Final Stand. Helen R. Myers

he’ll do that. You don’t know about Frank Elias and his obsessions. Is that something you can afford…Sasha?”

      6

      He knew…Sasha could see the truth in Gray Slaughter’s chilling gaze, and she needed only to glance toward the van, remember there had been no time to lock it, to understand how. Her next worst fear realized, she studied the man challenging her, concluding that, no matter how she weighed her chances of fleeing at the moment, they were slight. Almost worse than when she’d first been forced to make a run for it. Time, that’s what she needed. It was already her enemy, but she had to figure out a way to change that and make something work in her favor.

      “What do you want?” She took heart in hearing that her voice didn’t sound as unsteady as it had after Elias’s assault.

      “The truth.”

      “I promise you, Doctor, you want the truth about as much as I’d be interested in a sidewalk mammography.”

      He nodded toward the police station. “You almost had worse back there.”

      It had been a bad situation, and if she let herself dwell on it, she would probably start trembling again, so she maintained her focus on a counter-offensive. Wasn’t that what her father used to tout? The Vince Lombardi quote: “The best defense is a great offense.”

      “All right, let me put it this way,” she countered. “Why, knowing what you think you do, have you stuck your neck out to help me?”

      “Forget me for the moment, it’s Frank you should be worrying about. He may be small-time compared to what you’re used to in Las Vegas, but whatever he lacks skillwise, he makes up for in dogged determination, Officer Mills.”

      Although it shouldn’t surprise her at this point that he also knew her profession, Sasha dealt with what her paternal grandmother had likened to “Death’s cold grip on the neck” in silence.

      “You’re not getting it,” Gray continued. “It’s pride with him, and I think you’re someone who understands pride.”

      For his sake, she hoped he never learned how thoroughly. “What do you suggest I do? The man’s intent on framing me.”

      “Forget the fire for the moment.” He gestured toward the van. “It’s the automatic and the money that concern me. In this part of the country that kind of paraphernalia usually means drugs or freighting illegals.”

      “The gun is my service weapon, my ID is authentic.”

      “Then how can you be relocating the way you claimed? If you’d left the LVMPD, you’d have surrendered both.”

      Sasha swallowed against the adrenaline charging through her veins; her heart was pumping as though she was pushing to win a mile sprint. She had to remind herself that this man had risked taking a bullet for her—after going through her things and drawing conclusions he clearly saw as incriminating, no less.

      The unexpected touch of his fingers against her cheek had her jerking back.

      “Come inside,” he said grimly. “I’ll get you some ice for that. The skin isn’t broken, but it still has to burn like hell.”

      It did. She also needed the chance to rein in her emotions and cool off. She couldn’t afford any other errors in judgment. Besides, they were too exposed out here. If she was to make her escape, she needed time…and privacy.

      “All right,” she murmured. “Let me lock up first.”

      “If you don’t mind.” He reached around her to lock the passenger door, then circled the van, took out her keys and rolled up the window. When he finally handed over the keys and her bag, but not her gun, she knew something else—it would be dangerous to attempt anything rash while Dr. Gray Slaughter was awake or conscious, because he was going to be even less of a pushover than Frank Elias.

      The wariness compounded as Sasha entered his home. It was darker in here than in the police station, as silent as a mausoleum and not that dissimilar in looks considering the impersonal, old-fashioned furnishings. Usually, she found dimly lit, quiet places soothing, but she had to stop just inside the sparsely furnished living room because of the overwhelming sensation of negatives, what felt like a near vacuum of oxygen. How different things had looked from the outside. There was a complete absence of life. In fact, she sensed death lingering here.

      “Something wrong?” he asked after securing the front door’s dead bolt.

      “It’s dark. I don’t want to step on the family cat or anything.”

      “There isn’t one.”

      It probably ran away from home ages ago. “Should I keep my voice down for any sleeping babies?”

      “The kitchen’s this way.”

      Lifting her eyebrows at his touchiness over the subject, she followed him as he stepped left through a doorway to a combination kitchen and dining area. Visually, it was no improvement, the green-white-and-chrome decor reminiscent of a fifties B movie, on the sci-fi end of budgets. But it was exits Sasha paid particular attention to. She noted the aluminum storm door beyond the half-glass inner one. Double doors weren’t ideal. Until she saw the rest of the place, she decided the route they’d entered remained her best option. As she tucked her keys into the right front pocket of her jeans, she positioned them to be able to grab the van key first…or to use as a weapon if that became necessary.

      “Here.” Working by the light over the kitchen sink, Gray took a towel from a drawer and drew a handful of ice cubes from the icemaker in the only modern appliance in the place—the side-by-side refrigerator-freezer. Then he passed the bulky mass to her. “Want something to dull the bruising on the inside?”

      Before she could answer, he stooped before the cabinet next to the refrigerator and took out an unopened bottle of scotch. That had her wondering where the opened one was. Had he already emptied it?

      “No, thanks,” she said as he reached for a second glass. One wouldn’t be enough and two would be too many. “Just a glass of water if you don’t mind.” She had aspirin in her bag to address the headache she was developing. But as he turned away, she amended, “On second thought, yes. Please.”

      If he was confused or suspicious of her change of heart, he gave no indication. “On the rocks or with water?”

      “Plenty of ice, please, then just a splash of water. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate an extra glass of water on the side. I’m feeling pretty dehydrated.”

      The drink he handed her would put her over the legal limit for driving—probably what he intended—but what interested her more was seeing that the one he made for himself could have been mistaken for apple cider.

      “Are you catching up for lost time,” she asked, “or is that a sign of how upset you are with me?”

      Gray took a leisurely drink before replying, “Why don’t you just tell me what triggered what happened next door?”

      “You’re the one who has the history with the man, you explain it to me.”

      “There’s nothing complicated about Frank. From the instant he laid eyes on you, his chronic itch wanted scratching. I’m sure that’s nothing new to you.”

      “I can’t believe you’re blaming me for lucky genes, Doctor.”

      “I’m not referring to your looks, and you know it. But the plainest person can possess an intrinsic animal magnetism, or sexuality, call it what you’d like, that’s equally if not more provocative…and can be tempered.”

      “So now I provoked him?”

      “For all of his flaws, Frank tends to stick with sure things, and he’s got plenty of those right here in town.”

      At this rate, he would have her draining her