She Can Kill Page 4

  It frustrated and depressed her that her ex-husband still controlled her life. Troy would eventually have to move on, and then maybe she could explore the feelings that bounced between her and Cristan. But for the girls’ sake, for now she would have to make decisions with her head, not her heart.

  She blinked, turned away from him, and led the way into the house. Lucia was hugging Alex and Em. The little girls’ voices climbed to a high, excited pitch that soothed Sarah’s doubts. They were worth anything she had to endure.

  Sarah picked up a wrapped package on her bookshelf. “I have something for you, Lucia.”

  “It’s not my birthday,” Lucia said in a puzzled voice.

  Sarah grinned. “I know. This is a just-because present.”

  “Just because?” Lucia asked.

  “Just because I wanted to give it to you,” Sarah said.

  Lucia ripped off the brown paper. “Omigod.” She squealed. “Look, Dad. It’s Snowman and me at the show.”

  She turned the gift toward her father. Lucia had ridden her new horse, Snowman, in the indoor horse show at the winter festival. She’d been very excited to win a blue ribbon. When Sarah had seen their picture in the town newspaper, she’d had to frame it for the child. The photographer had captured a perfect image of the pair in midair over a low jump in the indoor arena.

  “Thank you.” Lucia grabbed Sarah in a fierce hug.

  “You’re welcome. I thought you should commemorate your first win,” Sarah said.

  Lucia turned the gift toward her father. Cristan’s face tightened as he leaned closer and read the caption. “Lucia Rojas and Snowman win first place in the novice hunter division.”

  “I didn’t know my picture was in the paper.” Lucia beamed and enveloped Sarah in another one-armed hug. “I’m going to hang it in my room.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sarah warmed as she watched Lucia nearly skip back to the girls.

  “It is a lovely gift.” Cristan’s voice was rigid. He’d shut down. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “It gives me great joy to make her happy.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “What time should I pick up Lucia?”

  “Is seven o’clock all right?” Confused, Sarah searched his face. Over the past few months, Cristan’s formal demeanor had slowly shifted to friendly, maybe even more than friendly. But it seemed Mr. Uncomfortable had returned today. Why?

  “Yes. I’ll be back at seven.” His deep brown eyes shuttered as he backed away.

  He seemed to shake off his mood as he turned to the children. As always, his posture and smile relaxed the second he addressed the kids. He was more comfortable with them than her. Other than telling her his wife had died when Lucia was an infant, he was guarded when speaking about his past. Did he still grieve his wife?

  But even if he did, why would her giving his daughter a gift put him on edge?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cristan backed out of the kitchen. How could he have let this happen? Lucia’s picture was in the newspaper and surely on the Internet as well. Panic scratched at the edges of his control. He tried to reason with it. No one could possibly know her true identity. The local paper didn’t circulate beyond the town’s borders, and it had a very small readership within the community. He’d purchased only one issue, when the trash pickup schedule had been altered. He was being ridiculous. At this point in their new lives, being overly paranoid would attract more attention than a single article.

  He went to his daughter, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor helping Alex line her stuffed animals up in a neat row in front of the television. Clutching her lopsided kangaroo, Emma climbed into Lucia’s lap.

  He crouched next to the children. “What do we have here?”

  As usual, Alex answered. “We’re going to watch a movie. Mommy said it was OK.” She gave a small brown bear a seat in the front row.

  “That sounds like fun.” Cristan surveyed the pretend theater. “I see you’ve made sure everyone has a good view.”

  Alex positioned a small beanbag pig next to the bear. “The little ones get to sit up front.”

  Cristan turned to Emma. “Is Hoppy going to watch?”

  Emma nodded and turned her bashful face into Lucia’s shoulder, but the toddler’s face turned back to him in a second, her eyes laughing.

  Cristan leaned down to the kangaroo’s level. “What’s that, Hoppy? You would like to pick the movie?” He looked at Emma. “Hoppy says it’s his turn to choose.”

  Shaking her head vigorously, Emma’s eyes sparkled as she grinned back at him. “No.”

  “That’s what he said.” He turned up his palms and shrugged.

  “No!” She burst into a fit of giggles. At the sound of her innocent laughter, Cristan’s tension eased, and he wondered for the thousandth time what would have become of him if Lucia had not been born. Considering the path he’d been on, he’d likely be dead by now. Lucia had saved him.

  “We already picked the movie.” Alex showed him a colorful box with an animated princess on the front.

  “That is a good movie.” He and Lucia had watched it many times. Rising, he set a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “I have some errands to run. Call me if you need me. I love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said.

  Love for his child swelled his heart. Giving his daughter the opportunity to live with innocence had been worth all the sacrifices he’d made. But it was the least he could do after all she’d given him.

  He stood. Sarah leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him. Worn jeans and a simple sweater hugged her slim body. She wore no makeup. Wholesome and natural, she was nothing like the women he usually found attractive. Yet when he was with her, he often found himself staring, unable to look away. Her beauty was quiet and unassuming, and the longer he watched her, the more compelling she became.

  Her brow creased. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine.” As much as he tried to resist, those rich brown eyes always drew him in. He wished he could explain what must seem like erratic behavior, but it would be easier to put some distance between them. What did he have to offer a woman? He couldn’t even give her his real name.

  Time to go. Being with Sarah highlighted his loneliness.

  He left the house, got back into his car, and pulled away from the curb. He would not think about his wife’s death or his hopeless infatuation with a woman he couldn’t have. Tonight he would make an effort to celebrate his many blessings. Lucia had made friends. People said hello to them in the grocery store. His daughter got straight As and babysat. Did the other residents of this little town appreciate the beautiful and uneventful nature of their lives? To him, ordinary life should be cherished, especially this week, when violent dreams vied for his attention.

  He stopped at King’s Tack Shop to order several new pairs of riding breeches for Lucia, then stopped at the Quickie-Mart. Cristan pushed through the glass door. The scent of coffee wafted, summoning him. He passed two customers standing in line, crossed the tile, and headed for the coffee station. He filled a cardboard cup with the darkest roast, then plucked a loaf of bread from a shelf.

  A young woman with a quart of milk in one arm and a toddler in the other followed him back to the register. The woman looked familiar. Cristan skirted a display of automobile ice scrapers and took his place in line behind an elderly man buying lottery tickets.

  “Hi,” she smiled. “You’re Lucia’s father, right?”

  “Yes,” he said, trying to place her. She was in her mid to late twenties, pretty, with short dark hair. The little girl in her arms was all dark hair and eyes, like Lucia had been at the same age.

  “I’m Kenzie Newell. This is Delaney.” The toddler smiled at him. Kenzie continued, “I also have a daughter in kindergarten. We met at the school Christmas bake sale. You probably don’t remember.”r />
  “Yes. I remember that day.” Cristan had a clear remembrance of a gymnasium full of children and young mothers. A few fathers had been scattered in the crowd. Lucia had signed him up for the event. His daughter thought he spent too much time alone.

  “I’m looking for a babysitter. Mine went away to college this year. You have no idea how hard it is to find a good sitter. Sarah Mitchell is my neighbor. She says Lucia is terrific.”

  “She is,” he agreed with a smile.

  Kenzie juggled her daughter and the milk to dig a business card from her coat pocket. “Here’s my card. I’d love it if Lucia called me, if it’s all right with you, of course. My husband and I haven’t been out together since school started last September.”

  “Yes, I remember those days.” Cristan stopped himself. He had almost shared a memory of his life with Eva. He was letting his guard down. Discomfort crawled over him. Standing apart, maintaining his vigilance, those were the factors that had kept Lucia safe, and he would do well to keep that in mind. Only one of them could live a normal life, and Lucia deserved the privilege. He hadn’t done nearly enough penance for his multitude of sins.

  The elderly man took his stack of lottery tickets and left the store. Another customer joined the line, a man in a dark-blue hooded sweatshirt. He was turned away, his hand over his face as he coughed. Cristan set the coffee and bread on the counter at the same moment the new customer stepped clear of the line and pulled a handgun from his pocket.

  Adrenaline jolted Cristan’s heart and shot through his veins. The shock sharpened his focus and reminded him how he no longer expected violence to be part of his life—and how much work it had taken him to find peace. Peace that this young thug had just destroyed.

  Thank God Lucia was not with him.

  Kenzie gasped. The oblivious child repeated a rhyme in a singsong voice, the innocent voice stirring Cristan’s anger.

  The young man held the 9mm with a steady hand. Staring through the gap between his hood and a bandana tied around the lower half of his face, the eyes that focused over the barrel were pale blue and cold and empty.

  Cristan knew that look well. He used to see it in the mirror every morning.

  Those were the eyes of a killer.

  “Put your hands where I can see them.” The robber gestured with the gun. A thin pair of black leather gloves covered his hands.

  Moving slowly and avoiding the challenge of direct eye contact, Cristan raised both hands in front of his chest, palms facing outward. A feminine sob sounded behind him. He shifted his weight slightly to better shield Kenzie and her child.

  The gunman moved behind the register. “Open the register and put the cash in a bag.”

  The skinny young clerk complied, his breath coming in short wheezes that would no doubt lead to hyperventilation in a few moments. The robber scanned the tops of the aisles, clearly looking for someone.

  Who else was in the store? Cristan listened for voices or footsteps. A shoe scraped on tile behind him. He glanced at the round security mirror mounted in the corner. Two figures marched toward them. A second robber, dressed in a dark-red sweatshirt and jeans, dragged a bald, aproned man by the crook of his elbow. Red Shirt pressed a gun to the bald man’s temple. A gold pin affixed to the green Quickie-Mart apron read Manager.

  “OK, Mr. Manager. Open that other register drawer.” Red Shirt shoved the manager toward a register on the opposite counter. The manager stumbled and went down, landing in an awkward sprawl like a newborn colt.

  “Get it done in ten seconds or I splatter junior’s brains all over the floor.” Behind the counter, Blue Eyes slapped the clerk on the side of the head. This man wasn’t burdened by a conscience. If he was looking for a simple job and some quick cash, the only thing keeping him from pulling his trigger was the dislike of complication.

  The manager scrambled to his knees, then pushed to his feet. Red Shirt followed him behind the counter.

  Cristan sized up the clerk and manager. Both were familiar from his previous visits to the store. Neither seemed like the sort who would try anything foolish. The best possible outcome was for the robbers to take the money and run without injuring anyone. These two thugs were small time. No intelligent criminal would risk prison for the few hundred dollars in a couple of register drawers. The majority of the cash would be kept in a drop safe.

  The manager flipped through keys with shaking fingers. It took three stabs at the lock before he managed to open the register drawer. By the time he got it, his face and scalp shone with perspiration. Red Shirt shoved him aside and emptied the drawer into a brown paper bag. “Next open the safe.”

  “I-I can’t,” the manager said.

  “Bullshit,” said Red Shirt. Then he directed his attention to Cristan.

  “You.” He flicked the muzzle of the gun. “Empty your pockets.”

  Cristan carefully slid two fingers into the chest pocket of his wool coat. There was nothing in his wallet that could not be replaced. Nothing that warranted risking his life to keep. He wanted no trouble. If anything happened to him, Lucia would be alone in this world. She had no family. She didn’t even know her real name.

  He withdrew his wallet. Red Shirt extended the paper bag, and Cristan dropped his leather billfold into it.

  “Gimme your purse, lady.” Red Shirt flexed his fingers twice.

  Still holding the toddler on her hip, Kenzie dropped her quart of milk and shrugged the strap of the handbag off her shoulder. Cristan took the bag from her and handed it to the robber so she wouldn’t have to get any closer.

  “Thanks for doing business.” Red Shirt turned toward the exit. Behind the counter, Blue Eyes paused to grab a handful of Power Bars from a display. He shoved them into his bag.

  One more minute and it would be over. Cristan breathed.

  Then Red Shirt stopped. His expression narrowed as he focused on Kenzie. “You. Come here.”

  A fresh wave of anger slid into Cristan’s throat.

  “Please. Don’t,” Kenzie begged.

  The man moved closer. He pointed the gun at the child. “I said come here.”

  Kenzie took a faltering step toward him, twisting her body to turn the child away from the danger. “Just leave my baby alone. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He lowered the gun. “Then put the kid down. You’re coming with me.”

  Kenzie tried to lower the little girl to the floor. Holding on to her mother’s neck with a desperate grip, the child shrieked. Tears poured down her face, bright pink with terror.

  “Shut her up!” Red Shirt demanded, aiming at the child again.

  Kenzie shushed and soothed the child, while angling to cover the toddler with her own body.

  “Why don’t you take the money and go?” Cristan reasoned. “If you are quick, you might get away before the authorities arrive.”

  The gunman spun, took two steps, and pointed the gun directly in Cristan’s face. “What the fuck did you say?”

  Cristan stared down the barrel, his relief that the weapon was no longer aimed at the child short lived. His interference could orphan his daughter. But what else could he do? A man simply did not allow women or children to be harmed. He attempted to deflate the robber’s anger. The best outcome for all was still a nonviolent one. “A woman will slow you down.”

  “Forget the girl, moron. He’s the one we need.” Behind the counter, Blue Eyes glanced at Cristan.

  Why would they want him? They wouldn’t. Blue Eyes must have meant they still needed the manager to open the safe.

  “Get out of my way.” Blue Eyes struck the clerk across the face with the butt of his gun. “I’m getting some Twinkies.” He came out from behind the counter and sauntered down an aisle.

  The clerk’s legs collapsed. Blood welled from a cut on his cheek. The manager caught him and eased him to the floor.

  So much
for nonviolence.

  In the corner of his eye, Cristan saw Kenzie gathering her child and slowly backing away. Smart girl, taking advantage of Cristan’s diversion. He wanted the child out of the line of fire in case someone started shooting.

  “One more fucking word out of you and I will blow your fucking face off,” Red Shirt screamed, taking another step toward Cristan, but not close enough to put the gun within reach. His eyes were overly bright, and drugs would explain the sheer stupidity of this robbery. Who would risk an armed robbery in broad daylight for a few hundred dollars? “If I want the woman, I’ll take the woman. Do you understand me?”

  “I do.” Cristan could see the desire to kill on the young man’s face. Red Shirt wanted to pull the trigger, but something was holding him back, possibly the fear of having the event recorded on a surveillance camera.

  “I think we’ll take you both,” Red Shirt said. “Hey, get back here, bitch,” he yelled to Kenzie.

  Cristan needed a weapon. Years of training and muscle memory took over. In one smooth and lightning-fast motion, he grabbed an ice scraper from the cardboard display next to him and arced it upward as if he were drawing a sword from a scabbard. The hard plastic handle caught Red Shirt in the forearm, a fraction of a second later the same motion carried the sharp plastic blade to his face. The gun flew out of his hands and slid across the tile. Blood spurted from his nose. The robber covered his gushing face with both hands. Cristan reversed the scraper in a circular motion. A downward strike brought the butt end of the hard plastic tool across Red Shirt’s temple. He fell to his knees. A kick to his ribs sent him into a face-plant on the tile.

  Cristan looked for the gun. Its momentum had carried it across the small store.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Blue Eyes emerged from behind a display, his arms laden with white Hostess boxes. His gaze darted around the store and landed on his unconscious partner. “Fuck.” He dropped the boxes and pulled his gun from his pocket.

  But Cristan was already moving toward him, closing the critical distance. He was on the robber before the gun was leveled. He grabbed the weapon with his left hand, wrapping his fingers over the slide and redirecting the muzzle toward the floor. A solid right cross struck the robber’s jaw. His head snapped back, and Cristan twisted the weapon out of his hands.