Under Lock and Key

by Sylvie Kurtz

  “How should I know? Slow down, would ya!”

  Tyler tightened his grip and pressed on. “You just up and tried to scare a woman out of her home for no reason.” Then Tyler remembered the survey of Melissa’s land that Randall had kindly paid for. Oil? Had Randall faked the results? Had Randall wanted Melissa off her land in order to steal the oil under the castle? With his business crumbling, he needed a source of income to keep it afloat.

  “There was a reason,” Drake said. “A million of them.”

  “Why would you rat on Randall and cut off your meal ticket?”

  “If it means staying out of jail…” Drake shrugged. “A guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

  So much for loyalty among thieves.

  As they neared the Jeep, Sable stopped her nervous pacing when she recognized them. With a cry of anguish, she ran toward them. She grabbed Drake’s T-shirt with both hands and shook him. “Where’s my baby? Where’s Tia?”

  Tyler pried her hands off Drake’s shirt and pushed her away. “One thing at a time, Sable.”

  She danced around him, trying to get her hands on Drake. “But he—”

  Tyler twisted Drake’s arms back and, using his belt, fashioned handcuffs. “I want you to go back to your car. I want you and Melissa to drive back to the castle. Is that understood?”

  Hands on hips, steam practically coming out of her ears, Sable paced around Tyler as he pressed Drake into the passenger seat. “But he—”

  Tyler straightened. “Did you call the cops?”

  Sable shook her head and waved a hand at Drake. “No, he has Tia. He—”

  “Hey, you promised no cops,” Drake whined.

  “No, I promised you’d get the money.”

  Drake swore. Tyler was about to shut the door. Drake stuck his foot out to stop the momentum. “Wait!” The expression of his face was one of desperation. He licked his lips, then met Tyler’s gaze. “I know who’s responsible for your wife’s death.”

  Tyler froze. His pulse roared in his ears. Everything in him wanted to rip this man apart for the answer to the question that had tortured him for more than a year. The feeling he’d had all along that this was somehow linked to Lindsey congealed into certainty. “Spill.”

  His voice was so low, so cold, Drake’s eyes widened with fear. He snaked his tied hands toward Tyler. “Untie me first.”

  Tyler gripped Drake’s throat and slowly squeezed. “Spill.”

  Sitting with his wrists bound, Drake tried to break Tyler’s hold, but only managed to tighten the choke. Sweat poured down his face. “Randall,” he choked out. “Randall.”

  “All I’ve got is the word of a worm trying to squirm out of a bad situation.”

  “I’ve got proof.”

  Tyler drew in a long breath of air, but none of it seemed to fill his lungs. “Where?”

  Drake gasped. “Safe. Taped conversations.”

  He shoved Drake back in his seat. Drake coughed and hacked.

  “You and me are going to take a little ride,” Tyler said.

  “What about Tia?” Sable asked, her tone surprisingly meek. “There was nothing in the paper. I need to know where she is.”

  “Take Melissa back to the castle,” Tyler said as he locked the Jeep door and slammed it shut. “Tia’s there.”

  “At the castle?”

  He nodded. Sable’s eyes bugged out in surprise. “How? When?”

  “Take Melissa home.” She’d be safe there. And when he made peace with the last part of the puzzle of Lindsey’s death, they would have to talk.

  Nodding, Sable trotted off toward the other end of the lot.

  Tyler rounded the front of the Jeep and got in the driver’s seat. Without giving Sable another thought, he fired up the engine. “First stop your safe, then you’d better pray Randall’s home.”

  MELISSA SNARLED as Tyler’s cell number connected her once more to his voice mail. She jabbed the off button. “He’s not answering.”

  “It’s probably good news,” Tia said from the couch in Melissa’s den. She stroked a purring Selma. “They found Drake and they’re down at the police station sorting everything out. You’ll see. He’ll be here any minute now.”

  “He would have called.” But the tension of something wrong clung to her with its icy teeth and wouldn’t let go. Drake had been deep in debt last year when Tyler’s story was killed, and magically his debt was erased. He owed again this year and he’d kidnapped Tia to raise the money he needed. She didn’t like the coincidence. She paced the length of the room and punched in Tyler’s number once more.

  A car honked outside, startling Tia and cutting short Selma’s purring. Both women rushed to the window in time to see the portcullis raise and the reverend and his faithful shake their placards at the black Lincoln Town Car. “Sable.”

  They tromped down the stairs and met the car in the courtyard. Tia flung herself at her mother. Sable clasped her daughter to her and wept with such heartfelt relief that Melissa found the edge of her hatred cracking.

  Holding Tia, Sable met Melissa’s gaze and fear flitted through her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her painted nails curled around the child she loved, the child she was willing to kill for. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Mom?” Tia asked as she leaned out of her mother’s crushing embrace. “What’s wrong? What happened to Drake? Where’s Tyler?”

  Gaze still glued to Melissa’s, Sable swallowed hard. “I’m glad you’re—”

  “Save it, Sable.” Tia didn’t need to know of her mother’s betrayal. Drake’s duplicity was enough to handle in one day.

  “I didn’t want to. I didn’t have a choice.”

  For Tia’s sake, Melissa bit back the anger she wanted to let fly at Sable. “Where’s Tyler?”

  Stroking Tia’s hair, Sable shrugged. “Probably at the Randall estate.”

  “What do you mean, probably?” The tension straining Melissa’s shoulders snaked down her spine.

  “He wasn’t exactly in a sharing mood,” Sable said, using the car door as a shield. “He ordered me here and left with Drake. I’m assuming, given that Drake said Randall killed his wife, that they’re headed for a showdown with James Randall.”

  Tyler had been right all along. James Randall, her friend, her mentor, was behind all this. Melissa closed her eyes and took a long breath. This was not good. The child’s cry echoed in the recesses of her mind, filling her with a burning sense of helplessness. Tyler was going to face his wife’s killer in the killer’s own territory. The odds weren’t good. She couldn’t lose him. But she couldn’t deal with this alone. She needed help.

  There was only one person who knew as many details of this story as they did.

  Swiveling on her heel, Melissa headed for the kitchen. She reached for the phone above Grace’s desk, drew back, then with a huff picked up the receiver and dialed the number she knew by heart but had never used. While the phone rang, she swallowed hard. At the sound of the voice, her hand shook and she almost slammed down the receiver. Pain, so much pain between them. And she was responsible for half of it.

  “Uncle Freddy,” she said, cursing the croak in her voice.

  “Melissa.” The voice held both elation and apology.

  For the first time in twenty years, guilt nudged at her conscience. Her sweaty hand tightened on the receiver. She swallowed the tight knot in her throat. “I need your help.”

  “Anything.”

  She closed her eyes at the eagerness of his voice. Why had she rebuffed all his efforts to get close to her? Stubborn pride. She couldn’t let it get in the way again. “I can’t reach Tyler, and I think he’s in trouble.”

  “Where is he?”

  Tears burned her eyes at the concern in his voice. “The Randall estate. He has Tia’s kidnapper with him. And, Freddy…?”

  “What?”

  How could she have so misjudged James Randall? How could she have missed his ruthless streak? How could she have loved this man more than her own fa
ther, this man who would kill another man’s wife to hold on to a business secret? “According to Sable, Drake said that Randall was responsible for the death of Tyler’s wife.”

  She felt a pulse of understanding zing along the line. Tyler had lost so much that day. Would it cloud his judgment?

  “You hang on,” Freddy said. Urgency spiked the calmness he tried to inject into his voice. “I’ll get him help.”

  “How long?” She had both hands on the receiver now and wished she could crawl through the line and be at Freddy’s side doing something, anything.

  “As fast as I can.”

  She hung up, but couldn’t shake her feeling of doom. What little color remained of her world was bled out. She looked around the kitchen—at the gray stone, the black hearth, the smoke-streaked ceiling—and knew that nothing would ever be the same. The world she’d created for herself was a lie.

  And if James Randall had killed Lindsey just to keep Tyler from a story, he wouldn’t hesitate to rid himself of Tyler now. Explaining the situation to the authorities would take time—even for Freddy. By the time anyone responded, Tyler could be dead.

  She’d watched helplessly as the mother she’d loved was consumed by flames to protect aspirations. She couldn’t simply stand by while the man she loved was taken from her to conceal greed.

  Despite her sprained ankle, she flew out the kitchen door and across the courtyard.

  “Melissa, wait!” Tia cried, running after her.

  “I can’t. Tyler needs help.”

  “Let the police handle it.”

  “They won’t get there in time.”

  She felt the brush of Tia’s hand, but kept going.

  Finally Tia snagged the sleeve of her T-shirt and pulled her to a halt. “You’re hurt. I’ll go.”

  Melissa turned and gave her sister a quick hug. “You’re sweet, but I know the estate. I can get in without being seen.”

  “God, Melissa,” Tia said, hanging on to her sister. “I’ve already almost lost you once today. Let the cops handle this.”

  “I’m not planning on getting hurt. You go make sure Sable doesn’t leave. I need to talk to her.”

  Melissa spun to leave, but Tia caught her arm again. “She did this to you, didn’t she? My mother pushed you into that well.” Tia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Melissa entered the coolness of the stable and reached for a bridle in the tack room.

  “It does too matter. You could have died. What if I hadn’t found you?”

  With quick efficient moves, Melissa bridled Breeze. “Tyler would have found me.”

  “How can you be so calm? She tried to kill you!”

  Melissa led Breeze out onto the concrete aisle and touched her sister’s cheek. “She did it for love, Tia.”

  Tears streamed from Tia’s eyes. “I don’t want the kind of love that would kill.”

  “Oh, Tia,” Melissa said, giving her sister a fierce hug. “If I were in her shoes, I’d have done the same thing. For my baby, I’d do anything.”

  “No, you would have found a way around death. You always do. Look at all you’ve done, at the life you’ve created. I’ve never seen anyone as strong as you.”

  A smile wavered on Melissa’s lips. How could she hate Sable when she’d given her the only sunshine in her life? “I love you, Tia.”

  She let go of her sister, grabbed the shotgun from the tack room and pocketed extra shells. “I have to go.”

  “What can I do?” Tia wrapped her arms around herself as if to keep warm.

  Melissa glanced toward the faithful gathered at the end of the driveway. “Pray.”

  While the reverend preached at the front gate, she slipped out the postern door. Leading Breeze against the castle wall until they reached the far side, she mentally mapped a route through her neighbors’ land to the Randall estate. Once she reached the ridge of woods circling the castle, she vaulted on and urged Breeze into the maze. To the rhythm of galloping hooves, she muttered a little prayer of her own. “Keep him safe. Keep him safe. Keep him safe.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Listening to the tapes in Drake’s messy room had broken Tyler’s heart, then hardened his determination. Randall would pay for what he’d done. Randall’s greed had already cost him one woman he loved. Tyler couldn’t let him destroy Melissa just to preserve his shaky house of cards.

  With all the tapes on their way to Freddy by courier, along with a note, and the cops notified, Tyler had Drake gain entrance to the estate, then marched the young man into the house. A uniformed maid attempted to stop them, but Tyler pressed Drake deeper into the cavernous house.

  Arms windmilling, the maid threatened to call the police. That fit right in with Tyler’s plan. The cops had been a tad skeptical about his claims. Now they would have to respond.

  Tyler wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he came face-to-face with Randall, only that he wanted to look the man in the eye and have him confess his sins. For Lindsey who had so loved the pursuit of truth, he wanted more than justice—he wanted the truth.

  Through the French doors of the library that opened onto a patio with an Olympic-size pool, he could see Randall swimming laps. Without hesitating, Tyler prodded Drake outside.

  A wedge of dark clouds homed in on the blue of the sky. Wind whipped the trees into a dervish dance of leaves and limbs and crowded the light garden chairs together at one end of the pool. A paper napkin, held down by silverware, flapped, creeping the knife and fork closer to the edge of the glass table. The plastic dome covering the china plate took flight and landed on the manicured bushes bordering the patio.

  If the sight of two men looming above him in the pool gave Randall any pause, he didn’t show it. He finished the return trip of his lap and calmly exited the pool.

  Standing there, white hair slicked against his head, mustache dripping, slack chest muscles gleaming wetly, Randall didn’t look like much of an adversary. But rats came in all shapes and sizes—and their deceptive appearance didn’t make the diseases they carried any less deadly.

  Randall slipped the goggles from his head and dropped them by the side of the pool. “I wasn’t expecting any company.”

  Tyler thrust Drake, whose wrists were tied behind his back, into a garden chair. Still counting on earning his freedom, Drake didn’t move a muscle.

  “Melissa loved you like a father,” Tyler said. He reached for a towel on a cabana bench and threw it at Randall. “How could you hurt her like that?”

  “You can blame yourself for any pain that’s come her way.” Randall patted himself dry. “I only have her best interests at heart.”

  “Thornwylde is the only place that gives her peace. You were going to take it from her for the oil buried in the ground.”

  Randall reached for the robe on the chaise and slipped it on. “Thornwylde is a prison for her.”

  “So you were going to help her by stealing what belongs to her?” Hatred swelled in a nauseating wave, throttling his objectivity. “You have a talent for that. Can you really justify theft, murder, that easily?”

  Randall pressed the intercom button on the small wrought-iron table by the chaise, then turned back to his guests. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to tend to. The maid will see you to the door.”

  As Randall turned to leave, Tyler grabbed his elbow. Randall fell clumsily into a garden chair, making it rock from side to side on the pool apron.

  “We’re not through.”

  The maid arrived at the French doors. Wringing her hands, she said, “Mr. Randall?”

  “Sofia, fetch Ray.”

  “And call the police,” Tyler added.

  Eyes darting from man to man, Sofia backed into the library, then hurried away.

  From his back pocket, Tyler plucked the spare microcassette recorder he always kept in the car and pressed the play button.

  “Tail Collins and make sure he doesn’t talk,” Randall’s voice on the scratchy second-g
eneration tape said. “I want the story killed now.”

  “I didn’t sign on for that kind of business,” Drake’s voice whined. “Scoping out a castle is one thing, but this—”

  “If you’d gotten things right the first time around, it wouldn’t’ve come down to this. If you like, I can always give your bookie’s flunkies your new address.”

  “I don’t see why I need a gun.”

  “Power speaks louder than words. The gun gives you power. It’s not registered and no one can trace it back to you.”

  “What if I hit him by mistake?”

  “Then make sure the shot is fatal and no one catches you in the act.”

  Randall spared Drake a deadly glance before focusing on Tyler. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “My wife was murdered the night I went to meet Lester Collins. He’d told me about your creative accounting and the companies you used to hide that creativity. Your financial statements were nothing more than smoke and mirrors. You were cooking the books. My story was going to expose your losses and show that your profits were nothing more than hot air. It would have brought your company to its knees. And you couldn’t let that happen.”

  “If you want to blame anyone, blame your friend here. He’s the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “It was an accident,” Drake said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to hit anyone.”

  “How much of your own stock do you own?” Tyler asked, ignoring Drake.

  A muscle tightened Randall’s jaw. Pushing his hands against the chair arms, he started to rise. Tyler shoved him back down.

  “I’ll bet my last dollar you collared your position and dumped your stock. Let the little guy eat your mistakes.”

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the rock footpath. “Ray,” Randall said without looking at the arrival, “escort this gentleman to the door.” He reached out a hand toward the recorder. “I’ll take that.”

  Tyler tossed Randall the tape. “It’s a copy. The original is safe. If anything happens to me, your business practices will come out on the front page of every newspaper—where everyone will see the deep rot. The Securities and Exchange Commission will have a field day going through your books.”