Moonrise by Anne Stuart Page A

moment. “I don’t believe it is. I want you to back off, Carew. Call off your little soldiers. You can’t be sure who you can trust anyway. Which of them might be working for Win’s replacement—”
    “I trust them all!” he said sharply.
    “Then you’re a fool. You’ve still got a real problem, whether you want to admit it or not. Give me a week, and I’ll take care of things. I don’t make mistakes, and I don’t leave loose ends.”
    “What do you call the woman upstairs?”
    Silence, and Annie held her breath as shewaited for his answer. “A complication,” he said finally. “One I can handle.”
    Annie moved down the first step, silent, even as the pain in her head threatened to explode. “I’m willing to deal,” Carew said in a bitter voice. “You always knew that.”
    “Sure you are. When your back is against a wall and you know there’s no way out. Well, this time, my friend, there’s no way out.”
    She was halfway down the stairs by now, certain she was completely silent in the murky darkness. She could see their legs—they were standing in the living room of the cottage, and Carew was wearing beige linen trousers. James was wearing black.
    “I must say I don’t believe all this sudden nobility on your part, Mack. Is it money? You never were that interested in the kind of money you could have made in your line of work, or you wouldn’t have been working for us.”
    “I don’t need money.”
    “Then what the hell do you want from me?” Carew’s voice rose to a frustrated shriek.
    “Annie wants to know who killed her father. She’s not going to rest until she finds out. And then she’s going to want revenge.”
    Dead silence. “Jesus,” Carew said softly. “So where’s the problem? Handle it.”
    “No.”
    “I haven’t seen any signs of you getting squeamish in your retirement, but I can always assign someone else. Assuming there’s anyone left after you’ve gotten through with them,” he added bitterly.
    “You won’t touch her. That’s why I’m here. You’re to keep your fucking goons away from her.”
    “Jesus, what happened to you, James? What the hell do you care what happens to Win’s daughter?”
    “I don’t,” he said flatly. “I just don’t intend to let you clean up the mess you left behind. I’m not going to let you get off that easily.”
    “So?” Carew taunted him. “Then I can count on you taking care of her?”
    “You can count on the fact that you better watch your back. I’m going to take her where she wants to go.”
    “It’s your funeral, Mack. Are you really going to help her find out who did her father?”
    “I’m going to help her find the answers she needs. Whether she likes it or not.”
    “Jesus,” he said again. “What the hell are you getting yourself into, McKinley? What do you think you’ve got to gain by messing with all this?”
    “Peace of mind maybe.”
    “It’s a little too late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The humor in Carew’s voice was unpleasant.“You lost your chance for peace years ago.”
    “Maybe I’m curious. Maybe I just want to find the missing pieces of the puzzle.”
    “What missing pieces? It’s straightforward enough, and you know it.”
    “I hate your guts, Carew, but I never thought you were stupid,” James said in a level voice.
    There was a pause. “Why don’t you just ask me?”
    “Because you don’t have the answers any more than I do. You just want everything swept under the rug. That way you get to keep your job, and your power. But supposing I don’t want things swept under a rug?”
    “You made that more than clear.”
    “Tell you what, Carew. Let’s have a little truce. I’ll stop trying to kill you, and you can stop trying to kill me.”
    “Sounds reasonable,” Carew said promptly.
    “Not so fast. I don’t believe you. I think you’ll need a little incentive to back off.”
    “You’re a dangerous man, McKinley. Don’t you think self-preservation is a strong