by Rickie Blair
No.
No, that was impossible.
Suddenly dizzy, he collapsed onto the sofa, still staring at the photo.
That was impossible.
For several minutes he stared at it. Then he got up to turn on the scanner, placed the photo on the document table, and pressed the button. He returned to the coffee table to access the printer program on his laptop. The scanned photo slowly took shape on the screen, one line at a time. He expanded it to make the details clearer.
Gavan’s head appeared, then his neck, then his daughter’s face. Hari watched as their hands took shape, and then her torso appeared.
As he stared at the screen his spine turned to ice. Gavan’s daughter had a birthmark just above her waist. A birthmark Hari had seen before. He had traced its outline, in fact. The airline hadn’t made a mistake after all. And when Leta returned from Paris, she told him about Oakes and showed him how to load her gun.
Are you in danger?
Maybe.
He staggered to his feet. Leta was Edwin Gavan’s long-lost daughter. She had lied to Fulton and she had lied to him. A wave of anger washed over him. How could he be so stupid? So clueless? Hooking his hands under the edge of the coffee table, he heaved it over. The laptop crashed onto the carpet and papers cascaded over it.
He was an idiot.
And now Fulton was dead, de Montagny was dead, Keller was dead, and Ruby … Ruby was in Southampton with de Montagny’s murderer.
Hari dove for his phone on the cluttered floor, closed his hand around it, and keyed in her number. It rang several times before she answered.
“Ruby? Listen,” his words tumbled out, “Leta is not who she says she is.”
“Hello, Hari.”
His heart stopped at the sound of her voice.
“Is Ruby there?”
“I’m afraid she’s busy at the moment.”
“Please put her on.”
“I can’t do that, Hari. I’m sorry.”
“Why do you have her phone?”
“She doesn’t need it where she is.”
His chest tightened and he struggled to speak.
“Where is that?”
“If I tell you, Hari, you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”
“Tell me where she is.”
“You have to promise.”
Hari looked about wildly at the toppled table and scattered papers, and tugged his fingers through his hair.
“I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”
“She’s here, in the beach house, at Stonehaven. If you want her back, you’ll have to come here yourself. Alone.”
“That will take hours.”
“Then you’d best get started. And Hari?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll know if you’re not alone, and that might trigger a tragic accident. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his throat dry and raspy.
“I’ll see you soon, Hari.”
The phone went dead.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Ruby groaned and sat up. The air was stifling and perspiration soaked her shirt. For a moment she couldn’t remember why it was so dark. Then it flooded back.
After Leta padlocked the door and drove away, she had tried to get out. She screamed, kicked the door, and thumped on the storm shutters. But she was so tired. Eventually she slumped to her knees, struggling to stay awake. The last thing she remembered was tilting slowly sideways, collapsing onto the floor, and closing her eyes. How could she have fallen asleep?
Her heart was racing, but she was still groggy and her mouth was dry. Leta—if that was her name—must have doctored the water in the car. Without her cellphone, there was no way to tell how long she had slept. But the slivers of light around the storm shutters had disappeared. Ruby pushed up off the floor onto her hands and knees, breathing hard. She and Ben had to get out.
She swept her hand along the floor until she hit Ben’s leg. He gasped and drew back.
“Benjamin? I’m Ruby Delaney, a friend of Hari Bhatt’s, and I’m a prisoner like you. Can you sit up?” Ruby placed a hand on his shoulder and he jerked up and down in a nod.
“I’m going to try to open the door. Are there any tools here?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t see any.”
“That’s okay. This place isn’t big. I’ll start at one end and work my way to the other.”
Her skin was hot and sticky and her breath rasped painfully in her chest. Water was their first priority. She swept the floor carefully until her hand struck plastic bottles. Picking one up, she checked that the cap was intact and then twisted it off and held the bottle to her lips. She gulped as water spilled over her face.
She slid back to Benjamin with another of the plastic bottles. After checking and untwisting the cap, she felt for his hand and wrapped it around the bottle.
“It’s water, Benjamin, drink it. I have to find something to pry open the door. Wait here.”
“N-no choice,” he rasped.
“Good one, Ben.” She patted his knee.
Ruby staggered to her feet, swaying. After steadying herself, she extended her arms in front of her and inched her feet forward. When her fingers touched the wall, she sidled along it, feeling her way with both hands. She ran her fingers along a shelf, touching metal and wooden objects. Garden implements, judging by their shapes. A trowel, a weeder, and a knife with a jagged edge. It wasn’t sharp, but the front door was old and weathered. Maybe she could pry off enough of the wood to get at the padlock outside. She walked to the door and felt for the edge, inserted the knife and worked it back and forth.
“We’re going to get out of here, Benjamin.”
“They’ll be angry.”
“I don’t care.” She stopped working, and her heart leapt into her throat. “Did you say ‘they’? Are there others beside Leta?”
“Yes.”
Ruby froze at the sound of muffled voices outside the hut.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The Fiesta bumped and swerved under the waning moon along the dirt road that led to the shore. A dilapidated beach house loomed suddenly on the right. Hari pulled up alongside and got out of the car.
Leta waited for him in her bare feet, wearing a one-piece bathing suit and a white shirt that reached to mid-thigh. One of his shirts.
A black crowbar hung from her hand.
Smiling, she walked through the sand and reached up to kiss him.
He shrank back, avoiding her.
“What have you done, Leta? Or should I say, Alicia?”
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look.
“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” he asked. “Alicia Gavan? Your father was Edwin Gavan, Fulton’s first partner.”
Hari expected she would ask how he knew, but instead she simply looked wistful. She turned to gaze at the ocean.
“I found him, you know. My father. I was eleven. He hanged himself in our garage. I tried to cut him down but he was too heavy.” She rubbed a hand on her throat. “So I had to wait there, until…” She turned to him and her nostrils flared.
“De Montagny deserved to die. So did Fulton.”
His gut twisted.
“What do you mean?”
“I was in Paris hours before you. When I left your apartment that morning, I went straight to the airport.”
“I don’t understand.” But he did. He knew what was coming.
“He wanted to confess. Confess!” She laughed, tapping the crowbar on the sand. “As if that would make it better. He even wrote it down. The frauds, the Ponzi scheme, how he and Fulton framed my father. But if that got out, he would go to prison and I’d lose my chance.” She shook her head. “Not good enough. Not nearly good enough.”
“Leta, please listen. It’s not too late—”
“Don’t worry, I won’t go to prison. And I won’t be a fugitive, either, looking over my shoulder, lying about my past. I’m tired of lyi
ng.”
“What are you saying?”
She stared out at the ocean with a slight smile on her face.
“Suicide runs in families, did you know that? I’m joining my father.”
“Don’t say that, Leta. What about your mother—”
“Dead. Six months after him.” Leta rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest, still gazing at the water. Waves foamed up the shore, splashing over her bare toes before retreating.
“Leta—”
She flung the crowbar at the beach house and then plucked a red plastic gas can from the sand. She untwisted the cap and dropped it at her feet.
“I’ve always loved the ocean. I used to come here, with my dad. He taught me to swim. Right over there.” She nodded at the surf breaking over a rocky island a hundred yards off the beach.
Hari took a step toward her.
“Leta, de Montagny took sleeping pills. The police did tests. He was probably dead before you got there. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault. We can fix this.”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
“I know about the pills. I was there when he took them.”
Hari spoke carefully.
“Leta, where’s Ruby?”
“Ruby?” She smiled and tilted her head. “I saved some of those pills for her.” Leta turned to face the beach house. Someone was hammering on the padlocked door. “I think she’s awake now, though.”
“Ruby?” Hari called without taking his eyes off Leta.
A muffled shout came from inside the shack.
“Hari? Open the door.”
He turned to the beach house, but halted when Leta walked in front of him, shaking her head. With a sudden movement, she splashed the can’s contents over the front of the shack. The pungent smell of gasoline seared Hari’s nostrils and a vise tightened on his chest.
“Leta, what are you doing?”
She threw the gas can away and turned to face him.
“The Frenchman waited for me. He dissolved those pills in his wine and we had a glass together. And then, when he was unconscious—”
“No,” he whispered, goosebumps rising on his arms.
“—I slit his wrists. It was my warning to Fulton. I wanted him to know he would be next.”
Hari shuddered, remembering Ruby’s words.
Someone else is going to die.
“But why? Fulton and de Montagny committed a massive fraud. They would have been in prison the rest of their lives.”
Her voice was cold.
“You committed fraud. You’re not in prison.” She turned her head to look at the ocean again. “And Terrell wasn’t, either.”
Hari stared, remembering broken bone and gushing blood.
“Terrell never stalked you, did he?”
She shook her head, sighing.
“No. He was blackmailing me.”
“You wanted me to shoot him. That’s why you showed me your gun and gave me your keys.”
“I wanted you to kill him. You let me down, Hari.” She turned, smiling slightly. “It doesn’t matter now, though.”
“I won’t let you do this, Leta. I’m not going to watch you walk into the ocean.”
“You’ll stop me?”
“Yes.”
With a slight smile, she pulled a lighter from her shirt pocket and flicked it. The flame cast a glow on her face. Gasoline fumes drifted over them. Hari’s hands shook and he struggled to breath.
“Leta, for God’s sake, put that away.”
She flicked the lighter off and slipped it into her pocket, and walked up to put a hand on the back of his neck. Leta pulled his head down to meet hers and rested her forehead against his.
“I’m sorry, Hari.” She took a quick step back before he could reach the lighter. “But you can’t save us both.”
She yanked the lighter from her pocket, flicked it on and tossed it against the shack. Flames roared up the side.
Hari’s mouth fell open in a convulsive gasp.
“What have you done?”
He ran to the beach house, tripped over the crowbar, and sprawled headlong on the sand.
Leta waded into the ocean, pulling off his white shirt and tossing it behind her. A wave splashed over it, pulling it under the water.
“Leta, stop!” he yelled.
She glanced back with a smile, and then dove in and swam away from the beach, toward the horizon.
Hari scrambled to his feet and ran after her. There was a loud crack behind him and he turned to see flames shooting across the roof. He raced back, picked up the crowbar, shoved it through the padlock and thrust down. The lock snapped open, and he yanked the door open. Smoke billowed around him and caught in his throat.
Ruby stumbled to her feet, coughing.
“Benjamin,” she gasped. “He’s here.”
Hari covered his mouth and nose with the tail of his T-shirt and plunged inside, squinting through the smoke. Ben was on the floor, choking. Ruby helped lift him to his feet. Smoke stung their eyes and throats as they staggered from the shack, holding Ben up between them. Behind them, flames shot thirty feet into the air. As they turned to watch, the roof gave way with a loud crack and fell in.
Ben sank to his knees on the sand, gasping. So did Ruby. Hari touched her shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded with a hand to her throat.
He turned and raced down the beach to the water, shedding his shoes as he went, and waded in up to his chest.
“Leta!” His shouts faded on the wind and he swiveled his head, searching. In every direction he saw only silvery whitecaps rippling in the moonlight. He plunged in, arms stroking through the waves.
From time to time he stopped to tread water and scream.
“Leta? Leta!”
He swam for hundreds of yards, stopping often to shout her name. But there was no reply other than the splash of water off his arms and the roar of the ocean. He was too late.
“Leta.” He closed his eyes.
“Hari.” A faint call came from the shore.
Opening his eyes, he turned his head. Ruby waded into the water, calling his name. He could barely hear her.
“Hari, come back.”
He was exhausted. It would be so easy to sink below the surface.
“Hari!”
He was alone, hundreds of yards from shore, with no companion but the waves that rolled relentlessly past, sweeping him up and then letting him fall. Hari hung in the water with his arms slack and his face submerged. He opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see but blackness. For a few seconds longer he hung there.
Then he raised his head and struck out for shore, stroke after stroke, with leaden arms.
Ruby waded out to meet him and helped him onto the sand. He staggered onto the shore, sank to his knees, gasping, and looked up at her.
“Leta’s gone.”
“I know.” She bit her lip and glanced out over the ocean. “I used your phone to call for help. They’ll be here soon.”
He slumped on the sand, his gaze fixed on the ocean. Later there were sirens, flashing lights, and people. Someone wrapped a blanket around him. Still he sat, staring at the water. Ruby sat beside him.
“Tell me when you’re ready to leave, Hari.”
They sat there a long time. Finally he spoke.
“Remember when that Russian stabbed me?”
“How could I forget? You nearly died.”
He turned to look at her.
“This is worse.”
Epilogue
Ruby watched as Hari folded shirts and placed them in the suitcase that lay open on his bed. Two packed suitcases stood by the front door of his apartment. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was empty, as was the fridge.
“Where did you say you were going?”
He didn’t look up from his task.
“I told you. I’m going home.”
“To Mumbai?”
“Mumbai was never home. I’m going t
o London.”
“But your parents live in Mumbai now.”
“Yes, but they still own a house in London, in south Kensington. They want me to sell it for them. I’ll stay there.”
He tucked a pair of sneakers into the side of the case and then walked to the bureau to check the drawers.
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes, I guess. Then I might look for a job.” He closed the drawers and glanced around the room. The bed had been stripped and the doors on the empty closet gaped open.
Ruby stared at him, rubbing a hand across her throat.
“In London? Why would you want a job in London?”
He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Here’s the address, in case you’re in town. And my email is the same, so keep in touch.”
“Aren’t you coming back?”
Hari picked up a white dress shirt and stared at it, his face blank. He tossed it to one side and picked up another.
Ruby retrieved the crumpled shirt from the floor.
“Is this the one that Leta—”
“Why did you bring it back from Southampton?”
“I thought you might want it.”
He gave a snort of derision. Ruby dropped the shirt over the nearest chair and studied his face. Hari reached for a sweater.
“It will get better with time,” Ruby said.
He froze and then placed the shirt in the suitcase.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve sublet your apartment and you’re moving to London. You’re leaving our business, and me, in the lurch. And you don’t know what I’m talking about? I know she broke your heart, but—”
“She made a fool of me,” he snapped. “I was an idiot.” He slammed the suitcase shut.
“And you miss her.”
He looked down at the suitcase, his face blank again.
“And I miss her. Dammit.”
He swung the bag off the bed and onto the floor. There was something familiar about the movement, some memory in the back of Ruby’s mind. Of course. How could she have forgotten?