We walked through the building, which looked like it was the entire floor of a large apartment building. There were doors all over the place that led to who knows where. But at last we came to what had to be the main living quarters. No expense had been spared. The carpeting, the furniture—it was all top of the line, shiny, and luxurious. We went into a parlor with dark wood floors, a black and white rug running the entire length of the room, and chic black and white furniture perfectly placed. Sitting on a couch, bound and gagged . . . was Roxy.
CHAPTER 33
How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?
—ML
The guards wouldn’t let us near her and slammed us both down onto a couch and then walked to the back of the room. Even though the gag marred her face, I could read one expression loud and clear in her eyes: Roxy was ticked off. I was so relieved to see her alive, and, although incensed, she seemed unharmed.
The two main doors swung open with dramatic flair, and in came . . . Lizzie. She was nervously clasping her hands as she crept over to within a few feet of us. She started to say something in a quivering voice. “Oh, my God, I found you guys.... I . . . I don’t—”
My eyes narrowed as I coldly cut her off. “Save it. We figured it out already.”
With that utterance, a slow, wicked smile crept across her lips. I watched in dismay as her entire demeanor transformed. She stopped that squint of hers, and her hazel eyes opened up wide; they were much larger and rounder than I had thought. She stood up straight, and suddenly she was just about as tall as me. Her shoulders dropped back, and she had a regal air about her. It was a total metamorphosis. She even shrugged off the little black cardigan she’d been wearing so she could show off her gorgeous figure highlighted by a little black evening dress. The only thing that remained the same was her glorious mane of red hair cascading down her back.
She licked her lips, relishing our shock. I think Roarke was drooling.
“Reel it in, Roarke, sheesh,” I said. Lizzie let out a light peal of laughter, enjoying this moment with every ounce of her being. I stole a glance at Roxy and caught her rolling her eyes.
“So, Lizzie, looks like you’ve been a busy girl.” I hoped that my slightly condescending tone would aggravate her and make her start talking; I had a lot of questions that needed answering. It worked. A little too well.
She stalked over to me, looking me right in the eyes. She took one long, bloodred fingernail and stroked the side of my face from top to bottom and said in a slow, husky voice, “Don’t ever call me Lizzie. Again.” Then she drew back and slapped my face a stunning blow.
“My name is Eliza!” She said her name with passion, anger, and something like adoration. I could hear Roarke practically growling. My eyes had tears in them from the sting. This was quite a dramatic performance. It made me wonder if she’d rehearsed it.
I said, through my clenched teeth, “Got it. Eliza.” I didn’t say anything else, hoping she’d want to hear her own voice some more.
She did. In purring tones, she said, “Oh, you think you’ve got it all figured out, Lane? I’ve been playing you since I started working at your worthless little office. It was grueling being that ridiculous Lizzie every day. I abhor that name, but it fit well enough. And, I acquired my target.” She was thoroughly enjoying gloating over me.
I asked, with an innocent voice, knowing full well it would get under her skin, “Were you doing all this to help your mother?”
She swung around with flaming eyes, and I thought she was going to smack me again. I connected eyes with Roxy, of all people, and she gave me wide eyes with a slight turn of her head, wordlessly saying, Be careful.
I now knew beyond a doubt that the woman in Metropolitan Hospital, the woman who leered over me while I was in the hospital as a little girl, was Lizzie’s mom, not Roxy’s. It was Lizzie who had lost a father on that same ice that took my parents; Lizzie who had formed a relationship with Danny; Lizzie who had plotted to kill me. Lizzie was Louise Franco.
My dream the night before had slipped the final piece of the puzzle into place. I had been blaming Roxy: the one who had the yellow scarf, the one I was jealous of, the one who was so easy to hate. But the bright scarf around her neck in the dream wasn’t yellow; it was red. Like Lizzie’s hair. It made me look at everything from a new angle. And there was that hat she had on as she walked the beach. It was the same hat that hadn’t seemed right at Roxy’s apartment. I remembered the line of hat hooks on the wall, and all of them were taken. Roxy was so neat and everything had its perfect place; if the hat had been hers, there would have been an empty hook for it. Secondly, seeing an unremarkable hat on a table is hard to identify, but when you see it on the person’s head . . . I remembered seeing Lizzie wear that hat to work.
Lizzie, now Eliza, regained her control, and with a calculated twirl of her fingers through her hair, she began again, warming to the topic. “Oh, my mother? No. Not for my mother, Lane. She was a mean drunk to begin with, then crazy to boot. I learned real fast, even as a little girl”—she said little girl through her teeth with raw hatred—“to hide behind a facade. To become whatever I needed to become to survive. After the accident, which obviously was no accident, that killed my father in Michigan, my mother went even further into the bottle.
“You want to know how twisted my reality became? I was glad when the mob came into our lives,” Eliza said, with bitter derision. “And it’s all your fault, Lane.”
My eyes snapped open wide, and I blurted out, “I was ten!”
“I was thirteen! Well aware of what was happening, but still a child. And it was your family who came to peaceful Rochester. And ruined it. Just like your parents ruined my life, I felt it my duty to ruin yours.”
Eliza took a deep breath and walked back to a bar, where she poured herself a large glass of whiskey and swigged it down in one mouthful. She slammed the glittering glass back onto the bar with such force that it cracked in her hands. She didn’t notice.
I kept quiet; she was on a roll. “When Danny came to Detroit with his uncle on business, he discovered me, and we fell in love. Well, he thought we were in love,” she said, with self-congratulatory aplomb.
“He convinced his uncle that they should help us move out to New York. My dearest mother still had her beauty at the time, and plenty of deceit to convince the bosses that she’d be an asset. So we moved. No looking back. But it was only a matter of time before they figured out my mom wasn’t all there, so to speak.
“So, in order to survive—again—I had to figure out my own way. I found out that I had quite a mind for business and started my own affairs. I had quite a proclivity, shall we say, for”—she licked her red lips again; I couldn’t help but think of a vampire—“giving men what they wanted and getting them to give me what I wanted: money. Information. Leverage. And after I got mother locked up at Metropolitan Hospital, I could begin a new life.”
She might have hated her mother, but the theatrics made me think the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I decided to risk another question, as it looked like she might get stuck on reveling in her great accomplishments. “And how did you find me?”
Her eyes flashed. She said, “Oh, I remembered your name and your face. So it was easy enough, what with your aunt’s notoriety as a philanthropist and artist. Plus, my mother had talked about you enough. She was obsessed with you. She even went to the hospital when you were in a coma. I think she had in mind to finish the job, but she never got the chance.” She sneered at the recognition that must have hit my face.
Eliza went on, “So, I got a job to be close to you, to figure you out. I also sold information from the mayor’s office to interested buyers. Plus, my mother had told me of artwork and other valuables that your family was supposed to have. Paintings and books and stolen items from the war. I got wind of someone who was thinking up a scheme to take down our silly little mayor, and I saw my chance. I could get rid of that dago mo
ckery of a mayor while warming up to the new guys in charge, perhaps do some treasure hunting, and make your life miserable. All in one fell swoop.”
“So, who’s behind this big scheme?” I asked. I glanced at Roarke, and I could tell he was barely breathing, trying hard not to break the spell that kept Eliza talking.
“Oh, someone I’m dying for you to meet. But Danny was my original partner; he wanted to do something to impress his uncle. The Uncle Louie. He started working with a couple of guys who wanted to help oust Fiorello. So we started working on some plans. It was a perfect opportunity to form a new and stronger alliance with some movers and shakers. But then Danny had to start getting impatient, taking things into his own hands. Such a shame, too, he was pretty cute.” She spoke of him like he was a little pocket dog, a chihuahua she carried around.
“But whatta you do? He got in the way.” She made a shooting gun gesture, clicking her tongue when she pulled the trigger. “But by then I’d gone into business on my own. I didn’t need him anymore.”
“Gone into business?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, my own endeavors were much more reliable and quite lucrative. Danny had already loused up the burglary at your home and the mugging in the subway, and he almost ruined the setup of the biggest event in New York history by setting the bomb at Randall’s Island.” She shook her head, making a tsk tsk sound. “He couldn’t be trusted any longer. And my new partners were all about waiting for the perfect time. It’s true, Lane, I admit I failed in finding any supposed treasure from your family, if there really was any to begin with. However, I think the next part of our plan will leave you shocked and amazed.” Like I was about to attend a marvelous and entertaining circus show. She just needed an evil laugh to make the picture complete.
Eliza was tiring of waiting. Think think think. How can I keep her talking? She had been pacing like a caged animal, waiting for something or someone. “And Roxy? How does she fit in with your plan?” I wanted so badly to be sarcastic and rude, but knew that could be quite deadly at the moment. I carefully restrained my roaring emotions.
“Oh, don’t you see?” She took a good, sarcastically pitying look at me. She bent a little, putting her hands on her knees like someone explaining something to a little child. “Oh, of course you don’t see. But she was so utterly perfect! You were clearly jealous of her and perfectly willing to make her the villain. It hardly took any maneuvering on my part at all.” I stole a glance at Roxy as I felt a blush rush up my cheeks, and she gave me an incredulous look. Eliza was gaining steam again, warming to her revelations.
“And to top it all off, my mother has that horrid platinum blond hair just like that bimbo,” she said as she thumbed a point in Roxy’s direction, which gained a glare from that party. “Oh, my God, I can’t tell you how painful it’s been trying to pretend to be her best friend.” I was just as appalled as Roxy at these harsh words. Again I looked at Roxy, and she looked like I felt after I got slapped. Then a look of raw hatred and vengeance came through those baby blue eyes. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.
“I had you wrapped around my little finger, Lane. Yeah, talented Lane, Fiorello’s pet. Outwitted by me,” she said as she mock-kissed the air. “I planted Roxy’s scarf back at that Midtown fire that Danny started in order to introduce himself to you. I planned a whole night with Roxy and a couple of guys in that area. Got her to come to the fire just after you arrived so you could see her in the distance, then goaded her into calling Fio and telling on you,” she said, with a smirk.
I recalled that night, running to the scene, seeing the competent and caring Fio watching over his firemen, seeing Roarke furiously writing down his notes . . . feeling Danny pull me into those dangerous shadows.
Eliza feverishly continued, “I had a field day watching your reaction to Roxy as she took over your job when you had a leave of absence from your little tumble into the subway. You weren’t supposed to make it out alive, by the way, but this was fun, too. And that incriminating letter about Randall’s Island. Now, that was a masterpiece of a red herring. Long ago, I learned how to imitate anyone, any emotion, anything. Even Roxy’s excruciatingly neat handwriting.
“Y’see, like I said, Danny wasn’t cooperating. He wouldn’t listen to me when I told him to back off and quit showing off. He wanted to do the Randall’s Island bomb. I knew that number one, he’d mess it up somehow.” She ticked off her fingers as she counted down his mistakes. “And two, it could make our big event today harder to pull off. I figured a letter in Roxy’s handwriting would continue to make her look guilty as well as put you on Danny’s incompetent trail to stop it before he ruined the setup. And if you got hurt in the process, all the better.” She was thoroughly enjoying this. I was hoping it was making her high, undisciplined, reckless.
Then a noise drifted up from downstairs, and when I looked back at Eliza—her sexy black dress, her flowing red hair and man-eating red lipstick—my heart started to nervously beat as the hairs on my neck rose. I had a feeling these next several minutes would make or break this case. And quite possibly make or break me.
Eliza was electric. Her eyes lit up as if she had a delectable surprise for us and she could hardly bear the anticipation. As Eliza was almost jumping up and down in excitement, Roarke, Roxy, and I quickly looked at each other. We took a deep breath . . . and we tried to speak volumes with fearful, scanty glances. This was it.
The doorknob twisted, and in walked my nightmares: Daley Joseph, Donagan Connell, and, last in line, Finn.
CHAPTER 34
Love is eternal—the aspect may change, but not the essence.
—ML
Eliza was watching my face like a hawk. Finn looked at Eliza and gave her a devious smile. My stomach turned.
Eliza clapped her hands and then sauntered over to Donagan, her red hair shining in the lamplight. He took her tiny waist in his hands and gave her a disgusting, wet, lip-smacking kiss. And then my eyes were pulled over to Daley Joseph. He was Joseph right now, in his tuxedo and crisp white shirt. But those horrid nostril hairs were as bristly as ever, and memories of the most terrifying night of my life came careening back into my mind: his slightly damp hand curled effortlessly around my throat, Finn standing there doing nothing, the feeling of helplessness coursing through my veins. I could feel the blood drain from my face. Then again, the loathing I felt for Eliza boosted my strength, and I forced myself to be angry at the situation. To think clearly.
Donagan, the obvious leader, broke the silence first. “Well, well, well . . . What a gorgeous collection you have for me, Eliza. Well done.” He chuckled his approval menacingly.
“Thank you, Donagan,” she purred. “I thought you’d like to see my handiwork in person. Before we, ah, dispense with them.” She carelessly swept her hand in our direction like we were a pile of newspapers to be thrown into the trash without a thought.
“Yyyyes,” he returned, with an answering deep purr of his own. And then, terrifyingly, he walked toward me. “I’ve been wanting to see this famous Lane up close.” He came within an uncomfortable six inches and scrutinized my face like a doctor looking for a skin cancer.
“You, my dear, keep making things difficult for me. Mm hmm.” I wanted to spit in his face. His red, nappy hair was like a rusty aura. He had pale white skin and a tall forehead. He would have been a good-looking man, except that he had a scar across his cheek that marred his lips. And I remembered Fio had said something about his face, how it almost looked like he had incongruous makeup on. It was true, and it gave his face a disturbing sense of a masquerade, like a Phantom of the Opera essence. He was overpowering, almost suffocating.
Eliza was drunk with the moment of her victory and made her first mistake. She said flippantly, “I was just filling them in on how incompetent they’ve been. I had them wrapped around my little . . . finger.” She stammered to a halt as she caught a disapproving look from Donagan.
“You’ve been gloating,” he said, with a schoolmarm’s disapproval.
>
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t call it gloating. . . .” And then that little snipe did one of her great maneuvering tricks as she took on an innocent, coy look. She slunk over to Donagan and stroked his chest with that same long red fingernail that had stroked my cheek.
“Donagan,” she whispered, “I was just having a little fun with my catch, darling. I’m sorry if that made you upset. You’re the boss. Show me how you want to handle them.” She was incredible. He ate it up. When he looked away, Eliza caught my eye and winked.
I had been avoiding looking at Finn. I just didn’t think I could take it. After everything we said. Those kisses . . . I pushed hard against my thoughts that wanted to drift back to our night during the thunderstorm, that steamy kiss in the park, and our last dance in the candlelit foyer.... I could not go down that road and survive this. It was too painful.
“We need to be heading to our next stop, Donagan, if we want to stay on schedule,” drawled Finn as he looked meaningfully at his watch.
“In a hurry, Finn?” gurgled Daley Joseph, with a wicked grin.
Finn returned that with a casual parry. “Oh, no, only keeping time with the plans that have taken two years to complete. But if you’d like to stay and chat a while, that’s fine.” He walked over to the bar and poured a whiskey for himself. Instead of slamming it like Eliza had done, he casually sipped it. Like he was doing nothing but enjoying an afternoon at his country club. Then he leisurely walked back over to Donagan, still carrying his drink.
“Finn’s right, Joseph,” said Donagan. “We’d better head out. Get those two bodyguards to come here and finish up.” He said this with a smirk that sent chills up my spine, and the two guards came over, one forcing me to my feet and the other taking Roarke to the other side of the room with a gun to his back.
The Silver Gun Page 27
