“You killed my parents,” Ashley said in a voice she hardly recognized, fear and hatred colliding inside of her.
“It’s not my fault they got in the way. This house would have been a pile of ashes if it weren’t for them.” Frankie pinched her chin then let go of her face with a rough shove.
More memories rushed back—the terrified expression on her mother’s face; a bleeding gash on Frankie’s cheek, his mouth twisted in a snarl as he smothered her mother’s face with a towel. Ashley sobbed out a breath, tears pooling in her eyes.
“You and your firefighter friends murdered them in cold blood,” Ashley added in a hoarse voice. “Why couldn’t you just let them leave?”
“Because they would have owned this,” he indicated the house, “or rebuilt it once we torched it. Doyle was too chicken to do something about them. He asked me to take care of the house once they left, but they had to die. He just didn’t understand why they had to die, just like he doesn’t understand why you and Nina must too. You always tie all the loose ends, or they lead back to you.” He chuckled ominously. “And he calls himself a visionary and me a sociopath. I’ve always hated labels since I was a child. Psychopath, sociopath, psychotic, antisocial, arsonist, schizophrenic, insane, what do doctors know. I’m an artist.” He thumped his chest with the bat. “Just like you.”
Ashley’s level of panic shot up. The man was clearly deranged, and Doyle was right after all. Frankie did things behind his back.
“And what do you mean by my firefighter buddies?” Frankie interrupted her thoughts.
For a moment, Ashley wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Then she remembered. “The four men Doyle paid to help you start the fire.”
Frankie limped to where Vaughn’s legs were splayed and grabbed a foot. He tugged hard, shifting Vaughn and freeing one of Ashley’s legs. She shifted her hips as he continued to haul the younger man off her. If she could sweep a leg under Frankie’s bad leg, she might knock him off balance and bolt.
“Three, not four.” He dropped Vaughn’s leg and wobbled forward to grab his wrists. “It felt good to blow them out of the water. They did nothing to earn their money, except supply me with untraceable accelerant and delay their response time to the 911 call. But Noble foiled that plan too, didn’t he? He wasn’t even a full-time firefighter, yet he just happened to be at the fire station when the call went through.”
Now he had Ashley’s attention. “Noble wasn’t in on it?”
His eyes flashed with malice. “No, but he got what was coming to him. Doyle didn’t take kindly to anyone touching Nina, so he asked me to soil Noble’s memory. I deposited the money in Noble’s account and let him take credit for my work, the final nail in his coffin.” One last pull and Ashley was free of Vaughn’s weight. Her legs tingled as circulation rushed back into her lower extremities. “I would have loved to see Nina’s face when she heard her precious husband was behind the fire.” He laughed like a maniac and dragged Vaughn toward the front entrance.
Ashley folded her legs and started to get up. Frankie’s head whipped up.
“Don’t move,” he snarled, a vicious gleam blazing in his eyes. “This will be over soon enough. If I you behave, you’ll go to sleep just like your daddy did and not feel any pain. But if act like your crazy mama, I will make you pay. The crazy bitch hurt me.” He sounded petulant, like a child whose toy didn’t act like he’d expected. “I don’t like to get angry when I work. It messes with my concentration. You should understand that, being an artist and all. Dunn showed me some of your pieces when he planted those bugs at your place.”
The thought of this man inside her loft made her feel violated, but she had no time for indignation. Her eyes darted around the foyer and searched for an escape route. Her gaze landed on the front door with its bolts. An idea popped in her head. Could she make it before him this time? He had a limp now and was older. And she had mace.
Her hand crept inside her bag. She closed her fingers around the cylinder, pulled it out and gripped it tight. As though he sensed her plans, Frankie paused and glanced at her, his eyes cold and menacing. He must have decided she’d behave, because he went back to hauling Vaughn.
Ashley sprung forward and sprinted toward the door. She squirted the mace gel in his general direction as she neared the door, dropped the can and reached for the knob. She almost made it. He grabbed her from behind. Ashley screamed, writhed, kicked and jerked to escape his grasp.
“Shut up,” he snarled and clapped a hand across her mouth.
She sank her teeth in the flesh of his hand. He cursed and flung her to the side. Ashley landed on her back, skidded on the floor until the back of her head connected with the wall. For a moment, all she saw were stars. Then Frankie’s sadistic face hovered above her, his baseball bat readied for a strike.
Ashley closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain that was sure to follow. Frankie cursed at her, calling her every filthy name in the book. Then he went quiet. The sound of the front door creaking caused her to open her eyes.
He was in the doorway, having a hard time pulling Vaughn with a bleeding hand and that stupid bat under his armpit. She stayed in the same position, her neck at an uncomfortable angle so he’d think she was still unconscious. She bid her time, her heart pounding, her entire body throbbing. Frankie glanced her way one more time, then stepped outside and dragged Vaughn across the threshold.
Ashley scrambled to her feet and raced toward the door, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Frankie saw her coming, but with Vaughn’s body between him and the door, he couldn’t reach her. The last thing she saw was his wide eyes as she slammed the door shut. She rammed the bolts in place and took a step back, her heart pounding and sweat trickling down her back. Any minute, she expected Frankie to shove his bat against the glass panels, reach inside and unlock the door. All she heard were curses, then silence. She swallowed, her knees shaking and teeth chattering.
Think, Ashley. Don’t let terror paralyze you now. She couldn’t afford to check whether Frankie was still out there. A house this big probably had more than one entrance. Then there were the tunnels and the secret rooms.
Ashley hurried across the room to where she’d dropped her mace, then went for her bag. She fished inside her bag for her cell phone and pressed the power button with a trembling thumb. Muffled sounds came from the basement, again. Her heart froze, the phone almost slipping from her hand. She stared at the door with wide eyes, her fingers pressing buttons without looking at who she was calling.
She heard them, the scraping sounds of footsteps on the wooden floor. Ashley whirled. Her gaze swung to the front door, except it wasn’t the front door anymore. She was inside a room, alone in dark, hiding and waiting. The footsteps grew closer and closer. Ashley shook her head. Her memories were screwing with her head. No one’s there…just your imagination….
The past receded and the present came into focus as the foyer replaced the dark room. The bolts at the front door snapped back, one at a time. The sounds reverberated through the empty house like gunshots, causing her to flinch. The knob turned. She shuffled toward the basement door, her body shaking so much her legs threatened to give away from under her. Time slowed down as the door swung open and Frankie limped into the foyer, his eyes in slits.
Ashley slapped the phone to her ear. “Help us. I’m at Carlyle House. Nina’s trapped in the basement.”
“You bitch,” Frankie snarled.
***
“I’m going to make you beg me to kill you,” a man’s voice echoed through the receiver, sending a chill through Ron.
He stopped yelling Ashley’s name and broke into a run through the terminal. He jumped over luggage, bumped a few people and shouted, “sorry” over his shoulder. At the front of the building, he recognized Kenny’s man and raced toward the SUV. The man saw him coming, got behind the wheel and gunned the engine.
Ron dived in beside him. “Carlyle House.”
As the man left the terminal and turne
d right on La Tijera Boulevard, Ron speed dialed Kenny’s number. Cold sweat pooled on his brow and trickled down his face. Every breath he took hurt his chest. “He’s got them. The bastard Frankie has Ashley and my mother at Carlyle House,” he croaked.
“What? But your mother—”
“Is an expert at escaping paparazzi. Your men didn’t stand a chance. Call Ashley’s cousin and tell him to get to the house. She sounded bad, man. Terrified.”
“Meet you there.”
Ron snapped the phone shut and scrubbed his hand over his face. He rolled his shoulders to ease the knots of tension and leaned back against his seat. For the first time in his adult life he didn’t know what to do, and it scared the hell out of him. Everything was out of his reach. Doyle. Frankie. Ashley. His mother. Would he save the women he loved or let them down? No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. Ashley was his future. Not rescuing her from a murderous maniac was not even an option.
He dialed her number again.
***
Ashley leapt toward the basement door, slammed it shut behind just as her phone started to ring. She ignored it and fumbled with the lock. The lone bulb had given up a while back and the hallway was in darkness. Expecting Frankie to break the door and rush after her, she raced down the stairs to the only lit room, her bag bouncing against her hip.
She froze at the entrance. Instead of bare floors and walls, the room was opulently decorated—black, leather chairs and African motifs on paneled walls, velvet burgundy draperies on the windows and bar stools along a gleaming, dark cherry counter and hardwood floor with area rugs. A figure on the sofa drew her attention.
“Daddy?” she gulped.
Not real. None of this is real. Despite her thoughts, she still raised her arms as though to touch him. A sound came from behind her and she whipped around, her mace ready, but there was no one on the stairs. More memories rushed back with a vengeance, her past and present meshing, haunting her.
Frankie entered the room and approached her father from behind. Behind him stood Sherry with another towel, waiting. Before her father realized he wasn’t alone, Frankie slapped a cloth on his face. Her father started to get up, but the combination of alcohol he’d been consuming and whatever Frankie had put on the cloth weakened his responses. He jerked, then went still and fell sideways, his head lolling on the arm of the sofa. Frankie threw down the cloth and reached for the one Sherry held.
A mewling sound escaped Ashley’s lips and her knees threatened to give out from underneath her as her mother appeared from a side-door leading to the downstairs bathrooms. She shut her eyes tight, a futile attempt to block out the images and stop the next scenes from unfolding. It didn’t work.
Her mother saw her husband’s prone body and the people standing over him and screamed. She turned to run, but Frankie grabbed her and lifted her in the air, her kicks and screams useless against his strength. He tried to cover her mouth with the cloth, but she twisted her head and scratched his face.
He threw her down, her body landing next to her husband’s. Frankie grabbed her face and slapped her, the force jerking her head back. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, Frankie close behind her. Her hand closed around the champagne flute on the coffee table. As Frankie reached for her, the cloth in his hand, she smashed the crystal on the table, turned and brought the jagged edge toward Frankie’s face.
Black spots appeared in Ashley’s vision, the tell-tale acrid smell of smoke drifting to her nose. She struggled to concentrate on the present—the bare walls, the brown carpet, the source of the smoke. Nothing worked. She closed her eyes and sunk onto the floor.
A more recent vision appeared—Ron smiling, eyes shining with love; Ron cleaning her wounded feet; Ron sitting by her side during hypnosis. He loved her and wouldn’t want her to give up.
Ashley focused and found balance. Reality shifted. The bare room came into focus. The pungent air drifting from upstairs was real smoke, not something from her imagination. Her eyes stung and her throat tickled. She coughed. Another sound echoed it, causing her heart to jump to her throat. She got to her feet and walked further into the room, searching for the source. Bound legs sticking from behind the counter on the floor caught her eyes first. It was Nina, her mouth, hands and legs tied with duct tape.
Just as Ashley rushed forward, flames licked the top stair. They leaped and crept downstairs. The smoke grew thicker. Coughing, she rushed to Nina’s side, gripped the edge of the duct tape covering the actress’ mouth and yanked hard. The woman gasped.
“Are you okay, Nina?”
The actress nodded.
“We must hide in the speakeasy room,” Ashley said as she freed Nina’s ankles and helped her up. She’d survived the last fire because of that room. They were going to survive this one, too. “Where’s the door that leads to it?” she asked, panting.
Nina pointed at the wall across the room. “Secret panel. Over there.”
“Go. I’ll pull the fire alarm.” Ashley ran to the wall at the foot of the stairs, reached up and gripped the central bar. She yanked it hard. The ear-splitting sound of the fire alarm resounded in the empty house. She fought dizziness as she ran to where Nina was pushing a section of the wall.
Ashley gave it all she had, bouts of coughing and dizziness slowing her down. But she kept pushing and pushing until the wall gave. With a final heave, they cracked a space wide enough for a person to fit through. She pushed Nina inside first then followed, almost tripping over the actress who was doubled over coughing. Ashley shoved until the wall closed again. She sagged against the door, her chest hurting, eyes burning and tears running down her face. She took gulps of air. The moldy stench was a blessing after the pungent smoke. And they were safe now. But for how long?
There was no time to worry about that. She touched the concrete wall and searched for a switch. There was none and the wall was damp. Determined not to panic, Ashley fumbled inside her bag for her cell phone. The call she’d missed was from Ron, but she couldn’t call him back because there was no signal. The concrete walls of the secret room blocked it. Ashley lifted her cell phone and used the LCD light from its screen to get her bearing.
Just like Ron had told her, the room was huge and piles of boxes and wooden crates were everywhere. Beside her, Nina was bent over, the heels of her palm on her knees, her breathing shallow. “Are you okay?” Ashley asked.
“I’ll live, thanks to you. I’m so sorry for everything. The way I treated you and blamed you for everything,” she moaned. “That man bragged to me about everything, killing your parents, destroying my husband’s reputation.” A sob escaped her, which became a cough.
Ashley hesitated before she put her arms around Nina. When the older woman clung to her, Ashley supported her frail body. “Let’s not talk about that now,” she said when Nina stopped coughing. “Ron mentioned a secret exit. Do you know where it is?”
“It was sealed a long time ago.” Another bout of coughing hit her.
Ashley waited for it to pass then eased the actress down onto the floor, which from the glow of her cell phone, was wet and filthy. She could swear she heard something scurry in the dark. But filth and rats were the least of their problems. They had to find that sealed door. The broken legs of stools and chairs lying around could make perfect tools for loosening the bricks. “Stay here while I find it,” she told Nina.
Nina clung to her hand. “No, don’t leave me. Please.” She spoke in a raspy, shallow voice that was beginning to worry Ashley.
She helped Nina to her feet and raised her cell phone to light their way. “Then we’ll stay together.”
***
Dread crept through Ron when he neared the house and saw the smoke. He was out of the SUV and running before the driver stopped. Hungry flames lit the windows and smoke swirled from turbine air vents. He could hear fire engines mingle with the house alarm as he sprinted past Ashley’s car and the Camry his mother had borrowed. He didn’t slow down as he yanked off his jacket and c
lutched it in one hand. He tripped over a baseball bat and almost landed facedown on the steps.
His training as a firefighter—every protocol drilled in him—was forgotten as he yanked open the door and entered the foyer. Smoke stung his eyes. His throat closed and his lungs protested with each inhale. The crackles and hisses came from the grand staircase and most of upstairs, but the smoke was too thick to see where the flames were concentrated.
Control the panic. Focus on the task. Failure wasn’t an option. Short of breath and dizzy with fear, he crouched low and ran to the ground floor bathroom, which was far from the stairs. He turned on the faucet and dunked his jacket, wet his clothing, face and hair.
Blood pounded in his ears, sweat poured from his brow and he could swear the walls were closing in on him. He willed his faltering heart to slow down, as he hurried from the bathroom, the dripping coat over his head and shoulders. He used the coat’s tail to cover his mouth and nose. Sounds from outside indicated the firefighters had arrived, but he kept going toward the basement door. Ashley had said Frankie was keeping his mother downstairs, so that was the most likely place to find both of them.
He tried the basement knob, his hand covered with the wet coat. He felt the heat, took a step back and kicked it down. Fire leapt at him when the door swung open. He blocked his face with his right arm and staggered backward.
Someone flung something on his arm and pushed him toward the front door. He could barely see the firefighter through his smarting eyes. At the door, the man yelled, “Have the medics take a look at that arm, Noble. We know two people are trapped in the basement. We’ll get them out.”
Slow Burn Page 32
