Escapade (9781301744510)

by Susan Carroll

  Duffy didn't need to tell him that. But Zeke stood frozen,

  beset by the sensation of helplessness that had surged through him from that minute upon the stairs when he first realized the desperate peril Rory was in. What the hell could he do? There was no way to wrench Rory out of Mrs. Van Hallsburg's grasp without Rory being hurt or worse.

  All he could do was follow, clinging to the hope that there would be one moment when Mrs. Van H. would be distracted, lose her grasp upon Rory—one split second when he would be able to act.

  Yet it was as though Mrs. Van Hallsburg sensed the direction of his thoughts, for she didn't allow her concentration to waver for an instant, not even as she and Rory clambered into the gondola. Rory's assistants were too caught up in the launch of the balloon to notice anything amiss.

  Rory's chin was raised in a valiant effort to conceal her fear, but the pleading look in her eyes seared Zeke. Was there a chance that Mrs. Van Hallsburg would let her go once Rory had served her purpose, helped her to escape? As the lines were being cast off, Mrs. Van Hallsburg shifted her gaze to meet Zeke's, her impassive features flushed with a taunting triumph. Zeke knew that whatever Rory did, she was going to die.

  As the balloon lifted off, he charged forward. Shoving past the astonished Angelo, he grabbed onto a dangling rope and tried to hold the balloon earthbound. But he hadn't counted on the sheer power of the hissing behemoth above him.

  The balloon yanked him up as though he weighed no more than a rag doll, his feet kicking nothing but air. He heard the startled shouts from below and made the mistake of looking down at the wooden dock spinning rapidly away from him. For a second, he felt a rush of dizziness, the familiar nausea, but he forced himself to look up. The rope abraded his palms as he strained to climb upward and pull himself into the basket.

  Dragged down by Zeke's added weight, the balloon rose a few feet above the warehouse and no higher. Horrified, Rory peered over the side of the basket. She forgot her own danger in the face of Zeke's struggle for his life, fearing that any moment she would see his hands slip, his body hurtle back to smash against the docks.

  She made a frantic attempt to tug on the rope, help pull Zeke up to safety. A futile gesture. Idiot, she rebuked herself. The valve line, she needed to pull on the valve line, release enough air to lower gently, allow Zeke a chance to drop safely back to the ground.

  But as she spun about, she was chilled by a burst of laughter from Mrs. Van Hallsburg. She saw the woman striving to release some of the ballast so the balloon would surge even higher.

  Rory leaped to stop her, but Mrs. Van Hallsburg brought her gun back to bear. Rory slapped the weapon aside, deflecting it just as it went off, the shot whizzing harmlessly past, singeing one of the ropes. The gun flew from Mrs. Van Hallsburg's fingers, vanishing over the side of the gondola. With a shriek of fury, Mrs. Van Hallsburg lunged for Rory's throat.

  Rory fought with all her might to hold her off, but despite her brittle elegance, the woman seemed possessed of a demonic strength. Rory felt herself driven relentlessly backward. The basket pitched and Rory lost her balance. Mrs. Van Hallsburg shoved hard and Rory cried out as she fell, tumbling into nothingness.

  She grasped wildly, her fingers managing to close over the side of the basket. For a terrifying moment, she thought she couldn't hold on. She heard Zeke roar her name, glimpsed him swaying on the rope just beneath her.

  But she dared not look down. Mrs. Van Hallsburg's pale face hovered above her, the woman's length of white-gold hair blowing free in a witchlike tumble. She grasped Rory's fingers, her nails biting into Rory's flesh. Slowly, remorselessly, she began to pry Rory's hands away.

  Rory’s legs flailed against the tangle of her skirts. Her hands throbbed with pain as she felt her sweat-slickened fingers start to slip.

  "Zeke!" she cried. Below her, she sensed his struggles to scale the rope and reach her in time. She felt her foot strike against his shoulder just as she lost her grip.

  Her cry seemed borne away by the wind as she plummeted, knocking against Zeke. He grabbed for her, his fingers clamping ruthlessly about her wrist, arresting her plunge with a suddenness that nearly wrenched her arm from her socket. His other hand barely clutched the end of the rope, his incredible strength the only thing between them and certain death. His face was beaded with sweat, the cords of his neck muscles taut with the strain, and Rory knew he couldn't maintain this for long.

  Above them she had a glimpse of Mrs. Van Hallsburg, the woman's features contorted beyond recognition as she worked frantically to release the ballast, her smile insane.

  Zeke gave a roar of rage and despair. He suddenly stared downward as if mesmerized, and to Rory's horror, he let go the rope.

  As Rory fell, she had no time to even cry out. She struck ground much sooner than she anticipated, slamming down, the breath driven from her lungs. She felt Zeke landing hard beside her.

  For a moment she was too dazed to comprehend anything more than that by some miracle, they had dropped to the roof of the warehouse.

  After gulping in a few painful breaths, she struggled to sit up and reach out to Zeke, see if he was hurt. But he was already drawing himself up to his knees, gazing anxiously at her.

  "Rory. Are you all right?"

  She nodded and he swooped her into his arms, cradling her against him as though he would never let her go. Every muscle in her body ached, but she reveled in the feel of his strength, the reassuring thud of his heart thundering in rhythm with her own. The danger was past. They were safe, but to her astonishment, she burst into tears.

  "Hush, darling. Don't cry. It's all over now," Zeke said, brushing the hair back from her brow in a familiar gesture, the rough texture of his fingers gentle.

  "It was like a night¬mare. She- she- ."

  "She's gone, Rory. She'll never have a chance to hurt you again, damn her." He twisted his head, glancing skyward. Rory followed his gaze toward the vanishing speck that was the balloon. She knew it would have surged upward when she and Zeke dropped off, but not at such a rate as that. Mrs. Van Hallsburg had to be releasing the ballast like a madwoman, out of ignorance or design, propelling herself upward to those cold regions of sky where the air was too thin. Suddenly Rory recalled her dream of the night before and she understood its significance.

  "I suppose she will manage to escape," Zeke said bitterly. "Get away with everything she's done."

  "No," Rory whispered, a chill working through her. "There's no escaping the banshee."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Some distance beyond the farthest reaches of Fifth Avenue, pavement and mansions gave way to farmland, rolling green fields that stretched out in rural tranquility, fighting to ignore the encroachments of the ever-advancing city. Late that afternoon, the balloon that touched down seemed just one more of these. Tom Grey, the farmer who owned the land, was less shocked by the strange object entangled in the branches of his apple tree than he was by the fair-haired woman sprawled on her back near the tree's base, her sightless eyes turned toward the sky from which she had fallen.

  "Strangest darn thing," Farmer Grey told the police who had been summoned to remove the body back to the city morgue. "One of the warmest spring days we've had this year, and yonder she lies all stiff and cold, the blood fair frozen to her face. When I first came upon her, I was near sick. A horrible sight. I'll never forget it as long as I live.

  Hours later, Zeke Morrison feared that he might not either. He stood outside the door leading into the morgue, uncertain he could cross that threshold and imprint upon his memory whatever grim scene lay beyond.

  Duffy plucked at his sleeve. "Hey, Morrison, you going to be all right? You sure you want to go through with this? There are plenty of other people who could identify her. It's not exactly as though she was any relation of—" Duffy broke off, unable to meet Zeke's gaze. He reddened with embarrassment.

  "I'm going in," Zeke said. It wasn't a question of wanting to. He had to. He had permitted enough of his past t
o haunt him without allowing Cynthia Van Hallsburg to become the most formidable ghost of all.

  Shoving open the door, he stepped inside with Duffy following. A young policeman twitched back the sheet from the still, draped form resting upon the wooden table.

  Zeke braced himself, but whatever horrors he had been expecting were not forthcoming. Any blood had been cleaned away, and those mocking cold blue eyes were closed forever, the rigid contours of her face retaining only a hint of the beauty she once had been. Gazing down upon her, it was almost impossible to believe any spark of life had ever animated those impassive features.

  His mother.

  No matter what Mrs. Van Hallsburg had claimed, the word had no meaning when attached to her. Zeke tried to dredge up some emotion at her passing, pity, anger, relief. But he felt nothing.

  He made the identification and then left the room as the police officer drew the sheet back over her face. Outside, in the hall, Duffy appeared the more shaken, although he was doggedly making notes.

  "Thank God, that's over," he said. "Now I suppose you'll be hurrying back to your Miss Kavanaugh."

  Zeke nodded, Rory had wanted to accompany him to the police station, but he felt she had been through enough for one day. There had been so much he had wanted to say to her, but in the uproar that surrounded the aftermath of their narrow escape, the right moment had not presented itself.

  Perhaps he was simply stalling, uncertain of her response, still fearing her rejection. It had been one thing to dash into reckless action and, risk his neck to try to save her. A far different kind of courage was required to settle the differences between them, admit to her how wrong he had been and to ask her pardon.

  Duffy seemed to sense some of his trepidation, for he clapped Zeke on the shoulder and wished him luck. "I have to be rushing off myself," he said. "They're holding the presses for me. I've got a helluva tale to tell. I only hope I got all the details straight." Duffy cleared his throat, appearing uncomfortable. "Uh, Morrison, I couldn't help wondering. That wasn't true, was it, all that nonsense Mrs. Van Hallsburg spouted about your being her-"

  "Her bastard son?" Zeke filled in when Duffy hesitated. "Yes, it was. You've always said you'd get your story about me. Well, now I guess you have it."

  Duffy folded his notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about. Everyone knows Cynthia Van Hallsburg died childless. As far as I'm concerned, there won't be anything worthwhile to print about you until the notice of your wedding."

  Zeke stared at him, astonished, more moved than he could say by this evidence of Duffy's friendship. He extended his hand in a gesture of gratitude, but Duffy, never able to stay still for long, was already gone.

  Twilight settled over McCreedy Street, the rows of tall brick houses basking in the last rays of the setting sun. The peaceful silence was only broken by the rattle of the occasional coach wheel or some straggling urchin being called into supper.

  Rory sat on the front stoop of her apartment building, watching the moon rise. As a warm breeze tickled her cheek, she breathed deeply, appreciating as she never had before the sights and sounds of her street, not even minding the occasional yapping of Finn McCool.

  After the madness she had lived through earlier, it was all so blessedly sane, so wonderfully normal. Rory wished she could lean back and fully enjoy the evening like any other girl on a Friday night, waiting for her beau to call.

  But if Zeke did fulfill his promise to return, she knew he would be pulled down, wearied from his visit to the morgue. Despite the way they had clung to each other upon the warehouse roof, the tensions from their previous quarrel yet remained.

  That realization still did not prevent her from glancing eagerly down the street at every new clopping of horses' hooves. A wry smile touched Rory's lips as she couldn't help remembering Zeke's last grand entrance onto McCreedy Street. When he did come, he would likely bring Miss Flanagan rushing to her window again.

  After an hour of waiting, the minutes began to drag by. Rory's pleasure in the evening began to fade before a feeling of mounting disappointment. Another vehicle turned the corner, but it was only a battered old wagon with two men perched upon the box. Rory regarded it with scant interest until it drew closer and she was better able to remark the outline of the second man, settled next to the driver. The narrow wagon seat was barely constructed to accommodate Zeke's broad shoulders and athletic build.

  Her mouth flying open in astonishment, Rory shot to her feet as the wagon pulled over to the curb. Even more startling than Zeke's manner of arrival were the contents of the wagon. She stared in disbelief at the familiar shape of the gondola, the ropes and trappings of the Katie Moira.

  When Zeke clambered down from his perch, her stunned gaze flicked from him to the balloon and back again. She had rehearsed many ways of greeting him upon his return, but now all of them flew out of her head as she practically babbled.

  "Zeke. What the . . . I never expected- I don't understand. What is this?"

  "It's your balloon, Aurora Rose," he said with a flash of his old humor. "As long as I was down at the police station, I supposed I might as well see if there was anything left of the blasted thing. I lack your expert eye, but I think the gas bag can be mended. If you would give me the keys to the warehouse, I'll have it sent on there."

  Rory was too dumbfounded by his gesture to respond. With great patience, he repeated his request until she finally groped in her pocket and handed the keys over. Zeke retrieved something from the front seat of the wagon before sending it on its way. When Rory followed the vehicle's progress up the street, still tempted to rub her eyes, Zeke asked, "Is something wrong? I assumed you would want the balloon retrieved."

  "Yes, I would and I am very glad you did. But after your experience today, I would scarce have blamed you if you had wanted to set fire to it."

  "The thought did occur to me," he admitted. "But hell, the day might come when I actually will be able to get myself to go up again. Though next time, I'd prefer to be in the basket."

  "Me too," Rory said with a wavering smile, her wonder increasing along with the accelerated tempo of her heart, the wild hopes fluttering inside her.

  She could hardly believe she was hearing these things from Zeke. He appeared much the same, with his heart-stopping grin, the inflexible line of his jaw, and yet she sensed a difference as well, a thoughtful stillness in the depths of those jet-black eyes. Deep shadows rimmed them, hinting at what he must have suffered in the past hours from Mrs. Van Hallsburg's cruel revelations.

  Rory longed to stroke back the strands of hair that drooped stubbornly across his brow, kiss away some of those shadows, but she felt suddenly shy. Perhaps it was the unaccustomed diffidence in Zeke's own manner that communicated itself to her.

  For the first time she realized what he had fetched away from the wagon. Clutched in one of his large fists was a small bouquet. When he noticed her staring, he thrust the flowers toward her.

  "Here, you better take these. I'm beginning to feel a little foolish holding them."

  It was a simple arrangement of violets and daisies, but Rory accepted it with delight, burying her nose among the blossoms, enjoying the sweet scent.

  "Goodness," she said. "I've never received flowers from a gentleman before."

  "Haven't you?” he asked with a rush of his former impetuousness. "If I had known that, I would have bought you an entire—" He checked himself with a self-conscious laugh, looking sheepish.

  "These are just fine," Rory assured him. Their eyes met, locking in a sudden silent understanding that the rush of words that followed couldn't hope to match.

  They both burst into speech at once.

  "Rory, I want to tell you how sorry I am about everything. That's why I came to the warehouse today."

  "Oh, no, Zeke. It was all my fault. I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you."

  "You had every right to be. I was a pigheaded fool."

  "But all those dreadfu
l things I said. I never meant any of them."

  "Everything you said was perfectly true."

  "No, I was cruel and unkind."

  With each breathless rush of words, they inched closer, Zeke grasping one of her hands between his own. "Then you can forgive me for what I did? I'd give you the warehouse or it could belong to both of us if-. Aurora Rose, could you possibly still consider being my wife?"

  Rory doubted that John Ezekiel Morrison had ever made such a humble request of anyone in all of his life. She whispered her response. "Oh, yes, Zeke. Yes."

  She flung her arms about his neck, half crushing the bouquet, sending a shower of daisy petals raining down over Zeke's frock coat. His head bent down to hers, seeking her lips in a tender kiss that erased all the misery and misunderstanding of the past twenty-four hours.

  She clung to him, urging him to intensify the embrace with a passion that was at both fierce and gentle. Lost in each other's arms, they hardly noticed the last of twilight deepening into darkness or the lamplighter making his rounds, setting McCreedy Street softly aglow.

  Rory lingered with Zeke, whispering pledges of love in the darkened, rustling shadows. They sat side by side on her front stoop, her head resting against his shoulder, as they made plans for a future that now beckoned brightly with promise.

  He told her all that he had done the night he had slammed out of her apartment, his walk back through his old neighborhood, his reunion with his family.

  "I realized then," he said, "that there were some parts of my past, no matter how painful, that I couldn't and didn't want to put behind me. Cynthia Van Hallsburg abandoned me to a life of hell. If it hadn't been for a woman like Sadie."

  He had to pause a moment before he could go on. "There's a lot of kids, a lot of people back there in the slums that weren't so lucky. I never really believed any of that misery could be changed; I thought that Addison's dreams were all a little cockeyed. But I've been doing some thinking. I'll never be any wide-eyed crusader, but I've always been a fighter. Maybe I could make a difference."