Part 4 (1/2)

”d.a.m.n right,” the kid said, stepping forward and reaching for the wallet.

Right about that time, the door to the restroom swung open wide and Tessa marched out, her brows narrowed, her face twisted in a scowl. And furthermore, you a.s.shole- She skittered to an uncertain halt when she saw Rene, then shrank back, her eyes flying wide when the kid whirled to her in surprise, pointing the muzzle of the pistol directly at her face.

”Don't move!” he screamed, and she dropped the bottle of Diet c.o.ke she'd been carrying. She'd opened it in the bathroom, and it spilled in a sudden, frothy puddle around her feet.

”Rene!” she hiccuped, looking to him in bright, desperate fright.

”You don't move, either!” the kid screamed, whipping the gun back to momentarily aim at Rene. ”Both of you just stand the f.u.c.k still!” ”Take it easy, kid,” Rene said, keeping his voice calm and quiet, locking eyes with the boy. ”We don't want any trouble. There's more than five thousand dollars in my wallet. It's yours. Take it-the car, too.”

The kid cut a glance at Tessa, letting his eyes crawl along her body, his gaze lingering at her bosom. Rene didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. ”Maybe I just found something else I want, too,” he said, the tip of his tongue darting out to swipe across his lips. He shoved the gun toward Tessa and she flinched, hunching her shoulders and crying out softly. ”Move, b.i.t.c.h.

You're coming with me.”

Rene saw the world suddenly become cast in brilliant, nearly blinding glare as his pupils opened fully, filling his corneas. He felt the sudden rush of blood to his gums and his canine teeth extended, the bloodl.u.s.t coming over him almost instantaneously. ”No,” he said, reaching out, clapping his right hand against the kid's arm. ”She's not.”

The kid swung the pistol back around. Rene clapped his left hand over the front of the muzzle, meaning to shove it aside, but when the younger man saw his face, his eyes and teeth, he uttered a breathless shriek: ”What the f.u.c.k-!” and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was like thunder trapped in the narrow confines between the snack machines and the bathrooms. Tessa's scream overlapped the booming report, and pain ripped through Rene's hand, spearing up his arm and slamming into him like a head-on collision with a locomotive.

He doubled over, gasping on the smoke, blinking at the shocking agony. When he looked up, his eyes smarting with tears, he saw the kid dancing clumsily back, the gun dangling limply in his hand, his mouth agape.

”Oh!” he whimpered. ”Oh...oh, s.h.i.+t...!”

”Why...why did you...have to go and do that?” Rene seethed from between clenched teeth as he staggered upright. He cradled his wounded hand against his belly and felt blood coursing down his arm, spattering heavily on the sidewalk between his feet. ”You...

you stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h...now I'm going to have to kill you.”

The kid had a half second to flounder backward, his eyes wide as he raised the pistol again, and then he shrieked as Rene leapt at him, knocking him off his feet and sending the gun flying from his fingers.

Rene heard Tessa crying out his name, her voice choked with tears, as he stumbled back against the snack machines. His face and the front of his s.h.i.+rt were now soaked with blood and not all of it his own. The kid lay sprawled against the gra.s.s, his throat ripped open, his eyes wide open and unblinking, his mouth wide and frozen in a scream.

”Rene!” Tessa cried, her hands fluttering against him. He blinked at her and was absurdly touched to see she was crying, her cheeks streaked with a steady torrent of tears. ”Rene, oh...oh, G.o.d...he shot you!”

”Je suis bien,” he murmured. ”I'm all right, pischouette.”

A glance down at his hand told the truth, however. The .45-caliber round had punched clear through, in his palm-side and out the other, leaving behind a shredded mess of b.l.o.o.d.y, exposed meat.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” Tessa gasped in horror. ”Oh...oh, my G.o.d, Rene! Your hand...!”

It wasn't as bad as his knee had been, or his gut, for that matter, back in Vietnam, but his hand sure hurt like all h.e.l.l. He couldn't catch his breath for the pain, and remained doubled at the waist, leaning heavily against the c.o.ke machine.

”It's all right,” he managed, because she was frightened and panicked, clutching at him, her eyes wide and frantic. ”Tessa, listen to me. I've been shot before. This...this is no big deal. Ce n'est rien. I'm all right.”

He hooked the front of his s.h.i.+rt with his uninjured hand and gave a mighty yank, jerking b.u.t.tons loose and splitting it open. He shrugged his way out of the sleeves, then gritted his teeth and wrapped it around his hand. ”Help me move him,” he said with a nod toward the kid. ”Grab a foot, pischouette. We need to hide him before somebody comes.”

They each grabbed one of the kid's ankles and together, hauled him unceremoniously back to his car, a gray, beat up Toyota Corolla. ”Check his pockets,” Rene told Tessa, out of breath with pain and exertion. ”See if you can find his car keys.”

She did, and he popped the trunk. ”We'll put him in here,” he said.

”What about the blood?” Tessa looked uncertainly behind them, at the smeared, gory trail they'd left behind them in the gra.s.s and on the sidewalk.

Rene shook his head. ”Nothing we can do about it,” he said. ”But at least this will buy us some time. Come on. Help me with him.”

When they were finished, Rene limped back to the snack machines, retrieving his fallen key ring and wallet. ”Check my trunk, would you, pischouette?” he asked, tossing her the key. ”Get me a s.h.i.+rt out of my bag, sie tu plais. And I think I have a first-aid kit in there somewhere. Would you bring it here? Oh-and there's an unopened fifth of Bloodhorse. I'll need that, too.”

Tessa nodded, scurrying toward the Audi. Rene picked up the kid's revolver, shoving it into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. He limped into the men's room and stood at the sink, unwrapping his hand and then dousing it under a steady stream of cold water.

G.o.dd.a.m.n, that hurts. It wasn't the worst he'd ever felt, but it was a far G.o.dd.a.m.n cry from the best. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth and steeling himself against the pain. Grabbing a paper towel from a nearby dispenser, he set about cleaning the blood off himself, mopping at his face and chest. When he walked back outside, he found Tessa waiting for him with s.h.i.+rt, Bloodhorse and first-aid kit all cradled between her arms.

”What are you doing?” she asked, watching as he poured bourbon on his wound and sucked in a sharp, hissing breath.

”I don't know where that bullet's been,” he replied, managing a wink and a crooked smile. ”And alcohol kills anything.”

Following his instructions, she helped him wrap his hand, pressing thick pads on either point of penetration and then binding them in place with gauze. ”He was trying to rob us,” she whispered when they had finished. She looked up at him, her large, dark eyes swimming with new tears.

”Yes, pischouette.” He nodded, easing his way into the clean s.h.i.+rt she'd brought to him.

”He hurt you.” Now her bottom lip quivered and her tears spilled, leaving glistening trails against her pale skin. ”He...he was going to hurt me...and my baby.”

Rene reached for her with his good hand, brus.h.i.+ng the cuff of his knuckles against her cheek. ”No one's going to hurt you or that baby. Not while I'm here.” Her narrow frame began to shudder, and he drew her against his shoulder. ”It's all right,” he breathed, closing his eyes. ”Hush, now, pischouette. It's all right.”

Chapter Six.

”She wasn't a hooker,” Rene murmured from the pa.s.senger seat.

”What?” Tessa sat rigidly behind the wheel of the Audi, clutching it so tightly her knuckles had blanched. She hated to drive because she'd never had the opportunity to learn how to do it well. She'd made the long trip from Kentucky to follow Brandon, but she'd been motivated by desperate fear for his safety, and it had felt like she'd held her breath the entire time. Whenever a semi truck had gone barreling past her on the interstates, she'd nearly hyperventilated. Other cars and trucks had flown past her, some blaring on their horns because she'd grow nervous and wouldn't drive fast enough.

When Rene had first told her she would need to get them to New Mexico, she'd nearly choked. ”No, let's just wait,” she'd said.

”Let me call Lina and Brandon. They're somewhere on the highway behind us. They can meet us here and Brandon can-” ”Brandon's hands are broken,” Rene had reminded her. ”He can't drive, remember? And we can't stay here. Someone could come along in the meantime, before them. Nous devons aller.” We have to go.

He'd told her to get into the trunk once more before leaving, this time to look for a bottle of prescription pills. When she'd been unable to find one in his bag, he'd run his fingers through his hair in frustration. ”I must have given them all to Brandon,” he'd muttered.

”All what?” she'd asked.

”My pills,” he'd replied. ”Pain pills, pischouette. I take them sometimes for my leg.”

Which hadn't made any sense to her, because his leg had been amputated more than a year ago. How could it still hurt him?

”That's what I get for trying to go clean cold turkey,” Rene had remarked more to himself than her, sounding rueful. He wouldn't admit it, but he was in a tremendous amount of pain. His hand had stopped bleeding, and he held it cradled against his lap in the car as he sat, slumped in the seat, his eyes heavily lidded.

He was fighting unconsciousness, nodding his head as his mind would fade in and out. His pallor was ashen, his breathing shallow, and when he was awake, he seemed dazed and confused. Like right now.

”You told me earlier I could go back to my boozing and playing with myself and prank-calling hookers,” he said. ”Or something like that. She wasn't a hooker...the woman I called last night. Elle etait mon epouse... she was my wife.”