Fair Game - lanyon Josh (читать книги регистрация .txt) 📗

Leaving the cement walk, Elliot started across the grass. The campus lawns in general were well-tended, but the ceramic building was on the furthest edge of the school grounds and the gnarled roots of the old trees required that he pay close attention to where he was walking. Tripping and falling was definitely not doctor-approved.

As he’d thought, it was dark as an alley behind the long building. He walked slowly, scrutinizing the bushes and undergrowth for anything that might give indication Baker had come this way, though he realized the chance of finding anything was practically nonexistent this long after the fact.

It wasn’t until he heard the distinct snap of a twig a few yards behind him that it occurred to Elliot his circumstances had changed significantly and he needed to be as safety conscious as any civilian. It gave him an unpleasant jolt. He was used to that obscure feeling of invincibility everyone in law enforcement tended to develop.

Except he wasn’t invincible. He never had been. Nor was he armed—and if he had to run for his life, he’d be shit out of luck.

He turned to scan behind him. The long berm of grass was empty, but that old prickle of unease rippled its way down his spine. As hard to believe as it was, the conviction persisted that he was being watched. Followed.

He waited. Gradually, his eyes picked out a darker shadow from the shade spreading beneath the top heavy hazelnut trees. The back of his neck tingled. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, someone was standing right there next to the thick tree trunk.

Right. Well, there were plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons for someone to lurk there in the dark. They might be waiting for someone. They might be uneasy about him. If someone was standing there, it was only reasonable that they’d be watching Elliot. What else was there to watch? There was nothing sinister about that.

Necessarily.

And yet…

And yet all Elliot’s instincts were telling him to pull his weapon. The weapon he no longer carried. His heart banged away in a mixture of aggression and alarm. In the old days he would have confronted this guy—or gal. He was hesitant—hell, say it, afraid—to initiate something he might not be able to control.

As worst moments of his life went, this one ranked right up there: the realization that if he was in real trouble, he probably couldn’t get himself out of it. Not without help.

Automatically he reached for his phone. His intention was to call campus security, but as he tried to picture himself requesting help…tried to imagine explaining his safety emergency to a pimple-faced rent-a-cop, putting into words that he thought someone was…what? Staring at him?

He couldn’t do it. Could not do it.

Somehow instead he was dialing Tucker’s number. And how weird was that? Because if there was one person in this world he most did not want to show weakness to, it was Tucker Lance.

And yet he listened to the phone ring once…twice…

“Pick it up, Lance,” he muttered.

“Did you miss the boat?” Tucker inquired suddenly on the other end of the signal, and Elliot released a long, tense breath.

“No. I’m at the PSU campus.”

“Why’s that?”

Elliot scanned the wall of trees. The uneasy feeling persisted, but now he was starting to wonder if he wasn’t jumping at shadows. If there was someone standing under the trees, he was staying as still as a statue.

“I remembered I needed some papers I left in my office. I also remembered it’s Friday. The ferry doesn’t leave until ten.”

“So you went back to the campus to get these papers and thought maybe we ought to get together for a drink and discuss the case?”

Tucker was obviously not serious, but it still caught Elliot off-guard. “Huh? No, I thought I’d walk the path Baker had to take the evening he disappeared.”

Tucker took a swallow of his drink and remarked, “At this time of night? I guess you never watched any scary movies as a kid?”

“Walking it at this time of night is the whole point. I’m trying to get a feel for the set up when Baker disappeared.” Elliot gave a short laugh. “Anyway, in our family Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment was considered a scary movie.”

“So what did you figure out?”

“Nothing,” Elliot admitted reluctantly. “Nothing conclusive.” He began to walk, throwing vigilant glances over his shoulder. No activity. The trees were as motionless as painted backdrop.

“Nothing? Well, not that I’m not thrilled to hear from you, but why are you calling?”

Tucker had a point. It was better, if embarrassing, to come clean. “Yeah, well, that’s the thing…I’ve got a weird feeling. I think I’m being watched.”

There was a short, sharp silence before Tucker drawled, “You’re probably giving campus security the most fun they’ve had in months.”

“Yeah. Probably. What are the odds, right?” Elliot kept moving—and kept an eye on the unmoving shadows falling further behind him.

“Are you on the way to your car?”

“Yes.”

“Stay on the line.”

“I plan to.” Having undoubtedly made a total fool of himself, no way was he not claiming the full benefit package. All the same, Elliot felt ridiculously self-conscious as he walked, knowing Tucker was listening in. But he also felt reassured. Which made zero sense. If someone did jump him, there wasn’t a lot Tucker could do and Elliot would have his work cut out trying to defend himself while describing his attacker by moonlight.

It seemed a long way to his car. And this was the shortcut.

“The heavy breathing is a nice touch,” Tucker remarked.

“Go. To. Hell.”

Tucker laughed, that deep, scratchy-velvet sound. “Not that I’m judging, but what do you do to keep in shape these days?”

Tucker had good instincts. Talking was the right idea. It looked natural and it relaxed Elliot. “Jogging is out. Along with rock climbing, tennis, skiing, gymnastics…”

“I don’t recall you playing much tennis. As for the gymnastics…” His sexy growl of a laugh seemed to snag Elliot in the guts. “Yeah, you do have some beautiful moves as I recall. They didn’t require a lot of footwork.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Tucker’s reply was unexpectedly cheerful. “A lot.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why do you think?” Elliot was still weighing that terse comment when Tucker asked, “Do you still play with the toy soldiers?”

“War game with military miniatures? Yes.”

“Yes. Of course.” There was an unexpected edge to Tucker’s voice. “You like to control things, don’t you, Mills? Including history.”

Elliot had no answer to that and Tucker had run out of things to say. In the prickly silence between them, Elliot said, “I’m unlocking my car door now.”

“Don’t forget to check the backseat for the mad killer with the knife,” the bastard instructed lazily.

Elliot glanced through the tinted window. Good luck with that. That was the downside of tinted windows. He opened the driver’s door, threw a quick look at the seat which was empty of anything but his raincoat. Mocking them both, he clipped, “Backseat secure.”

Tucker snorted.

Elliot tossed his briefcase in, slid under the wheel and dragged the door shut. He clicked the locks and sagged back, managing not to exhale his relief in one revealing whoosh. His back was damp with perspiration. He’d stepped awkwardly on a tree root and his knee was now openly throbbing

He pulled himself together enough to say, “Okay. Thanks for staying on the line. You’ll be pleased to know I feel like an idiot.”

“Try the engine.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Well yeah, but try the engine anyway.”

The engine purred into smooth life.

“All systems go.”

“Roger, Houston. Have a nice flight.”

He needed to say something. Given the situation between them, to not speak up was too bizarre. He said gruffly, “Hey. Thanks for hanging on the line.” Tucker’s patience with this attack of heebie jeebies meant more than it should have. Elliot wasn’t sure he’d have been equally patient in reversed circumstances.