Remember When

have to go through the Porsche first.
    It was quiet and near dusk. He'd seen little activity in the woods, or in the cabins he'd passed.
    Hikers would be back by this time of day, vacationers settling in for dinner or a drink.
    He shut off the engine, then leaned across Jack to unlock the glove box.
    "We can't just sit here."
    "We're not going to just sit here." Max removed his gun, a second clip, then tossed a pair of binoculars in Jack's lap. "Keep an eye on the place."
    "You go in there with that, somebody's going to get hurt. Guns are trouble," Jack added when Max merely looked at him.
    "Right on both counts." He checked the clip, slapped it back into place, shoved the spare into his pocket. "Cops are on their way. It'll take them some time to secure the area, set up for a hostage situation. They know he's armed, they know he has Laine. They'll try to negotiate."
    "How do you negotiate with a fucking lunatic? My girl's in there, Max. That's my baby girl in there."
    "She's my girl, too. And I don't negotiate."
    Jack swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "We're not waiting for the cops here either."
    "We're not waiting." Since Jack had yet to use the field glasses, Max took them, focused in on the cabin. "Closed up tight. Curtains are pulled over the windows. From this angle, I see one door, four windows. Probably a rear door, couple more windows on the other side, couple in the back.
    He can't get out this way, but if he gets past me, he could swing around the other side, take one of the side roads and loop to the main. I don't think we're going to let that happen."
    Once again, he reached into the glove box. This time he pulled out a sheathed knife. When he drew the leather off, the blade was a sheen of bright silver with a vicious jagged edge.
    "Jesus Christ."
    "You take care of the tires on that Mercedes with this?"
    "Tires." Jack breathed deep, in, out. "Yeah. I can do that."
    "All right. Here's the way we play it."
    ***
    Inside, Laine pushed herself up. Her ears rang from the blow, and under the pounding, she cursed herself for not moving quickly enough, not anticipating his reaction so she'd taken a swipe rather than a direct hit.
    She knew her eyes were bright with tears, but she wouldn't shed them. Instead she burned them away with a hot stare as she laid a hand on her throbbing cheekbone. "You bastard. You son of a bitch."
    He gripped her by the shirt, hauled her an inch off the couch. She stretched out her free arm as she stared back at him, but she was still short of her goal. "Who were you going to call, Laine?
    Dear old Dad?"
    "You idiot." Her response, and the furious shove surprised him enough to have him dropping her back onto the couch. "Did you tell me to empty my pockets? Did you ask if I had a phone? It's off, isn't it? I always carry it around with me in the shop. You've been with me the whole time, Einstein. Did I make any calls?"
    He seemed to consider, then turned the phone over and studied it. "It appears to be off." He powered it up. After it searched for and found service, the phone gave a little trill. "It seems you have a message. Why don't we see who's been trying to reach you?"
    "Kiss my ass." She gave an annoyed shrug, scooted closer to the table, reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. Her hand remained perfectly steady when she heard Max's voice announce he was back.
    "There, does that sound like I've contacted him by phone or the power of my mind? Jesus." He was a good four feet away now. Too far. Setting the bottle down, she cupped her injured cheek.
    "Get me some goddamn ice for this."
    "I don't like orders."
    "Yeah, well, I don't like getting clocked by some guy with an impulse-control problem. How the hell am I going to explain this bruise, and believe me, it'll be a beaut. You just complicated everything. And you know what else, hotshot? My previous offer is now off the table. I don't sleep with men who hit me. Not ever, not for anything." She eased forward a bit, as if comforting herself, and continued to rub her cheek.
    "Straight business deal now. No side bennies."
    "You seem to forget, this isn't a negotiation."
    "Everything's negotiable. You've got half, I've got half. You want all. I, on the other hand, am more realistic, and a lot less greedy. Take these damn things off," she demanded, rattling the cuffs. "Where the hell am I going?"
    She saw his hand move, very slightly, toward his left pants pocket. Then drop away again. "I don't think so. Now..."