Moonrise by Anne Stuart

exception of Martin. And even he might not be around for long.
    He squatted down beside Annie’s body. Her color was lousy, her breath was shallow and raspy, and he wondered why he’d stopped. A little more pressure, and he could have dumped her body in the car with Clancy’s and taken off.
    Hell, he didn’t wonder why. He knew. She’d called his name, and he’d dropped her. She’d called his name, and he’d shown his first sign of weakness.
    She was going to be the death of him. He knew it now with a bone-chilling certainty. He pushed her hair back from her face with a deliberately careless hand. A bruise was already forming at the base of her throat. She had the pale, soft skin that bruised easily. She would look in the mirror and know what he’d done to her.
    He should have just let her go. But he didn’t trust her. When he heard her sneaking out of the house, he’d gone after her. When he’dseen her head into the bushes, he’d been certain she’d be meeting a confederate.
    Instead she was finding a dead body. Her second in less than six months. First there was Win, now Clancy.
    There were going to be more.

Chapter Seven
     
    S he woke in darkness, in pain. Her neck felt stiff, paralyzed, and when she tried to turn it, streaks of agony shot through her body. She felt drunk, hungover in the murky night, and she closed her eyes again, trying to summon back the graceful twilight.
    She could hear voices. Low, murmuring, from somewhere in the house. It took her a moment to remember where she was—the small, Englishy-cottage overlooking the L.A. canyons. She’d found … what was his name, Clancy? And someone had come up behind her and tried to kill her.
    No, scratch that. If someone had tried to kill her, she’d be dead. And it wasn’t just someone—in retrospect she knew exactly who’d come up behind her. James.
    She could barely control a quiet whimper of pain as she sat up. She reached a trembling hand to her neck, pushing her hair away. Itwas raw, throbbing. What had the man done to her?
    She moved to the door, then stopped. The voices were clearer now—James with the Texas in his voice, deceptively smooth and easy. And someone else, all quiet concern and stern disapproval. She knew that voice as well. Remembered it. Carew.
    “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think,” James said affably. “If you didn’t hit Clancy, then I want to know who did.”
    “I wouldn’t be here now, I wouldn’t have simply walked in, if I was in any way responsible for Clancy’s death. He was in the business for years, McKinley, and he made a lot of enemies. You know that as well as I do.”
    “Pretty damned convenient for those enemies to choose today to snuff him.”
    “All right, so I don’t believe in coincidences either. But I’m here, aren’t I? I came as soon as I got your message. What do you want from me, Mack?”
    Annie moved closer to the doorway, peering out into the hallway. They were at the bottom of the stairs, she guessed, their voices floating up toward her, and they were making no effort at discretion. Either Carew didn’t know she was a witness. Or didn’t care.
    “I’ll cut you a little deal, Carew. We both know I’ve tried to kill you twice. I was drunkthen. I’m not drinking now, and you know that sober, there’s no more dangerous man alive. If I put my mind to it, you’re a dead man.”
    “You always did have delusions of grandeur,” he said with a sniff.
    “Give me a week. Let me find out who’s left of Win’s little sideline. Who helped him out. He didn’t do it alone, even “if you want to pretend he did. He was a smart man, but it was too complicated an operation for him to handle alone. I want to find out who was left. Who was with him when he turned. Who’s going to try to keep it going.”
    “What if it’s me?”
    “Then you’re a dead man anyway.”
    “It’s not me.” There was no missing the alarm in Carew’s whiny voice.
    “No,” James said after a