The Runaway Heiress

by Meg Tilly

  “What the f—” She could feel his rage crashing over her, but instead of crushing her with fear, it was fuel. A shot roared out, ringing in her ears, a numb burning sensation in her left hand, both of them suddenly slippery on the gun. Through the ringing, she could hear Mick’s battle cry. Felt the thump as Mick’s body launched into Kevin, but still she didn’t release her grip on the handgun, and the three of them went down in a pile. She wrapped her body tightly around Kevin’s forearm, pinning it and the Glock to the ground, keeping Mick out of harm’s way.

  Another shot rang out. Heat skimmed along her rib cage. Her vision was blurring, but she didn’t let go. She could hear sirens, dogs barking, vehicle doors slamming, people shouting.

  There was a third blast, but still she didn’t let go. She could hear footsteps pounding. Only a tiny circle of vision remained in the very center of her eyes, the rest was darkness. But it was all she needed to see the blessed first responders, the police, the paramedics and firemen flooding into the courtyard. “Thank God,” she murmured. “Thank God,” and then that fragment of vision slipped away as well.

  47

  Sarah regained consciousness as the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney, just in time to see Kevin being led away in handcuffs. “You are making the biggest mistake of your career, Officer,” Kevin shouted. “Fucking heads are going to roll.” His eyes were blazing.

  Sarah turned her face away, but she could still hear him cussing. “What happened?” she asked the female paramedic who was threading a strap through a buckle to secure Sarah’s lower legs to the board.

  “You blacked out,” the woman replied. “Shock, most likely.”

  “I’m okay. I can walk.” Sarah attempted to push herself to a seated position, having forgotten about her injured hand, and fell back with a cry.

  Suddenly Mick was beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his worried face filling her vision. “We’re going to the hospital to get you patched up.”

  Mick rode with her in the ambulance. She was grateful for his company, to not be going through this alone after so many years of fending for herself. He brought her up to speed on the trip to the hospital. The cops hadn’t known whom to believe, especially when Kevin pulled the NYPD lieutenant card. “It was touch and go for a moment. Fortunately, the cabdriver’s version of the events corroborated my own. They agreed to let me accompany you to the hospital, but we both will need to drop by the police station tomorrow morning. I’ll finish the rest of my statement, and they will need one from you as well.”

  Sarah nodded. Suddenly tired. So tired. She could see the residual flash of emergency lights through the window at the back. “They didn’t put the sirens on.”

  “You want me to ask them to?”

  Sarah shuddered. “No thanks.”

  Mick smiled at her, but she could see the worry in his eyes. “Might be exciting?”

  “Ha.” Her hand hurt like the devil, and her abdomen felt like a strip of skin had been carved away.

  When they’d arrived at the hospital, the ER doctor deemed her wounds not life-threatening. Instead of treating her injuries immediately, the doctor called in a forensic nurse. Sarah stood on a piece of paper in a freezing-cold room and dropped her clothes, one by one, which were then labeled and stored. Photos were taken of the bruising around her neck, her damaged hand, the abrasions and powder burns on her abdomen. Her fingernails were scraped. Adhesive stubs collected gunpowder residue from her hands and her abdomen. Finally, Sarah had been given a thin hospital gown, a robe, and slippers and was led to a bed in the emergency room with a pale-green curtain for privacy. The nurse returned with a couple of warm blankets. “To keep away the cold,” the nurse had said as she wrapped them around Sarah’s shoulders. “You’re shaking like a leaf.” And then she was gone. But the kindness of that small gesture remained, warming more than her shoulders, and Sarah needed to momentarily close her eyes.

  * * *

  * * *

  “You were lucky,” the ER doctor said as she sewed the torn flesh between Sarah’s thumb and index finger with neat black stitches as if she were sewing on a missing button. Sarah’s hand had been numbed, but she could still feel the tug. “Merely a surface wound across your abdomen where the bullet skimmed you, and the damage to your purlicue is not extensive.” The doctor’s hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, and she looked tired, as if sleep was a commodity she couldn’t afford. “Which is fortunate. If the bullet passed through a centimeter inward, there would have been significant nerve and vascular damage, as well as tendon disruption and multiple fractures.”

  Sarah nodded. “That’s good,” she replied. She was dog-tired. “I’m glad.” Lucky, the doctor said. Yes. I am. And Sarah had had a hand in creating that luck. By grabbing the barrel of the firearm and controlling its trajectory, she had been able to mitigate the damage her ex had been able to do. And Kevin is in police custody. Thank God. Hopefully all the evidence they had collected would ensure that he was incarcerated for a very long time. Adding to her blessings, Mick was in the waiting room, and Sarah held on to that thought as she fought back waves of weariness and pain. Used the image of him to keep her grounded in the present, instead of sliding back into unconsciousness. Watched the delicate hand of the doctor, the needle puncturing her flesh and the thick black thread pulling tight. Mick is in the waiting room safe and sound. And the joy of that knowledge made her weak-kneed with gratitude and relief.

  48

  “If you would read through your written statement one more time to make sure it’s an accurate portrayal of the incident as you remember it,” Detective Docherty said. The detective had taken Sarah to a specially equipped video suite. “We wanted to make sure to cover all bases.” Detective Docherty was all business. Her ginger hair had been corralled back into a severe knot at the base of her head. However, Sarah could see rebellious wisps that had escaped their strict confines and created a soft halo around the woman’s stern face that reminded Sarah of images of the pioneers as they crossed the Great Plains in their covered wagons. And for some odd reason, the added humanizing addition of the sprinkling of freckles across Detective Docherty’s nose and dotting the crests of her cheek helped further to put Sarah at ease. There was something very fierce and trustworthy about this woman. There was a gentleness underneath the gruff exterior, a soft underbelly of kindness. Sarah could feel it in her gut, and it was such a blessing, because she hadn’t been able to eat breakfast. The dread of visiting a police station had her stomach in knots. She had felt extremely vulnerable walking up the stairs and through the front doors, as if Kevin would come striding around the corner in full regalia and take her back into custody. “Feel free to make changes if there is anything that needs clarifying”—Detective Docherty, still sitting, rotated her shoulders as if she had worked out too hard and was feeling the effects—“to include any additional details or redact anything that is incorrect.”

  Sarah read over her statement. “It’s fine,” she said.

  “Good. Now, if you would sign and date it?” Sarah signed. “Wonderful.” Detective Docherty stood, then switched off the video recorder. “Well, that should wrap it up for now.”

  Sarah got to her feet, suddenly tired. Her painkillers must have worn off, because her hand and abdomen were throbbing. “Do you know how Vicki Orsini is doing?”

  A flicker of regret flashed across Detective Docherty’s face. “I regret to inform you, she passed away this morning at approximately three thirty a.m.”

  Sarah’s stomach dropped. “Oh.” A sense of numbness set in, as if she were watching from above. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Appeared to have been poisoned. The symptoms point to strychnine. We’re waiting on the autopsy and the lab results on her drink.”

  “I see.” Poisoned.

  The detective watched her for a moment, then fished out a business card and handed it to Sarah. It was embossed with
all the detective’s details on it. “If you think of anything else—maybe an important detail, a conversation, or something of significance that might have slipped your mind—please don’t hesitate to get in contact with me. Sometimes it’s the little things that will connect the dots for the judge and jury and lead to a conviction.”

  “Okay.” Sarah nodded. “I will.” She tucked the detective’s card into the back pocket of her jeans. When she returned to the hotel, she would transfer it into her wallet in the zipper compartment of her purse. She didn’t want to fumble one-handed with the task in front of an onlooker. “And if one of you comes across my ID and files while you are processing the crime scene?”

  “Whatever is needed for evidence, we will keep until the court has ruled on the case. However, copies can be made and notarized so you’ll be able to obtain new documentation.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Appreciate you coming in.” Detective Docherty headed for the door. “If you would follow me, I’ll show you the way out.”

  Sarah followed Detective Docherty through the open door and into the noise and commotion of the corridor. Police officers were escorting handcuffed detainees, officers were talking, entering, and exiting the rooms, thundering down staircases. There were the sounds of boots, utility belts, curses, and laughter. It was overwhelming, and Sarah found she was tucking into herself, attempting to make herself small, invisible. Kevin is probably here. Is he locked up? Or did he convince them to let him go, as a favor from one jurisdiction to another? “Excuse me?” Sarah sped up her steps to catch up with Detective Docherty’s brisk clip. “I was wondering . . .” Her voice sounded higher pitched and a little too breathless for her liking. “If Lieutenant Hawkins is still in custody? Or if”—she swallowed hard, her heart pounding—“he was released on bail?”

  Detective Docherty stopped walking so abruptly that Sarah almost crashed into her. She turned and looked at Sarah with eyes that had seen too much and were way older than the late twenties that she appeared to be. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Lieutenant Hawkins is in custody. I expect he will remain there. However, if for some unknown reason, a decision is made to release him on bail, I have your contact information and I will let you know.”

  “Okay.” Sarah nodded, trying to get her breathing more ordered. “Thank you.”

  “Anything else?”

  Sarah shook her head, straightened her shoulders. She exhaled, long and slow, forcing her fists to unclench. “No. That’s everything. Thank you.”

  “Right.” Detective Docherty turned briskly and continued down the corridor with Sarah—still coursing with the aftereffects of panic adrenaline—following in the detective’s wake.

  49

  Mick was sitting in the lobby of the police station in one of the green plastic bucket chairs that were bolted to the floor. The detective that was supposed to interview him had gotten called away. Mick had his phone out and was responding to emails when something had his gaze lifting from the screen. It was Sarah, walking into the lobby, her face pale and shoulders back as if she’d just bravely run the gauntlet through enemy territory. He rose to his feet. Every protective instinct he possessed urged him to sprint to her side, scoop her up, and remove her from the premises, but he forced himself to stay put. He watched her shake hands with the female detective, saw the second her gaze found him, rejoiced in the way the rigidity of her body and the suppressed panic in her eyes seemed to soften slightly. I love her, he thought as he watched her make her way to him. I love her so damned much.

  “What are you smiling at?” She looked weary.

  “You,” he replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, dropping a soft kiss on her head.

  “You finished giving your statement?”

  Mick shook his head. “Haven’t gone in yet.”

  “Oh dear.” He felt her shoulders slump slightly. Could see faint lines of strain around her eyes and mouth.

  “Painkillers worn off?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know how long this is going to be,” Mick said. “You should go back to our room and get some rest.”

  “I can wait with you,” Sarah said. And Mick knew she would, but it wasn’t necessary. “Vicki died. They think she was poisoned.” A faint tremor ran through her. “Kevin’s such a monster. He was probably with her when she phoned, forced her to call.”

  “Maybe. Look, Sarah, I don’t want you hanging around here by yourself while they’re taking my statement.” What Mick didn’t mention was his worry that Kevin was in the building. She didn’t need the extra stress of crossing paths with her psychopathic ex.

  “Hang on,” Mick said, holding up a finger. “I’ll be right back.” He jogged over to the receptionist. “Mick Talford. I’m waiting to speak with Detective Kostas. I have to go out front for a second but will be right back.”

  “Fine.” The receptionist barely looked up, fingers flying over his keyboard. Mick returned to Sarah, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and steered her toward the metal-framed, thick glass doors.

  “I’m going to pop you in a taxi. I want you to return to the hotel and wreak havoc: raid the minibar, order room service, flip channels, read a book, whatever. Enjoy some downtime. Let your body heal. Get some rest. I’ll join you just as soon as I’m done.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, lifting her mouth for a kiss. “I’m going to do that. And when you come back, I’ll be all rested, and then I’m going to wreak havoc on you.”

  “Promises . . . promises . . .” Mick pushed open the door, and as they stepped out of the building, it seemed to him that Sarah’s shoulders relaxed even further. He flagged a yellow cab, tucked her inside, shoved a wad of cash in her hand as he brushed a light kiss across her lips. “Love you,” he said, then stepped back onto the curb and swung the door shut.

  “What?” Her mouth had fallen open as she stared at him through the window with a look of wonder on her face.

  “You heard me.” He grinned as the taxi pulled away from the curb. “Strap in!” He stood and watched as she and the cab became smaller and smaller. Finally, the cab made a right-hand turn and disappeared from view. Mick returned to the police station with a buoyancy in his step and a smile in his heart, thinking about Sarah. He let the receptionist know that he had returned and then reseated himself in the green plastic chair to await his interview with Detective Kostas.

  50

  Sarah stepped into their hotel room, weary to the bone. The numbing effect of the meds had definitely worn off. Her hand and abdomen were throbbing with pain. She dropped her purse on an armchair and entered the bathroom. Her hand hovered over the Tylenol, but she felt like crap, so she tipped a pain pill out of the prescription medication container, saying a silent blessing to Mick. He’d had the foresight to remove the childproof lid when he’d brought the pills back from the twenty-four-hour pharmacy last night. She swallowed it dry. Then she returned to the living room, hoping the numbing effect would set in shortly. On the taxi ride to the hotel, Sarah had decided she was going to tuck into the new Nora Roberts novel she’d purchased at the airport, raid the minibar, and possibly take a nap. She perused the selection of goodies in the minibar, finally settling on peanut M&M’s. It was awkward ripping it open, had to use her good hand and her teeth. A blue one and a yellow one escaped. They rolled across the carpet and under the coffee table. Normally, she would have plucked them up, citing the five-second rule, but it was too much hassle to risk aggravating her stomach and hand to try to fish them out of their hiding place. She placed the opened packet of candy on the end table beside the sofa within easy reach, returned to the minibar, removed a can of Coke and placed it by the M&M’s. She padded into the bedroom. Sarah was glad they had consolidated rooms and Mick had moved her stuff into his when he’d woken up. She was plucking Nora’s book off her bedside table when the phone rang. The unexpected noise caused her to levitate. One day, she
promised herself as she reached for the receiver. One day, all that’s gone on will be a distant memory and you will no longer jump at shadows.

  She brought the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice was a little breathless. Her heartbeat was still recovering from panic mode.

  “Sarah? Is that you?” It was Phillip Clarke, his voice sounded ragged, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

  Oh shit. He doesn’t know about Vicki. “Hi there. Yes, it’s me.”

  “Did you talk with Vicki?” Damn.

  Sarah knew the peace and quiet she was longing for was rapidly fleeing in the rearview mirror. This is important, she told herself sternly, but her inner child was flat on her back, pounding her heels into the floor and wailing, Not fair! “Yes, I saw her.”

  “What did she say? Does she miss me? Did she say she would consider coming back?”

  It would be heartless to tell him about Vicki over the phone. Tempting but unkind. Sarah could feel the meds kicking in. She forced her brain to focus. She could do this. Granted she might be a little slurry, but hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Sarah reluctantly tugged her gaze from Nora’s book, exhaled. “Phillip,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  “I would love that. I’ve just broken for lunch. You want to grab a bite? I’ll get us a table at Eleven Madison Park. Your mother adored that place.”

  Sarah had been hoping a quick coffee would do it, but he sounded so hopeful, and he was going to be heartbroken when he heard about Vicki. “Sure,” she said gently. “That would be lovely.”

  “Wonderful!” He sounded chipper now. Sarah could just see him rubbing his hands together as he did when he was excited. She was not looking forward to breaking the bad news. “I’ll pick you up at the Fifty-Seventh Street entrance of your hotel. I’ll be driving a Mercedes-Benz S-Class, cashmere white. If I’m not out front, that means the doormen shooed me away and I’m circling the block. Wait by the curb and I’ll be there shortly.”