Absolutely, Positively

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The man staggered backward. An expression of astonishment lit his beefy face. Before he could recover, Harry grabbed Parker by the shoulder and launched him in the general direction of the door.

  His grandfather, however, was concentrating on other matters.

  “No-good hooligan.” Parker swung a bottle of Skid Road at one of the three men who had initiated the scene. The bottle shattered on the man’s shoulder, eliciting a growl of outrage.

  Harry hauled Parker out of harm’s way.

  Josh and Brandon looked at Harry for direction.

  “Josh, take charge of Raleigh,” Harry ordered. “Brandon, get Gilford and Parker out of here. I’ll handle Leon.”

  “Right.” Brandon took hold of Parker and started toward the door.

  Josh seized Raleigh’s arm. “Let’s get outa here, cuz. Party’s over.”

  “Ah, shoot. The fun was just startin’,” Raleigh complained. But he allowed himself to be dragged toward the door.

  Harry grasped Leon’s collar just as his uncle was winding up for another swing of his crutch.

  “What the hell?” Leon scowled at him. “Leggo. I’ve got business to attend to.”

  “This is my party,” Harry said as he hustled Leon toward the door. “And I’m ready to leave.”

  “You never were any fun, boy,” Leon said as Harry hauled him out into the night. “That’s your whole problem in life. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself.”

  Harry ignored him. He did a quick head count as everyone piled into the waiting limousine. There was a brief, awkward moment when Leon’s crutch got caught on the door frame, but Harry got the door closed just as the fight spilled out into the parking lot.

  “Looks like we’re all here.” Harry caught the limo driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Let’s go.”

  The driver already had the engine running. “My pleasure, sir.”

  The big car’s tires kicked up a storm of gravel as the limousine roared out of the tavern parking lot. Somewhere in the distance sirens wailed, but the limousine was safely on its way.

  For a few minutes no one said a thing. The subdued lights in the plush passenger compartment revealed a selection of interesting expressions as everyone looked at everyone else.

  Then Leon chuckled and held up several bottles of Skid Road that he had somehow managed to liberate on the way out the door. “Anyone want another round?”

  “Hell, yes,” Raleigh said. “Give me one of those, Uncle Leon. I need it.”

  “Personally, I could use something stronger,” Parker muttered.

  Josh grinned and began to rummage around in the limousine’s tiny bar. “I do believe there is a bottle of whiskey here, Mr. Stratton. Yep, here we are.” He held up a bottle.

  “Thank God.” Parker watched Josh pour the whiskey. “I haven’t been in a situation like that since I was in the Marines.”

  Leon looked at him with sudden interest. “You were in the Marines?”

  “Yes, I was.” Parker took the whiskey from Josh.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. So was I.” Leon stuck out his hand.

  Parker hesitated, and then he shook Leon’s hand.

  Harry was aware of a curious new mood settling on the small crowd in the back of the limousine. He was not certain what it was, but it felt good.

  Brandon looked at the others. “Gentlemen, I do believe that this is what my wife, the noted shrink, would call a male bonding experience.”

  “Don’t know what that means,” Leon said cheerfully, “but I’ll drink to it.”

  The sound of a key scraping haphazardly in the front door lock roused Molly. Harry was home at last. She sat up on the sofa where she had fallen asleep reading and glanced at her watch. She was surprised to see that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning.

  Relief poured through her. The bachelor party must have been reasonably successful to have lasted this long.

  She yawned, got to her feet, and went down the hall to greet her husband-to-be. The scratching sound came again. Harry was apparently having a problem unlocking his own front door.

  “I do hope you’re not soused, Harry,” she said as she opened the door. “A little male bonding is one thing, but if those Stratton and Trevelyan relatives of yours got you rip-roaring drunk, I’m going to be very annoyed.”

  She broke off in horror when she saw who stood at the door.

  “I assure you, I’m not drunk, my dear,” Cutter Latteridge said. He gave her his most charming smile and showed her the gun in his hand. The barrel was oddly shaped. “And I won’t be staying long. There’s just one or two things I want to take care of before I start another project.”

  “Cutter.” Molly was too stunned to move. “How did you get in here?”

  “Actually, the name is Clarence, but you can call me Cutter.” He motioned with the gun. “And to answer your question, I got in through the garage. Garage security is always so lax, isn’t it?”

  Molly took a step back. Cutter walked into the hall and closed the door behind himself.

  “They said you had disappeared,” Molly whispered. “They said it wasn’t your style to come back after the con went sour.”

  “Generally speaking, they’re right.” Cutter heaved a sigh of regret. “I’m not fond of the physical stuff. Entirely too messy. I prefer to make my living with my wits. But in this instance, I feel that I must make an exception.”

  “You mean another exception, don’t you? You killed Wharton Kendall.”

  “He became unreliable,” Cutter said. “There was simply too much money at stake, I suppose. He felt he had a right to more of it than I planned to give him for his services. Amazing how greedy some people can be, isn’t it?”

  “You’ll never get your hands on the Abberwick Foundation assets now,” Molly pointed out desperately. “Why take the risk of coming back to Seattle?”

  “Because Trevelyan won’t give it up.” Cutter’s face suffused with sudden fury. “He’s like a goddamned bloodhound. He’s got his investigator rummaging around in my past, looking for evidence, trying to find patterns. And we all have patterns. Sooner or later he’ll track me down. I can’t have that.”

  Molly had not realized that Harry had kept Fergus Rice on the case, but the news did not surprise her. “You can’t stop Harry.”

  “I must,” Cutter said. “If I don’t get rid of him, I won’t have any peace for the rest of my life.”

  Fear seized Molly’s insides. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to dispense with both you and Trevelyan in one neat, tidy package.”

  “You can’t get away with this. Everyone will realize who murdered us.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cutter smiled coldly. “I’ve spent quite some time planning this project. And I’ve waited for just the right moment.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It will appear that Harry Trevelyan, psychologically disturbed man that he is, went over the edge. He came home drunk and depressed after his bachelor’s party. Shot his fiancée, whom he mistakenly believed had resumed her affair with her old boyfriend, Gordon Brooke, and then turned the gun on himself. Happens all the time, eh?”

  “You’re the crazy one if you think this will work.”

  “It will work, my dear. I’m very good with details.” Cutter glanced at his watch. “We may as well sit down. There’s nothing we can do until Trevelyan returns home, after all, and I understand that bachelor parties can go on for some time.”

  Molly knew she would never have a chance to scream aloud. Cutter stood too close, his gun at the ready. He could knock her unconscious or kill her before she could utter a sound.

  She recalled the day that Cutter had trapped her in her father’s basement workshop. Harry had arrived on the scene within minutes after Cutter had left the house.

&nb
sp; He would never admit it, but Molly knew that Harry had come to the Abberwick mansion that day because he had sensed that she was in danger. She had called to him and he had come. Admittedly, he’d arrived a little late, but he had come.

  Molly looked into Cutter’s cold eyes and saw death. In desperation, she screamed a silent warning into the night.

  Harry.

  Danger. Death.

  Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.

  Harry opened the door of the limousine as soon as it pulled into the loading zone in front of his condominium building.

  Leon gave him a reproachful look. “You sure you want to go home this early? Night’s young, boy.”

  “It’s one-thirty in the morning, and I’m not accustomed to this kind of excitement.” Harry got out of the car and looked at his relatives through the open door. “I’ve had about all the partying I can stand for one night. But I want you all to know that I had a hell of a time.”

  “Hey, we oughta do this more often,” Raleigh said.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Brandon grinned ruefully. “I think I’m about ready to call it a night, too.”

  “Me, too,” Gilford said.

  Parker snorted. “These youngsters don’t have the stamina we did in our heyday, do they, Leon?”

  “What d’ya expect?” Leon said. “They’ve all got it too soft these days.”

  “That’s the truth,” Parker agreed fervently.

  Harry glanced at Josh. “Make sure Leon doesn’t embarrass himself.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.” Josh’s grin faded. He searched Harry’s face. “Anything wrong?”

  “No,” Harry said. “I’m ready for bed, that’s all.” He started to close the limo door.

  “Let’s hear it for the groom-to-be,” Leon yelled. “Man’s never gonna be the same again, once he’s married.”

  Harry shut the door on the good-natured cheers.

  He watched the limousine cruise off into the night, and then he turned and went swiftly toward the lobby door.

  Halfway there, he broke into a loping run.

  Something was wrong.

  Danger. Be careful. Be careful.

  The riveting sense of wrongness had slashed through his good mood a few minutes earlier. His first instinct, born of long habit, had been to repress it.

  But the realization that the chilling sensation was somehow connected to Molly crept insidiously into his mind. He had been unable to ignore it.

  Danger. Danger. Danger.

  Molly’s advice came back to him in an overwhelming rush. She had told him not to fight his own nature. She had warned him that the battle would tear him apart. For the first time, Harry acknowledged that she was right. The one sure way to drive himself crazy was to refuse to accept the truth.

  He forced himself to relax and cautiously open his senses.

  He’s here. He’s here. Murder. Murder.

  Harry staggered under the impact of the silent, screaming blow. He recovered awkwardly and fumbled with his keys. Chris, the night doorman, emerged from his small office and opened the lobby door.

  “Evening, Mr. Trevelyan. Late night, huh?”

  “Bachelor party,” Harry said tersely. He fought for control even as he tried to leave all his senses on full alert.

  Chris winked. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” A wave of dizziness hit Harry as he started toward the elevator.

  “Anything wrong, Mr. Trevelyan?”

  Harry missed the elevator call button on the first attempt. Panic shot through him. Too late. I’m going to be too late. “Chris, have there been any visitors to my place while I was out?”

  “Just Mrs. Stratton.”

  “Olivia?” Harry shook his head, trying to clear it.

  “Yes, sir. But she left several hours ago.”

  “No one else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do me a favor, will you?” Harry said hoarsely.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m going to play a little joke on Molly.”

  “A joke?”

  “Bachelor party joke.”

  “Oh. Right. Got it.” Chris grinned. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Give me a few minutes to get upstairs and then call me on the intercom. When I answer, tell me that Detective…” Harry rubbed his forehead and forced himself to think. “Tell me that Detective Foster of the police department is on his way up. Say he’s told you it’s an emergency.”

  Chris’s brow wrinkled. “Emergency?”

  “Yes. Just a joke. Will you do it for me?”

  “You bet.”

  “Thanks, Chris.” The elevator door slid open. Harry managed to get himself inside and punch the right button.

  As the doors closed, he leaned back against the wall, shut his eyes, and concentrated on finding his balance on the glass bridge that stretched above the abyss.

  He was not going to fight the conflicting sensations this time, he promised himself. He would try Molly’s suggestion. He would simply sink into his senses. The way he did when he was with her.

  Too late. Too late.

  A rat named panic was trying to eat into his awareness. Harry forced the creature back into its dark hole.

  Just another sense. No different than sight or touch or smell. Just another one of his natural abilities. Like his reflexes. Perfectly normal, Molly had said. For him.

  Perfectly normal. All he had to do was accept it. Use it. Be at peace with it. Molly’s life might depend on his acceptance of his own natural abilities.

  Molly’s life.

  Harry took a deep breath. He steadied himself on the glass bridge.

  From out of nowhere an alert calm stole over him. Harry began to breathe more easily. He knew without experimenting with them that he had regained control of his reflexes. He had stopped trembling. He straightened away from the elevator wall.

  The elevator door opened. Harry drew another deep, steadying breath.

  He stepped out of the elevator and went down the carpeted corridor to his front door. He shoved the key into the lock and turned the knob.

  “Molly?” He slurred his voice and stumbled deliberately as he let himself into the hall. The feeling of impending danger threatened to crush him. “Honey, I’m home. Hell of a party. Should have seen the fight at the tavern.”

  “Well, well, well. Blind drunk.” Cutter Latteridge smiled as he came around the corner into the hall. He grasped Molly’s arm in one hand, chaining her to his side. In his other hand he held a silenced gun that was leveled at Harry’s chest. “How very convenient.”

  22

  “Harry, I tried to warn you.” Molly’s eyes glittered with tears of despair. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Harry peered at her, as though having a problem focusing on a moving image. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

  “I’m here to set the stage for a proper departure, Trevelyan,” Cutter said.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Harry staggered toward him, allowing the momentum of his awkward movement to send him careening into a wall. He fetched up against it and started to slide gently toward the floor. “Put that gun away, Latteridge. You can’t shoot anyone here. Not your style.”

  “My style has changed, thanks to you, Trevelyan.”

  “Harry.” Molly tried unsuccessfully to shake herself free of Cutter’s grip. “Are you all right?”

  “Haven’t felt this good in a long time.” Harry scrabbled around on the floor. His fingers brushed against his ankle sheath. He made a show of heaving himself back into an upright position. The knife was now tucked into his shirt sleeve. “What’s going on here?”

  “He wants to make our deaths look like a murder-suicide,” Molly whispered. She searched his face as if trying to see past the facade
of drunkenness. “Harry, he’s going to kill us.”

  “Nah. He won’t do that.” Harry floundered forward. “Will you, Latteridge or Laxton or whatever your name is?”

  “Stay where you are,” Cutter ordered quickly. He backed away, dragging Molly with him.

  “Can’t shoot me in the chest,” Harry explained cheerfully. “Wouldn’t look like a suicide, now would it? Got to go for the head or mouth or something.”

  “Damn you,” Cutter hissed. “You really are crazy, aren’t you? Your sister-in-law is right.”

  Harry shook his head sadly. “And here I thought a shrink was supposed to maintain confidentiality.”

  “Keep your distance or I’ll kill Molly right now,” Cutter warned. “Right now, do you understand me?”

  “Sure, sure.” Harry massaged the back of his neck as he lurched to a swaying stop. “I hear you.”

  Cutter frowned. “I’m delighted to see you drunk, Trevelyan, but I must admit this is beyond my expectations.”

  “I make it a practice never to live up to other people’s expec… expectations,” Harry said.

  Molly’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension. He knew then that she had finally realized he was not drunk. He willed her not to give the game away.

  “Stay right where you are, Trevelyan.” Cutter started to raise the gun.

  At that instant the intercom buzzed. Cutter froze.

  “Hey, we got a visitor,” Harry said brightly. “Party time.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Cutter ordered.

  “Got to.” Harry lifted one shoulder in an elaborate, what-can-I-do shrug that sent him reeling off balance once more. “Doorman knows I’m up here. He saw me get on the elevator. Knows Molly’s here, too.”

  Cutter scowled furiously, clearly torn. “All right, answer it. But tell him you’re going to bed and don’t want any visitors. Got that?”

  “Sure thing. Headed for bed.”

  Harry stumbled toward the intercom. As he stretched out a hand to punch the button he gaged the distance to his target. Cutter was holding Molly directly in front of him. From this angle Harry knew that he could hit Cutter’s shoulder. But that was not good enough. He needed a shot that would bring Latteridge down before he could fire the gun.