday." She did, as calmly and concisely as possible. She also told him about her previous home burning to the ground. He digested everything in silence for a minute. "Do you know the name of the bastard who entered your apartment?"

  "Carl Clancy." Detective Suter had told her his name, to see if she recognized it. He indicated the bruise on her face. "He did that?"

  "Yes, but the hands and the knee are courtesy of the other bastard, the hit-and-run one. Actually, my hands are just scraped. Piper put these impressive bandages on them so people would help me with my suitcase. With my sore ribs, it was difficult for me to handle it." He said something under his breath again, something vile and inventive. Karen stared straight ahead. If Marc was swearing like that, he was a volcano waiting to blow.

  "I know it sounds far-fetched," she blurted. "Maybe I panicked. But twice in one day seemed a little too much for coincidence, and when I added it to my father being murdered and my old home burning, I—what's the legal term? A preponderance of evidence? That's what it felt like. Or am I being paranoid?"

  "No, I don't think you're paranoid. Something else turned up on your father's case that makes me real uneasy." He checked his rearview again.

  "What?" She turned around and checked behind them herself. "Is anyone following us?"

  "Just Antonio."

  "Tell me what turned up."

  "Another body, in Mississippi. The other man and your father knew each other, and they were probably killed at the same time. The other man was in a car in t