"You damn liar," Clarissa said through tears.
"She needs a lot of love and care," Morgan smiled at Clarissa. "As her fiancé, I can give her everything she needs. Please, Clarissa, come. I have the car waiting downstairs. I have to catch a plane to Washington for an important meeting in the morning. The staff at the house will see to your needs for the next day or so.”
"Marco is dead," Clarissa murmured and she watched Morgan's face for any trace of a reaction. There was none.
"He's waiting in the car, Clarissa," Morgan said as he reached for her hand. "Where the chauffeur always waits. Come."
Clarissa felt herself wanting to believe him, wanting to know that it had all been a terrible nightmare, and now Morgan was here to take her home. The longing was strong to collapse into his arms and let him lift her, carry her out of the terror and dread. He was so handsome, so damned perfect. So damned evil. She met his eyes under the glare of the hall lights and held his gaze for a long moment. She waited, searching his face for the one shred of proof of her sanity.
"Go to hell, Morgan Wolfe," she whispered. And there it was. The domino, the disguise, faded for a fleeting second. All the agonies of hell blazed for that brief moment behind his small violet eyes. Then the domino fell back into place. Morgan Wolfe smiled and reached out confidently for Clarissa.
The ephemeral domino did not escape Rowland. The grocery cart hit Morgan in the gut with a force that knocked the wind out of him. The frail old black man was stronger than Morgan had ever imagined. Wolfe sprawled on the floor with a curse.
"Go, child!" Rowland urged Clarissa. She eased past Morgan and broke into a run for the stairs.
Clarissa started down the stairwell and stopped. Alex climbed the last step to the landing just below her. His jacket was stained with blood. He looked up at Clarissa with eyes that held a great deal of physical pain.
"Clarissa," he said huskily. "Don't..."
She backed away into the hallway. Alex was wounded but Clarissa knew he still had the gun. She chanced a quick glance down the third floor hallway before she ran up the stairs to the fourth floor. Morgan was just gaining his feet. She ran until the stairs ended at a door marked "roof" stenciled in red letters. Clarissa pushed the door open and stepped out into the damp night. A cool breeze and a light drizzle was all that was left of the passing thunder storms.
Clarissa slammed shut the heavy metal roof door. There was no lock on the outside and a quick look around provided nothing with which to wedge the door closed. Now, she had only seconds to find the fire escape ladder and get off the roof. She ran along a four foot high wall that rimmed the edge of the building, looking over down onto the street below. There was no way down on this side. Clarissa started toward the edge on the west side of the roof.
Behind her, the metal door slammed open with a bone jarring crash. Clarissa whirled. Morgan came toward her, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
"There's nowhere else to go, Clarissa," he said smugly. "Only down."
"Please, Morgan," Clarissa implored as she continued to back toward the roof edge. "I don't understand any of this. Why?"
"Believe me, I don't want to hurt you. You were so good for me. You shouldn't have run. You shouldn't have come back into the house that night. I thought Marco had secured the doors. I tried to protect you. I never wanted you involved."
"I am good for you, Morgan." Her voice was small and desperate. "Give me a chance."
"Sorry, darling."
Her back was at the low wall. Clarissa glanced over the edge then stared back at Wolfe with wide terrified eyes.
"You didn't kill Byron Roth," she stammered. "I saw Marco do it. Not you. Marco is dead."
"I know you don't understand, my love," Morgan said as he took cautious steps toward her. "It has to be this way."
"No, Morgan! I won't say anything. I promise. Please don't do this. We could go away. Nobody has to know anything."
"There would come a time, a time when you would want something from me. Something perhaps I could not give you. Then what would you do, Clarissa? Threaten to go to the police with what know you know?"
"No, Morgan, I wouldn't."
Clarissa inched along the wall, trying to keep just out of Morgan's reach. She grabbed the opening of her olive work shirt and wrapped it protectively around her. Her hand brushed the lump in the pocket of her jeans and her facial expression changed ever so slightly. She had forgotten Marco's knife. Slowly, Clarissa's right hand slid down into the pocket. Her thumb felt for the tiny lever that would release the blade.
"Did you send Marco to kill me?" she asked, and there was the hint of confidence in her voice.
"Marco came on his own against my direct orders."
"But you sent someone. Graciella. She was a hired killer. I know you did. She said so. She's dead too, in the cellar with Marco."
"So Rogers told me, just before he died. Then my poor fiancé dead from a manic depression suicide. How tragic. I'll be devastated when I get the news." Morgan let the night breeze reveal the silenced gun under his jacket.
"You never get involved in murder. Why now, Morgan? Why kill Alex? He was loyal to you."
"It's business, darling."
"Why, Morgan? Alex did nothing to you?"
"Don't try, Clarissa. I know no one has gotten to you. You're not wearing any microphone. No one is listening. No one knows you're here except the drunks and junkies in this place. "
"Hugo knows. I called his roommate. He's coming for me."
"He'll find you quite dead, a drug induced suicide. You jumped off of the roof."
"I called Virginia. She's coming."
"Virginia is dead."
Clarissa was suddenly stunned at the total lack of emotion in Morgan's face or in the off handed news that his long time secretary was dead. Morgan felt nothing. Life and death had little meaning to this stone cold man. It made Clarissa shiver with renewed terror and she clutched tightly the knife handle in her pocket.
"You ordered that, too?"
"Marco was out of control," said Wolfe as reached for Clarissa's arm. "It was an accident."
Clarissa stepped back, bile burning her throat. She did not want to think of what Virginia had suffered at the hands of the twisted Marco. Clarissa forced down the nausea and the let the sudden loathing of Morgan Wolfe fill her. She continued to inch away from him across the front of the building. The rusty handles of the fire escape were visible on the opposite corner.
"How could you do that to her, Morgan?" Clarissa spat. "How could you? Nothing with you is ever an accident. No one gets out of your control. You're damned insane. You don't think. You don't feel anything. Don't you know what Marco would do to her?" Clarissa was screaming at Morgan, backing away until she found herself trapped in a corner of the wall. Morgan stepped in front of her, pinning her in the corner.
"You talk too much, Clarissa."
His hands clamped onto her shoulders and she felt her feet leave the ground. "No, Morgan!" she screamed. The knife was stuck inside her pocket. She could not pull it free. Clarissa's fingers worked to find the lever that would release the blade, and finally, there was the audible click and the blade poked though the fabric. She tugged it free and with a desperate swipe, Clarissa slashed at Morgan's chest. Her wind whipped shirt hampered her stabbing attempt and the blade only grazed Morgan's side. He reeled back in pain.
"You little bitch," he cried as his hand wiped blood from his side. He came at her again and slapped her hard across the face. Clarissa sank to the ground and threw up her free arm against another slap. Morgan grabbed her arm and started to haul her up on her feet. Clarissa drove the knife into Morgan's right thigh.
He howled and released his hold on her. She shoved past him and ran for the fire escape, the knife still in her hand. On the dark roof top Clarissa did not see the puddle left by the storm. She slipped and fell within an arm’s length of her goal. Morgan limped to her. Clarissa tried to crawl away from him, shrinking from the murderous rage
in his distorted features.
"Morgan, please! Don't!"
Clarissa twisted away, trying to gain her feet on the rain slick roof. Morgan grabbed her around the waist and caught her knife hand by the wrist. She struggled feebly, kicking and screaming as he dragged her over to the edge. Morgan pinned her facing the wall with his own weight against her and pounded her wrist against the capstones of the wall until the knife clattered to the roof.
"Morgan!"
"Shut up!" he shouted as he lifted her.
Hugo glanced in his rear view mirror at the sound of the sirens. Red and blue lights flashed behind him and for a split second Hugo had the guilty feeling that they were after him. When the first patrol car sped by him and turned up Western Avenue he sighed with relief. A second and third police car, a black SWAT van, and an ambulance nearly forced his black Porsche into the parked cars on the side of the road. Hugo swore softly.
By the time he got to Vista Del Mar Avenue, the road was blocked off and an officer motioned for Hugo to detour up to Santa Monica Boulevard.
"We have an incident at a hotel down the block," the officer explained when Hugo protested. "You'll have to avoid this area."
"I'm just picking up a friend," Hugo argued. "I'll just be a minute."
"Sorry, sir," the officer was polite but there was suddenly a hard edge to his voice. "Move along, please."
Hugo drove down the block and found a place to park on the street. He locked the Porsche and walked back toward Vista Del Mar. Clarissa could wait. He would talk to Morgan later. Hugo's natural curiosity propelled him down a dimly lit alley behind the hotel that the police had yet to seal off. He had to know what was going on. It was always good for business in the salons if you were a first-hand witness to some juicy gossip.
Hugo kept to the shadows and astutely avoided the police and SWAT teams that were surrounding the Hempstead Hotel. He found himself in the street in front of the hotel with a small crowd of curious neighbors that had gathered from the surrounding buildings. All of the activity seemed to be centered on the roof of the Hempstead. Hugo could make out two figures in the corner. A woman and a man. They seemed to be struggling with each other. The man, dark and wiry was lifting the woman.
"Oh, my God!" the obese woman standing next to Hugo screamed. "He's trying to throw her off!"
The crowd gasped in a chorus of exclamations and obscenities. Hugo took a step forward to get a better view. The woman was frail and blond but other than that he couldn't see much of her. There was something about the man, something familiar. Hugo took another step closer and his eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
"Morgan Wolfe!" he yelled.
Clarissa was head down, her waist cradling the lip of the wall. She reached behind her and grabbed at the edge of the wall with her free hand and held fast. She struggled against Morgan's lifting her, kicking wildly so that he could not get a firm hold on her ankles or legs. She was dimly aware of sirens and lights below her until she looked down. A quick glance before the dizziness overwhelmed her, showed her police cars parked every which way in front of the hotel.
Clarissa knew she was losing the battle. She felt her grasp on the rough brick capstones of the wall begin to slip. The iron-work of the fire escape was so close. She let go of the capstone and reached out for it, her fingers just an inch away.
"Mama, help me," she murmured. "Please, God, don't let him do this. Morgan! NO!"
The fine, steady rain blurred her vision and her temples pounded from the rush of blood to her head. She squeezed her eyes shut from the terror and pain. She fought like a wild cat with her legs and feet, landing several formidable blows to Morgan's gut. But he was winning. She felt his grip on her ankle and the scrape of the brick on her leg as it was thrown over the edge. Her grip tightened on the edge of the wall but she could not hold it much longer. Morgan bent down to grab her other leg and it would only be seconds before she plunged four stories to the pavement.
"Morgan Wolfe!"
Clarissa heard the shout from the street below and felt Morgan stiffen. She opened her eyes for one moment but dared not look down. Morgan's head was even with hers, his eyes glaring over the edge at the crowd below. Clarissa stretched for the fire escape and locked her fingers around one of the bars. Then she kicked upward with a sharp jolt and rammed her foot into Morgan's exposed throat. She held the wall with both hands and pulled herself back over onto the roof. Morgan reeled back, his eyes blazing with anger. He reached for the knife and grabbed Clarissa by the hair. He forced her head back and raised the knife to plunge it into her chest.
"Wolfe, don't!" Alex's voice cut the night. "I'll shoot! Freeze, damn it!"
Wolfe turned and grinned. Alex was unsteady on his feet, his clothes and hair soaked with blood. He held his gun with both hands aimed at Morgan. "Don't do it," Alex warned again. "Let her go. Drop the knife, Morgan."
"She's ruined me," Morgan hissed through the madness.
"She had nothing to do with it," Alex said as he fell backward against the door frame of the roof stairwell. "You were under surveillance for over a year. Centac knows all about you. It was just a matter of getting enough proof for an air tight case. Let Clarissa go, Morgan. If anyone's brought you down, it was me. Clarissa had nothing to do with it. Drop the knife."
Morgan struck like a cobra. He let go of Clarissa and the knife whipped through the air, lodged in Alex's ribs. He staggered backward against the door jamb. His gun clattered to the roof.
"Clarissa! Clarissa!
Morgan turned back to the roof edge. He had heard someone call her name, and his name. Who knew he was here? No one. He had told no one he was going to take care of things himself. Morgan glared down at the crowd and the police. Then he spotted him. The weasel Hugo. Damn him, Morgan swore mentally.
Those few seconds cost Morgan dearly. Clarissa had scrambled away from the roof, crawled to where Alex lay, and grabbed for Alex's gun. When Morgan turn around, she was sitting with her back to the roof door, the gun aimed at Morgan's gut. His face registered only anger. Then the familiar domino dropped into place and he smiled at her.
"That will get you nowhere, Clarissa. You can never escape. Don't you see that? You've never held a gun in your life. Don't even try it. You'll miss. You've only got one shot and you're not strong enough to control a .357 magnum. You know you won't shoot. Not an unarmed man. Then what will you do? Run? I'll always be behind you, Clarissa. Somewhere. Hunting you down."
"I'm not going to hurt you. We're going to go out of here together. Just you and me. We don't have much time. Give me the gun before you hurt yourself. Damn it, Clarissa. Stop being a stupid bitch!"
She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. She felt the gun barrel kick back at her but she kept squeezing again and again, hoping that one bullet would find its target. When she dared open her eyes Hugo was beside her and a police officer was taking the gun from her hand.
"Clary! My God, Clary! I though we wouldn't get up here in time."
He knelt down beside her and held her in his arms. She put her arms around her neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt nothing but an emptiness, no tears fell, and there was no feeling at all.
"Thank God, Hugo," she managed to whisper. "Thank God it's over."
"Alex told me you were in some kind of trouble. Then my roommate called. I got here as soon as I could."
"Just hold me, Hugo."
"Excuse me, Miss Hayden," the officer said as he lightly touched her shoulder. "Agent Rogers would like a word with you."
"Agent?"
"He's over on the stretcher, Miss."
Alex was lying with his jacket off and his shirt open, a wide bandage wrapped around his middle. He waved off the paramedic that started to take the stretcher down the stairs.
"You're a cop?" Clarissa asked him. He tried to smile at her. "You could have told me."
"I tried."
"I probably wouldn't have believed you anyway," Clarissa tried to smile but all she felt was ex
haustion and the effort was too great. "Is he dead?" she asked.
"He's close. Three years of work down the drain if he dies. His network will go underground fast. I couldn't get anything concrete on him until two nights ago."
"You should have asked me," said Clarissa. "I could write you a book."
"I'll bet you could," he agreed.
"Alex, you're hurt bad."
"I'll be alright. Wolfe's aim was lousy."
Alex dug into his pants pocket and pulled out the crystal angel with the broken wing.
"Found this on Marco's body. I remember seeing it in Wolfe's den. Is it yours?"
"I'm the one who broke it. I had it in my make-up bag in the purse I left at Virginia's. Marco must have taken it when he... I'm sorry. I'd like to have it fixed."
"Be my guest," Alex mused. "She seems to be the angel of death."
"Maybe her luck will change."
Clarissa waited until Morgan and Alex had been taken downstairs on stretchers by the paramedics. Then she went back to her third floor room and pushed open the door. Virginia's black print scarf and Randy's red silk one were laying across the bed. She picked up the red one, pulling it absently through her fingers.
It seemed so long ago that Virginia had given her the clothes, when it had only been four days. The black t-shirt and jeans would eventually find their way into the nearest garbage can. The black scarf she left on the bed. The red one she would keep. They would be a grim reminder of her ordeal and the death of Myra's dream.
Down the stairs to the hotel lobby, the paramedics were bringing up the bodies of Marco and Graciella McKinnon from the cellar. The last stretcher out the door was Dusty who was protesting loudly that he was alright. It made Clarissa smile at the crusty old man.
"It's just a little cut," he rasped at the paramedic. "I don't need to go to no hospital for a little bump on the noggin. I have a job to do. Let me up off this thing, will ya?"
She followed Dusty's stretcher outside, her thoughts lost on the crystal angel and scarves in her hand. When she looked up, another stretcher was wheeled toward an ambulance and Clarissa ran over and put her hand on the paramedic's arm to stop it. Randy lay beneath a white blanket. His eyes were doleful as he turned his head slightly toward her.
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