by Meg Tilly
“I like a man who can multitask.” He wasn’t sure if the husky undertones in her voice had been caused by the delectable taste of the dessert, or if she was suggesting another bout of mind-blowing sex as a possible aperitif? Didn’t matter. There was only so much temptation a man could take. “How would you feel”—he set his forkful of chocolate peanut goodness down on his plate and rose from his chair—“about a change of venues?” He rounded the trolley. She used the side of her fork to slowly cut another mouthful, laughter and a make-me dare dancing in her eyes. His hand closed over hers, stilling her action.
“Mm . . .” she said, releasing her fork, which clattered on the china. “I take it you have a more satisfying dessert in mind?” She lifted her mouth to meet his, her arms twining around his neck.
The shrill sound of the phones ringing in both bathrooms, the phone in the bedroom, and the one on the desk jolted Sarah upright. Mick stifled an oath. So much for dessert, he thought, although perhaps it’s room service wanting to remove the dishes. Whatever it was, the mood was broken. Sarah was no longer curled up in the armchair, a sultry Aphrodite incarnate, her elegant pink-tipped toes peeking out from under her robe begging to be kissed. The damn phone rang, and the day’s tension came crashing back. All the languor and teasing laughter had vanished from her face. She looked at him, her eyes large. “Do you think?” she whispered.
Ring . . . ring . . .
“It’s Vicki. It’s got to be. Who else would be calling so late at night?”
Ring . . . ring . . .
Sarah shot to her feet, scrambled around the desk, and grabbed the phone. “Hello? Hello? Yes, this is Sarah.” She was hunched over the phone. Both her hands were wrapped around the receiver, gripping it tight. One didn’t have to be a hotshot director to read that body language. “Don’t worry about the hour. Seriously. I’m glad you called.”
Mick sighed. “Not room service, then?” he murmured. Luckily, he wasn’t expecting an answer.
One hundred percent of Sarah’s focus was on the person, presumably Vicki, on the other end of the phone. “Wow. Absolutely,” Sarah said. “No. It’s no trouble at all. I’m really grateful. I can be in a cab in five minutes. No traffic at this time of night, so it shouldn’t take long. See you soon.” Sarah hung up the phone and turned to him. “That was Vicki.” He could hear the excitement in her voice, could see it emanating from her face. “She’s just come back from Phillip’s office. Located my files and identification papers in their storage room in the basement of the building and brought them to her town house. I have to get dressed.”
He snagged her arm as she dashed past him. “Hold on.”
“What?” She fisted her hands on her hips and tapped her toes impatiently.
“You’re planning on visiting her now? It’s after midnight.”
“It’s not important when she wants to hand my documents over. What matters is that she is willing to.”
“Alarm bells are ringing, Sarah. This feels off to me. Feels like a trap.”
The defiant expression on her face softened. “Mick,” she said, her slender hand alighting on his arm. “I have to go. I’ve spent the last four years running from shadows, afraid and fearful. I refuse to be that woman anymore. If I have to visit Vicki in the dead of the night to regain my identity, so be it.”
He studied her face. He could see the fierce intelligence shining from her eyes, along with determination and pure grit. Shimmering beneath the surface he also sensed a healthy dose of fear and apprehension. “All right. We’d better get dressed.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face, rose onto her toes, and brushed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, smoothing an errant lock of hair from his eyes. “That means a lot to me. I’ll bang on your door when I’m ready to go.” She gave him a soft smile, as if he were the sun and the moon, then turned and darted out of his room.
46
As the cab pulled up in front of Vicki’s town house, the unease Sarah had been feeling on the drive over seemed to heighten. “There is nothing that says we have to follow through tonight,” Mick said. “We can arrange to come back in the morning.”
“No. Vicki sounded like she had continued the drinking fest after we left. Tomorrow, when she’s hungover and sober, she might rethink her generosity. She could change her mind, or demand an enormous sum of money for what she’s offered to give me for free.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree with your lady friend,” the burly cabdriver said, twisting in his seat. “My brother . . . Let’s just say he’s in the business of extracting information.” The cabby cracked his neck. He seemed lonely. Certainly didn’t appear to be in any hurry to have them exit his cab, although that might be in part because he hadn’t turned the meter off yet.
“Let’s settle up.” Mick pulled out his wallet.
The cabbie jabbed a button on his meter. “Strike while you can.” He was dispensing advice with a cocky grin, like he was a featured guest on The Oprah Winfrey Show. “Don’t give her a chance to wise up, fly the coop, or receive a bigger bribe from another party. That’ll be eighty-seven fifty, sir.” He had been pretty chatty the whole ride.
“We aren’t bribing anyone, sir,” Sarah said stiffly.
“Although.” The cabbie continued unperturbed. He tipped his chin toward the town house. “You sure you got the right address? Place seems pretty locked up for someone expecting visitors.” Sarah glanced at the town house. The windows were dark. Even the porch light had been extinguished, leaving the building in murky shadows.
“Sarah—” She knew what Mick was going to say. She was thinking it herself, but she hadn’t traveled across the country to turn back now.
“This is the right place. Thanks for the ride.” Sarah exited the cab before Mick could use his damnable logic on her. Vicki had called her. Asked her to come. Sarah wasn’t going to return to Manhattan without getting what she came for. She stepped onto the sidewalk and stared at the darkened building. An icy chill slithered down the back of her neck.
“Of course”—the cabbie continued as if he were discussing whether or not it might rain—“there’s always the possibility that someone’s already shut her mouth for her.”
Another shiver rippled through Sarah. She glanced around. The street was deserted. The bare, witchy branches of the black trees silhouetted against the night sky. The harsh glare of LED streetlights illuminated patches of concrete. There was something about the quality of light, along with the drop in temperature, that made the area seem even more daunting than before.
She felt Mick step beside her. “Ready?” he asked. Sarah nodded. She could feel tension in her jaw, in her shoulders. They crossed the sidewalk. Mick flicked on his cell phone flashlight to chase the darkness from the steps leading to the landing and Vicki’s front door.
It seemed unnaturally quiet. There was the whir of late-night traffic up the road at the intersection, but other than that the neighborhood seemed locked up tight. She was glad Mick had insisted on accompanying her.
Sarah rapped on the red door, which had seemed so cheery in the daylight but now, in the shadows, took on the hue of blood.
They waited.
No sound of feet approaching. No interior lights flicked on. “Give it another go,” Mick said. Sarah knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in the window. The glass was cool against the sides of her palms, beginning to fog from the warmth of her breath. The sense of unease was building. “See anything?” Mick asked.
“Can’t make out much, a few dark shadows.” She squinted, trying to force her eyes to see more.
“Told ya,” a male voice called. Sarah spun around, glared first at the cabbie and then at Mick.
“Did you pay him to wait?” she demanded, grouchy that she had allowed herself to get spooked.
Mick didn’t take umbrage. Just shrugged. “For a couple of minutes in case nobody came to the door.”
Sarah turned back to the window. “Let me have your phone for a sec?” Mick handed her his cell phone. “Thanks.” She held the phone’s flashlight up to the pane of glass, hoping to be able to see more clearly, but all she could see was the reflection of the bright light on the glass pane shining back at her. Mick wasn’t saying anything. Didn’t have to. She knew what he was thinking. Sarah knocked again, putting more force into it. “Vicki,” she called, trying not to be too loud so she wouldn’t wake the neighborhood. “It’s me, Sarah.” Her palms felt sweaty.
Nothing.
Reluctantly, she turned away from the front door. “She’s not going to answer.”
“Looks that way.” There was regret in his voice, but relief as well, because now they could leave. The way he was scanning the area, his battle-ready alertness spoke volumes. As they descended the front porch steps, the light from Mick’s phone fell on a wrought iron gate at the side of the town house. It was ajar. Seemed like a sign. So instead of making a right and returning to the waiting cab, she turned left through the open gate.
“Sarah,” Mick growled warningly.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder without breaking her stride, placed a finger to her lips. “Shhh . . .” She was walking as softly as humanly possible. However, the crunch of the gravel underfoot sounded deafening to her ears.
“No kidding,” he muttered, but he followed her, thank God. “What are you hoping to accomplish with this? Are you planning on adding breaking and entering to this night’s agenda?”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “I don’t know. I just . . .” What was she doing creeping along the side of Vicki’s house? “I’m not leaving without my documents.” But even as the words fell from her lips, she knew it was a lie. She was operating on sheer intuition because the sense of urgency had built to a roar. Sarah broke into a jog. A litany pulsed in her brain. Hurry . . . hurry . . . hurry . . . Her heart had started pounding crazy loud in her chest. When she rounded the corner of the town house, she suddenly knew why. Everything screeched to a halt. Didn’t even need the flashlight. Could see Vicki’s body sprawled on the flagstone pavers beside the round bistro patio table for two.
“Is she dead . . . ?” Her words dropped almost soundlessly on the night air. Vicki’s nightgown was hiked up. Her neck and back were arched. Only a sliver of her face was visible, but that, along with her exposed abdomen, bare hips and legs, looked an almost unnatural white in the moonlight. One of the delicately wrought chairs was overturned beside her. Was she sitting on it? Did she have a stroke or a heart attack?
Sarah felt Mick disengage his phone from her frozen hand. The movement broke Sarah’s momentary paralysis. By the time she’d reached Vicki’s side, she could hear Mick talking to the 911 operators. “I’d like to report an emergency—”
Sarah shoved the upturned chair out of the way and dropped to her knees. “Vicki, can you hear me?” She shook the woman’s shoulder. There was no response. Vicki’s head was already arched back. Sarah checked that her airway was clear.
“Is she breathing?” Mick asked. Sarah stared at Vicki’s chest.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell in this light.” She tugged the hem of Vicki’s nightgown down enough to cover her privates. “I’ll see if I can find a pulse.” She placed her fingers against the side of Vicki’s neck. Her skin was cool and clammy to the touch.
“Hello? Yes. We’re at Five Fifty Twentieth Street, in the backyard. There’s a female down. We don’t know the cause. Just arrived on the scene. She’s unresponsive.”
Under Sarah’s fingers, she thought she felt a faint flutter. Suddenly, Vicki spasmed violently, her arms and legs rigid. A harsh, ragged gasp for air ripped out of her gaping mouth. The sudden movement, the inhuman noise, triggered Sarah’s highly honed fight-or-flight instincts, but she forced herself back down to her knees. “She’s alive,” Sarah heard Mick bark into the phone. “But something is very wrong.”
Another seizure ripped through Vicki. Her eyelids jerked open, her pupils were dilated, her mouth attempting to expel words through the harsh, rasping struggle for air. It sounded almost like “Why? I . . . loved . . . him,” but Sarah couldn’t be sure. “Sorry. I couldn’t make that out. What did you say?” There was an anguished sorrow in Vicki’s eyes so much deeper and more potent than the fear. The woman opened her mouth, her lips moving, but another painful spasm arched her body. Vicki’s eyeballs rolled back in her head, and horrible choking noises were clawing their way out of her throat. It sounded like she was suffocating. Wasn’t getting enough air. Sarah’s mouth was chalk dry, and her heart was pounding a million miles an hour as she placed her hands at the center of the woman’s chest and began doing compressions.
“Hang in there, Vicki.” Sarah hoped on some level Vicki could hear her voice and that knowing she wasn’t alone would offer comfort. “Help is coming.” She was so grateful for the CPR course she had taken with her mother in the first months of her pregnancy. Vicki sucked in another rasping breath. “You’re doing great. Good job, Vicki. Take another breath. Wonderful. And another.” She could hear the faint sound of sirens wailing in the distance and prayed that they were heading their way.
“Yo!” A man’s voice jerked Sarah’s focus away from Vicki’s face. The cabbie was standing at the entrance of the walkway framed by the gate, a beer-bellied silhouette backlit by the streetlight. “Time’s up.”
“Hold on a second,” Mick called. “We’re dealing with an emergency situation here.”
“And I’m tryin’ to make a livin’. It’s simple. Pay me to wait, or I’m leavin’ to find another fare.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Mick muttered under his breath.
“Go on. Pay him,” Sarah said. “We aren’t going to want the hassle of trying to find a cab once we’re done here. Also, if this isn’t a heart attack or a stroke, then we’re going to need the cabdriver as an alibi/witness when the police and paramedics arrive.”
“All right, time’s up. I’m leaving,” the cabbie called.
“Fuck me.” She felt Mick’s hand alight on her shoulder. “You okay here? It’ll just take a second.”
“Absolutely. Do it. Quick before we lose him.”
Mick turned on his heel and jogged down the walkway. The cabdriver had already stepped back onto the well-lit city sidewalk and was moving toward his taxi.
“Wait up!” Sarah heard Mick call, and then he was swallowed into the shadows along the side of the house. She needed to pause her compressions for a minute to wipe the sweat from her forehead and then began again. The sirens were getting louder.
“Help is coming.” Sarah said it as much for herself as to comfort Vicki, because the moment Mick vanished, the sense of dread had increased exponentially. There is a logical explanation for your fear. You are alone in the dark, doing compressions on a woman who is making horror film noises, her body is in spasms, and she’s fighting to breathe. Or course you’re a little freaked out. “Help is on—” No! It’s more than that. Pay attention. Sarah’s head jerked up, full-fledged panic surging through her. But it was too late. The dark figure of a man launched through the back door. A hunter, moving low and fast. She had opened her mouth to scream, when his body slammed into hers like a thunderbolt, his arm wrapped tight around her neck, yanking her to her feet. She could feel the cold muzzle of his beloved Glock 17 nestled against her temple.
“Just like old times, huh?” His voice was a harsh whisper next to her ear. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re coming with me, baby. One sound and you’re dead.” The familiar stink of his aftershave mingled with the smell of his skin made the taste of vomit rise in her throat. Sarah forced it down, along with the bone-numbing fear. No! a voice bellowed inside. Enough! She was not a scared, whimpering woman anymore. She refused to be.
; “You won’t kill me, Kevin,” she said, keeping her voice calm and clear even though tremors were running through her body. Hoping her voice would carry through the night air to Mick and warn him of the danger. “If I die, you get nothing, and you love having all that money to roll in.” The grip around her throat tightened. She tucked her chin to her chest, protecting her airway and making it much more difficult for him to crush her windpipe. Adrenaline coursed through her at these small acts of defiance. “Yeah, that’s right, asshole,” she rasped out through clenched teeth. “I’ve learned a few tricks since you last saw me. Not so easy to make me black out.” She braced herself for a blow—insolence would never go unpunished—but it didn’t arrive. His hands were full, and Sarah couldn’t help the triumphant smile that curved her lips, even though she knew she would pay for it later.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” He was dragging her toward the alley at the rear of the garden. The sirens were quite loud now. And then, as if Mick had tapped her on the shoulder, Sarah knew he had returned. She could sense him silently, stealthily moving in the shadows, making his way along the perimeter of the garden to block Kevin’s exit. The only problem was Kevin had a gun. He would shoot her as a last resort, but he would not hesitate to murder Mick in cold blood. “And I’m warning you now,” her ex-husband continued. “You better have kept your legs clamped shut. Otherwise, no amount of money could wash off the stench, and the consequences would be dire.” He was trying to intimidate her, but it created the opposite effect. She was not going to let Kevin permeate another second of her life with his abuse and fear. There was no way in hell she was going to let him endanger the man she loved. She would fight to the death before she allowed that to happen. She was strong. She was powerful, and enough was enough. Sarah, keeping her chin tucked to her chest, raised her hands to his forearm clamped around her neck, as if trying to loosen his grip. Once her hands were in place, she slumped toward the ground. The sudden deadweight caused Kevin to stumble, giving her the opening she needed. Quick as lightning, she grabbed the barrel of his pistol with both hands and yanked it away from her face.
