Читать книгу Marital Privilege - Ann Voss Peterson - Страница 12

Laura Martin lowered her bound hands and the Russian-made Makarov 9mm she’d managed to pick up from the floor. The weapon’s report still echoed through the kitchen. Its recoil vibrated through her arms. The sharp odor of spent gunpowder seared her senses.

She’d shot a man. Maybe killed him. Yet she felt nothing.

She should move. See if he was still alive. Administer first aid. Something. Yet even though she was staring at his prone form, watching the dark stain seep through his sweatshirt and wick through the fabric like tie-dye, she couldn’t quite believe what she’d done. None of it felt real.

Ripping her gaze from the crumpled form, she focused on her husband’s pale face. “Alec?”

His gray eyes met hers. The shovel fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. In two strides he crossed the distance between them and gathered her in his arms. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

She pressed her body against his warmth—warmth she’d thought she’d never feel again. “I’m fine.” A bald-faced lie. She was trembling so hard she could hardly stand.

He moved back from her, running his gaze over her face and down to her bound hands. “The baby?” He smoothed a palm over her nightgown and the curve of her bulging abdomen.

“He’s fine.” She could feel him shifting inside her, his movements faster and more spastic than usual, as if fueled by the adrenaline in her bloodstream. “What is going on, Alec? Who are these men?”

He stepped away and grabbed a knife from the butcher block. Slipping the blade between her wrists, he cut the plastic binder, freeing her hands. One hand on the small of her back, he tried to guide her toward the garage. “We have to get out of here.”

She stood rooted to the spot, still staring at the bodies on the floor. One slumped against the white kitchen cabinets clutching his bloody face, barely conscious enough to moan. The other lay sprawled where his body hit the floor. A pool of blood spread over the hardwood. “We have to call the police.”

“No police.”

“What do you mean, no police? Of course we have to call the police. These men broke in. They were going to kill me. I shot one of them, for crying out loud. He might be dead.”

“I know you trust the police, but all cops aren’t as honest as your dad was. We can’t risk it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain later. All of it. Right now we have to get out of here. The thug outside probably heard the gunshots.”

“The thug outside? There’s another?”

“He was waiting in a car down the street.”

Mind still whirling, she let Alec guide her into the garage. She might not know what was going on, but she didn’t want another of those men to catch up to them. She and Alec had been lucky to escape from the two in the kitchen. Before Alec had shown up, she’d thought she was dead.

Like Sally?

“One of those men said Sally is dead.” Not wanting to believe it was true, she studied Alec’s face, waiting for an expression that would answer her unspoken question.

He gave her a brief nod.

Pain clutched her heart. Her knees almost gave way beneath her. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be happening.

Alec grasped her arm, keeping her on her feet and moving through the garage, toward the van. “Try not to think of it now. We have to focus on getting out of here.”

She stopped in her tracks a step from the van. “Wait.”

“Laura? Get in the van.”

She glanced down at the Mak 9mm still in her fist. If they were going to face more of these men, she wanted to do it armed. “Rounds. We need bullets. And guns. The men in there have a mini arsenal on them.”

“I’ll get what I can. You get in the van.”

“It’ll take less time if I help.”

He nodded toward the kitchen door and released her arm. “Let’s make it quick.”

They ducked back inside. The strong odor of blood filled Laura’s senses and turned her stomach. She breathed shallowly through her mouth, trying to concentrate on getting the guns, trying to stave off the nausea, the way she had through the first and most of the second trimesters of her pregnancy.

The man Alec had laid out with the shovel hadn’t moved. Except for the low groan rumbling deep in his throat, she might have thought he was dead. She was just about to kneel down and check him for weapons and rounds when Alec grabbed her arm. “I’ll take care of him. You check the other one.”

She nodded. She had to admit, she was relieved. There was something deathly brutal about this man. Every time he’d looked at her, she’d felt his hatred. His rage. Even though she’d never done anything to him. Even though she’d never even laid eyes on him before.

While Alec rifled through the man’s clothes, she stepped across the floor to the man she’d shot. The pool of blood beneath him had grown, inching along the wood floor and seeping into the cracks between the boards. Blood soaked his sweatshirt around the exit hole in his back.

He was dead. She’d killed a man. Nausea bucked in her stomach. The coppery sweet odor clogged her throat, choking her. She struggled for breath. For control. She had to push the guilt away. She couldn’t let herself feel. She had to function.

She bent down and picked up the pistol that had fallen from his hand. Then she focused on the man’s waistband. Holding her breath, she ran her hand under his sweatshirt. She felt a pouch attached to his belt. She yanked up the sweatshirt’s hem and unsnapped the pouch filled with 9mm rounds.

Alec handed her another pouch on his way to the front of the house. Moments later he raced back into the kitchen empty handed. “We’re going to have company. Get in the van. Hurry.”

Scooping up the handgun and rounds, she scurried out the door and clambered into the van.

Alec took the driver’s seat and started the engine. He snapped his seat belt and turned to her. “Keep your head down.”

She hooked her own seat belt. Slipping out of the shoulder harness, she bent at the waist, her head nearly touching the dash, the baby pushing her stomach into her throat.

Alec hit the button of the garage door opener, shifted into Reverse and stomped on the gas.

The van lurched backward. They burst into the daylight. Laura lifted her head to peek through the window. A man strode through their front yard toward the driveway, an assault rifle in the ready position.

She ducked.

Gunfire popped, hitting steel, hitting glass. Cracks splintered the passenger window and spider-webbed the windshield. “Hold on,” Alec shouted.

She hunkered lower. Grateful the lap belt was still in place, she gripped the bottom of the seat with one hand and braced against the dash with the other.

Reaching the bottom of the driveway, Alec slammed the car into drive. The van lurched. Rubber screeched against pavement, grabbing for purchase.

More gunfire from outside. The back window shattered.

The van thrust forward. Sitting as low as possible, Alec gripped the wheel, knuckles white, squinting through the cracked windshield. He spun around the bend at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. The van tilted, as if lifting off two wheels.

It settled on the straightaway. The engine roared, the sound overwhelming the thrum of Laura’s pulse in her ears, the panic racing along her nerves.

Alec took two more turns before settling on the main road.

She sat upright in her seat and twisted to check out the blown-out back window. The road was vacant behind, no bullets flying, no car following. The wind whistled through the broken car windows and whipped her hair against her cheeks. Clutching dash and door, she closed her eyes.

This couldn’t be happening. More than anything, she wanted to go to sleep, wake up and find she was safe in her bed. That Sally was still alive. That she had never pulled the trigger and taken a man’s life. That it was all a vivid hormone-induced nightmare.

Opening her eyes, she focused on her husband. His shirt was ripped and bloodstained. And he hadn’t injured his arm in the fight in the kitchen. She was sure of it. She touched his sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

No, he wasn’t fine. And despite what she’d said to reassure him earlier, neither was she. “What happened? How did you get hurt? Tell me what’s going on.”

Flattening his lips into a tight line, he took two more turns at top speed. He adjusted the wheel and settled on another country highway, pushing the pedal to the floor. “Now’s not the best time.”

She checked out the back window again. “No one’s following. Now’s the perfect time. Who were those men?”

A muscle flexed along his jaw.

“Do you know them?”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed and seemed to darken, turning gray to slate.

He knew, but he wasn’t going to tell her. How could he not tell her? “They almost killed me. They were going to take our baby. I deserve to know who they are.”

Eyes riveted to the road ahead, he blew out a long breath, as if acknowledging defeat. Another mile passed before he opened his mouth to speak. “You’ve heard of the Russian Mafiya.”

Of course she had. She didn’t have to have a father in law enforcement to be familiar with Russian organized crime. Their greed. Their brutality. Their blatant disregard for law and decency. And the men who had broken into their house and dragged her from her bed had spoken with Russian accents. But that still didn’t explain anything. “Why would the Russian mob be after us?”

He hesitated again, this time his expression was one of pain. And guilt. “My name isn’t Alec Martin.”

“Excuse me?” Whatever she’d expected him to say, this wasn’t close. Heat stole over her followed by cold. “What is your name?”

“Nikolai Stanislov.”

“Russian.” Her mind stuttered, struggling to process the information, struggling to make sense of it. “You’re involved with the Russian mob?”

“Nika Stanislov was involved with the Russian mob.”

Nika. His real name. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t handle this. “That’s why you use a false name? Because you’re a mobster?”

“I’m not a mobster.” He bit off the words, his voice sharp.

She opened her eyes and studied the lines of his face, the bitter set to his jaw. He had the same short brown hair, the same gray eyes, the same rugged features, yet she didn’t recognize this man. She’d been married to him for more than a year, dated him for two before that, and she didn’t know him. “Who are you?”

“Alec Martin is a name assigned to me by the federal witness-security program.”

“You’re a crime witness?”

“Yes.”

It didn’t take much to put the pieces together. “You witnessed something having to do with Russian organized crime.”

“My father is what they call a ‘big man.’”

“Your father was a mafia don?”

“Is.”

“He’s alive? You told me he died when you were young.”

A bitter smile curved his lips. “Only in my fantasies.”

She pressed her fingers against her lower lip. This couldn’t be happening. The Alec she’d married was tender and honest. This Alec—the one who had another name, the one who knew mobsters, the one with fantasies of his father’s death—she didn’t want to know. “What crime did you witness?”

“You name it.”

“Things your father did?”

“Yes.”

“And you testified against him?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still on the ribbon of asphalt stretching in front of them. “About thirteen years ago. He was convicted of manslaughter.”

Manslaughter. Merely another name for murder.

“The men at the house were about my father getting revenge.”

“If you testified against him thirteen years ago, why is he just coming after you now?”

“He was just released from prison.”

“Why not put a contract out on you while he was in prison?”

“He likes to handle personal problems personally. Says it’s a matter of honor. As if the son-of-a-bitch knows anything about honor. Those men weren’t there to kill me. They were there to take me back to New York. Back to face my father.”

“One of them was talking about taking our son.” She slid her hands down over her belly. “What does your father want with our baby?”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s not going to get near our baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

She wanted to believe him, wanted it with her whole heart. But after what she’d been through today, she couldn’t fool herself into thinking she and their son would be safe just because Alec said so. She couldn’t fool herself into believing anything Alec—no, Nika—said. “Why didn’t you tell me? When things became serious between us, when we started talking about marriage, about having kids…” Rage worked its way into her throat, pinching her voice, cutting off her words.

“I thought it was over. When I met you, nothing had happened for ten years. I thought I could finally have my own life, my own family.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I should have a say in my future? Did it ever occur to you that I might have ideas about the type of man I wanted to marry? The type of man I wanted to father my kids?” A flurry of kicks vibrated inside her, her son’s movement fueled by the adrenaline racing through her veins. She folded her hands over her belly and lowered her voice. “Did you ever consider giving me a choice?”

“We chose each other, Laura. Our feelings for each other had nothing to do with my background. That hasn’t changed.”

“Everything’s changed.”

“Because my past is different than you thought?”

“Because my future is different. Our son’s future is different.”

This morning when she’d awakened, her life had been everything she’d ever wanted. She had a thriving business. She thought she was married to the man of her dreams. And she had a perfect little son on the way. Her biggest problem had been a case of the sniffles. Her biggest concern had been asking Sally to open the bar so she could get a little extra sleep. And now her friend, her marriage—everything she knew—was gone.

Her sinuses burned. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to scream. To hit him. To hurt him. To make him see what he’d done to her, to their baby. “This is not what I wanted. Not for myself, and certainly not for my son.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I wonder. Did you know that my mother used to stay up all night whenever my father was on patrol? She would sit in the dark with her rosary beads and wait for him. I think she truly believed if she didn’t keep her prayer vigil, he wouldn’t come home to us.”

Alec said nothing.

But what could he say? He knew about her mother’s fears. He’d seen for himself how her anxiety had gotten so severe before her death that she’d had to live in an institution. But even then, Laura had doubted he’d truly understood the causes and ripple effects of her mother’s illness. Now she was certain he hadn’t understood. Not one bit. If he had, he never could have kept his real identity from her. He never could have put her in this position. “I always tried to stay awake with her. When I fell asleep, I felt so guilty. Like I’d let her down.”

“That’s terrible to put so much pressure on a kid.”

“Our son is going to face more pressure than that. If he survives long enough to be born, that is.”

She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand then buried her clenched fist in her lap. “By the time I reached high school, I decided that my life was going to be different. I would make it different. I set out to choose a man with a safe job to fall in love with. To marry. To have a child with. I didn’t even date men who didn’t fit into that plan. I didn’t look at them twice. When I met you, I thought I’d found the perfect man. A liquor distributor. A salesman. Not a police officer, like my father. And sure as hell not the son of a mobster. If I’d had any idea…”

The creases flanking his mouth and digging into his forehead deepened. “I wanted to be your husband. I wanted it so much.”

“Enough to lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell me who you really were. That’s lying in my book.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

But his acquiescence wasn’t enough to loosen the knot twisting in her stomach or lighten the weight in her chest. It wasn’t even close. “You should have told me the truth, Alec or Nikolai or whatever-the-hell your name is. You should have let me decide if I wanted to live with this ticking bomb.”

“I’m sorry, Laura. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me. Not if you knew who I was.” He pulled his gaze from the highway for a moment and looked at her. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Damn you, Alec. You’ve lost me, anyway.”

Alec turned hollow eyes on the road twisting through rolling farm fields, his face pale in the shattered pattern of sunlight shining through the windshield.

She clutched the bottom of her nightgown, trying to cover her legs. If only she could do something. Take control. Stand up, walk around, burn off the desperate feeling storming her nerves. Anything. Instead she was stuck in this damn car next to a man she didn’t know, driving hell-bent for nowhere. And there wasn’t a thing she could do to change it. Or was there? “Turn the car around.”

“What?”

“I want to go back to Beaver Falls. I want you to drop me off at the police station.”