And why was I heading toward the conference site? Maybe I should’ve been heading toward the Ecosphere after all. But then, I couldn’t go inside without a weapon or body armor or some kind of protection. I looked down at my tool belt and almost laughed. As if my hammer would protect me against someone with a high-powered rifle.
I needed to keep moving off the hill, needed to get out of harm’s way. I couldn’t stay out here and be the perfect target for a madman. Or madwoman.
Still running, I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Mac.
“Hey, Red,” he answered.
Just hearing his voice eased my mind despite the adrenaline racing around my system. “There’s someone in the tower with a rifle.”
“What?” he shouted. “Are you sure?”
“I saw the barrel sticking out over the ledge. Wait. I can’t see it now.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the hill out by the wind turbines.”
“Get out of there,” he ordered. “There’s no cover.”
I frowned, glanced around. “No kidding.” I was stuck in the middle of the pretty grassland with no protection anywhere. That was why I was running. And why I had called him!
“I’m on my way,” he added. “I love you.”
My hero, I thought, rubbing my chest where I felt a warm glow. Now all I had to do was keep my heart beating. There was no way I was going to die today. Mac would be totally bummed.
I stared up at the roof of the tower. I couldn’t see anything now and wondered if the shooter had gone over to the other side, which meant that he—or she—would have a clear shot at anyone attending the conference. Maybe I was in a better place than all those conference goers walking around by the air domes like ducks in a shooting gallery. Good grief, what a horrible thought.
Not being an idiot, I knew that if I didn’t run faster, I would be one of those sitting ducks. I glanced over at the new barn, but it was too far away. I made an instant decision to head for the Ecosphere tower.
Yes, the shooter was perched up there, but the trick was that if I got close enough to the outer wall, the shooter wouldn’t be able to see me. The roof’s wooden ledge overlapped the edge of the structure by about six inches, effectively cutting off the view straight down. It was my only chance until Mac and the cavalry could get here.
I wondered if Mac had called Eric to come. Probably, but I decided to cover all the bases. I pressed Eric’s speed dial number, but the call went straight to his voice mail. I tried Tommy, too, but got the same result. Voice mail.
Where was a cop when you needed one?
“Men,” I muttered, and called Marigold.
“Hi, Shannon,” she said cheerily.
“Marigold.”
“Shannon? Why are you breathing so hard? Are you at the gym?”
“No, I’m at the conference. And I’m running. Marigold, there’s a shooter on the roof of the Ecosphere. Don’t leave your house.”
“I’m out on the patio. I wanted to plant more flowers along the—”
Oh God. She was the perfect target.
“Get inside,” I shouted. “Tell Rafe and call Eric.”
“Okay, okay.” I could hear the sliding glass door open and then close. “Okay. I’m inside. Rafe isn’t here right now, but I’ll call him. Where are you, Shannon?”
“I’m heading toward the Ecosphere.”
“Shannon, don’t. It’s too dangerous!” Thankfully, her voice wasn’t shaking. She sounded cool and calm. Just what I needed at the moment.
“I’ll be safe,” I said.
“Oh God. Just be careful,” she ordered. “I’m calling Rafe and Eric.”
I was twenty yards from the Ecosphere when I looked up and saw the barrel sticking out over the ledge again. It wasn’t pointing directly my way, but it didn’t matter. Someone was up there with that rifle and they were ready to kill.
“I will,” I said. “And tell them to hurry!”
I ended the call, then ran for my life.
* * *
* * *
I pressed myself against the wall near the doorway of the Ecosphere. I took a chance and leaned over to peek inside. I couldn’t see anybody on the ground floor, but I could hear voices echoing through the interior.
Had the shooter found a hostage?
“I didn’t do anything.”
That was clearly a woman’s voice, I thought.
“Stop pushing. You’re hurting me.”
It was Hallie, of course. Had she come here directly from the sandwich shop? Was she a hostage or a co-conspirator? Hostage or criminal, I needed to know who was with her, but couldn’t hear anyone else over her whine.
“You have him,” Hallie said. “Why don’t you let me go?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” a man said. “Wesley, I thought we had a deal. You don’t need these two. I can get you whatever you want. I’ve already assured you that I’ll pay back whatever royalties we’ve made on your behalf and I’ll resubmit your patent applications as soon as I get out of here.”
That was Rafe!
Oh my God. What was Rafe doing in here?
“Too little too late,” Wesley growled.
And Wesley had the gun. He had killed Dillon. Which meant that he had killed Sherman. Why would he kill his only friend?
“He’s bleeding,” Hallie cried.
“Shut up,” Wesley said. “Or you’ll be the next to go.”
Was Rafe bleeding? Who else was in there? I absolutely had to see what was going on. I stepped a few inches closer to the doorway and edged myself around until I could get a glimpse inside.
The ground floor was still deserted, but now I could hear the heavy footsteps as the trio, or foursome—I had no idea how many—began to descend from the roof.
I scanned the plant life on the ground floor. I knew almost every inch of this space and knew there were places I could hide if I had to.
If I could move fast enough, I could make it over to the corner where a large, leafy ficus tree covered half the wall. I figured my clothing was neutral enough to blend in with the green plants and the gray stone walls, so I could probably hide undetected.
It occurred to me that in that same corner were the controls for both the lights and the wide louvers that shaded the window openings. Light streamed in through the openings so I couldn’t exactly switch the whole interior into darkness. But maybe I could use the louvers to distract the shooter just long enough to get his weapon away from him.
Not that I was delusional enough to think I could walk up to him and grab the rifle. But I had to do something. Rafe was in trouble.
It was now or never. I tiptoed all the way through the doorway and stepped into the cool interior. As I raced toward the corner where the lush, leafy ficus tree stood, I couldn’t help but notice the clean air in here. But now wasn’t the time to linger and breathe in the freshness.
“I don’t know why you’re so peeved about the Scoop-Monster,” a man said.
Oh my God, that smarmy voice! Sketch Horn was in here, too.
“Shut up,” Wesley snapped. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you in the head.”
Part of me wanted to scream. I couldn’t believe I was stuck inside this structure with two of the biggest blowhards I’d ever met. I hated to say it, but they deserved each other.
“I think you’d be better off staying on the roof,” Sketch Horn said.
“Like you would know,” Wesley countered. I could see him sneering, looking down his nose at the hapless faux writer.
“Hey, I write these kinds of scenes for a living,” Sketch insisted.
His voice was sounding weaker. Was he the one who was bleeding? Or was it Rafe?
“No, you don’t,” Wesley snarled. “You were busted. Everyone knows your wife writes those books.”
/> “Well, I make the revisions.”
“You’re straining my patience.”
“Okay, fine,” Sketch admitted irately. “But I live in the same house with my wife. I absorb the stories like osmosis.”
Wesley actually sniffed. “You, sir, are a moron.”
I winced at that since I couldn’t disagree.
“Have a little sympathy, man,” Sketch said. “You shot me in the leg.”
“You should let me go,” Hallie said in a tone of desperation. “I won’t say anything to anybody.”
“Yes, let her go,” Rafe said. “I can get you out of here if you let Hallie and Sketch go. I’ll get you to my car and give you all the money you need to make a safe getaway. You can be on a plane in an hour and fly off to another country.”
Wesley sniffed. “It’s just that simple, is it?”
“Yes,” Rafe said. “I have the money to make it happen.”
“Take the deal,” Sketch said, sounding desperate. “I need to go to the hospital.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Wesley said. “I heard you talking to that handywoman about the encryption device that Dillon Charles stole from me.”
I frowned. Did he just call me a handywoman? Like a slur? Was that supposed to be a dig? What was wrong with being a handywoman? I hired a few of them on a regular basis and they worked their butts off for me.
I really wanted to smack his smart mouth, just as I’d told Mac yesterday. I itched to throttle Wesley until that supercilious attitude drained right out of him.
“Hey, I read you loud and clear, man,” Sketch said. “Look, I confess I overheard you telling that girl about the Scoop-Monster idea so I took it and ran with it. What’s the big deal?” Sketch managed to sound like the most egotistical jerk ever, and that was becoming a crowded field. “It’s a great idea. We could split the profits. I could have my wife write up some great ad copy. She’s quite the little writer, you know.”
Did he just call me that girl? I suppose I was getting off easy, since he had referred to his wife as quite the little writer. I couldn’t wait to track down Honey and tell her.
“You can stick your ad copy where the sun don’t shine,” Wesley said, then sniffed again. “I just might write the story myself. I couldn’t do worse than the hatchet jobs you turn out on a regular basis.”
“Hey. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
I shook my head. Mac had always told me that narcissistic male authors had one thing in common: they never stopped talking about themselves. Apparently the only person Wesley could match wits with was Sketch Horn. They really should collaborate, I thought. They thoroughly deserved each other.
“Look, just think about the collaboration idea,” Sketch said. “We’re both well known in our fields. We could cash in.”
Wesley inhaled so deeply, I thought he might pass out. “I’m tempted to shoot you in the head right here and now.”
“Hey, come on now.” Sketch’s voice was growing thin with fear and weakness. “Calm down, dude.”
I caught a glimpse of canary yellow through the leaves and watched as Hallie traipsed down the ramp to the ground floor. Now what? I thought. I had to do something. Or not. I could wait for Mac and Eric to show up. But I didn’t know if they would get here in time before Wesley had a complete meltdown. He was sounding more and more deranged by the minute. If he shot Rafe, I would have to find a way to kill him.
I blamed Sketch. Blabbing about the Scoop-Monster and calling it his own idea in front of the entire conference had taken a lot of brass. I had a feeling it was the straw that broke the camel’s back for old Wesley.
Sketch came down the ramp next, limping badly. He looked paler than he had when his wife confronted him in the bar the day before. Of course, she hadn’t been pointing a rifle at his head. Not at that moment, anyway.
And then I saw Rafe. I could tell his teeth were clenched and he was angry. But he looked strong and determined. And unharmed. He paused halfway down the ramp and it made me wonder if he had a plan to get them all out of here.
Finally Wesley appeared at the top of the ramp. I stared and watched in horror as he readjusted the position of the rifle to aim it directly at me.
Could he see me? There was no way. The tree was six feet tall and thick with leaves. But then, we had already seen that Wesley had no problem killing plants. Maybe he had a thing against ficus trees.
My clever thoughts were doing nothing to take away the feeling of abject terror racing through me. I stood perfectly still and barely dared to breathe.
Then he shifted, adjusting the rifle in his hands so that it pointed down at his three hostages. I hated to admit that I was relieved that it was no longer aimed in my direction.
He remained at the top of the ramp as if that gave him more stature.
I suppose it did, though. I scowled at the thought.
“I know why you killed Dillon,” Hallie said. “Because he stole your idea, right?”
“That’s right. And when I confronted him, he denied it.” Wesley’s voice hitched a little higher. “He lied. People keep lying to me. He was taking full credit for it and had no intention of paying me back, even though I had proof, full documentation of everything I’d worked on for the past five years.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Hallie said.
Wesley studied her for a moment. “Maybe you have some saving grace after all.”
“I do,” she said eagerly. “If you’ll let me go, I’ll—”
“Enough!” Wesley shouted. “Stop groveling. It’s unseemly.”
“Now you sound like Dillon,” she said crossly. “Always telling me what to do like I’m stupid or something. I hate that.”
“Has it occurred to you, miss, that you are stupid?” Wesley huffed out a breath. “This conference has simply been exhausting, and I don’t even have Sherman here to fetch me some tea.”
“Because you killed him,” Hallie said belligerently. “Who’s stupid now?”
“Dearest,” Wesley said dryly. “You’re not making any friends here.”
“Hallie, I’m sorry,” Rafe said, ignoring Wesley. “I didn’t know what Dillon was doing behind my back, but that’s no excuse. I’ll make it up to you and to everyone at the company.”
“It’s not your fault,” Hallie insisted.
“Yes, it is,” Wesley said. “Ignorance is no excuse.”
“I agree,” Rafe said, his voice strong and firm. “That’s why I plan to make it up to everyone who was hurt by Dillon’s actions.”
“Don’t blame Rafe,” Hallie said defensively.
“I’m sick of stupid people,” Wesley said, and pointing his rifle toward the ceiling, he pulled the trigger.
Hallie screamed.
So did I. I couldn’t help it. I just hoped and prayed that the sound of Hallie’s screams covered up my own.
Sketch crumpled to the ground.
Rafe dashed over to help him.
“I’m okay,” Sketch said. “I’m okay.”
“Nobody cares, Mr. Horn,” Wesley said. He laughed as he reloaded the rifle.
“You’re the one who’s stupid,” Hallie cried. “It was Dillon who caused all the problems, not Rafe. And Rafe said he’d give you everything you wanted. If you kill us, you won’t get anything.”
She had a point. And I had to give her credit for being loyal to Rafe.
“Dillon wouldn’t be in charge if Rafe had stayed,” Wesley reasoned. “And Rafe will be collecting just as much money on my ideas as Dillon. So I blame him just as much.”
“Doesn’t seem fair,” Hallie mumbled.
Wesley sniffed once again. “I don’t recall asking your opinion.”
My eyes rolled so hard it was a wonder they didn’t hear them rattling around in my head. He was so freaking snooty!
I was goi
ng crazy hiding behind this tree. I needed to take some action. I knew I would only get one chance, so I had to wait for my moment and make it good. While they were talking, I ran through half a dozen scenarios in my head. I could start shaking the tree, I thought, creating a diversion for Wesley and giving Rafe a chance to grab the rifle. But he might be just as distracted and not act quickly enough.
I wondered if Wesley had an endgame. Was he going to kill all of them? And if so, why did he bring them down to the ground floor rather than kill them all on the rooftop? And why had he shot Sketch? Maybe the man had tried to sneak up on him.
Ideas and questions were spinning around in my head and I had to make them stop. I had to think clearly. Had to do something to help.
“Why’d you kill that other guy?” Sketch asked.
Despite the dire circumstances, I was pleased to hear them peppering Wesley with questions. They must have figured out that the more they kept him talking, the more it would keep him from hurting them.
“You mean Sherman?” Wesley said, staring at his fingernails.
“Yeah. What did he ever do to you?”
“He followed me out here and threatened to turn me in. I was stunned. He thought he could talk me out of shooting anyone. He actually believed that he could hold sway over me. Pitiful. I was sick of his attitude so I got rid of him.”
“I heard you strangled him with a vine,” Sketch said, struggling to sit up. “That’s a big ten on the weird meter.”
“It was a crime of passion. That hideous vine was handy. One must be open to innovation.”
“You almost killed that plant. Julian was pissed off.”
“I kill people and don’t care. Do I look like I’d be concerned over a plant?” Wesley yawned.
His show of ennui made me want to strangle him myself.
He leaned indolently against the window shade and stretched his neck and shoulders.
I tensed up. This was my only chance, the perfect moment to make my move. If it worked, it might allow Rafe to get the rifle away from Wesley. Slowing turning my upper body, trying not to move my feet or make noise, I reached out, opened the control box, and switched the louver mechanism to manual operation. Then I turned up the dial to increase the speed, and holding my breath, I flipped the switch.
Shot Through the Hearth Page 23
