by Lydia Grace
It was over. Lauren sank down with an anguished sob, her head against the now warm oak of the door, her lungs screaming for air as smoke billowed towards her from the back of the studio. In her mind, she heard her grandmother’s voice, reciting the prayer she’d taught five-year old Lauren, a millennium ago.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…
Chapter 17
Jon’s Jeep barreled into the Haverford Castle grounds just milliseconds after the volunteer firemen’s truck and tanker. Yanking on the hand brake, he threw himself from the vehicle, running hell for leather towards the door of Lauren’s home. Through the windows, he could see flames and heavy smoke, and smoke billowed out from the rear of the cottage, rising in an evil plume over the rooftop towards the sky.
Volunteer firemen were scrambling into safety suits and pulling on breathing apparatus, their chief barking out commands as he assessed the situation. Several police vehicles came screaming to a halt, and Chief Ohmer leapt from one of them, yelling as he saw Jon’s headlong rush to the studio. Heeding the Chief’s cry, others reached out to try to restrain the tall blond man, but Jon shook off their hands. This was his responsibility. He’d put Lauren in this terrible danger, and it was his responsibility to get her out—or die trying.
It never occurred to him to question whether Lauren was inside the studio. Something in his heart told him she was. It was as though his heart could hear her calling him, and his chest heaved as he felt her fear and pain.
Desperately he clawed at the door, dimly aware that the doorknob in his grasp was already scorching hot. Inside must be an inferno, a voice cried inside him. No one could be alive in there! Shaking his head against the fear engendered by the voice, he hammered at the door calling Lauren’s name. For what seemed like forever, he heard only the sounds of fire raging. Then, from the other side of the door he heard a faint sound, like the mewling of a kitten, almost drowned out by the roar of flames. Then the sound was louder, his own name being called in answer to his cry. She was alive!
In the fraction of that second’s stillness as he listened, his eyes lit on the key that still mated with the door lock. Horror rippled through him as he knew that someone—Stephen!—had deliberately, callously, ensured that Lauren could not escape the blazing building through the only available door. Then the thought was shoved aside as his strong hands turned the key and he carefully pushed the door open. It stuck, partway open, and he caught a glimpse of a torn jeans leg. Within seconds, he’d hauled Lauren, nearly unconscious, to her feet and his heart contracted with joy and relief as her arms, cruelly handcuffed, reached for him and clung on. Together, Jon half-dragging Lauren, they escaped outside into the clean, fragrant air.
An ambulance had arrived, and a grizzle-haired attendant brought over oxygen equipment. Lauren gasped in huge breathes and coughed, spluttering smoke-blackened mucus from her nose and mouth as her body tried to cleanse itself of the poison. The paramedic quickly checked her over, noting the bruises and cuts, and then Chief Ohmer knelt and gently worked on releasing Lauren’s swollen, bloody wrists from the cruel bite of the handcuffs. Yet all the while, she clung to Jon while he, in his turn, held onto her, afraid she’d slip away if he let go.
Paul Howard, out of breath, came rushing up to the group as Lauren stammered out the bare bones of her story, naming Stephen Wallace as her attacker and holding on tighter still to Jon as she warned that his cousin intended to kill him, too.
Moments after Paul, Lucy Howard arrived, dropping to her knees and pulling Lauren into her arms.
“I thought we’d agreed you’d stay in the car,” her husband grumbled gruffly, but the look she gave him was enough to end the complaint.
“He locked—locked the door on me—he locked me in there to die,” Lauren sobbed against Jon’s shoulder.
Tilting his fingers under her chin, Jon looked at her soot stained face, saw the bruises and the blood smeared and caked around her a swollen nose, and thought she had never looked more beautiful, or more precious to him. And then, the murderous rage which had been hovering in his heart swelled to enormous proportions, almost choking him.
“Wallace, or Rush, or whatever we should call him, must have been watching the cottage, waiting for his opportunity,” Chief Ohmer speculated as he listened to the final pieces of the puzzle which Lauren and Jon supplied. “But where has he taken off to now?”
Jon, still crouched on the grass holding Lauren’s hand while Lucy rocked the younger woman gently, had no idea where his cousin was. Nevertheless, he would find him. The ties of family loyalty had fallen away, scorched to ashes by the flames of the rage that blazed in him.
*
Stephen knew he should be making good his escape, moving on to the second part of the plan; Jon’s own death. However, he had to watch, had to see the results of everything so far, wanted to see the agony on his cousin’s face when he saw what had come to pass. Jon Rush’s punishment. A judgment by fire.
Raising the binoculars to his eyes, sure he was safely hidden in the edge of the woods, certain that the confusion that reigned would hold everyone’s attention for some time longer, Stephen watched as Jon raced to the cottage. Too late, he thought, almost sadly, too late. Poor Lauren. Despite everything, I hope she didn’t suffer too much.
Then his breath caught in a sob of denial. Jon was staggering from the cottage, supporting a staggering, soot-blackened figure—Lauren! There was no mistaking her! Stephen watched in horror as Lauren sank to the ground and an oxygen mask held to her mouth. With greater horror, and a growing anger and hatred, he watched as she struggled to sit up and clutched at Jon, and as her friends gathered around to hug her protectively.
She should be dead! How could this have gone so wrong? The watching man swallowed angry bile as he stared at the knot of people, his face cast in orange from the death flames of the almost-destroyed cottage. Stephen felt the hot tears spill from his eyes and run in unchecked rivulets down his face.
*
“Surely, if someone had been hanging around, watching Lauren, he’d have been seen?” Lucy asked, biting her bottom lip as she tried to hold back the tears that sprang to her eyes as she looked at her friend’s bruised and bloody face and hands and heard her ragged breathing.
“Oh, God, Lauren—I feel so bad about all this,” Paul stuttered. “There must have been something, some clue…I feel as though I left you all alone to face this.”
“Paul,” Lauren croaked though smoke-stained vocal cords, reaching for her friend’s hand. “I won’t have you even think of blaming yourself. None of us could have guessed what was going to happen.”
As she spoke the last words she looked straight at Jon, the message in her eyes clear. She didn’t blame him for what had happened.
But Jon blamed himself. He loved this woman and nearly caused her death. Hiding his anguish, he rose to his feet, reluctantly releasing Lauren from his arms and into Lucy’s maternally protective embrace. Lauren gave a little cry of sorrow, bereft at his moving away, but before she could speak Paul Howard uttered a colorful curse.
Pointing towards the woods, he cursed again.
“Look! I’ve seen that reflection before but didn’t twig to what it was! Someone’s been watching—and they’re still there!”
The others looked in the direction of his pointing finger, just in time to see the setting sun flash red like blood on something glittering at the edge of the woods.
“Binoculars!” Jon muttered an oath, knowing what he must do. Lauren had struggled to her feet helped by Lucy and Paul, and she looked at him, her face white with fear.
At that moment, another Rush Co. Jeep ploughed onto the scene and Warren Dillon jumped out, hitting the ground at a run as he rushed towards the knot of people backlit in the eerie orange glow of the dying flames from the studio.
“My God!” he breathed, taking in Lauren’s soot-stained battered face.
“Stephen,” Jon stated curtly, “and he’s still out there.”<
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Before anyone could stop him, Jon had set off at an angry run towards the spot in the woods where they’ had seen the flash of light on glass.
“Rush! You’re in no frame of mind to go after this man! This is our job,” Chief Ohmer roared, but his words met empty air as Jon continued his headlong dash for the woods.
As Ohmer began to give curt instructions to his men, Warren Dillon threw off his heavy parka and prepared to follow his boss.
“Warren, I have to go, too,” Lauren’s voice was so faint Warren scarcely heard what she said. Nevertheless, he knew, from looking at her face, that she meant it. He shook his head.
“This isn’t going to be any place for you. We don’t know what might happen, or if Stephen is armed, or anything,” Warren tried to discourage her, but he wanted to be away. He knew that Stephen owned a handgun, and he knew that he probably was carrying it now. And he also knew Jon was unarmed and filled with a terrible rage. Hefting his own licensed gun in its holster, Warren began to run towards the spot where Jon’s tall figure was paused on the edge of the woods.
Suddenly flooded with a manic energy and strength she would never have believed she had, Lauren shrugged off the arms that had been supporting her. Grasping Lucy’s hands in hers, she looked the other woman in the eyes.
“Lucy, I’m going to go after them. I have to, if my strength holds out. I want you to stay here with Paul. You’ve been through too much, and I want you, for once in your life, to just stay put!”
The other woman looked about to argue, but she saw the look in Lauren’s eyes and her mouth snapped shut. Paul put his arm around his wife and nodded to Lauren.
“Just make sure you come back here—don’t go getting in the way of any stray bullets,” he said gruffly.
Lauren swallowed past the lump in her throat, swiped the wet tears from her swollen eyes, and set off at a shaky lope in the wake of the two men. Already the police officers, given their orders, were moving stealthily into the woods.
“If you see that man of yours, you tell him not to take the law into his own hands,” Chief Ohmer murmured as Lauren jogged past him. “And stay out of the way!” She glanced at him, but didn’t answer. Already the breath was tearing raggedly in her chest. Her lungs, already punished by the sooty smoke of the studio, were gasping in complaint at this new outrage.
Jon had paused at the edge of the woods, trying to get his bearings. Freshly broken twigs pointed out the direction of the watcher’s sudden, guilty flight, and Jon had no difficulty following. Every now and again he stopped, his head cocked to listen. Over the thunder of his heart pounding out his fury, Jon could now hear a stealthy scrambling in the undergrowth ahead of him. From behind, he heard the sound of pursuit, and twice he thought he heard Lauren’s voice calling him, but, like an implacable hunter, his mind was totally focused on his quarry.
What a thing to come to pass! That Jon Rush, great believer in family loyalty, should be hunting his own cousin through the backwoods of a nowhere place, which was scarcely a dot on the map, with murder in his heart.
His mind flashed back suddenly to the terrifying ordeal in the Persian Gulf, his squad pinned down under enemy fire during Desert Storm, repelling ongoing enemy attacks. The only thought was to kill, to kill in order to stay alive. That experience, more than his father’s death, had made Jon quit his promising army career.
The scene today was very different from those miles of shifting sand dunes and dry, barren mountains, but the sheer fury in his heart was the same. Distracted by these thoughts and memories, Jon had stopped on the rim of a slope-sided crater in the woods left by a small landslide that years ago had sprinkled boulders and small, uprooted pines all along its downward path. Behind him, he heard a crashing in the undergrowth, and knew that Warren and the police were close behind. He was sure, too, that he heard Lauren’s voice calling his name, and at the sound, small threads of sanity began to weave their way back into his mind. Pulling a gasping breath back into his chest, he tried to clear his head. This was not the way to proceed. He should leave it to the police!
But just as he turned, searching the woods for signs of the others he knew were behind him, the breath was knocked from his body as a heavy shape barreled into him. He’d dropped his guard, and in those few seconds Stephen had taken the advantage and crept up on him.
The two men struggled, grunting, and gasping, exchanging blows as they rolled together down the steep slope. The skeletons of dead pines tore at them and sharp boulders cut and bruised, loose rocks sliding down with the two struggling figures. Both men hit bottom and lay winded, panting in each other’s arms like lovers in a sick parody of the aftermath of the act of love.
Stephen recovered first, pushing his advantage of surprise. He struggled to his knees, pinning Jon to the rough, rocky ground, gun held loosely in his hand, his eyes made wild with the fury of hatred.
“Now, Cousin,” he spat the word out, “How does it feel to be the loser? How does it feel to know that everything you ever had is about to be taken from you?”
Jon was silent for a few seconds, unable to answer the madness that glittered in his cousin’s eyes.
“Stephen,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what this is about…”
Stephen’s harsh laughter rang through the clearing and crows, which had silenced at the sudden noisy intrusion of the two men, suddenly took to the air with a grim squawking.
“No, the irony is, you probably don’t know. So wrapped up in your own perfection!” Stephen’s voice was harsh with the pent-up hatred in his soul. “Your father cheated mine out of his rights to the company. It killed my mother. Did you know that? Your holier than thou, good ol’ boy father was responsible for the death of my mother. She died from hardship and sorrow. My Dad…couldn’t live without her…”
“Your father drank himself to death!”
“Because your cheating, lying father had destroyed everybody he’d ever loved! And took them both from me!” For just a moment Stephen looked like the small, scared boy he had been when Jon’s father had first brought him back to the family home after Stephen’s father’s funeral. However, the vulnerable look was soon eclipsed by the hatred that filled the adult. “All I ever wanted was to make something of my life, to have something for myself, not to live on the handouts of my rich cousin. Did you know that people laughed at me, that they never gave me credit for anything I did at the company? Everything was dismissed as being easily come by because I was the boss’s family.”
“So you decided to prove your worth by stealing?” Jon ground out, trying to stall any further moves by Stephen while he studied the terrain, hoping to find something that would give him an advantage over the man who knelt on his chest, gun loosely held in his hand but pointing at Jon’s head.
*
Lauren had arrived at the scene just moments after Warren and several police officers; all the lawmen were concealed behind rocks and trees overlooking the grim hollow where the deadly scene was being played out below them. With shocked eyes, she saw that all the men had guns drawn but that they were helpless to take action because the two men below were so tightly entwined.
Mutely, she appealed to Warren, but he pulled her down beside him, shaking his head. Lauren pressed close against the rocky hillside, heedless of the sharp stones and scrub thorn tearing cruelly at her bare skin as she witnessed the terrible scene below her.
*
“Yes, I stole! But it was money that should have rightfully been mine!” Stephen exclaimed. “And I was using it to build something of my own, so that I could leave Rush Co. and all its rottenness behind! I wasn’t hurting anyone—but then things went wrong. My side of the family never had the luck that yours had!”
“You weren’t hurting anyone? What about Pippa Williams? What about Lauren Stephens?”
“That came later when I realized it was all going wrong. They deserved everything! They betrayed me! Pippa was going to tell your good buddy Warren Dillon about the problems she’d found.�
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“And Lauren?” Jon’s voice filled with angry menace, but Stephen didn’t notice.
“Lauren was meant for me. She was so beautiful…but she was twisted. Just like them all! The moment she met you, she knew you were the richer prize, and she dropped me like I was dirt so that she could whore with you! It’s your fault, Jon! You, with your greed and power—you destroy everything you touch! That’s why Lauren had to die—so that you would know what it was like to lose everything and know that you were responsible! And now, Cousin, it’s your turn!”
Stephen began to raise the gun, his face now devoid of anger but filled with an apostolic purpose. He was delivering a just punishment to the guilty. However, Jon had regained his strength, and the anger that flooded through him tinged his vision red as he threw himself upwards and forwards, knocking Stephen away as he scrambled to his feet. He heard the gun go clattering down onto the stones, but his mind was filled with the need to kill this man who threatened everything he held dear. Scooping up a huge rock, Jon raised it in both hands above his head.
*
Moments earlier, Lauren had felt her heart momentarily stop. Now it sent great pounding waves of icy fear through her body as she watched the tall man in the snow-streaked rocky clearing below raise a heavy boulder over his felled opponent. The man next to Lauren pressed her shoulder, his eyes pleading for silence, but Lauren couldn’t hold back any longer.
As she scrambled to her feet, a shower of pebbles rattled down the hillside. A cry tore from her throat, “Jon! No! For God’s sake, stop!”
At that moment, the tall blond man below looked up. Their eyes locked. In that instant of distraction, he failed to see his adversary’s raking fingers seek out and then scoop up the wicked-looking revolver. He saw nothing at all but her face. Then a thunderous explosion filled his ears, his eyes closed reflexively and his head jerked back as the earth rocked around him.