The boyfriend with the flowers.
Martin surveyed her with intense blue eyes, waiting.
Even if Ransom was not involved, did she really want to take the chance that Martin might have been able to help Ashley, and didn’t, because she wouldn’t tell him where her friend was?
She looked at Elsie, who nodded.
Meg made her decision. She trusted Tim Martin; he wasn’t an alarmist and he knew what he was doing. If he believed that Ashley was in immediate danger, there was good reason for it.
“They took her to the Senator’s hunting cabin at Bear Trail Lake, about twenty miles from here,” Meg said quickly.
At her side, Elsie sighed audibly, then walked away.
“And?” Martin said.
“It’s a one-room cabin, much easier to guard than this huge place. It’s not well known; only the Senator’s intimates are aware that it exists. I guess they didn’t think the killer would know about it.”
“He’ll know. How do I get there?”
Meg told him, praying that she wasn’t sending him to create worse trouble than they already had.
“Do you have a floor plan for it, some kind of blueprint?” he asked, pocketing his scribbled directions.
Meg thought a minute, then left the room, returning with a manila folder which she handed to him.
“It was built twenty-five years ago. Those are the specs,” she said. “You’re not going alone, are you?”
Martin ignored her, already headed for the door. “Capo okay?” he called over his shoulder.
“He’s much better. He asked for you and said to tell you…”
The door slammed on her words.
Meg didn’t move, absorbed in her private thoughts.
Should she have told him about her suspicions concerning Ransom? She could hardly bring herself to consider them, much less discuss them with an itchy cop in love with Ransom’s potential victim. But her conscience bothered her.
Something was wrong with Ransom’s presence in her life, that much she knew, and she still hadn’t told Martin about it.
Was it because to do so would have been to face the fact that her lover had been using her? Was she still denying that on some level, despite the mounting evidence to suggest it? Was she protecting him, though she wasn’t sure he deserved it?
Meg went to the window and watched unhappily as Martin got into his car.
She had never felt more miserable and confused and scared in her life.
“The men in the kitchen are asking for coffee,” Elsie said, coming up behind her.
“I’ll make it,” Meg replied automatically, glad of something to do.
“That’s my job,” Elsie volunteered.
“Go ahead and finish polishing the silver,” Meg told her. “You can supervise those two new girls. I’m not sure they know what they’re supposed to be doing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Elsie said, and walked ahead of her into the vast kitchen, where the two agents Martin had seen were now seated in the breakfast nook, going over some papers.
Meg put on the coffee and then chatted with the two men, who were young and clearly bored. Another agent came in through the back door just as the coffee machine was steaming to a conclusion. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.
“We just got this from headquarters/’ he said, handing it to his colleague. “According to the Fair girl, this is the perp.”
Meg got cups from the glass-fronted cabinets and went to the refrigerator for cream.
“A guilty face if I ever saw one,” the recipient said.
Meg passed behind his shoulder to look at the picture, then dropped the container of cream to the floor. It shattered noisily, causing Elsie to splatter polish on Sylvia Fair’s ornate silver teapot.
“Lady, you all right?” the closest agent said quickly, grabbing Meg’s elbow as she appeared about to fall.
With a sudden burst of clarity, she heard herself telling Ransom about the Bear Trail Lake cabin. She saw herself in the Swanleigh bed with him, bathed in afterglow, telling him exactly where to find the woman he was planning to kill.
Just as he had killed her father.
“Sit down,” she gasped.
He guided her into a seat, and when she could talk again she said, “Let me see that, please,” pointing to the sketch he still held.
He surrendered it, and she studied it closely, her face a mask. So it was true—what she had not been able to bring herself to believe, even though she had known it in her heart.
“What’s the matter, lady? You don’t know this guy, do you?” the agent said.
“No, I don’t know him,” Meg replied quietly. “I never knew him at all.”
She waited until they were drinking coffee and absorbed in conversation, and then she snatched up her car keys and ran out the front door before anyone could question her further.
Ransom sat on the roof of the Senator’s cabin, waiting for the federal cars to arrive.
Darkness had fallen, and the trees around him were swaying in a slight breeze. Night sounds abounded, and he was almost enjoying the tranquility of the setting as he prepared his ambush.
His friend the arms dealer had put him in touch with a local colleague. He had supplied Ransom with grenades and a rare, expensive, U.S. Army rocket launcher, with two shells, the cost of which had emptied Ransom’s domestic bank account. But there was plenty more money waiting for him in Europe, and he wouldn’t get a chance to spend any of it if he didn’t follow through on this mission.
He had also made some arrangements by Telex with his bank in Switzerland, in case this didn’t work out the way he had planned.
He was ready.
He peered into the darkness, feeling the heady adrenaline rush he had often experienced in Vietnam, when he waited, at night and similarly equipped, for the enemy to appear.
He heard the crunching of gravel on the dirt road in the distance, and soon the two dark sedans came around a bend in the road. Ransom knelt and hoisted the launcher to his shoulder, taking from his belt the same
Luger that had killed Senator Fair, trying to determine which of the cars was Ashley’s.
He didn’t have long to wonder. The doors of both cars opened at the same time and the four agents emerged to flank Ashley, two on either side of her.
Ransom sighted her and was about to drill a bullet through her heart when, purely by chance, the agent nearest her glanced up and saw him on the roof.
The agent threw Ashley to the ground, and Ransom’s bullet went astray, kicking up dirt. With his instantaneous reflexes, Ransom fell flat on his stomach and lobbed one of the shells at each of the cars, exploding them to prevent escape. Then he pulled a grenade from his belt and flung the live round into the path of the running agents, who were trying to drag Ashley into the house.
The grenade exploded and two of the agents fell dead. Ransom drew down on a third and shot him, then aimed at the last, who was crawling to the Fair girl as he pulled his gun, shielding her with his body and firing rapidly at the roof.
Ransom tried for the girl again, but the agent was well trained, keeping her behind him as he returned fire. Frustrated that the girl was still on her feet, Ransom jumped down from the roof and ran around the corner of the cabin.
He would have to take them out inside the house.
By the time Martin found the dirt road leading to the Senator’s cabin, it was fully dark. He was lost anyway, so he set out on foot with only a flashlight for guidance.
It took him about twenty minutes to locate the lake, and ten more to find the cabin.
He found it because the burning cars were torches to point the way. As he got closer, the smell of their incineration was overwhelming and the smoke stung his eyes.
He stumbled over the first body about thirty feet from the house. He recognized the dead agent, and his companion, sprawled nearby on a carpet of pine needles. The sight wasn’t pretty.
Martin glanced up at the cabin, which was blank and silen
t and told him nothing.
An ambush, he thought. The killer had been waiting for them and probably had Ashley in the house.
Martin had memorized the layout of the cabin, and he crept to the back window, which looked into the living room.
He recognized the blond man holding Ashley, with his arm around her throat, from her description. The blond held a gun on Forsyth, who was backed to the far wall.
Standoff. It wouldn’t last long.
The fact that he was using a gun told Martin that the killer was out of heavy-duty ammunition; there was only so much one man could purchase under the table, even with the best connections, or carry with him in one shot.
Martin felt a delicious, cold fury stealing through his veins. The bastard, blindsiding them like this, with an arsenal at his command. It was a miracle Ashley was still alive. Anger made him want to charge the house and take his chances. But he forced himself to think calmly, remembering that his caution could save Ashley’s life.
There was a catwalk above the living room where the air-conditioning system had been installed years after the cabin was built. It had a trapdoor that opened into the main room, right where the gunman was standing.
It was his only chance. Wishing that he were a flyweight who would make little noise, Martin stood on the railing of the back porch and hoisted himself to the roof, feeling in the dark for the hinge on the door, hoping that it hadn’t rusted shut. His fingers found it, and he heaved the door upward.
The door opened and Martin dropped onto Ransom in one smooth motion, knocking him to the ground. The gun shot out of his hands, and Ashley, stumbling from her abrupt release, scrambled for it wildly. She seized it and turned, confronting the struggling men, who were wrestling on the floor.
“Shoot!” Martin shouted.
Ashley hesitated, along with Forsyth, each of them trying to get a clear shot.
Suddenly Martin broke free of Ransom, rolling away from him, and Ashley and Forsyth both fired at the same time. The noise was deafening.
As the pungent smell of cordite filled the room, Ransom went limp. Forsyth walked over to him and poked.
“Done,” he said with satisfaction. “Or almost. Still breathing, but not for long.”
Martin sat up and looked at Ashley, who was paralyzed, the gun welded to her hands.
“Good girl,” he said, as he stood.
She dropped the gun to the floor and walked to him in a daze. He embraced her.
Forsyth approached Martin and said grudgingly, “You did good.” He extended his hand.
Martin shook it, holding Ashley with his other arm.
The outer door burst open and a group of feds rushed in, stopping short when they saw the scene.
“About time you guys arrived,” Martin said.
Chapter 12
“HOW ARE you feeling?” Martin said to Ashley, handing her a cup of coffee through the car door.
“Whipped,” she replied. She was huddled on the back seat of one of the federal sedans the second group of agents had brought, wearing Martin’s jacket. The woods, usually so quiet, had erupted into life, with flashing lights and walkie-talkies and a fire engine dousing the blazing cars, not to mention a constant stream of vehicles trundling up and down the dirt road.
“Take a nap,” Martin advised her. “I’m going to be talking to these people for a while.”
Take a nap, Ashley thought incredulously. With all this relentless commotion?
Shortly thereafter, she fell asleep.
Martin walked back to the group of officials just as Meg’s car careened to a halt on the lawn. Two feds intervened to stop her as she emerged from it, and Martin called to them to let her pass.
“What’s going on?” he said to her as she ran up to him.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“Who?”
“The...” She stopped. “The man you were looking for. Is he dead?”
“Close to it. He’s inside. The medics are with him. Why?”
“I have to see him. I... know him. He’s the one, the one who was sending me the flowers.” She closed her eyes, stumbling on the last few words.
Martin understood instantly.
“Are you sure you want to see him?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “Is Ashley all right?” she asked.
“She’s fine.” He looked down at her. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
He shepherded her inside the cabin.
Ransom was lying on the floor where he had fallen, covered by a blue ambulance blanket. Two paramedics stood nearby, their white uniforms a stark contrast to the dark suits of the agents in the room.
“Aren’t you going to take him to a hospital?” Martin asked them in an undertone.
“No point,” one of them replied, shrugging, and turned away.
Meg knelt on the pine-board floor and took Ransom’s flaccid hand in hers. Blood was puddled under his back and beneath his head.
His lashes fluttered, then lifted. She looked into his hazel eyes.
“Why?” she said, when she was sure he had recognized her.
“Money,” he murmured. “Fair, and others. My job.”
“You used me,” she said accusingly, her voice breaking.
“At first,” came the whispered reply. “Not now. Wish... had been different.”
“You’re lying,” Meg said despairingly, but wanting to believe.
A faint smile touched his lips. “Why... lie?” he said. “Dying.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t give up,” she said fiercely, holding his hand to her cheek. “We’ll get lawyers. I know the best.”
“Ashley?” he whispered, still smiling.
Meg didn’t know what to say.
His fingers curved, touched her mouth, then his eyes closed. His head moved ever so slightly back and forth.
“Over,” he said faintly.
“Don’t say that,” she moaned.
His eyes opened again. “Telegram,” he said, coughing. A thin trickle of watery blood escaped his lips, and Meg wiped it away with her fingers. “Pocket,” he added.
It was a moment before she understood that he meant his jacket pocket. She removed a slip of yellow paper from it and saw that she held a copy of a telegram he had sent to the Bank of Lucerne earlier that day.
It gave access to all the funds in a numbered account to her.
The sum was staggering. He must have realized that he might not survive his attempt on Ashley’s life, and he had done this in case he didn’t make it.
“I don’t want your money,” she cried, looking away.
“Take it. All.. .have to give.” His voice was growing softer, more breathy, and his hand was cold.
“You gave me much more than that,” Meg whispered.
His eyes flooded with tears, his first since childhood.
“Meg,” he said to her as he died.
Meg sobbed her grief aloud as she was led away, past the sedan in which Ashley slept, to her own car. She collapsed into the back seat, where she stared sightlessly ahead, unresponsive to anyone who spoke to her.
After a while, one of the agents drove her home.
* * * *
When Ashley awoke it was morning, and she was in the guest-room bed in the Harrisburg house, still fully dressed. She stumbled out into the hallway, where she was confronted by two more men in the regulation dark suits.
She felt as though she had been living in the FBI training barracks for a week.
“Where’s Lieutenant Martin?” she said to them.
One of the men shrugged. “He just carried you up to bed and then took off,” he replied.
“Did he say anything?”
“No, ma’am, he just left.”
Ashley burst into tears.
The two agents exchanged glances, astonished.
Ashley turned and ran back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Do you believe that dame?” the one agent said to the other. “A
fter all she went through last night, she didn’t shed one tear, and now she’s crying.”
“Women,” his companion said.
* * * *
A day later, Rourke looked up as the door opened, then stood as a young woman entered his office. She was wearing a pale-blue linen suit with white shoes and purse and white wrist-length gloves.
It had been a long time since he had seen a woman in gloves like that. When she extended her hand, he took it.
“Captain Rourke, I’m Ashley Fair,” she said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Have a seat, Miss Fair,” he said, sitting when she did.
She crossed trim legs, agleam with expensive hose, and met his gaze squarely. Luminous pearls glowed at her ears and throat.
“What can I do for you?” Rourke asked.
“I’m trying to locate Lieutenant Martin,” she said to him.
Rourke stared at her. “Ma’am?” he said.
“I’m trying to locate Lieutenant Martin,” she repeated, thinking that he had misunderstood. “I got his apartment address from Sergeant Capo, but Tim isn’t there. I thought you might be able to help me. Is he on assignment or something?”
Rourke blinked. “Miss Fair, Tim Martin is no longer with the Philadelphia Metropolitan Police. He quit the day he went looking for Ransom against my orders. I haven’t seen him since. I thought he was with you.”
It was Ashley’s turn to stare. She was silent for several moments, then said softly, “He left after he rescued me at my father’s cabin. I woke up in my house and he was gone, no note, no message, nothing. I waited until I realized that he wasn’t going to call me, and then I came here.” She stopped and then added, “I had no idea he had left his job.”
“Why do you want to see him?” Rourke asked bluntly.
“I love him, Captain,” Ashley said simply. “I’ve only just begun to realize that he doesn’t believe that.”
Rourke met her gaze, then looked away. He had seen her pictures, but in person her impact was considerable; she had much of her old man’s charm. Rourke could understand what had grabbed Martin, made him risk so much, and at the same time he felt a twinge of envy for the younger man for having won a woman like this.
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