CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance

by Yasmine Galenorn

  I dropped the order and quickly rifled through the rest of the suitcase. Bank statements, all in Diana’s name, and letters. Under the pictures I found a crumpled Father’s Day card from Diana to Joshua, and then another sheaf of letters.

  So she’d found out; somehow she found out that Joshua was her father. Had he looked her up, told her he was her real father and not Walter? Had that been what caused the fights between Diana and her parents?

  A note scribbled on floral stationery stood out among the rumpled papers—something seemed familiar in the handwriting, and then, I knew. Those looping letters were all too recognizable.

  I can’t believe that you actually dared to contact me. Walter will kill you if he knows you’re back in town. So you’ve been snooping around, have you? I got your package and burned it, but I suppose you have more where that came from. Get your ass up here next Thursday. I’ll make sure the house is clear. We’ll talk, but I warn you—I’m not a good person to make an enemy of. You’d better have the goods if you expect me to pay the price you’re asking. Susan

  The letter was dated a few days before the date of Susan’s death. Clipped to the letter was a picture of Susan. She was kissing some man, but it wasn’t Walter. They were going at it pretty hot and heavy, by the looks of it. I flipped the photo over. Someone had jotted down two names on the back: Susan M. and Ned Cantrell. I studied the picture. Where had I seen this man before? Cantrell … Cantrell… Now I remembered! He’d played the lead in Obsidian.

  Was he the man she’d hinted at in her argument with Andrew? News like this could disrupt her position as the “Dragon Lady of Romance,” that was for sure. Her happily married readers might not look too fondly on their inspiration if they knew what was going on in her private life, with the abuse, affairs, and counteraffairs. Drop in a child fathered by a madman and it worked out to the makings for a Victim of the Week movie.

  Next to where the letter had been thrust rested a bottle of Valium. I picked it up. The pills were prescribed for Joshua Addison. Confused, but positive I was on to something, I scrambled in my pocket for my cell phone and punched up Harlow’s number. Joshua had been married to Susan. And just what had happened during their meeting? Had Joshua blackmailed Susan, then killed her when something went wrong? Had murder been the plan all along and blackmail a ruse? Did Diana find out what had gone on? Was that why she’d been killed?

  Harlow answered on the third ring. “Harl, listen to me. I think I’ve found proof that Joshua killed Susan. He was married to her, Harl… married to her! She was supposed to meet with him on the day she died.”

  She was all ears. “Oh, my God! Where are you right now? What should I do?”

  “We’ve got to call the police, get them over here. I’m in Joshua’s bedroom on the second floor of the old Addison place. Man, it’s creepy. I need to get out of here before he comes back and finds me. Walter’s right: The dude is dangerous, very dangerous. Susan and Bernard committed him to a mental hospital for violent behavior—” I paused as a creak sounded in the hallway. “Hold on.”

  I held my breath as I tiptoed over to crack the door and peered out. Nothing—nobody there. I let out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall. God, I longed for the security and safety of my little shop, of my home. I wasn’t cut out for sneaking around. I stuffed the letter from Susan in the pocket of my skirt along with the picture and returned to peek out the window, trying to see if there was a car anywhere on the grounds.

  ”Harl, I better—”

  Another creak made me start, and as I headed for the door, it flew open. Joshua Addison stood there, his eyes glimmering with an icy light. He was wearing a black duster and a hat that made me think of Crocodile Dundee. But no good-natured smile creased his face, and that big old knife he was carrying wasn’t nearly as sexy as the one Paul Hogan had waved around.

  “Put the phone down. Turn it off and drop it.” He held up the knife. Every finger sported a thick silver ring. I turned off the phone and tossed it on the bed as he demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Maybe I still had a chance. Maybe I could get out of here with my skin intact. I cleared my throat. “I’ve always liked this house. I wanted to see what the inside was like.”

  “Just like that, huh? You broke in to see what it looked like? No thoughts about the police catching you? No thoughts that maybe somebody lived here?” He took another step closer, and a wave of Calvin Klein’s Obsession overwhelmed me.

  I nodded. “Yeah… stupid, I know. But I thought that the house was abandoned. It’s not like I was going to take anything.” He had to know I was lying. I couldn’t pull off an innocent ingenue act if my life depended on it, and right now, it did.

  Joshua reached my side and glanced down at my bag. He pulled it off my shoulder, and I didn’t object with that wannabe machete waving in my face. I leaned against the window, praying that Harlow had heard something of the exchange.

  He dumped the contents of my purse onto the bed and thumbed through them. With a glance at my driver’s license, he stopped short and stared at me again. “Emerald O’Brien, eh? So you’re one of the pretty ladies who found my daughter, so cold and pale and dead.”

  His eyes shifted from gray to blue, and the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. My blood froze into a river of ice as the hairs on my arms began to stand at attention. Something was very wrong. Shivering, I tried to edge toward the nightstand where I’d left the hatchet.

  Joshua was quicker than I could hope to be. He leaped between me and the hatchet, shaking his finger at me as if he were scolding a child. “Don’t even think of it. You don’t need that nasty old hatchet; not where you’re going.” He picked up the file I’d been leafing through. “Why are you nosing around in my business?” He tossed the documents back in his suitcase.

  I debated whether to speak, and decided it might buy me some time. “Susan told me her husband killed her. She asked for my help. I just didn’t realize it was you and not Walter.”

  He jerked his head up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Her ghost. She came to me the night after she died and told me she’d been murdered and asked me to prove it, since everyone thought she took an overdose. I assumed that Walter had killed her. I was wrong.”

  “You’re asking me to believe that Susan’s ghost appeared in your house and asked you to help her? You’re crazier than I am. Those quacks at the hospital should have a go at you. They’d have a real field day.” He held up the knife as he circled me warily, smiling—a lion gauging the fight left in his quarry.

  I turned with him, never letting him leave my line of sight. “You were married to her. You were going to meet her on the day she died. Tell me about it.”

  Without warning, he lunged, grabbing my arm. Startled, I shouted as he threw me onto the bed. I gasped as I hit the mattress and, before I could twist away, he straddled my chest, gently waving the knife in my face. “I bet you were one of Walter’s pretty Pollys. One of his conquests? I have to tell you, he’d be an extremely bad choice for a husband.” He leaned closer and whispered, “Did you know that he’s never been faithful a day in his life? Even when he first married Susan, he was still playing the field.”

  I shifted, trying to avoid the blade that hovered so close to my throat. I had to be prepared, ready to take advantage of any mistake he might make. Forcing myself to remain calm, I said, “Walter wasn’t my lover. And I know he was unfaithful. Susan knew about it. That’s why she cut him out of her will and assigned all her money to her daughter. She stayed with him too long. She made a lot of mistakes.”

  Joshua brought the knife down hard, and I screamed as it whistled past my ear and plunged into the mattress. Before I realized what he was doing, he had both my wrists over my head, pinning me to the bed by brute force. He leaned close and nuzzled my neck, his nose and lips cold against my skin. I thrashed, trying to avoid his touch. His energy enveloped me, a dangerous combination of leather and blades and glistening insan
ity.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t call it a mistake, not from where I’m sitting. Diana’s money goes to me. Since we didn’t want questions, we made it simple. She left a will, naming me as her beneficiary. I encouraged her to make nice to Mama, you know, told her it wasn’t fair to lose her rightful inheritance just because Mama and Daddy never told her she had a different father, just because they bounced her from school to school like a dodge ball. Susan and Walt played right into my hands.”

  Cold sweat dripped from every pore in my body. “How’d you get Diana to make a will without her being suspicious?”

  “Nothing to it. We made our wills at the same time, and like a good father and daughter should, named each other as beneficiary. My sweet little idiot was what you might call gullible. Too bad she was so stupid; she might still be alive. But then again, I’m not the paternal type. Now, to matters at hand.” He leaned close and forced his lips over mine.

  Panicking, I fought, trying to throw him off. He reared back and, crazy strong, his smile never wavering, backhanded me. Startled by the force of his blow, the slash along my cheek burned where his rings grazed the flesh, leaving a trickle of blood to wend its way down toward my ear.

  He gave me a smug grin. “You know, you’re not my type, but I find myself strangely attracted to you. I’m going to enjoy this.” He laughed and ground his pelvis against mine. Even through the layers of clothing, I could tell he was aroused. “Oh, yes, you’re the icing on the cake. I’m a very rich man, thanks to my dearest Diana, and I got my revenge on both Susan and Walter after all these years, and now I get a bit of fun on the side.”

  Abruptly, he grabbed the knife as he stood, dragging me along with him. He whipped me around and slammed me up against one of the dressers, knocking the wind out of me. My stomach felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer as I doubled over the chest of drawers.

  Joshua slashed the back of my parka and said, “Take off that coat.”

  I struggled to keep calm as I slowly unzipped my parka and tossed it on the bed. I could tell that he’d reached the end of his interest in talking. I had to do something. I whirled, heading for the door. Joshua sprang over the footboard. I tried to push him away, but he was terribly quick. In one swift move, he grabbed me by the throat and held the knife to my jugular.

  “Planning on going somewhere, my pretty beryl? I don’t think so. I think the only place you’re headed is to the basement with me.” He paused for a moment and thrust his nose against my neck. I could feel his breath on my skin. “You smell delicious. Did you know that? Take it nice and slow. We’re going to move this party to your new home. But I’m afraid it’s also going to be your last home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He shifted so his arm was around my waist I and the knife pointed at my back. I could feel the tip pressing through the weave of my sweater. Trickles of sweat dripped down my face, cold and clammy. As we neared the stairs, I moaned and started to sink to the floor.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Get up, bitch.”

  “My knee, I hurt my knee,” I stammered, trying to buy time. Anything to buy a few more minutes. “I tore it up last week, and it hurts to walk.”

  He yanked me up by the elbow. “You’ll jolly well do anything I tell you to if you don’t want me to make this any worse than it has to be.” He leaned close to my ear. “Believe me when I tell you that I know how to make you hurt. Pain is the butter on my bread, and when we’re down in the basement, no one will hear you scream. Now get down those stairs!” He shoved me toward the stairwell. If I Wanted to escape, it had to be now. So what if I broke my neck? I’d be dead anyway, if I waited much longer.

  I dove for the stairwell and went rolling down to the landing, covering my head as I fell. A loud curse echoed above me. I tried to shut out his voice, tried to shut out the blinding pain that arced through my knee into the rest of my body as I forced myself to my feet. One more flight to go.

  He was on my heels as I rounded the landing. No more time, no more choices—either I let him kill me, or I embraced the fire. I coiled back for the spring and, screaming as loudly as I could, took the flight of stairs in one leap. As I hit the bottom, the abrupt stop jarred me to the bone, but I couldn’t let the pain stop me. Still screaming, I hurled myself back into the hallway. As I cleared the door, I could feel a breeze as Joshua slashed at the air behind me, the tip of his knife almost catching my blouse.

  How long could I keep this up? Not long enough to make it to my car, not down those icy steps. Without a clear plan, thinking only to get away, I raced into the dining room and grabbed one of the candelabras, turning to throw it at him as hard as I could. The brass holder bounced off his arm and he dropped the knife, swearing as he stopped to recover it. Time enough to get to the kitchen, where there should be something I could use as a weapon. There, on the counter, the knife block! I grabbed the biggest, meanest knife I could find with one hand, and a cleaver with the other.

  He entered the room, wary but with blade raised. If he’d had a gun, he would have used it by now, so the worst he could do was stab me, choke me, or beat me to death. I raised my weapons and we stood, frozen, waiting. A trickle of blood flowed down my nose to puddle on my lip. I gasped, trying to catch my breath. The adrenaline rush down the stairs had kept me going, but now I could feel fear working at me, slowing me down.

  Joshua cocked an eyebrow, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I’m having fun, babe. How about you? You’re hot, even if you are crazy.” His words were smooth; his pupils dilated, and I knew that he was psycho enough to risk that I might stab him.

  “Stay away. I’m not going to let you hurt me.” I tried to bolster my courage.

  Joshua snorted. “I’ve already hurt you, and I’m going to hurt you a lot more.” He leaped forward. I stumbled back against the range, dropping the cleaver as I screamed. He laughed. “Good one, girl. Good one. Okay, it’s time to get down to business. I can make this easy or I can make this hard. Your choice. Put down the knife.”

  He stood between me and the door. What to do? Try to lunge, try to stab him? In the core of my heart, I knew that I couldn’t do it—he was stronger than me, he was psychotic, he was winning this battle, and I would go down in flames. Flames… that was it! I held him at bay with the butcher knife while, with my other hand, I grabbed the pile of rags on the counter and dumped them on one of the burners. Then one quick twist to the knob and a quick prayer that the range still worked. Light, please light, please don’t be one of those stoves that requires a match.

  Whoosh … the rags flared to life, burning with a thick black smoke. They must have had some kind of solvent on them, because they raged a brilliant orange against the dim shadows of the kitchen. Coughing, I used the tip of the knife to catch one of the flaming rags and tossed it at Joshua. He jumped out of the way, giving me the opening I needed to barrel past him. I burst through the door and onto the precarious balcony.

  A low roar came from the kitchen; the flames had touched off the pile of garbage. Smoke billowed out the door, and I could see through the grimy window that the room was ablaze. Joshua stumbled out, wiping his eyes. I’d managed to singe his hair with my impromptu fireball. I held the knife in front of me, but my hands were shaking.

  “You’ve done it now, girl. Set the place to crackling. Good riddance, anyway. Saves me the trouble of destroying the evidence. Put down the knife, and I promise I’ll make this easy.” His eyes were compelling, glittering as they mirrored the snow and icicles hanging around us.

  I thought I could hear sirens in the distance. I had to distract him. “Before I do, answer me one thing.”

  “What?” His voice was flat now, and he seemed to have sunk into some kind of trance. I recognized the look from long ago, from one awful night when I’d been attacked during college—it was the look of a predator who felt nothing for his prey. I’d gotten away then… would I be as lucky this time?

  “Why did you come back to Chiqetaw? You hated them all, you kill
ed Diana and her mother and set up Walter to take the fall. Why come back here?” My stomach churned.

  Joshua shifted and shrugged. “To watch Walter crumble. Why else? Can’t paint a masterpiece and not want to look at it. And it would have all gone together just right if you hadn’t been so damned nosy. That knife was the crowning jewel in my plan, and it was so easy to plant in his house before I showed up at the memorial.” He gave me a slow smile. “I just wish I’d thought to have one last go with Susan while she was out cold. She always did have a fine ass.”

  My stomach roiled. “What kind of pervert are you?”

  He ran his blade over one thumb, and I saw a drop of blood weal up before he answered me softly. “The best kind—successful.” With a shift, he readied himself to lunge. I had only one hope, only one chance. Smoke raged out of the door in a thick cloud and if he didn’t kill me, the fire would. I swallowed and dropped my knife.

  “Good girl. We have to finish this quicker than I like. Those sirens are getting close, and I have to disappear.” Joshua held up the dagger and I steeled myself, waiting, counting fractions of seconds. As he swung the blade toward my chest, I threw myself against the side of the burning building.

  With nothing for the blade to encounter, the motion unbalanced him, and he lurched forward. At that moment I felt a familiar presence and looked up to see Susan standing beside me. Joshua scrabbled to his feet, incredulous. As she stepped forward, he screamed. “You’re dead—I killed you. You can’t be here!”

  She ignored his cries and glided toward him. He raised his knife to fend her off, but the blade sliced through her like smoke. With one last shout, he backed up against the railing, and a rending sound split the air as the rotten wood splintered. For a brief second our eyes locked and I could see the whirl of chaos that raged within him, the flare of surprise.