She shivered in the darkness, wishing helplessly that she had drowned before Linc had gotten to her. Wishing she had never come into his life and brought him to this. But she couldn't wish she'd never known him, couldn't wish she hadn't fallen in love with him; it would be like wishing away the only part of herself that was truly clean and beautiful.
She saw a movement in the shadows across the street, and leaned forward. She saw Linc crouched beside the huge picture window at the front of the house, the one that ran the width of the front room from floor to ceiling and had cost a small fortune to drape. Those drapes were closed now, although she could tell the lights were on in the room behind them. It was an impressive room, and the one, naturally, Daniel had chosen for his office. His big, carved mahogany desk was on the far side of the room, she knew, along with two luxurious leather chairs. Except for some shelves, he'd insisted on leaving the rest of the room strangely vacant, as if declaring to any who entered that this was a man with enough wealth to waste space.
She saw Linc move again, across the front of the house, with that coiled, controlled strength. The kind of strength she envied, and had so little of.
You don't have to change you, Channie. You're already stronger than you realize. So much stronger.
Linc's words flashed through her mind, and hot on their heels came her own instinctive denial. He was wrong, she told herself yet again. But out of some deep level of her mind came the tiny question, "Is he?"
Linc was strong, and courageous, and kind and even noble. But he was also smart. And perceptive. I've spent years risking my life on my judgment of people. He had, by the very nature of his work, done exactly that. That he was still alive at all told her all she needed to know about the accuracy of his instincts. How could he be so very wrong about her? Had his admitted desire for her clouded his usual clear thinking? Was he seeing only what he wanted—
"You're late."
She recoiled from the harsh, cold voice that suddenly barked out of the small speaker at her elbow. Daniel. A chill rippled up her spine, nearly cramping her muscles with its intensity. She'd forgotten how glacial he could sound; she'd grown used to Linc's warmth.
Linc. She'd been so absorbed in her thoughts she hadn't seen the front door open and Linc step inside the house. She wondered what he was thinking about the oh-so-perfect interior, the result of Daniel's demands on the most elegant designer in town to produce the perfect image of success. Would Linc think she had done it? That this cool, unwavering, lifeless perfection was her choice?
No, she thought with a tiny spark of warmth. Not Linc. He would know there was nothing of her in that house.
"Sorry," Linc was saying casually; she could almost see him shrugging. "I had to drop something off. Put it in a safe place, if you get my drift."
"You didn't bring it?" Daniel's voice was sharper this time, the tone that had always made her quail before him. It didn't frighten her this time, from the safety of the car, it merely deepened the chill that had overtaken her.
"You know," Linc drawled, "we'll get along a lot better if you don't assume I'm stupid."
"All right, all right." She could picture Daniel so clearly in her mind, his perfectly styled blond hair swept back, the faint beginnings of a double chin, the flashy diamond ring on his right hand, and irritation twisting his face. "But how do I know you're who you say you are? Al never mentioned you."
"Al never mentioned his morning run buddies?"
"Well … not by name."
"That's because there's a big bunch of us. But I was the closest to Al. We lived in the same apartment building, over in Torrance."
"Oh."
Daniel was irritated, she thought, and worried. But not scared. Daniel was never scared. But he should be, a little voice in her head whispered. Anybody who has to go up against Lincoln Reese should be scared.
It was a novel thought for her, the thought of Daniel being afraid. But her faith in Linc had grown so strong, so fast, she knew it was true. And that tiny bit of faith she'd never surrendered, that stubborn hope that the good eventually would win out, grew a little stronger.
She heard the rumble of Daniel's voice again, but couldn't make out the words. Then Linc spoke, in conversational tones so calm her own nerves seemed to ease.
"Al used to talk a lot about his work. And you," he said. "While we were running, you know?" A sigh, and with a careful tone of sad regret, "Guess he won't make that marathon now, will he?"
"No," Daniel said, in that calculating tone that told her his mind was working swiftly, assessing, searching for vulnerabilities in this stranger. "An awful thing. Such an unfortunate accident, wasn't it, Mr. Roberts?"
She'd known he would be using the name Reese Roberts, a reversal of his father's name. He often did when undercover, he'd told her, and had identification in that name just in case.
"So you say," Linc answered, his tone carefully neutral. Chandra knew he was playing it cautious for the moment; there was a long way to go yet.
"So the police said," Daniel corrected with emphasis. "Al had too much to drink on top of a reactive antihistamine, and he fell asleep. Simple."
"Oh, I don't doubt that that's what happened. My question is why a man like Al, who had to know exactly what that combination would do, would voluntarily take that much of that drug and then drink?"
"Even people who know better sometimes get careless, Mr. Roberts. Al got careless. The police say so, and so does the coroner's report."
"Al, careless? He was a perfectionist. He wouldn't make a mistake like that. I'm surprised you didn't realize that."
She heard a shift in Linc's voice, so subtle she might not have noticed it had she not learned to discern every variation of inflection. It was cool determination touched with anger, and again Chandra thought it was Daniel who should be afraid.
"But then, perhaps you're not thinking clearly. You must be all wrapped up in your own grief. Your wife, I mean."
She sucked in a gasp. When Daniel spoke, the falseness of his suddenly sorrowful tone grated on her. She wondered why she'd never seen through it before, this fraud, this pitiful imitation of human concern.
"I can't talk about that. She meant so very much to me. It's my fault. She was so upset, for so long, and I neglected her. I should have seen the signs, when she first began to lose her grip on reality, but I was too busy."
Linc said nothing for a moment, and Chandra held her breath, waiting. "That's … very noble of you." His words were tight, tense, and she could picture the rigidness of his jaw. He was furious, she could hear it. Furious, for her. A little surge of warmth rushed through her.
"I should have seen how upset she was," Daniel went on in that sighing, virtuous tone. Then, in a tone of sincere confidentiality, he said, "She couldn't have children, you see, and she was depressed about it. But I still loved her, of course. Even if she was barren. I never dreamed she was depressed enough to take her own life."
Chandra felt the nausea she'd been battling rise up into her throat just as Linc began furiously, "You—"
He broke off suddenly, and Chandra froze. Had Daniel done something? But then, calmer, Linc's voice came again and she realized he had only stopped to regain control of himself.
"Enough of this, Lansing." Linc had dropped the "mister," and Chandra knew the gloves were coming off. "It's all bull anyway, and you and I both know it."
"Bull?"
"You know what I mean. Let's skip the lies and get down to what I came here for."
"Ah, yes, this supposed letter Al sent you."
"Letter? It was much more than just that, Lansing. And it's all sitting in a safe place, waiting, along with instructions on what's to be done with it if I don't get back to pick it up."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Your choice. I'm sure the police who handled Al's death would be interested to know they had a murder on their hands instead of a simple accident victim."
"Murder? I told you—"
"Cut the
crap, Lansing. I know better. Al would never do anything so stupid. You were the stupid one, for thinking Al wouldn't cover himself. It was no accident. You murdered Al to shut him up."
Chandra gasped; she hadn't expected him to come right out and accuse Daniel of Al's murder.
"That's absurd," Daniel snapped.
"Is it? How'd you pull it off, a little of one of your pharmaceutical company specials in the old wineglass? Enough to make him so drowsy he lost control of his car?"
She heard a short, sharp oath, and knew their theory had been right. Then Daniel's voice again, low and harsh.
"I suppose you think you can prove this."
"The only one with a motive is you. It's all there, in the research papers and tapes Al left for me. Very interesting. Such ugly side effects, and you neglected to even mention them. And it's too bad about the financial trouble your company is in. But the rush of money that came in after your little announcement bailed you out, didn't it?"
"You can't prove a word of this."
"Well, I can hardly expect you to take my word for it, can I?" Chandra heard a rustling, then the sound of paper being unfolded. "Here's a couple of pages of the financial statement Al left me. Now I'm no expert, but it sure doesn't look very good. And I'm sure all the people who are clamoring about your new miracle drug would find the rest of these papers, and Al's tapes … shall we say, illuminating?"
Daniel swore again, crudely. "That bastard. I should have known he'd pull something like this. I shouldn't have waited to do away with him. I should have gotten rid of him the minute he started to fight me."
Chandra sucked in a deep breath. They had him! He'd admitted to killing Al, and they had it on tape. Linc could get out now, to safety—
"I could bring your whole house of cards tumbling down, Lansing," Linc said.
Chandra bit her lip; why was he still going on? Get out, she whispered.
"Your company's in trouble. Big trouble. Trouble a lot of those people who go by initials would like to know about. Like the SEC, the FDA—"
"All right, damn you. What's your price?"
"Well, you know, I didn't originally intend to be greedy. A few hundred thousand, you know, just to make it worth my while. But then I got to thinking … if one murder is worth that much, then two ought to be worth a lot more."
"Two? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Why, that pretty little wife of yours."
Oh, God, Chandra thought, he's going for that, too. Please, Linc, no, we have enough, get out.
"She committed suicide," Daniel snapped.
"Sure she did. Jumped overboard, right? Strange how her body never showed up, isn't it?"
"It will," Daniel said, sounding like a man who was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
"What happened, Lansing?" Linc's voice had dropped to a whisper that was somehow lethal sounding. "Did you have to shut her up, too? Did she catch on to what you were doing?"
"My wife was a fool," Daniel snapped, apparently forgetting all about his earlier, touching speech. "A naive little fool. She couldn't begin to understand my work. She wasn't good for anything, except in bed … and she wasn't much good there, either."
The old humiliation flooded Chandra, not so much at the words she'd heard so often, but at knowing Linc was hearing them, hearing what her husband thought of her. Daniel was right, he was—
He was a killer. A ruthless, heartless killer. And a crooked, dishonorable man. That's why they were here, why Linc was confronting him, risking himself, because Daniel Lansing was a brutal, conscienceless beast. So why on earth did she care what he thought of her? And did she really think Linc, knowing what Daniel was, would believe him?
"Well," Linc said, in the drawl she'd come to know meant the opposite of it's relaxed sound, "that makes you just as big a fool for marrying her, then, doesn't it?"
Daniel laughed, that harsh, acid laugh that had always so intimidated her.
"That's what you think. I got what I needed out of that marriage. A woman who looked good but was easy to control, and too stupid to know any better. And a great, big chunk of money."
"Money?"
Linc sounded like Chandra felt; confused. That laugh of Daniel's came again. He'd changed somehow, and it took her a moment to realize Linc's plan had worked; he'd accepted that Linc was a brother under the skin, the same greedy, calculating kind of man he was. And it was, as Linc had hoped, loosening his tongue.
"You don't think I married her for love, do you? Hell, I did it as a favor to her father. He thought he was never going to get rid of the little mouse."
"And you," Linc said, that softly lethal tone back, "what did you get?"
"I got a big cash infusion when I needed it to keep going. Although if I'd known she was going to be such a whining little pest, I might have thought twice."
Chandra sagged in her seat, numbed. She'd been sold. No, not sold, she wasn't even worth that. Her father had had to pay Daniel to take her off his hands. He'd only married her because she'd come with a dowry, a bridal price he couldn't afford to turn down.
"You're a real bastard, you know that, Lansing?"
Chandra heard the suppressed fury in Linc's voice through a kind of haze. She should be feeling pain, she thought. But she couldn't feel anything. She was so worthless that her father had had to pay a man to marry her. Linc must see now how wrong he'd been…
"If she was no danger to you, why'd you kill her?"
Daniel's answer was offhand, almost nonchalant. "She heard something she wasn't supposed to." Chandra stirred out of her dazed state. Why was Daniel admitting it, and so easily? "So, Roberts, what's your price?"
"Well, like I said, I didn't want to be greedy. Just enough to buy myself a dream or two."
"Dreams." Daniel snorted derisively.
"Yeah, Lansing. I believe in them, you know? Dragons, unicorns … mermaids. I really believe in mermaids."
Chandra let out a smothered little cry. He'd known how she would feel, hearing Daniel's cruel, cold assessment. He'd known, and had sent her the only reassurance he could. The numbing haze that surrounded her vanished, to be replaced by a hot, pulsing emotion she didn't even recognize at first, it had been so long since she'd felt it. Then Daniel spoke again, and she knew.
"Then you're as big a fool as my wife was."
It was anger. Glorious, fierce anger, flowing through her, releasing a furious strength. It was Daniel who was the fool, a fool who couldn't see what kind of man was really before him. She sat up straight, listening intently now.
"But I'm going to be a rich fool," Linc said. "Very rich. Because you're going to pay me a million dollars so you can stay out of prison."
"A million? You're crazy."
"Am I? Hey, I either get it from you, or from the media, when I take my little package and my story and sell it to them." She could almost see Linc grin when he added, "They pay a lot better than the Feds do."
There was a long moment of silence. Then movement of some kind. Then, flatly, from Daniel, "I'll give you a hundred thousand."
Linc laughed. "Get real, Lansing."
"Right now. You can take it with you. In cash."
Chandra caught her breath. She knew that tone, she'd heard it before. It came whenever Daniel had irrevocably made up his mind to something.
"Here," Daniel said, over a metallic, squeaking sound. "I'll just get it out of the safe."
The safe. That sound had been the picture that covered it swinging back on its hinges.
"No!"
Chandra's cry echoed futilely in the dark interior of the car. There was no money in the safe, Daniel was far too worried about burglars to keep cash around. What was in that safe was a gun. And she knew without doubt now that Daniel would use it. That was why he'd so easily confessed to her murder, he'd already decided then to kill Linc. And even though Linc was armed with his own automatic, it was at his back, beneath his jacket. No matter how swift he was, it would take him precious seconds to
get to it. Seconds he wouldn't have when Daniel pulled a ready gun unexpectedly out of the safe.
He's going to die. Linc is going to die.
The words echoed in Chandra's head. Daniel was going to win again. Only this time it would be Linc who lost. She had done this, she had gotten him into this. The man she loved was going to pay the ultimate price for helping her, and she was going to let him, because she was a coward. Because she was a despicable, contemptible coward, she was going to sit here in this damned car and let him die.
Like hell she was.
She gathered her nerve and started to move.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Pain shot through her leg as the shift lever dug into it, but Chandra ignored it as she scrambled into the driver's seat. She threw the floor shift into drive, and slammed on the accelerator. She heard a yell, a warning, from the receiver's speaker; she didn't care. Nothing in the world mattered except getting to Linc.
The racy coupé skidded as she threw it into a sharp U-turn. She headed straight for the house, bracing herself as the car neared the curb. The impact snapped open the driver's door Linc had left unlatched, and she instinctively shrank away from the yawning gap. But she never moved her foot from the gas pedal, nor her hands from the wheel that jerked in protest as the car careened up and over the curb.
She fought the skid as the coupé crossed the sidewalk and hit the grass. Her eyes never left her goal as she wrestled with the wheel, desperate to keep the car straight. The instant the pull lessened and the car came back in line, she jammed the accelerator to the floor.
TO HOLD AN EAGLE Page 20
