"Damn," she muttered, gingerly shaking glass from her hair. "If I keep this up, I won't have to worry about what weapons she might have. I'll just bleed to death."
With the end of her T-shirt Dina mopped up the blood from several slices on her right cheek that had been made by falling glass.
"All in all, worth it," she said aloud as she examined the shirt. "At least now there's a little more air in here."
Dina jumped up again at the window, hoping to break out at least one of the upper panes, but found them beyond her reach. She put her shoe back on, then went back to the window to look out.
The window itself was set high in the wall, too high for Dina to see much beyond the trees that bordered the fields. She knew the property only by reputation but knew it was a very large tract. The house had been empty for at least six months, and it was unlikely anyone would be making a social call anytime soon.
Dina gritted her teeth and kicked at what appeared to be a soft spot in the wood. The clapboard bent softly but did not break.
Okay, maybe over here where the boards were broken ...
But even her most ferocious kicking left the boards intact.
Damn.
What she wouldn't give for that bottle of Deer Park spring water that sat in her bag in the Jeep.
Dina tilted her head, listened, and smiled. The car had come back. A car, anyway. Too bad the window looked out over the field instead of the road. She'd just have to wait to see.
But yes, the footsteps drew closer. Her captor had returned.
"Okay, Dina. Here's how it's going to be. I'm going to give you one last chance—that was one—to tell me where Jude is. I suggest that you speak up."
The woman's voice paused. When Dina did not respond, she asked slyly, "Don't you want to know the 'or else' part?"
"Sure. What's the 'or else'?"
"I knew you couldn't resist." There was a soft chuckle. "The 'or else' is or else I'm going to set fire to your little home."
"I don't suppose you're going to let me out before you strike the match?"
"I don't suppose I will."
"What could you possibly want with Jude?"
"She's the last big piece of the puzzle. After you, of course. And that pesky reporter, but first things first. And as things turned out, you would be first." The voice held an undercurrent that was both smug and sure.
"What's the puzzle?"
"A puzzle that can never be put together."
"Oh, wait, you mean this whole Blythe Pierce/Graham Hayward thing?" Dina forced a touch of derision.
The woman on the other side of the door fell silent.
"You think that Jude is the last person who knows the truth about that? Ha!" Dina taunted her. "Surely you can't think that you can get away with killing everyone who knows about their love affair."
"It wasn't a love affair! It was just a fling for him. He never loved her. Blythe Pierce was nothing more than a young tramp who tempted him because she wanted to be able to tell her friends that she'd slept with the President."
"We both know that's not true," Dina said softly. "We both know he was in love with her. Deeply in love with her. Enough that he was willing to give up everything—even being President—to be with her."
"It's not true! It isn't. He wasn't in love with her," the voice insisted, somewhat more shrilly. "Don't dare say that he was. He did not love her."
"He loved her so much that he was going to leave his wife—"
"No.' He never would have left my mother! Never! He loved my mother! He loved me!"
Ah! Dina smiled in spite of her predicament. At last she knew who her captor was.
"Sarah, you know he was going to leave—"
"No. No. He said he was going to leave her, but my father never would have done it. Never. He was lying."
"Who was lying?"
"Miles. He told me, told me that I should talk to my father. That he'd listen to me. He'd listen. He'd forget about her if I asked him to. Miles said he would...."
"So you talked to your father about Blythe?"
"Are you crazy? 1 just wanted her gone. Then things could be the way they were supposed to be again."
"So you killed her."
"I told Miles I'd call Daddy, but I called her instead. It was easy enough to get her number. I told her I needed to see her. That maybe if I met her I wouldn't be as confused about things. I asked her not to tell my father because I just wasn't ready to have that conversation with him just yet."
"Laid it on real thick, did you?"
"You betcha. She bought every word. I told her I'd pick her up across the street from her apartment."
"That's why she was crossing the street," Dina said almost imperceptibly.
"... and she was so easy to kill. She never even saw it coming. Not like you. You ran like a jackrabbit."
"How could you have done that? How could you have taken her life—"
"She was a problem. When you have a problem, you find a way to deal with it and move on."
Dina's stomach churned at the callousness of the words, but still she had to ask.
"Did you know about me then?"
"Do you think I would have let you live? I didn't have a clue. Not until Miles told me. Stupid Miles. Told that stupid reporter. Well, I couldn't let him tell anyone else. I'm sure that even you can understand that."
There was the sound of paper being torn, then silence. Then the smell of something that Dina couldn't quite put her finger on....
"What is that?" Dina leaned against the door.
"Lighter fluid."
The footsteps were moving around the shed.
Seconds later, brittle laughter faded with the footsteps.
The dry grass outside the shed caught quickly. Within minutes, smoke began to seep through the wall and the floor. The rotted wood smoldered, then took to flame as it dried with the heat. Trapped, Dina dropped to her knees, frantically looking for a way out. Coughing, seeking air, she crawled to the door and pounded on it. Flames licked at her arms and her feet as the floor began to burn.
"I'm not going to die like this," Dina said through clenched teeth. "I will not..."
She ran at the door and hit it with her shoulder. The bolt held. Again. And again, the bolt held. Once more. Nothing.
The flames were too close to the door now. She felt the intense heat and smelled the pungent smell of burnt hair. She reached up and felt the singed strands on the left side of her head. Back onto her knees, Dina watched the flames lick at the door.
Just another minute, she told herself as she lowered her face to the floor to seek out any pockets of fresh air that might still linger. Just another minute and the frame that the bolt is attached to should be burned through. . . .
A piece of ceiling fell, and Dina knew she could wait no longer.
She sprang forward, using all of her remaining strength to charge the door.
Mercifully, it gave way. Her lungs tortured by acrid smoke and her head pounding from effort and lack of oxygen, Dina crawled forward from where she landed when she'd blown through the burning door, then lay in the grass, gasping for fresh air, until the buzzing in her head subsided. She pulled herself up, stood on shaking legs, and looked back as the shed fell in upon itself.
"Why can't you just die?" The question was presented softly, matter-of-factly, with a touch of curiosity but absolutely no emotion.
Dina turned to look upon the face of her captor.
Her half sister.
Sarah stood less than six feet from Dina, a small handgun in her right hand, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she slowly raised the hand holding the gun.
Driven by sheer instinct and the will to survive, Dina lowered her head and drove into the woman, who, on contact, was thrown backward. She landed on the ground with Dina astride, stunned, the wind knocked from her lungs. Dina grabbed the woman's wrist, searching for the gun, but it was gone, apparently thrown into the high brush.
Dina sprang to h
er feet, her thoughts on reaching the Jeep. It was farther away than she'd remembered, and she prayed with every step that the keys were still there.
Breath coming in ragged spurts, sweat running in dark streaks down her sooty face, Dina ran on shaking legs without looking back.
The first shot took her completely by surprise.
The second grazed her left shoulder with startling sharpness and left a trail of heat in its wake.
But still Dina ran. A third shot hit the ground to her right; a fourth pinged loudly off the Jeep's front bumper.
Dina reached the Jeep and pulled herself into the driver's seat, her right hand seeking the keys in her purse even as it shook almost uncontrollably, but yes! There they were. She need only start the engine.
Clutch, she reminded herself. Remember the clutch.... /
The car jerked ahead and stalled.
Another shot struck the passenger-side door. Dina ducked, wondering just how many bullets had been in that small gun....
She turned the key again, then downshifted into neutral, held the clutch, and gunned the engine. In what Dina would later recall as a sort of slow motion, the Jeep lurched forward.
And struck the figure that had seemed to come from nowhere directly into the path of the accelerating vehicle.
The thud had been unexpected. The tires bumped as the Jeep ran over some solid thing, and it was a moment before Dina realized with sickening clarity exactly what it was that was tangled beneath the vehicle.
"Sweet Lord." Dina jumped from the Jeep and crawled on her hands and knees to the body that lay between the front and back wheels and looked into the upturned face, the blue eyes that stared into her own. "Sweet Lord, she's still alive...."
"Okay, this is number seven," Simon said as Betsy pulled up a long straight driveway as directed by Jude and sat in front of the rambling Queen Anne-style farmhouse. "And it looks as if someone is still living in this one as well. We haven't done so well in tracking down these deserted places."
"There are five more on the list, Betsy, so turn around and head back out to the left." Jude appeared to study the landscape, as if trying to remember something. "Take the next right," she said, pointing to the upcoming intersection. "It seems I did hear about a property that was coming up for sale on Henderson Creek Road, but it's not on the list. Slow down now, Betsy. I think it was the old Matthews place."
Betsy leaned forward and squinted. "Is that smoke 1 see back behind those trees?"
"Looks like it." Simon nodded. "Where is this property?"
"There, over to the right, there's a FOR SALE sign."
Betsy slowed, looking for a road. "Where do I turn?" she asked.
"I don't know. Maybe farther down the ... yes, there, by that crooked tree. Turn there."
The road was pocked with holes, but its dry surface bore recent tire marks. Maybe, with any luck...
"Look," Betsy spoke up. "Over there, by the barn. And there, see that shed? There's the source of the smoke. And there, that's my Jeep...."
The woman on the ground looked up at Dina even as she struggled to breathe.
Dina fumbled in her bag for her cell phone, punched in 911 before realizing the battery in her cell phone had gone dead.
Sarah coughed, hacking spasms that left her all but breathless.
Dina leaned down and sought the woman's pulse, found it faint, erratic.
"Maybe the adapter for the phone is in my purse...." Dina stood up and took a step toward the Jeep just as the van raced into view.
"Don't... bother..." the woman whispered as she closed her eyes.
"Dina!" Simon called as he slammed on the brakes and leapt from the van.
Dina looked up at his approach. "I tried to call nine-one-one for an ambulance, but my phone is dead. I don't think she's going to make it."
"Oh, sweetheart, thank God you're alive!" A tearful Jude embraced her daughter. "Thank God-----"
"1 swear I didn't mean to hit her. She just came at me, at the Jeep, and slammed into the front of it, fell under the wheels..." Dina began to shake as the realization of what had happened began to sink in. "1 didn't mean to hit her. . . ."
Simon reached for Sarah's wrist to search for a pulse. There was none.
"She said she killed Blythe."
"She did," Simon told Dina. "Sarah Decker. Graham's daughter."
"She was my half sister," Dina whispered. "She was my half sister, and she tried to kill me."
Dina looked up as Betsy wheeled across the dry dirt road.
"I'm sorry," Dina said as if in a fog. "I broke your headlight. I dented your car. And it's all shot up—"
"I'm sorry I wasn't driving it myself," Betsy said, her face stony. She looked up at Simon and asked, "Is she dead?"
Simon nodded. "It's over."
"Do you have an adapter for your phone?" Simon asked Dina.
"I was just going to look for it," she replied blankly. It was clear to Simon that she was going into shock. "My bag is on the front seat."
"Blankets?" Simon asked Betsy.
"In the back of the van." Betsy nodded. "Are you going to call the police?"
"Not yet," Simon said as he ran toward the van.
He returned in moments with two blankets and a bottle of water, which he handed to Dina.
"Sip at it," he reminded her as she lifted the water gratefully to her dry lips. "Don't guzzle."
He placed one blanket over the woman who lay motionless on the ground, her eyes open to the sky. The other he handed to Jude to wrap around Dina; then he returned to the van.
When he finally rejoined the three women, Dina looked up and asked, "Will an ambulance be here soon?"
"Yes. But it may take a while."
"I think it will be too late," Dina said.
"Maybe for her, but not for you." Jude bit her lip, gingerly holding on to her daughter's bloody hands.
Simon knelt down and searched for the source of blood on the back of Dina's shirt.
"It stings." Dina winced.
"Looks like you were shot," he said, moving to look at the wound from the front.
"I guess that's why it stings." Dina nodded and forced a weak smile.
"It appears that the bullet only grazed your shoulder, though." Simon looked up as several black cars sped into view.
"That's not the Henderson police." Jude frowned.
"No."
"Who are they?" Dina asked as several men got out of each car.
"FBI. They've been looking for you. I called Norton, told him where we were, and he directed them here."
"How can he do that?" Dina was becoming slightly groggy.
"He apparently has friends in high places. Now, listen to me. I want you to let me do the talking. We're going to tell them that you're in shock, which won't be a lie. But you must listen very carefully to what I say.
You will have to be able to repeat the story later. Do you understand?"
"Yes, but—"
"Listen very carefully," Simon insisted. "It's very, very important that you know exactly what to say...."
Chapter Twenty-six
From the evening news . ..
Sarah Hayward Decker, daughter of the late President Graham Hayward, Sr., and sister of Rhode Island congressman and rumored presidential candidate Graham Hay ward, Jr., died early this afternoon of injuries she sustained in what's been described as a freak accident. According to Sgt. Thomas Burton of the Henderson, Maryland, Police Department, Mrs. Decker was meeting with a landscape designer at a property she and her husband, a retired navy Admiral, were thinking about buying when she was accidentally struck by a vehicle driven by die landscaper. Congressman Hayward declined comment, requesting privacy for his family. Calls to the home of former First Lady Celeste Hayward were unanswered.
No charges were filed against the driver of the vehicle in connection with the accident.
In other national news...
Chapter Twenty-seven
*SQ "Hi." Simon poked his head through the
door and looked around the small shop. "I was looking for Dina."
"Oh." The woman behind the counter smiled. "You must be Simon. Dina said you'd be coming by this morning." She walked toward him with her hand out and took his when it was offered. "I'm Polly. I've heard a lot about you."
"Oh?" Simon grinned. "All good, of course."
"Of course. You're the white knight who saved Dina from the bad guy."
Simon laughed. "I'd love to take the credit, but the truth is that Dina didn't need much saving by the time I got there. She's a pretty amazing lady."
"That she is. Now, to find that amazing lady, you'll go out this door and down the path that leads through the trees to the greenhouse."
"I know the way. Thanks, Polly. It was good to meet you."
"I'll see you again, I'm sure."
Polly pulled the curtain aside and watched until Simon disappeared through the trees.
"Nice," she said aloud, nodding her head in approval. "Very, very nice ..." * * *
The door to the greenhouse swung open and Dina stepped out, a flat of low-growing plants in her arms.
"Hey!" Simon called to her.
"Hey, yourself!" she called back.
She was wearing jeans that were just a bit snug and a tiny bit dusty and a tank that fit her torso like skin. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, and it was all Simon could do to keep from sinking his fingers into those dark curls.
"You think you should be lifting that?" Simon stepped forward to take the flat from her hands. "Weren't you just shot a few days ago?"
"It's not at all heavy," Dina told him as he drew closer, "and it wasn't much of a wound, though I will admit that my shoulder's a bit stiff."
She let him take the flat from her hands. "I'm glad you called. I was hoping you would."
"I wanted to give you just a little time to catch your breath."
"I've caught it." She smiled, and something deep inside him twisted and turned.
"Good. You're feeling all right, then?"
"I'm fine. No permanent damage."
"I'm glad." He nodded. "Glad you're okay."
"I was just thinking about taking these seedlings out to the field. They need to be hardened a bit before we can offer them for planting in the ground. Want to take a walk? I'll show you around."
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