by Brenda Joyce
Claire nodded, grateful to no longer be alone. Apparently Leonard had asked directions—either that or he knew his way around this particular hospital—and a few minutes later, Claire found herself peering into a private room where Ian lay in bed, pale but alert. He seemed to be arguing with a nurse.
“Thank God you guys are here,” Ian said with irritation.
The nurse said tersely, “He should sleep.” Before she turned and walked out, she gave him an annoyed look.
“Claire, did you call Lisa?” Ian asked immediately.
Claire couldn’t believe it; he had been shot, and he was thinking about protecting her. She walked over to the bed, and without thinking about it, she took his hand and clasped it. Then she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears of relief. She lifted his hand and kissed it. The tears fell anyway, silently.
He met her gaze. “I’m okay, Claire. I’ll be released first thing tomorrow. It was only a graze.”
She shook her head, incapable of speech.
“It wasn’t a graze,” Leonard said, from the foot of the bed. “They pulled a slug out, Ian. Did you see the shooter?”
“No. He fired from behind. And if I don’t miss my guess, I think he was up above, maybe in the window of an upper-floor apartment across the street.”
Claire remembered that Bill Marshall had been struck from behind as well. Had Eddy been taken by surprise, too?
Dear God, she just could not imagine William Duke being such a ruthless killer. But he must be Elgin.
“So he was a sniper,” Leonard remarked.
Ian said, “He was waiting for me to leave Frances Cookson’s apartment.” Suddenly he paled.
“What is it?” Claire asked quickly.
Ian struggled to sit up. His color had worsened.
“Slow down, bud,” Leonard said.
“Cookson. I’m worried that she needs police protection, Leonard. She couldn’t ID Elgin, but I’m afraid we led him right to her. And he doesn’t know that she can’t make him.”
“Got you.” Leonard walked out of the room, already on his cell phone.
“Damn it,” Ian said. “They’ll never put a man on her.” He winced as he tried to sit up.
“Ian, stay still. You’ll hurt yourself. Is it time for another painkiller?” Claire asked.
“I’m not taking painkillers, Claire. I can’t think clearly if I do.” Then he smiled at her, but it was lopsided. “Hey, this is new. The little-mama side of you.”
Claire stared, unable to think of any smart reply.
“Honey, it’s all right.”
“How can you say that?” Claire whispered. She gripped his hand more tightly. “You were right, Ian. Elgin is after you. Not me. We were yards apart. Do you think it was Elgin himself? Could he be such a marksman? At his age?”
Ian hesitated. “I don’t know. But if it was Elgin, he’ll have left us a small memento of the day’s work.”
Claire looked up at the ceiling in real despair, then walked away from him. She could feel Ian watching her. What would happen next?
“Claire?”
She turned.
“Call Jim, my assistant. I need to speak with him. Also, try to reach Frances. Ask her if she can go visit her relatives again for a while. I hate the idea of her being here in New York and so easy to find.”
She walked back to his side. “Ian, you are in no shape to pursue Elgin now.”
“I’ll be as good as new tomorrow. Maybe a little stiff and sore, that’s all.”
“Please rest here for a few days,” she begged.
His eyes darkened. He reached for her with his left hand. “Claire, try to understand. I’ve waited years and years for this moment. Elgin killed my uncle and my father, and now he’s gunning for me. I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while he either vanishes again, this time for good, or devises another plan to knock me off. I cannot.”
She stared at him and loved him for his courage. “All right,” she finally said. “I’ll call Jim and Frances, but you are not doing anything without my help.”
“Claire,” he began, clearly in protest.
“Tough luck, macho man,” she said. “You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”
Claire couldn’t bring herself to leave Ian’s side. It was amazing how almost losing the one you loved could put your entire life—and your feelings—in total perspective.
He had a stream of visitors: the police, his sister Lisa, three other sisters, someone’s husband, several teenagers who turned out to be nieces and nephews, and his assistant, Jim, who wound up making a list of notes. Murphy appeared. He briefly cleared the room to ask questions privately. In that interim, Claire managed to reach Frances and persuade her to go visit her daughter in Atlanta for a few days. Around noon the hospital room was suddenly empty, and Ian fell instantly asleep.
She watched him dozing for a long moment, once again thanking the universe and the fates that he was okay. Then she got up and left the room.
Claire took his cell phone out of her back pocket. Images tumbled impossibly through her mind, mostly of William and her father. The urge to call Jean-Léon was overwhelming now.
Claire had reached several conclusions. After fifty years of marriage, Elizabeth had to know the truth about William. She could not be the highly ethical woman Claire had believed her to be. Still, Claire hoped she did not know that William was a murderer. It was possible that she was aware of his having been a spy years ago but had no idea how ruthless he actually was.
There was also the possibility that the Dukes had lied about returning to the States. At this point, William would be crazy to come back. By now, he should be in Timbuktu.
On impulse, Claire dialed their New York town house. A maid answered, and Claire learned that the Dukes were out but were expected back around six.
So they had returned stateside after all.
Would a guilty man come back? Claire supposed he might, if he was sure of his ability to cover his tracks. So far, Elgin seemed to have a surplus of self-confidence.
Claire paced. Her mind veered from the Dukes to her father, and almost automatically, her breathing became constricted. Her father was protecting William, but surely he knew nothing of the extent of William’s criminal behavior. Surely he did not know that Ian had just been shot.
Claire gave up. Leaning against the wall outside Ian’s room, after reassuring herself that he was still soundly asleep, Claire reached Jean-Léon’s housekeeper and was told that he had left town. Claire was surprised. For a moment, she felt as if a band were being tightened about her chest. She reached him on his cell phone. “Dad, where are you?”
“I’m in Chicago,” he said briskly, as if in a rush, “on business. Where are you, Claire?”
“I’m in New York.” She ignored an intern wheeling an empty gurney down the hall. She inhaled deeply. “Someone tried to kill Ian Marshall a few hours ago.”
There was a measured silence on the other end of the line. It frightened Claire. The silence somehow did not sound or feel surprised. “Dad? Are you still there?” she asked cautiously.
“Yes, I am. How is Marshall?”
“Do you care?” Her own words—and her terse tone—surprised her.
“What kind of question is that?”
“I’m sorry. I’m upset.” That’s an understatement, she thought. “He’s okay. The shooter missed, fortunately.” Claire hesitated. “Dad, you lied to me. You lied to me about Ian’s reputation and about Elgin, who is very much alive. He’s on Scotland Yard’s most-wanted list, damn it.”
“Why won’t you stay out of this, Claire?” was Jean-Léon’s overly calm response.
“The man I love was almost murdered! Someone tried to shoot him in the back!” She was shouting. Two nurses walking past turned to look at her. Claire flushed and lowered her voice. “Elgin tried to murder him.”
“So now you are in love with him?” Jean-Léon asked. He sounded resigned.
“Yes, I
am,” Claire said firmly.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I am trying to protect you?” he returned. “And I did a bit of checking. There was a rumor that Elgin died, and maybe it’s true. And I certainly did not lie about Bill Marshall. The police believe the murder to have been a pointless mugging.”
“It wasn’t a pointless mugging,” Claire whispered.
“Why can’t you let things alone?”
“I can’t because I love him and he could be dead right now. Elgin has to be caught, Dad.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that he is using you, Claire? Ruthlessly, for his own ends?”
She took short, hard breaths. “No, Dad. It has not occurred to me that he might be using me,” she said, but his words struck a painful and frightening chord. Ian had used her initially to try and get close to David. But Claire would not consider that he might still be using her. Now she summoned up all of her courage. “What’s occurred to me is that you are trying to protect Elgin,” she said.
Absolute silence fell.
“Dad?”
“I am trying my best to protect you, but you aren’t being very cooperative, Claire,” her father rebutted.
“I know that Elgin is your brother.”?
He was silent again. He did not deny her words.
Claire tried to tell if the silence was one of surprise and shock, or resignation and acceptance. She could not tell. “Dad? He’s a killer. A ruthless, cold-blooded killer. He has to be brought in. You can help. Please help.”
“I need to think about this,” Jean-Léon said. “I’m going to come to New York tonight. We should meet. We’ll talk about everything then.”
“All right,” Claire said, sagging against the wall. He hadn’t denied it. She had been hoping, foolishly, that he would. The child who lived within her harbored a foolish notion that Elgin was not William Duke and that William wasn’t Jean-Léon’s brother, and that there was some reasonable and sane explanation for everything. Claire felt overwhelmed. Could she really handle this?
“Claire? We have to meet tonight, as soon as I get to town,” Jean-Léon said firmly.
Claire gripped the tiny phone. “Okay. I can meet you tonight. When and where?” she asked harshly—before the phone was ripped right out of her hands.
Claire cried out. But it was Ian who had ripped the phone from her hand, snapping the lid closed.
Claire stared at him in absolute disbelief.
He stared back, his eyes wide, incredulous, angry. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Claire?”
“I . . .” Claire gasped, still shocked that he would tear the phone right from her hand. She had never seen him so angry, and she flinched. “I was trying to help. I asked him to help us.”
He was so angry that he couldn’t speak. Claire’s own anger disappeared as he turned and walked back to his bed. He was wearing a hospital gown that was gaping in the back, and in other circumstances, it might have been funny or awkward, but it was not. He climbed into the bed, where he seemed to collapse. Perspiration beaded his brow.
“I was trying to help,” Claire insisted.
He turned his head to look at her. “Do you want to be the death of me, Claire?”
She stiffened as if stabbed with a red-hot poker. “That’s not fair.”
“No, that’s not fair, and neither is life. Eddy’s death, my father’s, David’s, none of that is fair. I do not trust your father, Claire.” He stared at her. “And neither should you.”
She was frightened all over again. “But it’s William,” she whispered.
He hesitated. “That’s your theory, not mine.”
“No, Ian.” Claire shook her head. “Please don’t do this.”
He had closed his eyes. For one moment, Claire blinked, thinking he had fallen asleep. But his lids lifted, and his regard was direct. “There’s a reason I wanted you to go home. Now you know what that reason is.”
Claire didn’t want to hear any more.
“I am going to do whatever I have to in order to end this hunt once and for all. I will bring Elgin in, Claire—no matter who he really is.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think. She could only feel sick with fear.
There was a knock on the door. Claire was relieved by the interruption. Lisa Marshall, Ian’s sister, was standing in the doorway with an armful of flowers. They had met briefly earlier; Lisa was small and blond and very pretty, too pretty, Claire thought, to be in the FBI. She was chic in a pleated, navy blue skirt that did not cover her knees, and a short matching jacket. She smiled at Claire, her eyes shining with excitement, and deposited the flowers on the windowsill with half a dozen other arrangements.
“You’re back,” Ian murmured.
“Not only am I back, have I got news,” Lisa said, settling down on the foot of his bed. “Guess what we found in the apartment across the street?”
“Spent casings?”
“No kidding. Guess again. There’s more.” She smiled at Claire.
“I’m too tired to play twenty questions,” Ian said.
“He’s done it again, Ian. He left this behind.” Lisa tossed a tiny object in a plastic bag onto the bed.
Claire stood up in order to see and realized she was looking at an extremely small knife, the size of nail clippers. It looked unused. Claire came closer. “Oh my God,” she said. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Ian said harshly. “It is. It’s a goddamn thumb knife.”
“He’s playing with you, Ian,” Lisa said, no longer smiling. “This looks to be new and clean as a whistle. Still, he dropped it off as his calling card. I don’t think he even meant to kill you. I think he meant to miss.”
“That’s pure speculation,” Ian said.
Lisa stood. “It’s my gut.” She picked up the bag. “This is going to my favorite lab rat, and how much do you want to bet this is the exact type of weapon that did in Hayden and Suttill?”
Ian did not answer.
Claire stared at the knife, thinking how strange it was that such a tiny object could inflict so much death.
“After this one, bro, you owe me big-time.”
“Anything,” he said, waving somewhat tiredly at her.
Lisa grinned. “Set me up with that hunk Feinstein, will you?”
Claire realized that Ian was exhausted. She moved to his side. “You need some sleep, Ian.”
“She’s been mothering me for hours,” Ian said to Lisa.
“Smart woman. The way to his heart is Gap jeans and chicken soup, but make sure there’s toe cleavage.”
Claire looked at her. She was too numb to reply.
Lisa turned to Ian. “Duke’s in custody right now. He has an alibi for the time of the shooting.”
“No surprise there.”
“No. And we still can’t make the hit man from Wales.” Lisa hesitated and glanced at Claire. “We’re going to get a search warrant for William’s residence, Ian. See if we can’t find a trail tying him to either hit, or Hayden, or even Elgin.”
“About time,” Ian said.
Lisa shrugged. “Hey, we’re the best.”
Claire looked from one to the other, her fear far more intense now.
Lisa glanced at her again.
“What is it?” Claire whispered, unable to move. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”
“I need to speak with Ian alone,” Lisa said.
It was about Jean-Léon. Claire just knew it.
“Give us a moment, Claire,” Ian said kindly.
Claire looked at him, and her eyes felt pried open with crowbars. She turned and left the room, but she did not shut the door. It was almost impossible to get enough air now. Her breathing was harsh, making it impossible to eavesdrop, which was what she had to do.
But as she stood outside the hospital room, Lisa came to the door. She smiled at Claire, then closed the door in her face.
Claire fell against the wall, overcome with panic. What were they dis
cussing?
“Hi, Claire. What are you doing?”
Claire blinked and saw Leonard Feinstein standing before her, holding a paper bag. Succulent aromas were coming from it. Claire had to guess Chinese.
Claire tried to find her voice. “Hanging.” Her smile felt sickly.
“Are you all right?” He looked closely at her.
To her horror, she shook her head no and felt tears welling.
“Can I help?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Only if you produce Elgin—and he isn’t someone I love.”
Feinstein stared. Before he could respond, the door to Ian’s room opened.
“Oh,” Lisa said in real surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”
Feinstein seemed to be flushing. He held up the bag. “Can’t let our big guy starve.”
“Feinstein to the rescue,” Lisa agreed, sniffing. “Chinese?”
“French Thai.”
Claire hardly heard their exchange. She walked slowly past them and found herself staring at Ian. He stared back.
Claire didn’t know how long she stood in the center of his room, locking gazes with him. But there was no mistaking the look in his eyes—he felt sorry for her.
Lisa breezed in. “The Feinstein Food Squad is here, and I gotta go. Sleep tight, bro,” she said, leaning over Ian and kissing his cheek. “No naughty dreams.” She smiled at Claire. “Are you going to stay for a while?”
Claire nodded.
“If you wait a minute, I can give you a ride,” Leonard said somewhat stiffly to Lisa. “I have a driver downstairs.”
“Too cool,” Lisa said, with nonchalance that belied her previous statement of interest in the man. “But I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“You won’t,” he returned. He walked over to Ian. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked, placing the bag of takeout on the bureau.
“Let’s touch base first thing tomorrow,” Ian said.
“Okay.”
Claire didn’t like their conversation. She felt an unspoken communication between them. Or was she now thoroughly paranoid?
Leonard picked up his briefcase. “You be careful,” he told Ian. “And you have one helluva woman to count on, so listen to her if she has something to say.” He smiled at Claire. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
