Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  Her eyes took a second to adjust to the dim light, but through the crawlspace she could see a shimmer of light. She scooted along on her hands and knees, having to squeeze herself through narrow passageways and around large ducts. As she reached another vent, she looked down, seeing a hallway below her.

  There was no one in sight. She carefully pulled the cover off and then she lowered her body out of the vent, dropping the last few feet to the floor. She winced as she hit the ground, hoping that no one had heard her land. Thankfully, there were large canvases leaning across the railing in front of her, blocking her from the view below.

  As she looked around, she realized she was in a warehouse. In front of her was a corridor with an open rail looking out over the main floor of the building. At the end of the hall was another stairway. She wondered if the building was in use. The floors were thick with dust. There was loose plaster and sheets of drywall stacked against the wall a short distance from her. There were more empty crates and a couple of folding chairs farther down the corridor, near what appeared to be an office door.

  What she didn't see was an exit.

  Turning around, she saw a water fountain, another door—which she suspected might lead to the storage room she'd just been in—and at that end of the hall was another stairwell. She needed to get down to the ground level.

  Before she could move, she heard voices coming from the floor below. She ducked behind the two large canvases, hoping no one was coming up the stairs.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" a man asked, not just anger in his voice, but also shock.

  Callie stiffened at his words, realizing someone was standing on the first floor, very near to where she was. But whatever was happening now was not part of this man's plan. Maybe Flynn had found her. But the voice that followed was female.

  "I knew you were going to do something stupid," she replied. "It's been one mistake after another. You're not only going to destroy yourself; you're going to take me down with you, and I can't allow that."

  Callie's heart leapt into her throat. She knew that voice. It belonged to Victoria Waltham. Was she in on this? It seemed unimaginable.

  "How did you find me?" the man asked.

  "After security reported that Flynn and Callie were almost run off the road yesterday by a museum van, I realized your desperation was getting the better of you. I didn't call you to tell you about their visit so you could do something stupid. But you got on the phone ten seconds later and got your pal Greg involved. Now this? I can't believe you've kidnapped Callie. Are you crazy? Where is she?"

  "She's locked away. She's fine. I'm going to use her to get the painting back."

  "You never should have lost my painting in the first place," Victoria said sharply.

  Callie took in a breath at her words. Victoria was the artist and the serial killer? But she was a museum director. She was beautiful and successful. She had everything. Why would she have done any of it?

  "You've made a mess of everything, Marcus," Victoria continued. "I never should have told you about the painting. I never should have trusted you. And how you could believe that you could be me is unimaginable."

  "Is it unimaginable—Mother? You don't think I inherited anything from you?"

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she had to bite back a gasp. Marcus was Victoria's son?

  But Victoria had told her mother several times how she'd missed having children, but she'd always put her career first. Apparently, not always. She'd had a son. A son who was now in his twenties. And Victoria had celebrated her fortieth birthday a few months ago. She had to have been a teenager at the time of his birth.

  "I've got this under control," Marcus continued. "MacKenzie will trade the painting for Callie's life. You said yourself that he clearly has feelings for her. In a few hours, the painting will be back in your control."

  "They could have already used the painting to figure out my identity, you idiot. They'll be able to pin all the murders on me. Or maybe that's what you want. You want me to go down for Arthur's death, too."

  It didn't sound like Victoria had killed Arthur, which meant Marcus had done it. But why had Marcus wanted to kill his benefactor?

  Callie crept forward, peeking through the rail.

  Marcus and Victoria were standing in the middle of a large open space, surrounded by tables and chairs, easels and canvases, shelves of paints and materials. It looked like it had once been used for art classes. But like everything else in the building, the space had the air of abandonment and disrepair.

  "We're both going free, Mother," Marcus said. "I have it all planned out." He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, giving his mother a cocky look.

  They didn't appear to be related in any way. Marcus was dark and handsome. Victoria was blonde and beautiful and didn't look anywhere near old enough to be this man's mother.

  "Even if Flynn gives you the painting, he's had it long enough to have it examined," Victoria said. "He'll be able to find my initials through an x-ray. He'll believe I killed Arthur. And he'll hunt me to the ends of the earth."

  "He might not have had time to x-ray it."

  "What about Callie?"

  "She hasn't seen me. She knows nothing. We'll drop her off somewhere."

  "She'll be a loose end. I don't like loose ends, Marcus. I also don't like people who betray me. I shared the painting with you because you're my son. I wanted us to have a relationship. But you used me to cover your ass, to kill Arthur and pin it on me. At first, I thought I could help you, but you're out of control. You won't listen. You won't learn. I'm done."

  Callie was stunned once more when Victoria pulled out a small black revolver, aiming it at her son.

  Marcus put up a hand in shock. "What are you doing? You can't kill me."

  "I can kill you and save Callie. I'll be the hero. You'll be the murderer."

  "But the painting will point to you. You just said that," he reminded his mother, a desperate note in his voice.

  "Not if I say the painting was always yours, that you painted it and used my initials to set me up. You did it to pay me back for giving you up for adoption all those years ago. And they'll understand that the murders started five years ago, when you were nineteen, when you found out you were adopted. I'll help them make the connection. I'll help them see that you were determined to hurt me, the mother who abandoned you. There will be records from your psychiatrist."

  "I saw a psychiatrist once."

  "There will be many visits, Marcus. You will be seen as a mentally ill man who painted his madness and used that painting as a calling card for death. I almost hate to let you take the glory of my legend, but it's something I have to do. The evil must be punished. Did you learn nothing from my story? Did I not tell you before that people who cross me, who abuse their power, who betray trust, who take what isn't theirs must fall from their high horse, must shatter themselves on the ground of humbleness?"

  As Victoria's voice rose with passion and madness, terror ran through Callie. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to get past them and out of the building. If Victoria killed Marcus, she'd come for her next. She'd just said she hated loose ends. Although, she'd also said she could be seen as the hero, so maybe there was a chance she wouldn't die. But it was hard to believe that with the crazy scene unfolding below. She wanted to run. But what if she drew their attention? She had to stay put, wait for her chance.

  "You're truly insane," Marcus said. "I'm your son. You'd be killing a part of yourself."

  "A part I gave away a long time ago. While I may be insane, I'm not stupid. I don't get caught. Not ever. It's my superpower. And I won't lose it because of you."

  "You don't have to kill me. We can make this work. I'll get the painting back. Or I'll confess to everything. I'll keep you out of it."

  He was begging for his life, but Callie didn't think Victoria was listening.

  "It's too late, Marcus. I know what I have to do."

  Callie held her breath,
wondering if she was about to see Victoria kill her own son, when a door slammed. Both Victoria and Marcus turned in the direction of that sound. A man was hauled into the room by another man. She didn't recognize either one of them. One was young and stocky, wearing ripped jeans and a denim jacket over a T-shirt. The other was much older—maybe in his sixties—with blond hair and a lean build.

  As he turned toward the light, she saw his strikingly light eyes, and she was reminded of Flynn. Suddenly she knew exactly who this man was: Flynn's father—Sam Beringer.

  Did that mean that Flynn was close by?

  She was almost afraid that was true. She didn't want him to walk into a trap to rescue her, and she was afraid that was exactly what was about to happen.

  Flynn moved quietly into the warehouse. His father had deliberately gotten caught by the guard standing outside and had been taken into the building. The door had been left open, and it had been easy to slip in behind them. He moved toward the sound of voices, straining to hear Callie's voice, to know that she was alive.

  Sliding behind a pallet of boxes, his gaze quickly swept the room, assessing the situation. He wasn't completely surprised to see Marcus Vitelli standing in front of Victoria, who had a gun in her hand. He'd always thought there was something between them.

  There was no sign of Callie. She had to be stashed away somewhere in the building. He wanted to look for her, but he needed to deal with this dangerous group first.

  "Found this guy outside," the guard said.

  "Get back out there, Greg. Make sure he didn't bring his FBI son with him," Victoria ordered.

  "Don't go anywhere," Marcus said. "She's crazy. She's going to kill us all."

  "I'm not going to kill you, Greg," Victoria said, an evil sneer in her voice. "But these two—maybe. I don't think you want to be here for that, do you? Go outside and make sure no one else comes in."

  Greg hesitated. The young guy was clearly over his head.

  "Don't move," Marcus ordered.

  "Dude, this is not what I agreed to," Greg said, as he jogged toward the exit, leaving Marcus and Sam alone with Victoria.

  He was happy to see Greg go. One less man to deal with. He'd track him down later. He'd pay for trying to run him and Callie off the road.

  He moved around the perimeter, searching for the best position to take a shot.

  "You don't have to kill me, Victoria," his father said. "I came here because I want in on the action. I can help you. I know what's going on."

  "No, you don't," she said.

  "Oh, but I do. I saw the painting in your house when I stole the Jovani from you."

  "I had a feeling that was you."

  "As soon as I saw the belladonna, I knew you were the serial killer. It made perfect sense. You loved to paint flowers, and you were desperate for recognition of your talent. Is that why you killed those people, because they couldn't see how good you were?"

  "It was one of my reasons," she admitted. "Especially with Rafael; he was so disdainful. He never thought I could be famous, but he was wrong, and he helped bring me fame."

  "Then why hide in the shadows?" his father asked.

  "I'm not in the shadows. I'm exactly where I want to be, or I was, until this idiot came into my life."

  As she glared at Marcus, Flynn realized he was wrong about them. They weren't together. They were in opposition.

  "Well, my silence can be bought," his father continued. "You know that. We are two of a kind. We do what it takes to survive."

  He found himself admiring his dad's cool.

  Was it an act? Or was this a scene he'd played out before?

  Pulling out his phone, he texted Savannah his location, asking her to send backup, but to keep it quiet. No sirens. No police. Not until he had located Callie and gotten her to a safe location.

  "Or I could just kill you, Sam," Victoria said. "No one would care—least of all, your son."

  "That's true. But why create more problems for yourself? You need an ally. This man isn't up to your standards, is he?"

  As his father spoke, Flynn saw Marcus start inching his way backward, as if he were trying to escape notice. But Victoria suddenly swung her gun in his direction. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "Mother, please."

  Marcus was Victoria's son? Now he was shocked. He'd thought they were lovers. He had been way off base.

  "Don't call me that. You're too stupid, too inept to be my son." Victoria turned her gaze on Sam. "You did it, didn't you, Sam? You figured everything out and you told Flynn about me."

  "I haven't told him a thing. Why would I? He would arrest me and put me in jail for the rest of my life."

  "Then why are you here?"

  "Because Arthur was a valuable client, and I'm going to need to find a way to replace that income stream. I'm surprised you had him killed before you knew where he'd put the painting. That was sloppy."

  "It wasn't me. It was my son. Marcus thought he could copy me, solve his problems with Arthur by using my painting, my calling card. And now he's going to pay. But first I have to deal with you. I'm not interested in your deal. I think you're working with your son. But when he gets here, you'll both be dead."

  Even from the shadows, Flynn could see the murderous intent in her eyes. He took aim, about to pull the trigger, when something flew through the air, hitting Victoria square in the chest. She stumbled and fired, the blast taking Marcus down.

  Sam rushed Victoria, wrestling for the gun. It went off a second time, and his father fell to the ground.

  He finally had a clean shot, and he took it, but the bullet only grazed Victoria's shoulder as she took off on a dead run.

  He ran after her, shoving tables and chairs out of his way.

  As she headed for the stairwell, she fired shots at him. Their gun battle continued as they both raced up the steps. When they reached the top floor, Victoria ran out of hallway. She was trapped, and she knew it. Blood was gushing from her arm. As she lifted her weapon, her hand was shaking. He didn't think she had the strength to pull the trigger, so he stepped out from behind the sheets of drywall that he'd ducked behind. "Drop it."

  "Stay back," she warned.

  "It's over, Victoria. You're going to prison for murdering five people."

  "Four. Marcus killed Arthur. I had no idea he was going to kill him. Or that he would use me to do it. My son has no original ideas."

  "I can't believe he's your son. Why did you keep it a secret?"

  "Because I thought I could help him more if no one knew of our connection. But he betrayed me. And he wasn't just a bad killer, he was a bad artist. He fooled even me at first, but then I realized what he was doing."

  "What was he doing?"

  "Copying obscure artists who had real talent and selling the work as his own. Arthur found out and vowed to destroy him. I told Marcus I would take care of it, but he wouldn't listen. He had to kill using my legendary painting, only he completely screwed it up. He lost my painting. And then I found out he'd kidnapped Callie. It was the last straw."

  "So you came here to stop him?" he challenged.

  "No. I came here to kill him," she said bluntly.

  "Your own son?"

  "I gave him away when I was sixteen. I couldn't allow that baby to ruin my life. I had big plans for myself. But when Marcus found me, I thought maybe I'd been wrong to turn away from him all those years ago. He was my flesh and blood. But I wasn't wrong. He was always going to be my downfall. Now, I have to kill myself. Or you can do it. You can shoot me. It would make for a dramatic exit from this world. I could appreciate the art of that."

  He shook his head, seeing the mad light in her eyes. "How did you hide your mental issues for so long?"

  "People see what they want to see. And I was always very good at my job."

  "Why did you do it, Victoria? Why did you kill all those people?"

  "They threatened my power in one way or another, so they had to go. I'm in charge. They needed to know that. They neede
d to fall from the heights of their glory. I should have killed your father after he broke into my house, but I wasn't sure he'd seen the painting, and I never dreamed he'd risk his life of freedom to turn me in. But he always had a weakness for you. You were his one regret."

  "It's over, Victoria. Drop the gun."

  She did as he asked, but then she turned toward the railing.

  He started forward a second too late.

  She hurled herself over the rail, falling to the cement floor below like a broken rag doll.

  As he looked at the scene below, he was reminded of the view from the top floor of the museum when Arthur had fallen to his death.

  Victoria had wanted to die in the same artistic way as her previous victims.

  He couldn't say he was sorry. Now he had to find Callie.

  He jogged down the stairs. When he hit the second landing, he saw Callie running toward him. She threw herself into his arms, and he held on tight.

  "I thought she was going to kill you," she said.

  He closed his eyes for a split second, relief flooding through him that she was all right. Then he looked at her, wanting to make sure she wasn't hurt. "I was afraid for you, too, Callie. Where did you come from?"

  "I was hiding. I got out of the storage room, but then everyone came in, and I didn't know where to go."

  He nodded. "We'll talk about it all, but we need to get downstairs. I have to check on my father and make sure Marcus can't hurt anyone else."

  She nodded and followed him down to the first floor. Marcus was bleeding and lying crippled on the floor, his leg shattered, and his eyes dazed with pain.

  His father was also bleeding, but his arm wound didn't look too bad, and his dad was still on his feet.

  "Are you all right?" he asked his father.

  "I'll live." His dad offered Callie a smile. "I'm glad you're alive. My son was very worried about you, Callie, so worried he even let me help him."

  "Thank you for that."

  "Oh, and nice throw. You ever play softball?"

  "A long time ago. I was trying to knock the gun out of her hand, but I missed."

  "Not by much. I wish I could get to know you, but I can't." His dad turned away from Callie to give him a look filled with pain and sadness. "Good-bye, Flynn. Take care of yourself."