by Andrea Kane
“He’s probably having it out with my grandfather.” Blake’s jaw was rigid. “In which case, I doubt he has the luxury of answering his phone. Remember, he’s going for my grandfather’s Achilles’ heel. That means all-out war. I’m sure he’s got his hands full.” A pause. “I hope he finagles my grandfather into admitting something that makes sense out of what we just learned.”
“If he hasn’t managed to do so by the time we arrive, he will soon after.”
“Yeah.” Blake frowned, his expression still as shocked and strained as it had been when Devon first told him what she’d heard. “I’m completely at a loss. My grandfather has never involved my grandmother in any business transactions, much less shady ones. Why the hell was she the one paying off Frederick’s killer?”
“That’s not business,” Devon reminded him. “It’s personal.”
“Personal? Paying off a hit man?” Blake rubbed his forehead. “A hit man who was hired to knock off her son? Uh-uh. There’s no way she’d go along with that, much less play an active role in making it happen.”
Devon swallowed, giving voice to the sickening possibility that had struck her a few minutes before. “Maybe Frederick’s not the one she paid to have killed.”
Blake slanted her a look. “He’s the one whose head was bashed in.”
“Maybe that was an accident. Maybe he woke up before he was supposed to. Maybe he got in the way. Maybe something in the original plan went wrong.”
“You think your mother was the target?”
“It would explain your grandmother’s involvement. It would also justify your grandfather’s extensive efforts to find my mother. He didn’t know what she’d pieced together. He couldn’t risk her talking to the cops.”
“What motive would either of my grandparents have to order your mother killed?”
Devon drew a slow breath. “A few days before the fire, my mother overheard Edward and Frederick arguing. Frederick wanted someone at Pierson & Company fired. He suspected that someone of criminal behavior—behavior that could jeopardize the entire company. Edward was dead set on protecting that someone. It was serious, a time bomb waiting to explode, according to Frederick.”
Blake shot Devon a look. “Your mother told all that to your father?”
“Yes. Right after the fire.” Devon pressed her lips together. “That’s why I’m so jumpy now. She’s over there with Monty. Who knows what your grandfather’s reaction to seeing her will be?”
Before Blake could reply, Devon’s cell phone rang.
She stared at the display. “It’s Monty.” In one motion, she punched on the phone and tucked it in the curve of her shoulder. “Finally,” she greeted her father. “What did you find out?”
No reply.
“Monty?”
Some indistinguishable sounds brushed Devon’s ear, and she frowned. “Monty—are you there?”
Voices. Muted and far away.
Devon paused, listening intently.
“Okay, lady, we’re trussed and ready.” The muffled words drifted through the phone. “Edward and James are gone. So it’s just us. Time to cut the crap.”
Monty.
Devon’s breath suspended in her throat.
“You aren’t letting us go. You can’t.” Monty’s voice was growing clearer, more distinct, as if a blanket were being removed from around his phone. “That speech you gave was nothing but bullshit. A bunch of carefully crafted words to get your husband to leave. I get it. You’re not planning to kill us yourself. That’s what Luis is for. Any way you slice it, we’re dying.”
“Don’t sound so outraged, Detective. Because of your ex-wife, my son is dead.”
That voice belonged to Anne Pierson.
Devon shot a frightened look at Blake.
“What is it?” he hissed.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached down, groping in her purse. She yanked out a minirecorder. Then she jammed the phone into the hands-free kit, held the recorder up to the microphone, and pressed the record button.
“It’s divine justice for Sally’s daughter to die, too,” Anne was declaring. “It’s not what I’d planned, but it is what’s known as an eye for an eye.”
“Meredith has nothing to do with this.”
Devon bit her lip to keep from crying out. That was her mother.
“She’s totally innocent,” Sally continued in a quiet, unsteady voice. “Let her go.”
“That’s no longer possible.”
“Christ,” Blake muttered as he figured out what was going on.
Devon responded by leaning forward and pressing the mute button on the phone.
“It was supposed to be your older daughter who was taken,” Anne declared. “She’d be kept only as long as necessary, then released unharmed, with only a warning.”
“A warning?” Monty inquired.
“To stay away from Blake. There’s no way I’d ever allow her to become a member of my family. I tried frightening her off, but that didn’t work. She’s still latched on to Blake’s arm like a leech, and digging around in matters that don’t concern her. Well, all that’s over. After today, she’ll be consumed with her own grief. And I’ll make sure it’s not Blake she turns to for comfort.”
In the car, Blake angled his head, meeting Devon’s gaze. He looked as ill as she felt.
“Let’s talk about those matters that don’t concern Devon,” Monty was saying. Clearly, he was pumping Anne for information. “What is Lawrence Vista engineering for your husband? It must be life altering for you to go to such great lengths to protect it.”
“I don’t worry about protecting the business,” Anne snapped. “I worry about protecting my family. In this case, the two are integrally tied.”
“Because it impacts both James and Edward.”
“Yes. Dr. Vista’s been experimenting with gene therapy. He’s found a way to transform top-notch riders, and their horses, into unbeatable jumpers without even a trace of his efforts showing up in drug tests. That’s an overly simplistic explanation. It doesn’t do justice to Vista’s genius. But since I’m not a scientist, it will have to suffice.”
“So Vista needed human guinea pigs to test and refine his techniques.” Monty sounded pensive. “And Edward plans to take the results all the way to the Beijing Olympics. That explains the illegal aliens and all the secrecy.”
“He and James have waited their whole lives for this.” Bitterness laced Anne’s tone. “Right on the brink of it becoming a reality, your ex-wife intruded. Edward completely underestimated the threat she posed. Between the argument she overheard at the stables and the evidence of Vista’s experimentation staring her in the face each morning, she became a liability that had to be dealt with. Immediately.”
“Sunrise’s injured leg,” Sally realized aloud.
“Indeed.” Anne turned her comments to Sally. “My street smarts far exceed my husband’s. Contrary to his one-track thought process, I knew you weren’t the type of person who could be bought off. I refused to stand idly by and watch Edward’s hopes, dreams, and his very life disintegrate along with James’s future.”
“Vista was using Sunrise as a pincushion,” Sally declared in a sickened tone. “I should have figured it out.”
“Your daughter did, thanks to her veterinary training and obnoxious snooping. She had to be stopped. So I sent Luis to waylay her. My plan was to keep her out of commission until Vista’s work was complete and he was out of the country. Then she’d no longer be a threat. Unfortunately, your younger daughter opened the front door when Luis arrived. He assumed she was Devon and grabbed her. I didn’t realize his mistake until a short while ago. I was on the verge of letting her go when you and your ex-wife charged in here.”
“Then let her go now,” Sally interrupted.
“No.” Anne didn’t mince words. “At this point, Meredith knows far too much. Which means she has to die along with you. And you’ll have to bear the knowledge that you’re responsible for the death of your own
child. Just like I have.”
Sally made a choked sound.
“Nice plan,” Monty commented. “Except how are you going to kill us without it looking like murder? I realize you’re a pro at staging suicide, but a triple suicide? No way the cops will buy it. That scraps an encore performance of what you did to Rhodes. The investigation’s bound to be thorough, since death by affiliation with the Piersons seems to be contagious this week. And where do you think the cops will start? With the royal family itself. Rhodes isn’t around anymore for you to frame. So what’s your strategy?”
“You’re about to find out.” More muffled sounds. “Luis, vaya adelante. Utilice el chloroform.”
Go ahead. Use the chloroform.
Devon didn’t have to translate that one for Blake.
“You underestimate me, Detective,” Anne told him, the background noise announcing that Luis was preparing to follow orders. “I’m smart. I’m tough. And I’m willing to do anything to protect my family—even more than Edward will. I’m not afraid of the repercussions. What’s life in prison to a woman my age? Besides, I doubt it will come to that. I’ve got wealth and old age in my favor, not to mention the excellent attorney I’ll hire who can capitalize on both. We’ll bring the judge and jury to tears. Now relax. This will go easier if you do.”
“Leave them alone!” came a horrified girl’s voice.
Merry. Devon mouthed her sister’s name.
“Meredith—stay still.” Monty’s voice sliced like a knife. “Don’t fight her.”
There was an instant of silence, and Devon found herself praying her sister had listened. If ever there was a time for her to trust Monty, now was it.
“Smart girl.” Anne’s response told Devon that Merry thought so, too.
Devon released a sigh of relief. From her peripheral vision, she saw Blake reaching for his cell phone. He gestured to her, and she understood. He was calling 911.
“You’re making it damned easy for the cops,” Monty remarked. “Three dead bodies in your husband’s office? Pretty open-and-shut.”
“I’m not having you killed here, you fool.”
“Really? Then before your hit man knocks us out, can I know how and where we’re going to die? Or are you planning to wake us up for the show?”
Devon reached over and gripped Blake’s arm. “Wait.” She understood what Monty was doing. He was grilling Anne so they would know where to send help.
“I doubt you’d enjoy being conscious at the time, Detective.” Anne’s tone was grim. “The chloroform is my idea of being merciful. I have no desire to prolong your suffering. I simply want you all gone. So say your goodbyes. Luis and Carlos—that’s the man Edward hired to follow Devon—will tuck you in your car and drive you to Clove Mountain. There’s a section of road there that’s closed off for the winter. It’s thickly wooded and has some marvelously tight turns. The rest you can guess.”
“Clever.” Monty made an appreciative sound. “It’ll be dusk by then. The area’s deserted. Hey, you even have the cooperation of the weather. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground. The roads will be slick—especially on an unpaved road at a sharp turn. You’re right. I did underestimate you.”
“That’s it,” Devon hissed at Blake. “Now call 911. Tell the sheriff to contact the state police and get as many cars as possible over to West Clove Mountain Road. Tell them to go straight to the wooded section with the dirt road that’s closed off for winter. They’ll know the spot. It looks like something out of ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’ Tell them we’re trying to stop a triple homicide.”
Blake was already punching up 911.
Devon groped in the Pierson file, extracting a sheet of paper. “And Blake?” she added in a whisper. “Have them pick up Vista. Otherwise he’ll take off, along with the evidence. Tell the sheriff we’ll give him all the proof he needs when we arrive at the scene.” She glanced down at the page in her hand. “Vista’s got New York plates, license number XVM-19L.”
She shut her eyes, grimacing at the shuffling sounds emanating from her cell phone. She knew what they meant, especially punctuated by Anne Pierson’s icy, “Good night, Detective.”
CHAPTER 30
The sky had gone dark, and the snow was coming down with blinding intensity as Blake’s Jag slipped and slid up the Taconic Parkway. The road conditions sucked, as did the visibility, and the cars were crawling along the curved span of highway toward their destinations.
Devon’s nails dug into her palms, and she stared straight ahead, too consumed by fear over her family’s well-being to speak. Blake gripped the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline, channeling all his energies into getting them where they needed to go as quickly as possible.
“I wish I’d bought an SUV,” he muttered. “It would plow through this faster.”
“We’re almost at Route 55,” Devon replied calmly, as much for herself as for Blake. “East is our exit.” She swallowed hard, her composure slipping. “Why doesn’t the sheriff call? Why aren’t the police there yet?”
“They’re battling the same weather we are. But so’s Luis.” Blake threw on his directional signal and slowed down as he maneuvered the car to the right. “We’ll reach them in time.”
“We have to.” Devon peered out the window and winced as they skidded off the exit. “My family’s counting on me. Monty put their lives at risk by calling me.”
“He has faith in you.”
“I hope it’s warranted.”
“It is.”
“He had no choice,” Devon consoled herself aloud. “His hands were tied—literally. If he tried anything, your grandmother would have shot Merry. But, God, what if it’s too late? What if—” She broke off, shaking her head adamantly. “I won’t go there. I can’t.”
“Don’t. We’re almost at Clove Mountain.” Blake slowed down to avoid a collision. Route 55 was completely snow-covered, and the smattering of cars on the road were skidding badly.
It was worse when they turned onto the side streets.
One by one, the drivers thinned out, until there was no one left on the road except them.
West Clove Mountain Road lay just around the bend.
Blake veered onto it.
The initial section was a disaster—slick, snow-covered, and without a single tire tread or car to pave the way. The section they were heading toward would be a death trap.
They had to tackle it, and win.
“There’s the roadblock,” Devon exclaimed, pointing. “See it?”
“Barely, but yeah.” Blake squinted through the pelting snow that was now coming down in a hard, relentless blanket.
“There’s a set of tire treads on the other side,” Devon reported, spotting the dark lines etched on stark white. “Someone’s been here. Probably Luis, since we haven’t heard from the sheriff.” Grimly, she tightened her seat belt, preparing for a jarring ride. “We’ve got to hurry.”
Blake accelerated, slamming into the barrier and sending it careening down the hillside.
The road was buried by snow. Both sides were thickly wooded, with tree branches that hung over the road. Dark and forbidding, they made the already poor visibility nonexistent. To Devon’s right, a steep cliff pitched downward, disappearing past a tangled mass of tree limbs into a bottomless pit.
Devon kept her gaze focused ahead, searching for any sign of movement. She couldn’t allow herself to consider the possibility that they were too late.
“I see red lights ahead,” Blake informed her, leaning forward. “Two of them. They must be taillights.”
“I see them, too.” Devon gripped the dashboard, her heart slamming against her ribs. “It’s definitely a car.”
Blake switched off his own headlights. “I don’t want to clue Luis in to the fact that we’re here.”
“Don’t slow down,” Devon instructed. “The car’s definitely Monty’s. And it’s stopped. Luis must be getting ready to shove the car over the cliff.”
“That’s no
t happening,” Blake said flatly. He downshifted and accelerated, blasting ahead. The Jag skidded, but obeyed Blake’s command, roaring up to the Toyota.
“There’s our guy,” Devon muttered, seeing the bulky form of a man standing next to Monty’s Corolla and leaning into the driver’s seat.
Luis’s head snapped around. Panicking, he scrambled out of the way as the Jag lurched forward, shearing off the open Corolla door, and showering him with a spray of snow.
Devon frantically scrutinized the inside of the Corolla. For a fleeting instant, she could make out three human forms—Monty, slumped across the steering wheel, Sally, crumpled and unconscious beside him, and Merry sprawled in the backseat.
Her insides wrenched.
Slamming on his brakes and jerking his steering wheel, Blake skidded, winding up diagonally in front of the Corolla and blocking its forward motion. His front tires came to a halt mere inches away from the edge of the road and its sharp drop-off.
Devon burst out of the Jag before it stopped. She raced after Luis, who was trying to flee, and grabbed him from behind. Spinning him around, she slammed her knee into his groin.
Luis collapsed in agony, choking out a curse in Spanish and crumpling in the snow.
Climbing into the Toyota, Blake leaned past Monty and yanked up the emergency brake. By the time he seized Monty and began maneuvering him out the door, Devon was there, helping him.
Together, they carried her father to safety, then rushed back. Blake went around to the passenger side and scooped up Sally while Devon crawled into the backseat and hauled out Merry.
She’d just lowered her sister to the sheltered snowbank beside her parents when she heard the wail of sirens. From both directions, patrol cars twisted their way down West Clove Mountain Road, skidding to a stop as they reached the scene.
Luis, who’d been limping his way along the road—and toward escape—halted, raising his hands over his head in surrender. Two cops sprang out of their vehicles and raised their weapons, cautioning him not to make any sudden moves. They then made their way over, yanking his hands behind his back and slapping handcuffs on him.