Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [3]
He dropped the man back on the ground and rose. She could see blood on his fists, and he wiped them casually against his jeans. “Don’t come back,” he said.
It was the same voice. Huskier, but the same. Nate had been beaten to death, beyond recognition, in this very building. Maybe by those very hands.
She stayed in the shadows, silent, motionless, horrified. He saw her, anyway, his head jerking up as he peered into the darkness.
“Who’s there?”
He wasn’t alone. The small figure of a man stood in the doorway, blocking the light from spreading out onto the little tableau. The man on the ground was groaning, cursing, but smart enough not to move. And Jamie wondered if she had time to run.
She wasn’t going to, she reminded herself. She had a bad habit of running from trouble, and this was what she’d been determined to face.
She stepped out of the shadows, moving up to him. He wouldn’t know who she was, of course. He’d barely been aware of her back then, and he hadn’t seen her since that night so long ago, when both their lives had changed. She’d be the last person he expected to show up on his doorstep.
She was right about one thing. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He knew exactly who she was. It was one shock on top of another, and she came out with the only answer she could muster. “I’m looking for answers.”
“Nate’s dead,” Dillon said, his voice as flat and expressionless as his eyes.
“I know that. I want to know why.”
He said nothing. He looked just as she remembered, and yet nothing like it at all. He stood with the light behind him, and she couldn’t see his face. She could only see the blood on his hands.
“Go home, Jamie,” he said after a long moment. “Go back to your safe little boarding-school world. There’s nothing for you here.”
She didn’t even stop to wonder how he knew that she taught in a boarding school. “I can’t. I promised my mother. We need answers.”
“Your mother,” Dillon said with a throaty laugh. “I should have known the Duchess would have something to do with this. I don’t give a shit what you and your goddamned mother want, I only care what I want. And that is for you to get in your car and get your scrawny little ass out of here before I lose my temper. I’m already in a bad mood, and you should remember that I’m not very nice when I’m in a bad mood.”
The notion was so absurd she found she could laugh. “You’re never very nice,” she said.
“True enough.” He glanced past her. “Where’s your car?”
“Broken down somewhere.”
“And I’m supposed to rescue you?”
“Aw, Dillon!” The man behind him spoke. “Let the poor girl in out of the cold. You’re scaring her.”
“Easy enough to do,” he said carelessly.
“C’mon, man. We’re finished our game, anyway. We can’t play two-handed, and I don’t think Tomas is going to be in any shape to play cards for a while.” He stepped out into the alleyway, a short, skinny little man, smaller than her own average height. He probably wouldn’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Less than she did. If there was one thing she didn’t possess, it was a scrawny ass.
“I’m Mouser,” he said. “And your name’s Janie?”
“Jamie,” Dillon corrected. “Jamie Kincaid. Nate’s sister.”
Mouser took an instinctive step back from her, looking rattled. “I didn’t know he had any sisters. I thought he hatched from a snake’s egg.”
“Cousin,” she said, startled. “We were brought up together.”
“Then you knew what he was like,” Mouser said, nodding. “Just ignore Dillon. He gets like this when someone cheats at cards, especially when they do it badly. It insults his intelligence. That’s why we’ve got Tomas over there in the mud. He’s not going to make you stand out here in the alleyway and freeze to death.”
“Who says?” But with that caustic remark Dillon moved back inside. Leaving the door open behind him.
“That’s as close to an invitation as you’re gonna get,” Mouser said. “Better get moving