At the Midnight Hour

by Alicia Scott

  She led Jillian up to the right-hand tower.

  * * *

  Richard rounded the corner into the library at a near run, only to come to a screeching halt. Empty. The damn room was empty. He felt the panic grip him tightly, his blood running cold and his head drooping as a million different horrible scenarios ran through his mind.

  Liz. What if Jillian had already gotten to Liz?

  Then abruptly, he felt a draft from his right, a chilling, musty draft. His head came up slowly, his face already rigid with the knowledge.

  The right-hand tower. Someone had opened the right-hand tower.

  And then he knew just how much he stood to lose.

  He strode into the library, his face set as his cheeks paled beneath his normal darkness. He opened the bar without blinking, reaching way back to pull out what he wanted. He snapped open the leather case with efficient fingers, and spared one glance at the smooth shape of the Chief’s Special. He began to walk even as he clicked out the barrel and began to load.

  And each stride took him closer to the right-hand tower.

  * * *

  “I don’t remember any money,” Liz was saying frantically, watching as Jillian grew angrier and angrier before her. “The diary just talked about the blackmail, I swear it.”

  “Don’t bother,” the blonde sneered, looking at Liz with open contempt. “Do you expect me to believe you? You’re no better than Alycia. Well, I sat back and watched her for two years. I let her steal Blaine and I looked on while she married Richard. And then I realized I was never going to get anywhere while she was in the picture. That day, she thought she was so clever, to have figured out who I was. She thought she could stand here and laugh at me and swear she wouldn’t pay another red cent. Well, I showed her who was really the smart one.

  “And then I got to be patient once more. Blaine needed time, Parris needed time. The whole damn world seemed to need time to get over Alycia. But now it’s my time. Blaine was coming around. Just a couple months more and I’d have had him down the aisle and then I’d never have to worry about money again. Until, of course, you showed up. You should have left when I put that note on your bed, you little bitch. Did you really think I’d just sit back and let Blaine go for the second time?”

  Liz shook her head furiously. “I don’t want Blaine,” she said, then quickly reworded her answer as Jillian’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I mean, Blaine doesn’t want me. And really, that’s fine. I hope the two of you will be happy together. I’ll be the first to throw rice at your wedding.”

  “Too late,” Jillian said coldly. “You’re going to help me find the twenty thousand Alycia still owes me, and then if you’re lucky, I’ll kill you with the first bullet. Don’t make me run through the list of alternatives.”

  Liz swallowed, and wondered for the thirtieth time how she was going to get out of this. Slowly, her eyes never wavering from Jillian’s form, she sank to the floor.

  “It’s hidden under the floor,” she ad-libbed. “Alycia wrote that she hid the money here.” She pretended to run her hands across the stone, as if feeling for a release lever, wondering if she sounded at all convincing.

  It seemed to work, because Jillian suddenly looked at the floor with renewed interest.

  “How shrewd,” the blonde murmured, kneeling slowly. “Bring the money to the final site, but hide it in the floor, just in case. Perhaps I didn’t look hard enough the first time.”

  Keeping the gun trained on Liz with one hand, the blonde felt out the stones with her other hand. Liz allowed herself another deep breath. So far, so good. Maybe if she could just keep the woman talking, absorbed in finding the last of the money, she could distract Jillian’s attention from the gun. At this point, it was the best plan she had.

  “So you were the blackmailer,” Liz began.

  Jillian simply nodded, her face cold as she searched out another stone. Liz moved over a few feet, and instantly the woman stiffened. Liz hunkered back down slowly.

  “What,” she asked after a minute, “what did you blackmail her with? In the diary,” she added quickly, “she only refers to one day she swore never to think about again.”

  Jillian laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “It was a freak thing, really,” she said coolly as her free hand smoothed along the stones. “Six years ago I was talking to a friend of a friend of a friend, who just happened to be in the business of performing abortions and, well, he’d performed one on Alycia. When she was sixteen. It appears Alycia had a little incident with one of her father’s business associates.”

  Liz started, and the surprised motion earned her another level glance. For emphasis, Jillian cocked the pistol. “I’m getting impatient,” the blonde said pointedly.

  Liz nodded, and turned back to the floor, trying to look as if she were searching for the last of the blackmail money that Alycia apparently had never handed over. Her panic kept growing, and nervously her eyes darted around the room. It was then she suddenly noticed the shadowed form of Richard standing in the doorway. Quickly, she dropped her eyes, hoping Jillian hadn’t noticed her staring. She moved back a bit, drawing Jillian’s attention farther from the door.

  “Why—why kill Alycia if you were collecting money from her?” Liz asked nervously, licking her lips and catching Richard’s stealthy approach out of the corner of her eye. He appeared to be holding a gun in one hand, but that didn’t ease her nerves. If Jillian happened to glance over and notice him...

  “I didn’t have a choice.” Jillian shrugged. “She figured out it was me, and then confronted me up here at the drop-off site. She had the gall to say she’d brought the money with her, but now that she knew it was me, she had no intention of paying. She thought she could just turn and walk away. She thought I would just let her.” Jillian’s face hardened, the pistol waving in her hand with the force of her anger. Immediately, Richard froze, and Liz swallowed thickly, wondering if she was going to be shot out of pure rage. Slowly, the blonde collected herself. “I cocked the gun, thinking to scare her, and that little twit turned around and rushed me. We struggled a bit, but I was always much stronger than her. I maneuvered her over to the window, and when I got the first opening, I pushed her hard. She fell like a rag doll, and Blaine became mine.”

  In spite of herself, Liz shivered. Unbidden, her gaze sought out Richard, now just steps behind Jillian’s kneeling form. This time, however, the blonde frowned, and turned as if to follow the line of Liz’s gaze.

  “The money!” Liz cried ingenuously. Jillian whirled sharply back, only to be caught off guard by Richard’s crashing form. They went down with a soft thud on the stone floor, a gun skittering across the uneven surface. Not waiting, Liz scrambled over to collect the pistol.

  She saw Richard’s arm come back, then move forward with remarkable fury. Jillian went limp on the floor. With an almost casual gesture, Richard reached down and examined her face. He rose, and looked at the woman one last time with unconcealed fury and disgust.

  “We’d better call the police,” he said darkly. “She won’t stay out forever.”

  Dimly, Liz nodded, aware that now it was over, her arms were shaking, her knees were shaking. She wanted to wilt down to the floor. She wanted to bury her head against Richard’s shoulder and thank God he hadn’t been harmed.

  But the look he gave her was so remote, his jaw still clenched from the tension, his eyes unreadable, that she knew she couldn’t do any of that.

  A tiny spark of hope within her died at that moment. She assumed that he must have rigged the diary with the ink, and maybe she wanted to believe it had been to keep her safe after the two attempts on her life, but now she wasn’t so sure. Richard had said love was for fools. And maybe what she had taken as growing signs of his affection, had only been concern for her welfare. Now that the matter appeared to be solved, there wasn’t even any need for that much sentiment.

  Slowly, she nodded her head, and got to her feet.

  For one minute she swayed, the
blood rushing too fast to her face. Something intense and dark moved in Richard’s gaze. He took a small step as if to go to her. Then abruptly, he checked himself and turned away, cold and harsh.

  What did she expect? she reminded herself even as the pain knifed through her chest. She’d given him her body, and that was all he believed in. She’d never gotten him to understand that for her, her body followed her soul. She hadn’t given him a moment of passion, she’d given him her heart.

  He picked up Jillian’s fallen form, and headed for the stairs. Wordlessly, Jillian’s gun dangling nervously from her fingertips, she followed.

  * * *

  Downstairs in the library Richard called the cops, sending Liz to get Blaine, Greg and Parris. He tied Jillian securely on the sofa, then stared at the low crackle of the fire while he tried to collect his thoughts.

  He should be glad it was finally over, he thought. Glad to know that Blaine really hadn’t killed Alycia. But then, Blaine had still slept with Alycia, and Alycia had still been a cold woman who had kept her own secrets. Why hadn’t she ever told him about the abortion? Why hadn’t she allowed her husband at least that small measure of faith?

  Once more he felt that sinking feeling deep within him. Alycia hadn’t trusted him with the truth, just as Liz hadn’t trusted his innocence. She’d kept her knowledge of the diary from him because she’d thought he might be a killer.

  The worst, he realized suddenly, was the fact that the truth didn’t bring him any peace. After all these years, he didn’t want the finite knowledge.

  He merely wanted for someone to believe in him.

  He heard the sound of footsteps, and raised his head to see Liz, Blaine and the weaving Greg and Parris enter the room. For one moment, his gaze fell on Liz and her pale face. Her midnight eyes met his squarely, and even from here, he could see the pleading in their depths. He tore his gaze away, and hated the tearing pain he felt in his chest.

  The doorbell rang. He went to answer.

  The police questioned them until 5:00 a.m. Liz started at the beginning with the note she’d found on her bed, and the shots that had been fired at the picnic, then she described the damaged saddle. Richard threw in his part, the tampering of the diary to implicate the killer, while Blaine added the few details he knew of Jillian’s financial situation. She’d gotten a small inheritance from her grandparents, but had constantly worried about running through it. To a great extent, she had lived off the other members of the gang, though never overtly. Just lots of little trips and shopping excursions here and there. The still-unfound twenty thousand would have made a nice nest egg to sit on.

  By the time Jillian regained consciousness, the officers were getting out the handcuffs. Blaine, looking tired and strained, couldn’t even meet her eye. Parris had sobered up enough to clench and unclench the fists at his sides with brutal intensity. Greg just kept shaking his head.

  Liz didn’t pay them much attention, however. Mostly, she kept her eyes on Richard.

  He simply stood at the fireplace through it all, his face so remote it hurt her to see it. At times, he would prowl the library like a caged beast, seeking escape from the demons that plagued him even in the light of truth. A dozen times, she’d almost gotten up to go to him. A dozen times, she’d held back.

  Finally, Jillian was led away, and everyone dissolved to their own rooms for badly needed rest. The old stone house grew quiet, the dark halls finally settling down. But Liz still couldn’t find any peace. She changed into her T-shirt and robe, attempting to lie down on the bed. But it didn’t do any good. Her mind just kept reeling with its own painful thoughts.

  She’d hurt him, she knew that and it hurt her. Richard thought she didn’t believe in him. He thought she’d kept the diary from him because she’d doubted his innocence. The fact that he was half-right made it all the more horrible for her. Because looking inside her heart, knowing how she loved him, she also had to see how she’d failed him.

  Then again, maybe she was simply the romantic he’d always accused her of being. Maybe he didn’t even care. He’d always said he believed only in lust. Perhaps she wanted to believe she’d failed him only because it implied she had the ability to affect him at all.

  Quite possibly, he was so remote now because he simply didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.

  Her hand rested on her bedroom door and the confusion swirled in her mind once more. Finally, she just couldn’t take it. Maybe he didn’t have any feelings for her, but she knew she loved him. And right now, she didn’t want to stand here alone torturing herself.

  She turned the knob, and ventured once more into the house.

  She wasn’t sure where his bedroom was. Sometimes she had been convinced that he didn’t have one. He seemed to live more in the left-hand tower than anywhere else. But Andy had mentioned something about the east wing—the original servants’ quarters—so she crept over there.

  The first door she came to was closed, and there was no light beneath. Somehow, she couldn’t picture Richard already being asleep, so she ventured on. At the end of the long hallway, she found the most likely candidate—two thick wooden doors were closed, but she could see the light burning beneath.

  Raising a tentative hand, she took a deep breath and knocked.

  Nothing happened. Deciding she’d been too quiet, she knocked firmer this time, sending the rapping notes pulsing down the hall. Her only reward was bruised knuckles. But she wasn’t quite ready to give up, not yet.

  “Richard,” she called firmly, trying not to be too loud in the long dark hallway. “Richard, open up. I’m not going away until you do.”

  Another couple of long seconds dragged by, then abruptly, the right half of the double doors swung open.

  “What do you want?” Richard demanded at once, the scowl dark and deep in his face.

  He looked haggard, Liz thought immediately. The strain of the night showed in the deep grooves in his forehead and the restless burning of his blue eyes. His cheeks were shadowed by a twenty-four-hour beard, and his black hair lay in tufts from the countless times he’d run his hand through it. His clothing matched the rest of him, his dress shirt disheveled with the top two buttons undone, his tie and jacket long since discarded.

  She wanted to go to him so bad, it hurt.

  Instead, she forced herself to stand patiently in the doorway. “May I come in?” she asked at last.

  His scowl deepened, but he didn’t say no. Finally, with a curt nod, he stood aside so that she could pass. The bedroom surprised her, she realized as she glanced around with curious eyes. It was huge, as she would have expected, but other than that, there was nothing in here that spoke of Richard. The king-size bed with its adjoining nightstands looked like a hotel relic, and the bed cover was so smooth and nondescript, she wondered if he even slept there at all. But then her eyes turned to the right-hand side of the room. It was built on a raised platform, and was easily twice the size of the bedroom area. In the middle stood the dominating form of an enormous desk, where yet another computer and various piles of paper waited. A fire burned low in the fireplace behind the desk, while a deep leather chair and stool, permanently dented by use, sat not too far from the flames.

  This was Richard, Liz thought with some satisfaction. And she wouldn’t be surprised at all if he regularly fell asleep at the desk or chair, versus the sterile bed. Without being asked, she walked into the den area, running one hand along the fine oak wood of the desk.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

  Richard didn’t bother with a reply. Then, realizing she wasn’t going to simply leave, he also walked into the den area, picking up his brandy glass as he passed on his way to the fire. There, he leaned back against the stone chimney, folding his arms in front of him as he contemplated her with cold and relentless eyes.

  “Six o’clock in the morning is a little early for a social call,” he stated abruptly, challenging her with his gaze.

  She merely nodded, not giving him a
ny opportunity to attack her. The frustration merely fed the myriad other emotions racing through him. Unconsciously, he uncrossed his arms and began prowling the den once more.

  It hurt to look at her, he thought suddenly. Her long hair was cascading down her back in wild abandon, fairly dancing with the red highlights of the fire’s low flames. Even her eyes, such a dark, haunting blue, looked large and luminous in the shadowed light. He wanted to pull her into his arms and run his hands down the curves of her graceful body. He wanted to plunder her mouth with his own, to lose himself in the sigh of her surrender. He wanted to take her, to fill his sense with every feel, sound and smell of her, until there was no more room for the doubts and memories that haunted him.

  Until the ghosts of his mind left him at last and there was only her.

  Yet, at the same time, he wanted to push her away harshly. He wanted to scream at her to leave this room, because it hurt him to see her, and it hurt him to want her and know he shouldn’t be wanting anything. He’d sworn off love, he’d sworn off the softer emotions, hadn’t he?

  He hated the pain Alycia had caused him, and he hated the dull throb of knowing that Liz hadn’t believed in him, either. No one ever had.

  Cursing quietly, he pivoted sharply and crossed to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  “It’s late,” he fairly growled, keeping his eyes pinned on the wall as he took another blazing sip of brandy. “Say your piece or leave.”

  “I don’t know what it is I want to say,” Liz said finally, and it was true. She’d come here because she wanted to make things right. She wanted to ease this aching distance that seemed to gape between them. But looking at him now, prowling the room with all the dark heat of a panther, she no longer knew what to say. He radiated restless energy and consuming demons. To even stand here was like being at the edge of an electrical storm, feeling all the crackles and sparks of a tightly restrained power.