No Escape

by Meredith Fletcher

  Lauren sat beside Heath, but he was asking the questions. She stared at the hard-faced woman in the photo. The image had been captured in three-quarter profile. She’d been wearing combat fatigues and a helmet. She carried an assault rifle in her arms. Her eyes were dead and flat.

  “Who is she?”

  “Name’s Suzana Veslin.” Jackson spelled it out. “She’s a mercenary. A high-end operator out of the Balkans. Interpol has conflicting reports about where she’s from exactly. They believe she was sold into human trafficking and fought her way out with a toothpick. After that she learned how to use knives and guns. I have to tell you, amigo, you went up against this one and came out on top, you’re better than I think you are or you got lucky.”

  “It’s always good to be good, but it’s better to be lucky.”

  Lauren couldn’t believe Heath was passing off whatever had happened inside that hotel room so casually. A chill tightened her stomach at the thought that he had come so close to getting killed.

  “Who’s she working for?” Heath slid his fingers across the iPad, changing out the first image for others that showed Veslin in military gear in other places.

  “Hard to tell, bro. Some of the big corporations have used her to get back hostages, but Interpol says she’s been used on dark ops most of the time. She’s taken hostages, killed people, all the bad stuff.”

  Heath reached the end of the images, then started over. “Doesn’t make sense. A guy like Gibson wouldn’t have access to people like this.”

  “You’ve gone up against his people.” Jackson’s voice was tense. “You can’t deny what you’ve been dealing with. Veslin isn’t quite to Roylston’s pedigree, but she’s close.”

  “Any connection between Roylston and Veslin?”

  “None that I can find. None that Interpol and a half dozen other international agencies know about. By the way, I’m getting some heavy interest from some of those people. They want to know why I’m asking.”

  “Tell them you’re curious.”

  “Yeah, because that’ll satisfy them.”

  Heath tapped the desktop irritably. “There’s a connection somewhere. We just have to find it.”

  “I know. I’m looking. You guys just need to watch yourselves down there.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Heath was cleaning both his weapons, the revolver he’d gotten and the 9 mm he’d picked up from Suzana Veslin, getting them ready to use. While he’d been doing that, he’d been watching Lauren. She sat cross-legged on the bed, fingers working intermittently on the iPad. She’d changed out of the sundress, much to Heath’s chagrin, and into cargo shorts and a tunic top, which wasn’t bad. She’d also pulled her hair back into a short ponytail. He admired the way she worked, full-blown concentration, no holding back. He wanted to ask her what she was working on, but that would have meant direct interaction and would have robbed him of the chance to watch her. When she moved, she was smooth and graceful, and he liked the curves and lean tautness of her body. She was made well. There was no other way to put it.

  She looked up at him and caught him staring, almost like earlier in the dining room when he’d looked up from the menu and caught her looking at him. For just a moment, everything felt awkward. Then she smiled at him.

  “Want to guess where Gibson is going to be tonight?”

  That caught his attention, and the awkward moment fled. “Have you turned into a mind reader for real now?”

  “No. But I know where he’s going to be.”

  “Where?”

  “Have you heard of Agony House?”

  Heath thought for a moment and finally came up with it. “Some kind of haunted house?”

  “Yes.” Lauren’s smile grew wider. “Supposedly a very haunted house with a long and bloody history. They’re having a fundraiser there tonight for a children’s nonprofit organization.”

  “Why do you think Gibson will be there?”

  “Because I see it in the crystal ball.” Lauren turned her iPad around, showing him a Twitter page. She tapped one of the entries with her forefinger.

  I’m gonna be at a haunted house 2nite with the Amazing Gibson! Check out Agony House!

  A tiny url was provided after the announcement. Lauren tapped it and the iPad linked to a website dedicated to Agony House. In the center of the page was Gibson’s photograph.

  Chapter 17

  At 8:00 p.m., Agony House was lit with baby spotlights that picked up the color from the ocean out front and the sky above that tinted the white exterior blue. The original house had been built in 1817 by a sugarcane plantation owner for his new bride, and that was only part of the story. Lauren had told Heath the rest of it while they’d gotten ready for the soiree, and he still couldn’t believe everything he’d heard.

  The house had been remodeled several times over the years, but in 1957, Prudy Cranmer, a small-time Hollywood actress who had married big-time money, purchased the estate. Several films had been shot there, most of them low-budget thrillers and a few horror movies.

  The actress had left Agony House to her granddaughter. These days Agony House continued to be, according to Lauren, a place of mysterious happenings and curiosity.

  Heath stood in front of the hotel and felt dwarfed. Fountains sprayed up from a half dozen pools, three on either side of the wide stone steps that led up to the main lobby from the beachfront plaza. Several of the guests talked about the rumors of ghosts and offered testimony as to what they would do when they found one tonight.

  Heath drifted in with the herd and paid the price of admission at the door. Lauren was already inside, and he felt uneasy without her in his sight. The past couple days had been filled with close calls. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

  * * *

  Inside the hotel, Heath found an alcove that allowed him to watch everything while staying somewhat in the background. Everyone had gathered in the main room to await the start of the show. At the bar set up in the corner, Heath paid for a bottled beer and returned to his post.

  At 8:45, Lydia Cranmer, the granddaughter of the actress who had initially purchased Agony House, put in her appearance. The lights were dimmed, and a baby spotlight dawned at the top of the long stairs. No one had been allowed access to the upper floor yet.

  A hush fell over the crowd as they waited expectantly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lydia Cranmer, and tonight you are my guests.” She smiled at the crowd. “Welcome to my home. Welcome...to Agony House.” She threw an arm theatrically into the air.

  A laser light show suddenly erupted, and bright colors blazed around the ceiling. The kaleidoscope of neon lights whirled faster and became a blur.

  Then they disappeared, and the lights went out, leaving the grand room doused in shadows. The blue light glowing outside created just enough illumination to allow people to see a few feet into the cottony darkness.

  The crowd started whispering, wondering if this was part of the show. A few of the women grew scared, and a few of the men did, too. Heath was convinced it was all theater, but he was frustrated that he didn’t know where Lauren was. He hadn’t liked the separation aspect of the plan.

  The baby spotlight came on again, and this time it picked up Lydia Cranmer halfway down the stairs, standing quietly at attention. “Many of you are first-time arrivals here at Agony House, and many of you are returning guests. It is good to see those of you who have returned, and I look forward to meeting new friends.”

  Gradually, the lights came back up, but they remained soft, a buttery-yellow that allowed deep shadows.

  “The history of this house goes back to 1817, when plantation owner Benjamin Hervey built a magnificent home for his young bride, Abigail.

  “Six months later, her husband was dead, and no one knew the cause. It didn’t take long before talk of voodoo started every tongue wagging. When Abigail first came over to Jamaica, she’d suffered a dangerous fever that had been cured by a woman who practiced medicine. Her name was
Tante Simone and she was reputed to be a mambo, a female voodoo priest.

  “They say—though it was never proven—that Tante Simone taught Abigail as much about the dark arts as she did about the healing ones. They say—though this, too, is disputed in legends and stories—that Abigail took her husband’s life because he had taken her from her home and caused the drowning deaths of her family during an ocean voyage to visit Abigail.”

  Heath sipped his beer and watched the crowd.

  “Eight years into Abigail’s widowhood, a storm struck Agony House and caused massive damage. It looked like Abigail was going to lose her house because she couldn’t afford to rebuild it. So she sought out a rich suitor named George Bascombe—seduced him through voodoo, some said—and brought him home. Repairing the house drained the man’s wealth, and it was said Abigail stole Bascombe’s life.”

  Lydia waved to the back of the hotel. “The graves of Abigail, her husbands and some of the slaves who died here have been relocated, but they still exist. During the day, or tonight, if you dare, you’re welcome to visit the cemetery. Just don’t take anything. No keepsakes or mementos.” She paused. “You can never be sure of what might follow you home. There are reports, never verified, however, of visitors to Agony House that returned home and found they’d brought a ghost with them. The dead still live here among us, after all. Every now and again, they reveal themselves to us.”

  Inside the house, everyone was silent.

  Even though Heath knew most of the story from Lauren’s briefing earlier, he discovered he felt a little uneasy. He chalked the feeling up to knowing that Gibson was going to be there.

  “Tonight, Agony House welcomes a most special guest.” Lydia smiled at the crowd. “I know you’ve all heard of the Amazing Gibson, one of the foremost magicians in the world these days.”

  A few of the people surrounding the crowd started clapping, but Heath thought maybe they were hotel employees salted among the rest of the guests because they appeared to be sober and not cowed by the retelling of the legend. The other guests picked up the applause till the grand room vibrated with the thunder of it.

  The lights went out again, then a detonation exploded sharply enough to make Heath’s eardrums ache. A pall of gray fog rolled onto the top of the stairs. When the baby spotlight flared to life again, going almost nova in its intensity, the bright light hit the fog and turned it into a white cloud.

  Then Gibson stepped through it, clad in his trademark black suit. He regarded the audience quietly, then held up his black-gloved hands. Putting his hands together, he moved them as if he was kneading dough. Something white appeared between his fingers and grew rapidly. His hands suddenly shot up high over his head and separated.

  A white dove exploded from his hands and beat its wings frantically, causing the audience to duck before the bird flew through the main doors and between the hotel employees who held them open. The lights came on in the hotel so the bird could be more easily seen.

  When the audience turned back to Gibson, he breathed flames into the space over their heads. Then his hands plucked unseen things from the air, and he tossed shining silver discs into the crowd. Gleefully, the audience grabbed the coins or chased them on the floor.

  Heath knew without looking that they were the signature coins Lauren had told him about earlier, the ones with Gibson on one side and him vanished on the other.

  Finished with his coin trick, Gibson spread his hands in invitation and nodded graciously.

  Lydia climbed the stairs to join Gibson. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight Gibson has graciously agreed to act as your host for the tour. He, too, knows much of the history of this house.”

  Gibson took her hand and kissed it, bowing slightly. “I know some of the house’s history, but I don’t know it all. You are the expert in that area, dear lady. I am but a shadow from a passing flame.” He turned over his hand, and suddenly he was holding a lit candle.

  The audience clapped appreciatively as Gibson held the candle aloft briefly before handing it off to an assistant who stepped over to him.

  Heath finished his beer and handed the bottle off to a passing server.

  Lydia took Gibson’s arm and waved to the audience to come up the stairs. “Come along. The original Agony House may be gone, but its memories live within these walls.”

  Hesitantly, then with growing speed, the audience followed.

  * * *

  Finally, at the end of the forty-five-minute-long tour, with Gibson doing sleight of hand tricks and extolling the history of the house, they ended up at the library.

  “Come inside.” Lydia waved to the group, urging them to step into the large room. “This is the most completely salvaged room in Agony House. The walls, the floor and the books were rescued from the original house and moved here, where they have stayed ever since. Several of our guests have often claimed to have seen Benjamin Hervey in this room.”

  A clutch of plush sofas occupied a baroque area rug in the center of the room. A writing desk sat to the left, on the opposite side of the room from the massive wall of books.

  So far Gibson had given no indication of seeing Heath, and Heath believed that was because the man was so intent on soaking up the attention. The guy was definitely a glory hound around an audience, and that need for attention also explained the White Rabbit cards he mailed after the murders. Going into seclusion must have been hard on him.

  Or maybe that was when he picked his next victim and prepared to deliver his next trick.

  Gibson swung his arm to take in the room. “Imagine her, if you can, sitting in this room, locked away with stories of outlandish monsters and ghosts. Perhaps even a premature burial or two.” His candle winked out and the room was shrouded in darkness.

  An eerie female voice spoke in a heavy accent from one of the back corners of the library. “You don’t have to imagine her in this room. You can hear her if you wish. If you have the nerve.”

  A chill crept up Heath’s neck, and he had to check a shiver.

  A small flame dawned in the corner and was reflected on the writing desk there. The desk faced the wall, and the light illuminated the figure sitting in the chair. She was dressed in a black mini-cocktail dress that showed off her figure, a hood over her head, and thigh-high black boots.

  Heath’s radar went off with a sonic boom inside him as he took in the trim figure, the legs encased in black lace stockings. Even though he had spent a lot of time with her the past couple days, it took him a moment to recognize the woman.

  Lauren.

  His mouth went dry at the sight of her, and he couldn’t help staring. Then, somewhere in the dim recesses of his totally blown mind, he realized that they could both be in a lot of trouble.

  Lauren tilted her head just enough for the candlelight to illuminate her mocking smile and left her eyes a mystery. “Do you wish to speak to Abigail?”

  Lydia made her way to the tour group, which had evidently decided to keep a respectful distance. The candlelight managed to pick Gibson out of the crowd, as well. He looked like a malevolent shadow, and only the hard planes of his face stood revealed. His eyes were black pits above sharp cheekbones.

  “I demand to know who you are.” Lydia stood her ground, but she stood it a few feet away from Lauren.

  “My name is Mistress Tereza.” Heath couldn’t believe the voice belonged to Lauren because it sounded so different.

  “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re trespassing.”

  “No, I am supposed to be here. I was called by Abigail.”

  Hesitantly, Lydia turned to look at Gibson. The magician stood stock-still in the shadows and made no response.

  Okay, she just blew his mind, too. Heath thought that was funny, but he was too anxious over the trouble Lauren might be in to enjoy the moment very much. But mostly he was drawn to Lauren, unable to decide if she was more sexy or more spooky.

  “I’m going to call security.” Lydia started to walk toward the door.

 
“If you do, you’ll miss what Abigail came here tonight to say. You know that she talked to your grandmother, but has she ever talked with you? Would you forego that opportunity?”

  Heath held his breath, knowing that Lauren had to be running a bluff.

  Chapter 18

  Lydia stopped at the library door, then walked back into the room. “All right, prove it.”

  Lauren spoke in a whisper. “Be careful challenging the spirits, Ms. Cranmer. Your grandmother warned you about such things. There are too many evil presences still associated with this house to risk their anger.”

  Face blanching a little, Lydia stepped back.

  With every eye on her, Lauren walked to the coffee table in the middle of the room. She pointed to the sofa on the other side of her as she sat. “Please, sit. Together, Abigail and I will reveal to you that story.”

  Heath’s breath was tight in his chest. He didn’t know how Lauren was going to pull this off.

  A few of the women in the tour group urged Lydia to sit when they saw that she was reluctant. Finally, probably more out of being a good hostess than anything else, she sat.

  Lauren pulled two lighted candles from the air and set them at opposite sides of the coffee table. Heath knew the candles had to be the result of sleight-of-hand, but he hadn’t seen them coming till they were there. She’d gotten his wallet without him knowing, though, so he knew she was good. Just not this good.

  With the candles in place, Lauren looked at Lydia. “This knowledge isn’t just coming from me, Ms. Cranmer. Abigail has touched those of your party. They have the answers, not me.”

  Drawn by the soft voice and the promise of a brush with the supernatural, the crowd hovered closer. Only Gibson, Roylston and Heath remained back, and the magician’s attention was resting solely on Lauren.