Lethal(121)

“In hell.”

“He refused to surrender?”

“Something like that.” He paused, then said, “You did good.”

She smiled shakily. “I was scared.”

“So was I.”

“I don’t believe that. You aren’t afraid of anything.”

“First time for everything.” His words telegraphed a much more meaningful message than he would allow himself to say. But Honor seemed to understand both the message and why he wouldn’t say anything more. They shared a long look, then he said briskly, “You get Emily to a doctor and have her checked out.”

He lifted Emily from her and gently placed her in the backseat.

“What are you going to do?” Honor asked.

“Call this in to Hamilton. He’ll want the skinny. He’ll want me to wait here till agents arrive. Then—”

“Lee Coburn?”

The quiet voice, coming from behind him, surprised them both. Honor looked beyond him and registered puzzlement. Coburn turned.

The woman was completely expressionless when she pulled the trigger.





Chapter 45





Coburn grabbed his middle and sank to the pavement.

Honor screamed.

Coburn heard Emily react to the commotion, asking groggily where Elmo was.

But the sounds seemed to come to him from the pinpoint of light at the end of a very long tunnel. He struggled to remain conscious, but it was a hell of a fight.

He’d been shot twice before. Once in the shoulder and once in the calf. This was different. This was bad. He’d seen allies and foes alike get gut-shot, and most of them died. A small-caliber bullet could make you just as dead as a big one.

He worked his way into a half sitting position but kept his palm clamped over the pumping hole in his belly. He braced his back against the side of the car and tried to bring into focus the ordinary-looking woman who had shot him.

She was ordering Honor at gunpoint to stay put inside the car. Already she had disarmed him. He could see his pistol lying on the pavement a short distance away, but it might just as well have been a mile. Fred’s .357 was under the driver’s seat of the car, but Honor couldn’t get to it without getting shot, too.

She was sobbing, asking the woman, “Why, why?”

“Because of Tom,” she replied.

So. Tom VanAllen’s wife. Widow. At least he wouldn’t die without knowing why. But for a woman who’d just committed a crime of vengeance, she seemed remarkably cold-blooded. She didn’t even appear angry, and Coburn wondered why not.

“If Tom hadn’t gone to those train tracks to meet Coburn,” she said, “he would still be alive.”

She blamed him for her husband’s death tonight. Last night, Coburn corrected himself. The eastern sky had taken on the blush of predawn. He wondered if he would live to see the sun break the horizon. Watching one more sunrise would be nice.

He just hated that he would bleed out with Honor watching. And what if Emily woke up and saw blood gushing out of him? She would be afraid, when up to this point he’d done everything within his power to protect her and guard her against fear.

He’d dragged Honor and her through enough shit already. Strangely enough, he thought both of them liked him. A little bit, anyway. And now he was going to put them through one more trauma, and he wouldn’t even be around to apologize for it.

He’d always thought that when his number came up, it would be way overdue, and that he would be okay with it. But, Jesus, this sucked.

Lousy timing. He’d just learned what it was like to make love to a woman. Not just satisfy a hard-on, but really soak up the person that belonged to the body. Fat lot of good it would do him to know the difference, now that he had gone and got shot.

Yeah, this sucked really, really bad.

These were silly thoughts to be entertaining when he should be trying to figure out something. Something just beyond his grasp. Dammit, what was it? Something important, but teasingly elusive. Something winking at him like that last holdout star that he could see in the lightening sky just beyond Janice VanAllen’s head. Something he should’ve caught before now. Something—

“How’d you know?” Not until he gasped the question did he realize what that something was.

Janice VanAllen looked down at him. “What?”

His breath soughed through his lips. He blinked against the collecting darkness of unconsciousness. Or death. “How’d you know I was at the tracks?”

“Tom told me.”

That was a lie. If Tom had told her anything before leaving for that meeting, he’d have told her that he was to meet Honor, because that’s who Tom had expected to be there. Tom hadn’t been around later to tell her differently.

She’d learned it from somebody else. Who? Not the agents who would have been sent to notify her of her husband’s death. They wouldn’t have known. Even Hamilton hadn’t known until about a half hour ago when Coburn himself had told him what had transpired at the railroad tracks.

The only people who could have told her were the ones he’d spotted near the tracks, the ones who’d planted the bomb and who’d been there to make sure it did what it was supposed to—obliterate Tom VanAllen and Honor.

Honor was begging her to call for help. “He’s going to die,” she sobbed.