by Mallory Kane
She frowned at her brother. “But as I told you, I’d rather have Johnny and Paige taken care of before they get this far. Speaking of which, have you checked the obvious places, like that eyesore of a house on Highway 90?”
Leonard grinned, showing his stained teeth. “Just what I was thinking.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek but Serena stepped backward.
“We still think alike, don’t we, dear sister?”
Chapter Ten
I know where she is.
Johnny’s words reverberated in Paige’s head as she gazed at a man she’d never known before. Gone was the tender, sensitive artist who had loved her and left her. Gone too was the bewildered lost man who had let her in and protected her on faith.
In their place was a different man, a whole man, his jaw chiseled from granite, his sapphire-blue eyes hot with a leashed fury that might have frightened her once.
Now, in the midst of her anger and fear, it gave her a level of hope that she’d never before felt. Johnny was back. He was whole, and he was ready to fight for his daughter.
“Where? How? Let’s go now.” Her heart felt ready to burst from her chest. “Where is she?”
“Whoa, Paige, slow down.” He caught her by her arms. “I think they’re holding her in the same place they kept me. I recognize the background noises. It’s an old abandoned warehouse and dock on a bayou near here.”
His gaze clouded, and Paige felt him struggling with the memories.
She could imagine what he was seeing in his mind. She hadn’t forgotten the awful drawings at his safe house. Those horrific black slashes that represented what must have been the worst of his nightmares.
“Oh God, Johnny. The same place where they left you alone in the dark? We have to go now,” she insisted, pulling out of his grip. “Katie’s so scared.”
“Hold on, Tiger. I’m not sure exactly where it is. My brain’s still all jumbled.” He shook his head. “I’ve got to think about it. But don’t worry. We’ll find it.”
She pushed her fingers through her hair, then began braiding it quickly, almost feverishly. Johnny paced, his eyes following the movements of her fingers as she quickly finished and threw it back over her shoulder.
“She’s all right?” she asked. “You believe Katie’s all right, don’t you?”
He smiled at her, his harsh features turning soft as he studied her face. Stepping close, he brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped. “I believe Katie’s fine. Of course, she’s scared. But they let her talk to you. They give her pizza.”
His words comforted her but there was an edge in his voice that let her know his anger was still there, banked, smoldering, ready to burst into flames at any moment.
“The person who kidnapped me, who now has our daughter, is waiting for me to figure out where they are. She’s waiting for us to step into their trap. I’m sure it’s driving her crazy, wondering why I haven’t already shown up.”
“She?”
He nodded, his eyes blazing. “My stepmother.”
“Oh my God. Are you sure it’s her?”
“I’m sure. Listen to this.” He picked up the tape recorder. “Listen to her voice.”
Paige listened to the hated voice. “I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman with that raspy whisper.”
“Listen to the accent.” He played it again. “When she says time is running out.” His voice mocked and exaggerated the twang. “It’s her. I hated that voice. She always brought someone with her, a man whose accent was much stronger. She never spoke above a whisper. She’d tell him what to say to me. I think I knew even then that it was Serena.”
“I remember her at the party,” Paige said. “She was noticeable because of her hair and that Dalmatian-spotted cape, but it was more than that. She was agitated, angry.”
She thought back. “Seeing that drawing with your signature and a current date must have been as big a shock for her as it was for me.”
She thought about the woman’s eyes on her, the look of hostility that at the time Paige had interpreted as snobbishness. Now though, thinking back, Serena’s narrow gaze seemed ominous.
“And then she heard you talking to Sally about Katie.”
Paige stared at him. “That’s right. That must be how she figured out Katie was your daughter. Sally went on and on about Katie’s unusual blue eyes.”
“So she naturally assumed you’d know where I was.” Johnny laughed shortly. “She always hated me. I remember, she did everything she could to turn my dad against me. From the moment she came into our lives, she pestered him to get rid of everything that had belonged to my mother and to change his will.”
“He didn’t put her in his will?”
Johnny shook his head grimly. “After my mother died, he left all his money in trust to his oldest surviving child.”
His words sent a chill down Paige’s spine. “Oldest surviving child,” she repeated. “Serena has a son.”
Johnny’s brows lowered. “Brandon,” he said thoughtfully. “My stepbrother. He was just a baby when I was kidnapped.”
As he talked, he picked up his gun and ejected the nearly empty clip. The noise echoed in the room. He fished in the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out an extra clip and checked it, then inserted it with metallic authority into the gun.
Paige followed his efficient movements in awe. The man Johnny had become was in many ways a stranger to her. The hands she’d watched create beautiful images on paper now held a deadly weapon, handling it with ease. He examined it and hefted it in his hand, checking its weight.
Paige spoke without taking her eyes off the gun. “So if the oldest surviving child inherits everything…. Serena had you kidnapped and tried to kill you so her son would be the oldest surviving child?”
He nodded. “That’s the only way she’d ever be able to get her hands on the money.”
Paige processed the information, then fear squeezed her heart like a fist as her brain made the next logical leap. “Her son is younger than Katie.” She wrung her hands. “Oh God, Johnny. She’s going to kill Katie.”
He tucked the gun into his belt and faced Paige, squeezing her shoulders comfortingly. “Listen to me, I’m the one Serena is after. Until she can be sure I’m dead, she can’t afford to let anything happen to Katie. She knows the only thing that’s keeping us from going to the police is the threat of harm to our child.”
His grip tightened on her shoulders. “As soon as Katie’s out of danger, all bets are off. We’ll sic the police on her so fast her head will spin. In the meantime, she thinks she’s in control of the situation.”
He stepped back and punched one fist into his other palm. “My dear stepmother always underestimated me. She thinks I’m still the kid she had kidnapped. And she has no idea how strong you are.”
“Well, then she’s in for a big—”
“Shh.” Johnny held up his hand.
She stopped, and listened. At first she didn’t hear anything. But then a door creaked downstairs.
“Johnny—”
Johnny grabbed Paige and put his hand gently over her mouth. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered urgently. “There’s a door at the end of the hall. It leads to a back staircase. I want you to go wait on the far side of that door at the head of the staircase.”
“But—” Her voice was muffled by his hand.
“Shh,” he whispered. “If you hear anyone coming up the stairs…” He paused and looked around. His baseball bat was somewhere in this room. He spotted it on a shelf. Grabbing it, he handed it to her.
Footsteps sounded below them, as if someone was walking through the dining room.
“Hit the door to warn me if you hear anyone. Otherwise, wait there for me. If someone other than me opens this door, run. There’s a latch about a foot above the doorknob at the bottom of the stairs. It’s pitch-black in there. You’ll have to feel for it. When you find it, press it toward the wall.”
He showed her with a gesture. “Push the door
closed behind you and it’ll lock again. You’ll be in the servant’s quarters. Run all the way through them. Hide in the closet at the back of the quarters.”
Paige shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Johnny pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, then he smiled down at her. “Trust me. I’ll come and get you.”
Her face pale, her eyes still glistening with tears, she tried her best to smile. Her faith in him awed and humbled him. He had no idea whether he could save them or not, but he knew he would die before he would ever let her down again.
He touched the corner of her lip with his thumb. “Don’t let anything you hear out here worry you, okay? Now go.”
He stepped to the door and opened it a crack to peer out. The landing was wide, and nothing on the ground level below them was visible except the front entrance. Johnny didn’t see anything moving, and at least for the moment all was silent, so he pulled Paige close and gestured toward the door that stood at right angles to his.
“Go now. Hug the wall so nobody downstairs can see you if they look up,” he hissed, and gave her a push.
With a last panicked glance at his face, she went.
Johnny breathed easier once she was on the other side of the thick wooden door. All his life the door at the bottom of the stairs that opened into the old servants’ quarters had been locked. He’d rigged the trip for the inside latch himself. It had been his secret. He’d never told anyone. Not his father, not even any of his friends. It was his own personal escape hatch. And he’d used it often, especially after Serena had come to live with them.
It struck him that he’d always managed to keep a means of escape handy. Not only after he’d woken up with no memory, but before too. What did that say about him?
He still couldn’t ferret out the memory of that fateful day he’d walked away from Paige. Maybe he’d been escaping then too? Maybe he’d never intended to go back for her. Had he been the kind of man who would do that?
There it was again, the one inescapable question.
He rubbed his temple, wishing he could make his brain give up the rest of his memories. But his stubborn brain only yielded a bit at a time, and not always what he needed when he needed it.
A noise turned his attention back to whoever was downstairs. Clicking the safety off his gun, he stepped over to the railing and carefully looked down.
Something moved. He jerked back. He’d seen a shadow below, along the edge of his field of vision. Whoever was down there was on their way up the stairs, and it wasn’t a stray cat.
He listened for an instant. From the sounds, he could tell there were two of them. They were whispering, then he heard one set of footsteps head back toward the kitchen.
He glanced around, then looked over his shoulder at the door to the back stairs. He needed to stay as close to that door as possible, in case she needed him.
He backed up, gun pointed at the elegant mahogany staircase, until he came even with the last set of barrister bookcases, the ones nearest the back stairs.
He stepped behind them. The position put him at a disadvantage. He was right-handed, but because his right side was against the bookcases, he’d have to shoot with his left hand or step out into the open.
He weighed the gun in his left hand, learning the feel of it. His finger wrapped around the trigger and he readied himself to shoot as he angled his head around the edge of the bookcase to look across the landing.
He heard a board creak on the stairs. Johnny tensed, his left hand awkwardly holding the gun.
A head appeared, but who was it? He didn’t want to panic and shoot an innocent person. Then the head turned, and Johnny saw the bandage that decorated the beefy guy’s swollen nose.
Knowing he had very little hope for accuracy, Johnny fired, hoping he didn’t accidentally kill the man. He just wanted to keep Paige safe and rescue Katie. He didn’t want to become a killer.
Beefy ducked, then raised up and fired in the direction of the bookcase. Wood splintered next to Johnny’s neck, throwing a sliver up to scratch his cheek. He ducked back.
More shots came, peppering the bookcase and shattering glass.
Johnny switched the gun to his right hand. He had no choice. He was fighting for their lives. He needed to shoot as accurately as possible.
He stepped out and fired, holding the gun in both hands, wishing he’d taken the time to learn to use the gun accurately.
Beefy fired, then dropped out of sight.
Johnny crouched, trying to make himself a smaller target, and kept shooting. He didn’t even know how many times he’d fired. The gun’s magazine held ten cartridges. He had one more clip in his pocket. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
A shot zipped past his head. He flinched, then fired at the staircase again. He had to stop the two men any way he could. He had to stay alive, so he could save his child.
He wondered where Beefy’s partner was, and if Paige was all right. The top of Beefy’s head rose above the level of the landing. Johnny fired, and heard a grunt of pain.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins, burning, raising his consciousness to razor sharpness. His shot had hit Beefy. Had he killed him?
He waited, but nothing happened. He turned his head toward the back stairs, listening. Was Beefy’s partner circling the house to approach from the back?
Something hit him, knocking the gun out of his hand and forcing a cry from his lips. Then he heard the report. He fell backward and watched his gun slide across the slick hardwood floor toward the railing. He dove for it, grabbing it with both hands, although his right hand felt like it had been slammed in a door. It ached, and was going numb.
Johnny gripped the weapon and concentrated on the stairs, refusing to allow his brain to accept what his body already knew.
He’d been shot.
Beefy’s head appeared, and Johnny fired. A muffled cry rang out, then a thud.
He scrambled back over to the shelter of the bookcase, leaned back against the wall and waited. No sound came from the stairwell. He straightened, making sure his legs would hold him up, then crouched and crept over toward the head of the stairs. He maneuvered into a position where he could, by leaning over, see down the staircase.
Peeking over the landing, he caught sight of Beefy sprawled on the stairs, blood streaming from a wound in his head. Johnny’s pulse pounded in his temples as he tried to determine if the man was unconscious or dead.
Suddenly Beefy raised his gun and fired. Johnny jerked backward, noting that Beefy’s shot had gone wild.
“Who are you? Did Serena Yarbrough send you?” he yelled, aiming at Beefy’s chest.
“Go to hell,” the other man gasped, trying to pull himself up. He slipped in his own blood and grunted as he fell back down. He raised his gun again.
“No thanks,” Johnny responded, dodging another wild shot that hit the ceiling and showered them both with plaster.
He left the man bleeding on the stairs and crept back to the back staircase door.
“Paige, I’m coming in,” he said softly. He slipped through the door into the darkness, pushing until he heard the latch click behind him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of his odd lightheadedness and the feeling of numbness in his right hand.
“Johnny? Are you all right?” Paige gripped his shirtsleeve. “I heard so many gunshots.” Her voice held a faint note of panic as she bunched his sleeve in her fist.
“I’m fine. Let’s get out of here. The other guy’s around somewhere.”
He kept his eyes closed, pretending to himself that it was to stay oriented, pretending that if he opened them, he’d be able to find a sliver of light somewhere, pretending the darkness didn’t bother him.
He urged Paige down the stairs in front of him, holding his hand out, feeling for the door. He hoped to hell that she didn’t notice how fast and unsteady his heartbeat was. She stopped suddenly, and he bumped her from behind.
“Now let
me go first,” he whispered, her sweet-smelling hair against his nose. Eyes still tightly closed, he felt around the wall for his secret trip mechanism. To his relief, his shaking thumb went right to it. He pushed. The door clicked softly open.
Redness in front of his closed lids told him they had emerged into a lighted area. He opened his eyes, breathing for the first time since the upper door had closed.
The stairs exited into a long, low building, the servant’s quarters attached to the original turn-of-the-century house. Johnny pushed Paige behind him and surveyed the dim interior of the quarters, alert to anything that would tell him someone else was here. The room seemed empty.
He carefully transferred the gun into his left hand, noting absently that his right hand had almost no feeling in it any more.
Paige squinted against the sunlight that filtered in through the dirty windows. The long room was filled with single beds lined up like barracks. About halfway down the room a thick curtain hung across the entire width. A way to separate male and female servants decades before? The curtain was open about halfway, but the sunlight faded into darkness down toward the other end of the room.
She turned her attention to Johnny, who was standing a couple of steps in front of her. His right shirtsleeve was dark and wet. She reached out to brush at it, not really comprehending what it was, and her fingers came away sticky and smeared with dark red.
A metallic odor stunned her.
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
He froze.
“Johnny, you’re hurt!”
“Not now!” he snapped.
She grabbed his wet, sticky shirtsleeve. “Yes, now!” She tugged on his arm.
He grunted and swayed.
“You’ve been shot. We’ve got to do something.”
He whirled on her and his face was pale but stoic. “We don’t have time. Keep an eye on the windows.”
He started down the long room, but a noise behind them stopped him. He reversed his steps and went to stand, feet braced apart, in front of the door to the stairs.
