Pushed to the Limit

by Patricia Rosemoor

  She thought about the stud and its possible source.

  Metal studs sometimes decorated fancy shirts... or leather jackets... and she’d seen Brickman slip a black leather jacket around Martha’s shoulders that very night.

  Brickman’s jacket? Or Martha’s? How could she find out?

  She examined one of the higher shelves of the wall unit, feeling behind a speaker, part of an elaborate sound system. No missing folder. Trying not to lose heart, she thoroughly searched the drawing table and the sitting area, including the magazine rack. No luck there, either.

  A noise at one of the windows made her whip around, heart pounding, but she could see nothing. She hadn’t noticed the outside shutters were closed when she’d entered the room, a fact that gave her the creeps.

  Without a view, the room felt so close, so warm.

  The heat of discomfort shot through her and she shifted uneasily. A warning threaded through her consciousness: she’d been stupid to do this alone without back up. But there’d been no helping it. Benno was already wounded. Her fault. If something worse happened to him...

  Realizing her imagination was starting to work overtime, that she was conjuring danger where there was none, Sydney figured she’d better finish up quickly and get out of the house. Foolish or not, she couldn’t wait to leave, to get back to the safety of Benno’s Place.

  To the safety of Benno’s arms, a little voice whispered.

  She couldn’t think about Benno now or she would lose her impetus and she was almost done.

  The only piece of furniture she hadn’t yet searched was a storage unit with a half-dozen wide, shallow drawers that would hold architectural drawings or blueprints. Though placing a hanging file in such a unit seemed ridiculous, she couldn’t leave without being certain.

  The top two drawers held exactly what she’d expected, but she could only pull the third open a few inches. Something wedged inside was jamming it as if Kenneth had hastily shoved in the contents. Because he didn’t want someone else to see? She squeezed her fingers through the opening and tried to work the papers loose while pulling on the handle. The drawer gave and flew open into her stomach.

  And in its middle sat a red file tagged “Lord, Martha.”

  With a sense of elation, she opened it. Inside were three matching red folders marked “Estate,” “Personal,” and “School.”

  The “Estate” folder held the documents that granted Kenneth total power over the distribution of Martha’s trust until she was twenty-five unless he gave up or was, for some reason, unable to fulfill said duty. Or unless she married with his consent. If Martha married without his consent, however, Kenneth would then have power over her trust for an additional five years.

  Martha was presently twenty-three, Sydney thought. And a dead man would have an impossible time overseeing a trust.

  Another noise made Sydney jump and a surge of fear go straight to her chest which immediately tightened. She listened but couldn’t identify the source. The wind, she reminded herself uneasily, hurrying to open the “Personal” folder with trembling fingers.

  As she did, the breath caught in her throat. A stack of correspondence was topped by a copy of a letter addressed to one Alan Foxglove.

  Alan Foxglove... Al Fox. Obviously the same man using an alias.

  Eagerly, Sydney read the missive:

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  Mr. Alan Foxglove:

  After having a long, heartfelt talk with my sister, I understand she wants to marry you. While I sympathized with Martha’s wish to have a family of her own, I found your whirlwind courtship and failure to open your background to scrutiny suspect.

  Therefore, I did some checking on my own through a discreet private detective. He found Alan Foxglove does not exist and followed you until he unearthed your true identity. I know you to be one Albert Fox, that you have served time in prison for thievery -- stealing jewels from two other wealthy young women to be precise.

  I do not want to hurt Martha with the truth. If you pursue my sister and she continues her relationship with you, I will be forced to cut off her funds immediately. If you somehow marry without my knowledge, she will not come into any money until she is thirty. I do not think a man such as yourself would be satisfied with this arrangement.

  If you have even the slightest feeling for Martha, you will make whatever excuses you need to end this travesty and leave her in peace... and ignorance of your true intentions.

  Respectfully,

  Kenneth Lord

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  “Al Fox, a fortune hunter and a jewel thief,” Sydney murmured, things now coming together and starting to make sense to her.

  Of course Martha had known Al Fox. Rather she had know him as Alan Foxglove. Martha was a rich young woman, the perfect prey for a good looking and charming if unscrupulous man – the same villain who had seduced Sydney into believing she was so loved.

  Sydney was now certain she should know why the newspaper clipping had been in Fox’s room. The man would have to have some grudge against her... reason to hate her enough to set her up for murder. What in the world could that be?

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  And what of Martha Lord? Had the young woman plotted her brother’s murder with Alan Foxglove? Had she been willing to involve an innocent woman for her own financial gain? Or to be with the man she loved?

  Sydney took a deep breath... and was sickened by the very real smell of smoke. She sniffed the air. Something burning nearby. Looking around, she saw a thick stream of gray curl through the crack beneath the study door.

  Fire.

  The house was on fire. And she wasn’t naive enough to think this was any accident.

  The noises she’d heard had been made by a human being – one who obviously wanted her dead. She’d been too caught up in her find to pay heed to the warning. Folding the copy of the letter, Sydney stuffed it into her skirt pocket alongside the Tarot deck and ran to the study door.

  Locked.

  Trying not to panic, she kicked the wooden panel to no avail. That exit probably wouldn’t be safe, anyway, she told herself. She could feel the heat and hear the crackle of burning wood through the door. The smoke coming though the crack was even heavier now. Covering her nose and mouth with her hands, Sydney looked to the windows. The shutters were heavy and secured from the outside.

  Wondering what she could use to break through one of them, she moved away from the door.

  A split second later, the room went black.

  Sydney...

  Her heartbeat went wild at the familiar whisper and she turned toward the sound before she had time to think about what she was doing. Fox must be in the room with her, she realized, as she bumped into the edge of the wall unit. In the dark, she had no way of knowing exactly where, but he sounded close.

  A thrill of fear shot down her spine as she thought about being alone with him.

  Sydney, my love...

  Him and his gun.

  She held her breath to see if she could pinpoint Fox’s whereabouts. The only thing she heard was a soft hiss. The fire? Surely not. But what else could it be? Taking a shallow breath, she drew in some smoke and held back a cough by force. Her mind whirled as she tried to guess how Fox had gotten into the room. She hadn’t noticed another door, but if he’d gotten in, she could get out, she told herself encouragingly. All she had to do was avoid him and find the exit in the dark.

  Sydney, my love, I’m waiting. Come to me.

  That hope died as Sydney realized the sound was as much acoustic as human. Fox wasn’t there at all. The hiss was coming from the speakers in the wall unit. His voice was being piped in from somewhere else.

  This is how he had done it, then, frightening her to the edge of despair. He’d recorded his voice, used some kind of amplification system to play the same words and phrases over and over in the same eerie way.

  And she was certain he was doing so now merely because he enjoyed her fear
.

  Another sound – the crackle and pop of burning wood – made her turn to see flames licking the edges of the door. The fire was spreading fast, no doubt due to the amount of timber in the house and aided by the high wind.

  Dear God, unless she found a way out fast, she would be trapped in a raging inferno.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BENNO SAW the flames long before he was halfway to the Lord house. He only hoped someone else in town had been so observant and had called the fire department. The high winds would fuel the fire which would then spread like anything. He drove as fast as he dared up the winding road.

  A torch against the midnight sky, the house on the cliff lit his way.

  Praying that Sydney wasn’t inside, Benno cursed himself bitterly for letting her out of his sight. He should have known she would do something desperate. She’d acted so odd after they’d made love that he shouldn’t have trusted her to have the good sense to stay put.

  The next second Benno was castigating himself for his trying to make Sydney into some child who needed to be told what to do. She was a woman.

  The woman he loved.

  He’d only loved twice in his life. Nissa was long gone. Sydney couldn’t die, too.

  If she did, he’d have another death on his conscience. He shouldn’t have encouraged her to go looking for trouble. He should have insisted on that private detective instead of tearing around the countryside with her. He was a jinx, no good to any woman. That’s why he’d never looked for love. Sydney had just happened to him.

  Let her live, he thought fiercely. Let Sydney be somewhere safe.

  He hadn’t been able to save Nissa, but he’d be damned if he’d watch Sydney die. He’d save her somehow. And if she never wanted to be near him again afterward, he wouldn’t fight her. He would be content that she was alive.

  He hadn’t asked for much on this earth. Surely he was due one favor.

  But as he pulled up the drive, Benno spotted Sydney’s car and he knew she was still inside. He didn’t see how she could survive when the entire house seemed to be wreathed in flames. He couldn’t give up. Wouldn’t. He would find her and bring her to safety if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Benno jumped out of the car and wavered for a second, unsure of which direction to take until he heard Sydney’s screams.

  TRAPPED BY THE DARK, a blackness deeper than any she had ever experienced before, Sydney knew her vision was coming true.

  She was suffocating... couldn’t breathe... couldn’t scream for help again.

  No one to hear.

  No exit.

  Choking on the smoke that was filling the room, she tried a window but couldn’t free the lock. The glass. She could break the glass.

  Find something heavy, she told herself, going over the room in her mind.

  The speakers.

  Heat seared her as she stumbled to the wall unit and blindly searched the top shelf. The fire roared to her left. She could barely see the flames through the thick smoke that made her eyes tear. Her fingers found the front panel of a speaker. She grasped it with both hands and pulled, but wires prevented her from walking off.

  She jerked hard – once, twice, three times. Finally, the speaker came free, the momentum carrying her several steps across the room. She stumbled, and, unable to catch herself, went flying head first. Contact. Stars lit the blackness and she dropped the speaker. Her hand grasped a ledge. She’d run into the drawing table.

  No time to wait for the pain to recede, she told herself as she started coughing.

  Picking up the speaker and using the drawing table as a guide, she worked her way around to the window furthest from the fire. Then she backed off, closed her eyes to protect them, and swung her arms in a broad arc.

  She let the speaker fly and continued turning. With her back to the window, she covered her face as glass shattered and sprayed her. A sharp pain in the back of her neck made her wince. She freed the jagged piece of glass and advanced to the window, her foot brushing the speaker where it had fallen to the floor. Aware of the razor sharp edges that would be left along the pane, she carefully felt for the shutters, then shoved at the wooden barrier with all her might.

  It didn’t budge.

  Don’t panic. Just figure a way to get through, she told herself.

  Her lungs felt as if they’d been seared and were on the verge of collapse, her head ached and her neck stung, yet Sydney found the strength somewhere. She felt for the speaker with her foot, hoping it would be heavy enough to pop the locks if she banged it against the shutters.

  “Sydney!”

  Her name came from outside. She froze until she realized it wasn’t Fox who called her.

  “Benno!” She croaked out his name and turned back to the shutters. She slammed both palms into the wood.

  “Sydney? Where are you?”

  She hit them again, this time with her fists. “Here.” The word was swallowed as she began choking on the smoke.

  “Hold on.”

  The clack of bolts being released was a welcome sound. A harsh cough racked her slender body. The shutters opened and, caught by the wind, whipped back against the side of the building. The air she gulped made her cough even harder. Her eyes watered so she could hardly see.

  “Come on, but be careful of the glass,” Benno warned.

  She blinked to clear her eyes. His arms were stretched out, reaching for her...

  Just as they had been in the vision, Sydney thought.

  “Get away!” she yelled, trying to climb out herself. His life was in danger if he stayed. Her skirt caught on a giant shard, sending her off balance. Her left hand shot out and nicked a spiked piece of glass. “A-a-h!”

  “Let me help you,” Benno said grimly, placing his hands around her waist as she righted herself on the sill.

  “No,” she croaked. “I can do it. Get away from here now.”

  But Benno ignored her and pulled her free of certain death.

  Sydney’s mind whirled. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She had tried to take charge, to turn her back on the man she loved so she could save him. But the vision was coming true anyway.

  Benno led her a safe distance from the burning house to the nearby copse of trees. Despite the wind that tore at her skirt, Sydney couldn’t seem to get her breath. She tried to control the cough but felt as if she were choking.

  “Let’s stop here,” Benno said, forcing her to sit on a fallen tree not far from where she’d found Kenneth Lord’s body. “Try to take deep breaths.”

  What she tried was to tell him to get away while he could, but she couldn’t find her voice to warn him. His full attention was centered on her and she knew the warning would do no good. He wouldn’t leave her.

  And then it was too late.

  From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement. She turned as a dark figure bore down on them, arms swinging. Though her eyes were still tearing, she saw the board as it struck Benno’s wounded arm.

  “Aagh.” Clutching it, Benno sank to his knees.

  “No, stop!” she screamed hoarsely, pushing herself up from the log.

  Another hit across the back of his head had Benno sprawled across the ground. He lay still, unable to rise.

  Sydney jumped on his assailant only to be thrown to the side as the man pulled out a gun... the same gun she’d seen in her dream. He poked Benno with his toe. When he got no response, he turned the gun on her.

  And Sydney had no doubts she was looking at a murderer.

  His lips turned up in a crooked smile. “Sydney, my love.”

  She was facing the man she thought she’d married... the man who more recently had wanted to marry Martha.

  “Al Fox,” she said when she regained her breath. “Or should I call you Alan Foxglove?” she asked.

  “Or maybe you would prefer Alexander Foxworth, the name your old friend Candace knew me by,” he returned with that crooked grin that had won her heart.

  Sydney’s jaw dropped. Fo
x. Foxglove. Foxworth.

  “Of course,” she whispered, dazed. “I knew I should have been able to figure it out. I found the newspaper clipping you left in your apartment. I knew whoever was trying to frame me had to be someone from my past.” Though she had never met her friend’s fiance, and therefore wouldn’t have recognized him. “And I found a letter from the real Kenneth Lord to you, mentioning some rich women whose jewels you’d stolen – one of whom was Candace,” she said, remembering her friend’s sad tale. “If only I had remembered the name Lex Foxworth sooner.”

  Fox laughed. “Too bad you didn’t use those psychic abilities of yours to figure out who I was when you met me.”

  Though she hadn’t used those abilities in years, had, in fact, supressed them, they had started kicking in, trying to warn her of danger even before she met her “Kenneth.” She’d been too burned out, too willing to believe she was going crazy to understand what was happening to her.

  “You might have been able to get away,” Fox went on. “I would have followed you, of course. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for almost four years.”

  “How could anyone be so obsessed?”

  “You took away my meal ticket.”

  Wondering if she could keep him talking until help came – surely someone reported the fire – she said, “And you found another wealthy woman. Martha.”

  “Only after doing time because of you. Candy told me you warned her about me when she had me arrested for stealing her jewelry.”

  “And you wanted to frame me for that?”

  “Hey, one good turn deserves another.”

  With his free hand, Fox grabbed Sydney’s wrist and dragged her along the path through the stand of trees.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, her heart pounding in earnest. The man was a killer, capable of anything. “Where are you taking me?”

  She glanced back at Benno who hadn’t moved and prayed he would be all right. And then she looked at the house. He’d gotten her out just in time. It was starting to collapse. Soon nothing would be left standing.