Eighteen
Jane’s heart thudded so hard it seemed to choke her, and her mouth was utterly dry. She fought to concentrate on the road and ignore the clawing terror she felt.
She was aware of Baran’s eyes on her in the darkness as he crouched in the floorboard of the car, his big body coiled uncomfortably. Freika was stretched out across the bench seat in the front, his furry head almost in her lap. They were both sensor shielded—using their computers to generate a nulling field to keep Druas from picking up their life signs. But the field didn’t work on visible light, so they had to stay out of sight.
For the purposes of the trap, they needed to make it look as if she was driving home alone in Tom’s “stolen” patrol car.
The detective had decided to let them borrow the car, since that was the only way they could be sure of smuggling Baran and the wolf in past Druas. Unfortunately, since his report would claim Jane had taken it without his permission, there was a distinct possibility she could face charges for it later. She’d decided she’d worry about that problem if she managed to live through the next hour.
And she wasn’t making any bets on that.
As they’d made their way toward Tom’s house earlier that night, they’d decided Jane had the best chance of getting close enough to Druas long enough to use the ring. If she could distract him while she touched him with it, he might not realize what was happening until it was too late. As soon as the ring disabled the suit, Baran and Freika would attack.
Of course, the really tricky part of the whole plan was the period while the two were hiding just out of Druas’s sight. Even though they’d be watching, if he went after her before she managed to disable the suit, she could get hurt before they could come to the rescue.
Fortunately—though that might not be the right word—Druas’s M.O. was to strangle his victims before he used the knife, which should give Baran and Freika enough time to interfere. Unfortunately, as strong as Druas was, Jane could still end up dying slowly with a crushed larynx.
The whole plan was risky as hell. Baran hated it; it went deeply against his grain to take a risk of that magnitude with Jane’s life. Unfortunately, every other option they came up with carried a virtual certainty that Druas would simply Jump to freedom and return to attack Jane later. And there was no telling how many women he’d kill in the meantime.
All of which had made perfect logical sense when she’d argued for the plan during that hike through the woods. But now, in the car on the way to face a monster, it seemed a hell of a lot less convincing.
He’ll kill you, Jane, her father’s ghost whispered, sibilant in the darkness. You’re not smart enough to fool him. He’ll see through the act and slit your throat on the spot.
No, she told herself. I can do this. Baran will protect me.
Glancing down at the ring gleaming dully in the light of the dashboard, she remembered the look in his eyes when he’d slipped it on her finger. The knot of fear eased fractionally.
Baran reached up from the floor of the car and cupped her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jane looked over at him. He didn’t speak, yet something in his gaze spoke of love and determination. Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked hard and returned her attention to the road.
Jesus, she realized suddenly, I really am in love with him.
Jane knew she should probably find that realization disquieting—after all, even if they all survived this fight, he was going to disappear from her life within hours. She’d never see him again. Yet as she contemplated the love that had been quietly growing over the past few days, she found herself grateful.
She needed all the strength she could get.
Baran watched the single tear roll down Jane’s cheek and felt his heart contract in his chest. He wanted to take her in his arms. Hell, he wanted to tell her to turn the car around and forget the whole thing. There were a dozen ways this insane plan could go wrong.
Unfortunately, he also knew that in combat, you sometimes had to take a chance because it was all you had. This was one of those times.
He had every intention of minimizing the danger as much as he could. He and Freika would conceal themselves as close as possible, and they’d never take their eyes off Jane and Druas. But he still couldn’t eliminate the risk completely.
The moment of greatest danger would come when she touched Druas with the ring. If the Jumpkiller realized what she was doing…
Baran would have to get to him first. And he would. That bastard was not going to hurt Jane. Baran had already lost Liisa to him; that was more than enough.
Odd. For years he’d been driven by the obsession of finding Liisa’s killer and giving him as bloody and painful a death as possible. Yet now Baran realized he would happily forgo his vengeance if it would mean keeping Jane alive.
Nothing he did would bring Liisa back to life—but it might prevent Jane’s death. And that was all Baran really cared about. One way or another he was going to keep her safe. And he didn’t much care what he had to do in the process.
Jane pulled into her driveway with her stomach coiled into a solid knot. “Is he here?” she murmured, scarcely moving her lips.
“Yeah,” Baran whispered. “I’ve got him on sensors, waiting out in the trees.”
She swallowed hard and lied. “Good.”
Her hands so damp with sweat it was all she could do to turn the wheel, she backed the patrol car into the SUV’s customary spot. She ordinarily parked facing the other direction, but she needed the driver’s door next to the house. In that position the bulk of the car would block Druas’s view while Baran and Freika got out.
It was a good thing she didn’t have a porch, she thought; the extra elevation would have made them impossible to miss.
Jane got out and walked to open the front door, leaving the car door standing open. As Baran duck-walked inside with the wolf slinking at his heels, she pretended to remember to lock Tom’s car.
A moment later she slipped back inside and closed the door behind her. “How long do we have before he comes in?”
“I have no idea,” Baran said, straightening from his crouch to look toward the woods as if he could see right through the wall. Which, given his sensors, he evidently could. “He’s maintaining position now.”
“Okay. Let’s head upstairs.” There were several places they could conceal themselves up there.
She just hoped they had time to do it.
Baran and Frieka slipped up the stairs ahead of her. Jane, following, thought there was something dreamlike about anyone as big as the Warlord moving so silently.
When they walked into her bedroom, Freika immediately headed for the walk-in closet. Before he slipped inside, he shot them a long-suffering gaze. “Hiding in a closet—really, this is so undignified. Not to mention clichéd. You do realize I’m mortally embarrassed?”
Jane grinned despite her clawing nerves. She’d had no idea a wolf’s face could even do disgruntled. “Yeah, it sucks. I appreciate your sacrifice, Freika.”
He sniffed. “See that you do.” He slipped inside and hunkered down on the floor, ready to spring.
Baran, meanwhile, eyed the closet’s doors dubiously. Jane realized what he was thinking; they were designed to open by folding to either side, a process that might take too long. He shrugged and looked at her. “Hell with it. I’ll be in riatt—I’ll just smash ’em.”
Jane nodded shortly. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel the pulse in her ears. She badly wanted to run to the bathroom and throw up.
Baran’s hard expression gentled. “You’ll be fine,” he said softly, and took her chin in his hand.
The kiss he gave her was hot enough to burn as his lips moved hungrily over hers, his tongue sweeping inside to stroke and claim. His body felt so big and warm against hers. She let herself lean into him, greedily drinking in the comfort.
As the kiss spun out, his mobile mouth seemed to make another one of those silent vows of protection and passion. Something about it drove back the fear beating at her.
Then they both heard the front door open downstairs. Baran deepened the kiss, then stepped into the closet.
Jane’s heart gave a hard thump as the folding door slid closed. At least they’d be able to see through the slats, while Druas would be unable to see them.
She turned and moved quickly to the nightstand to open the drawer. Her father’s gun lay inside, loaded and ready. For once, the weapon was a comfort instead of a symbol of doubt and fear.
Hearing a tread on the stairs, Jane pulled out an old romance novel and slid the drawer partially closed.
I’m not going to throw up, she told herself fiercely. I can do this. All I’ve got to do is rest the ring against his suit for a few seconds. I can do that.
You’re going to die, her father’s ghost hissed.
Fuck you, Daddy.
The bedroom door opened. Baran walked in. But he’d just stepped into the closet….
For an instant, Jane was confused. Then it hit her. It was Druas. The son of a bitch was using his imagizer to look like Baran. He thought the Warlord was still back at Tom’s house, as the report Tom would falsify would claim he was.
The killer smiled Baran’s smile at her. “I decided you were right. I’d never be able to convince the detective I didn’t do it. Taking him hostage was a mistake.”
Suddenly Jane’s fear was gone, washed away by pure rage. The bastard was playing a game with her, planning to use her love for Baran against her.
For once, years of hiding her emotions from her abusive father stood Jane in good stead. Her face automatically fell into the sweet, doll-like smile she’d learned under Bill Colby’s belt. “I’m glad you saw the light,” she said. “Once Tom gets an idea into his head, you couldn’t pry it loose with a crowbar.”
“Yeah,” Druas said in Baran’s deep voice. He tried a smile of his own, but now Jane realized how unlike her lover’s it really was. Evidently the computer used the expression he was actually wearing on the face of the projected image. The result was like looking at a perfect mask of the man she loved—worn over the face of something cold and reptilian.
He moved closer to her. “I thought we might as well make use of what time we’ve got left together.”
I’ll just bet you do, you son of a bitch. But did he really want to have sex, or was he just trying to get close enough to kill her?
Either way, she had to play along just long enough to rest her hand on his chest until the ring disabled his suit.
If he didn’t kill her before it could do its job.
Baran had never felt such rage in his life, not even when he heard Liisa’s last scream. The idea that Druas had dared to wear his face while planning to murder Jane made him want to pound the killer to a bloody bag of shattered bone. He’d been about to drive right through the closet door when Freika had caught his hand in fanged jaws, jolting him back to his senses.
Now he crouched, seething in the darkness, watching through the door slats and praying to all his people’s gods he’d be in time to stop whatever Druas was planning.
He had to go to riaat at just the right moment. If he entered the berserker state too soon, he wouldn’t be able to maintain it all the way through the battle; too late and he might not have the strength to save Jane when he needed it.
At least she was playing her role to the hilt. He’d been afraid that she couldn’t control her justifiable terror. Yet the minute Druas had walked in, she’d gone icily calm.
Now she was smiling into the murderer’s face, projecting seductive warmth, almost glowing with sensuality as she flirted, quite literally, with death. Even Druas looked fascinated. Despite his fear, Baran felt the rise of admiration mixed with a curious pride. A week ago he would never have thought a civilian capable of such cool, brassy courage.
But then, Jane was no typical civilian.
He just had to make damn sure he was ready to snatch her clear when the killer made his move.
Jane decided she needed to work closer to Baran before she touched the Jumpkiller. Ideally, she wanted Druas beside the closet so the Warlord could take him in one easy lunge. The trick was maneuvering the killer without giving the game away.
Smiling that not-Baran smile, Druas reached for her. With a light, flirtatious laugh, she stepped back and slipped past him, giving her hips a taunting little sway.
“Oh, you do enjoy playing with fire,” Druas said, dropping his reaching hand as he watched her saunter around the bed.
She shrugged and gave him a wicked smile. “What can I say—I like it hot. But then, so do you.” And you’re about to get seriously burned, you bastard.
“The hotter the better.” He grinned and swaggered after her. How he thought anybody could mistake him for Baran with those empty shark eyes, she did not know.
“So,” Jane purred, suppressing the instinct to step back as he stopped right where she wanted him. “Just how much heat can you generate?”
“How much do you want?” He reached for her again. She managed not to flinch under his touch. He might look like Baran, but his hands didn’t feel the same as they rested on her hips. The shape and size were wrong—chunky palms, short, stubby fingers. If she hadn’t already known he wasn’t her lover, his touch would have told her.
Luckily, Druas thought women were stupid. And that was an advantage she could use to destroy him.
Stretching her lips into a feline smile and dropping her lids to hide the revulsion she knew filled her eyes, she reached for his chest. Pretending to study those illusionary Baran pectorals, she laid her left hand there.
And felt the scales of his T-suit under the illusion.
Hell. If he realized she should feel the suit, he’d know something was up when she didn’t react.
To distract him, she rose up on her toes and took his mouth in a kiss that was as deep and sensual as she could make it. His mouth had an odd, metallic taste, but she ignored it, ignored her own clawing revulsion, and pressed her body fully against his. One way or another, she had to distract him long enough.
The ring was growing warm around her finger. She hoped to God that meant it was working.
He moaned into her mouth. Something about the note of perverted excitement in the sound made Jane’s skin crawl. You’d better work, ring, she thought grimly. This bastard’s about to kill me.
Suddenly the ring spiked so unbearably hot she jerked back with a startled yelp.
“What?” Druas gasped. He looked down at himself in shock. “My suit! What did you…?”
As she stared up at him, his eyes widened with stunned realization. He looked down at her, his face contorting in fury. He lifted one hand. “You little b—”
The crash of rending wood and a roar of raw male rage drowned out the rest of the insult. Jane fell back as Baran barreled into the killer so hard the impact carried both men across the room to slam into the wall. The Sheetrock cracked around their bodies.
“I hope you know a good carpenter,” Frieka said to her, emerging from the closet as the two men fell to the floor.
His furious partner managed to roll on top and slam his fist into Duras’s face. The killer bucked in the Warlord’s grip, but Baran ignored his struggles, jackhammering blow after blow into his head.
Then Druas twisted around and got some leverage, sending Baran flying with a kick.
The Jumpkiller rolled to his feet even as the Warlord regained his own. Druas snarled at Jane, “You’re going to die for that, you little bitch!”
“No,” Baran hit him so hard his head snapped back, spraying blood. “She’s not. But you are.”
“Oh, she’ll die all right.” Baran’s image wavered around the killer and disappeared, leaving a hulking figure dressed in black scaled armor, a foot-long blade in his hand. “And so will you.”
“You may be hell on unarmed women….” The Warlord reached behind his back in a blur of motion and drew Tom’s hunting knife from its sheathe at the small of his back. “But I’m neither.”
“Oh, this should be good,” Frieka said as the two big men began to stalk each other. He moved back toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s give ’em some room to play.”
Jane stared at him, outraged. “Play, hell. Go help him!”
The wolf shook his head. “Sorry, already got my orders. And they say my first responsibility is to keep you from becoming Jane Kabob.”
Frustrated, she growled, but the wolf was right. As long as Baran knew she was relatively safe, he could concentrate on fighting for his life. And distracting him was a very bad idea. Reluctantly she joined Freika in the hall and poked her head around the doorframe to watch.
The fear and rage were gone.
Now that the battle had begun, all Baran felt was a cool, empty silence filled only with the flicker of Druas’s eyes and the pattern his knife described as it moved. The comp whispered a constant stream of sensor data into his brain, but Baran was scarcely aware of processing it. He was in the killing space, and he wouldn’t come out until one of them was dead.
The trouble was, his opponent was wearing armor and he wasn’t. That gave Druas a lot more targets to work with, while the suit would turn away all Baran’s knife attacks. He only had only two real ways of killing the bastard—either an attack to the eyes or cutting that thick bull throat under the jaw, where the protection of the T-suit ended.
But Druas was too strong and too fast to make either strike easy. Baran was going to have to wear the bastard down by hammering at him. The suit could absorb penetration impacts, but part of the force still got through. And in riatt Baran could generate a hell of a lot of force. At least for a while.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t sustain the berserker state for long before his body ran out of reserves to burn. Too, he’d begin to spike in temperature as the body heat generated by his elevated metabolism overwhelmed the cooling system of his genetically engineered body. He was already streaming sweat, almost steaming as he circled Druas.
“You’re not going to be able to save her,” the killer hissed, his red eyes burning, the pupils contracted to narrow vertical slits. “She’s mine. And I’m going to make you watch while I cut her open and fuck the cooling remains.”
Baran’s foot whipped out so fast even the mercenary’s nano-injected muscles had no time to react. The scything kick slammed into the side of Druas’s head and spun him around.
But before Baran could close in on him, the mercenary used the momentum of the kick to whip around again. His knife flashed out, slicing a bright red path diagonally across Baran’s chest.
The Warlord snarled and drove his own blade right for one of those red snake eyes. Druas barely jerked back in time to avoid taking the point halfway through his brain.
“You don’t really think you’ll win, do you?” The killer danced away, blood smearing his face from his busted lip, one eye rapidly swelling shut. Baran was in no better shape. He could feel blood soaking his shirt from the knife wound, and half the side of his head felt numb. Something grated ominously in his chest; his comp whispered of a broken rib. And the room felt cold as an icebox as his body temperature rose.
“Oh, I’ll win,” Baran growled. “I’ll win and I’ll mount your head on a pike over Liisa’s grave.”
“Even if you do, it’ll be too late to save your pet bitch,” Druas taunted. “Jane’s fated to die, Warlord. And if you don’t let me kill her, you’ll cause a paradox that will kill us all!”
Baran didn’t even dignify that lie with a response.
“Think about it, Death Lord. If I knew she was supposed to survive, would I have strolled into this trap? Would I risk causing a paradox?” Druas smiled, cold and ugly. “Eventually she dies. If I don’t kill her, you’ll have to. Isn’t it better to let me do it?”
Baran’s only reply was a blurring attack that sent the killer scrambling back.
Jane stared in horror, then looked down at Freika. “Oh, God, please tell me he’s lying!”
The wolf flicked a dismissive ear. “He’s lying.”
“But why? If he killed me when I wasn’t supposed to die…”
“Jane, Druas doesn’t give a cat’s ass about paradoxes, or he wouldn’t have decided to become Jack the Ripper in the first place. If he’d been wrong, he’d have caused a cataclysm the minute he arrived in Victorian England. So he’s fully capable of trying to trick Baran into letting him kill you, just to see what happens.”
A flurry of motion dragged her eyes back to the combatants. They moved so fast, attacking and blocking with such blurring speed the fight didn’t look quite real. It was as if somebody had decided to stage a road show of The Matrix in her bedroom.
But the blood and sweat were real. Droplets of it flew with every impact, splattering everything in the room. And the snarls and grunts of pain were more animal than any soundtrack she’d ever heard.
For a moment they slammed together, body to body, straining against each other. Then there was a quick grunt and twist, and suddenly Baran had Druas on the ground. Each man had one bloody hand wrapped around his opponent’s knife wrist.
Slowly, inexorably, Baran forced his own blade closer to the killer’s throat, lips peeled back in a horrific snarl.
Then Druas twisted his right arm somehow. Baran’s hand, slick with blood, slipped on the scales of the T-suit. He grunted.
The Jumpkiller shoved Baran’s knife away from his throat and kicked him airborne. Jane and Freika barely ducked aside in time as he rocketed through the hallway door.
Druas barreled through the doorway after him, ramming into him as he lay on the floor. The two tumbled together, writhing as they fought, knives and fists swinging.
“Shit,” Freika growled. “Druas tagged him.”
“Baran?” Jane stared at them, feeling panic rise. “Where?”
“Through the right side.” The wolf looked up at her, pale eyes grim. “He says for me to get you out of here. He’s not going to be able to keep this up, losing that kind of blood.”
“No!” Jane gasped. Now that Freika had pointed it out, she could see the bright red soaking from the wound in Baran’s side as the two men fought. “I’m not leaving him!”
“Maybe not willingly.” The wolf reared and slammed into her, knocking her back against the wall. Before she could struggle free, he sank his teeth into the collar of her shirt and dragged her to the floor, then started hauling her toward the stairs.
“No!” Frantic as a trapped mink, she batted at him, but he scrambled around so he was at her head and kept right on dragging her. “Dammit, Freika, let go!”
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Jane!” the wolf said, his synthesized voice strained. “There’s nothing either one of us can do.”