Private Affair(78)

“Okay,” she answered, and he knew she was struggling to keep her voice steady. They’d been making certain assumptions, and they’d thought they knew the identity of the killer—or at least one of two guys. Now it turned out that someone else entirely had come to the farm the other night.

“Stay inside until I pull up in the alley,” he said.

She reached for him and tugged him toward her, and they clung together for a long moment.

Finally he eased away. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“Be careful.”

“I will,” Max answered as he stepped to the window and inspected the street. It was dark now, and everything was quiet. All he had to do was make it to his car and come back for Olivia.

He was angry with himself for letting her talk him into bringing her into this part of the city. But he was going to get her to safety. He’d leave one of the other guys with her at the safe house.

Then he and Jack or Shane would split up. One would stay with Olivia. One would go after Troy Masters, and the other would pay a call on Tommy Larson. The reunion   killer was one of them, he was sure, even if he didn’t know why the killing had continued over the years and sped up recently. His best guess was that the guy was coming unglued, but there was no way to know for sure until they caught him.

He saw Olivia’s anxious gaze on him as he eased the door open and stepped into the dark. He stayed close to the house for several moments, then started down the block, intending to circle around to where he’d left his SUV.

He made it about twenty yards down the sidewalk when a figure leaped out from the darkened passageway between two row houses.

Max caught only a flash of movement, then someone was on him. A hot pain slashed into his arm through his shirt and jacket, and he knew he had been cut.

“You son of a bitch,” his assailant called as he tried for another strike. But Max twisted to the side and grabbed the man’s knife hand, forcing it back toward him. The man gasped as the blade dug into his side.

He’d cut the bastard, but he didn’t know how badly.

It must be Davidson. The ex-con had been following them, then hid out in a passageway between two row houses, ready to move to the back or the front as soon as Max came out. Thank God Olivia was still inside.

His arm was on fire, but his own stab at the guy must have done some damage too because Davidson was less enthusiastic about the attack now. Max managed to knock him to the ground. Too bad he didn’t carry handcuffs anymore.

The guy struggled up, looking like was going to run instead of fight, just as a shot rang out. Both men went rigid. Then Davidson wrenched away and ran, and Max fell back against a lamppost. Looking up, he saw Olivia charge down the steps toward him, Marge’s revolver in her hand.

“Get back in the house,” he called out, but she ignored him and hurried toward him.

“You shot…”

“Into the air,” she finished. Craning her neck, she looked in the direction where the man had disappeared. “Was that Davidson or a mugger?”

“Davidson.”

“Too bad I couldn’t shoot at him,” she answered, “but he was too close to you.”

Max stayed where he was, leaning against the lamppost, glad of the support. He knew he was going into shock, and he hated having Olivia see him that way.

“Max?” she asked softly.

“Um.”

“You’re hurt.”

She knelt beside him on the sidewalk. When she looked at his arm, she gasped.

This time he wasn’t going to argue that it was “nothing,” because he felt the blood soaking his shirt and jacket.

Olivia eased the jacket off. It was made of light material, and she used it to make a tourniquet above the cut.

Marge had rushed out onto the sidewalk. She was carrying a blanket, which Olivia tucked around Max.

“I called 911,” the older woman said. “An ambulance should be here soon.”

“Thank you,” Olivia breathed.

She sat beside him, and he closed his eyes. He should stay alert, but it was too much effort.

“Call Rockfort,” he told Olivia.

“Yes.” She grabbed his cell phone and called back the last number.

Shane answered. “Max?”

“No. It’s Olivia,” she said.

“Where’s Max?” his partner asked, an edge in his voice.

Her hand tightened on the cell phone. “That Davidson guy was waiting for him with a knife. Max was cut. An ambulance is coming.”

“You’re still in Baltimore?”

“Yes.”

“We’re on our way. Do you know what hospital?”

“Not yet. I’ll have to call you back,” she answered, hearing the wail of a siren in the distance. As it grew louder, she was aware that people were coming down the street, curious about what had happened.