by Rebecca York
He snorted. “Oh yeah.”
They sat for several moments until he noticed something changing. The floor had been cold. Now it was becoming uncomfortably hot.
Jamie looked at him in alarm. “What’s happening?”
“Looks like we’re on the hot seat. Better get moving.”
BACK IN TOWN, BRADY TURNED onto Washington Street, marveling at the rows of grand old houses that had been restored to their glory days.
“These babies would be worth millions in Baltimore,” he said.
“But up here, you can probably scoop them up much cheaper. Especially since the recession hit,” Hunter answered, then pointed toward a sprawling gray Victorian with a tower at the front entrance. A high wooden fence enclosed the back yard. “That’s the one.”
He spotted a man watching them from a nearby driveway and pulled to a stop. Rolling down his window, he pointed to the Victorian and said, “We were looking for property to buy up here. That place is exactly what we want. You don’t know if it’s for sale, do you?”
“Probably not. It changed hands recently.”
“Does the owner work at the hospital?”
“Naw. I think he’s one of the carpetbaggers who come in here and pick up prime real estate. He’s been in and out, fixing it up, but I don’t think he actually lives there. Maybe he’s going to flip it.”
“If he’s going to flip it, we should talk to him.”
“He’s not real friendly.”
“Have you seen the inside?”
“He hasn’t invited the neighbors in.”
“Has he been here recently?”
The man thought for a moment. “He was around late last night. Then he left and came in again this morning.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Brady rolled up the window and pulled away. “That would match the time frame when he captured Jamie and Mack.”
He came to a narrow side street and took it. The street curved around in back of the row of houses, which turned out to be built on the side of a steep hill. He stopped in back of the house next to the Victorian.
“You think that could be the funhouse?” Hunter asked.
“Well, Hyde bought it eight months ago. He’s fixing the place up, which could mean either restoring the interior or making it into his private amusement park. He’s got a tricky name, and his movements fit the abductions…but all that could be perfectly innocent. We sure don’t have enough evidence for a home invasion.”
Brady shook his head and continued. “If it is him, he could have sensors and cameras around the house to make sure nobody’s sneaking up on him. If Jamie and Mack are in there, we’ve got to figure out how to help them without getting them killed.”
MACK SPOKE INTO JAMIE’S ear again. “I think it’s time to give the tricky little bastard a big surprise.”
He stood up in the narrow corridor and braced his shoulders against the old brick basement wall of the house. Then he rammed his foot into the opposite plywood wall.
Jamie saw it waver. It wasn’t as solid as it looked.
She wasn’t as strong as Mack, but she also braced her shoulder against the wall and helped him kick, feeling the wall give.
They both kept kicking and bashing, and she heard a tearing sound as the structure gave way and fell forward, crashing to the floor. When it stopped reverberating, they were facing a large empty room.
“This is the room I saw in my second trip to the house,” Jamie whispered, trying not to give her excitement away. She pointed to the other side of the space. “And there are the stairs.”
“We’ve got to get across,” Mack said.
She thought back to what she’d seen in her dream. “When we do, something will come down and attack us,” she murmured.
“I think we’ve got a partial solution.” Mack bent to the plywood that he’d kicked to the floor. “We can hold this over our heads for a shield as we cross the room.”
UPSTAIRS IN HIS LOUNGE, Henry exploded in anger. He’d settled down for a satisfying game, but those bastards were wrecking his funhouse. They weren’t supposed to break the place up. They were supposed to play by his rules. Run down the corridors. Try to get out. Shriek when they got caught in one of his traps.
But they weren’t doing any of that now. Damn them! He’d wanted to question them before they died. Maybe he wouldn’t have time for that now.
Jumping up, he ran to the bank of computers along the wall. He hadn’t planned to finish them off yet, but it looked like he was going to have to do it now before things got any more out of control.
He pulled a lever, sending a spray of acid down from the ceiling of the basement room.
“OH LORD, WHAT’S THAT?” Jamie gasped, coughing as she and Mack huddled under the plywood, holding it above them as they crossed the room.
“Acid,” Mack gasped out. “Hurry before the floor gets covered.”
They made it across the room and onto the stairs. Looking back, she saw pools of liquid puddling on the floor, where it sizzled, sending a caustic vapor wafting up toward them.
They were both coughing as they climbed the stairs, tears blurring Jamie’s vision.
Mack kept the shield over them, tipping it to make any liquid that hit the plywood run off toward the basement floor as he and Jamie clambered up the stairs, trying to get out of the room as fast as they could.
There was a door at the top, and it wasn’t locked, probably because Fried hadn’t planned to use the acid. Which meant he must be getting desperate.
A desperate man might try something else swift and deadly, Mack knew. Or he might make a bad mistake.
Mack eased part way through the opening, reaching out his arms to hold the plywood for Jamie, who followed as quickly as she could. When she had tumbled into the hallway, he threw the plywood down the stairs, where it splashed onto the floor, sending up an acid spray that made them jump back.
They sat, panting, in the corridor. When noxious fumes drifted up toward them, setting off another coughing fit, Mack slammed the door.
“I never saw anything like that before,” he said.
“It means finishing us off is more important than the game.”
Leaning close to Jamie, he whispered, “Can you find the dining room?”
“Give me a minute. My eyes are stinging.” She swiped her sleeve over her face, wondering if they were going to make it out of here alive. What else did Fried have planned?
ON THE FLOOR ABOVE, Henry jumped up and down, beside himself with anger. He’d thought for sure he would get them with the deadly shower in the large basement room, but they had made it to the first floor.
Although he was certain he had them trapped, he couldn’t take a chance on anything now. He would have to go down there himself and end the game.
For the first time, he felt a sizzle of uncertainty. All along he’d had the upper hand with his victims, but Shepherd and Steele were not like anyone else he’d run through his maze.
They seemed to have an uncanny ability to avoid the traps he’d set. Like that plywood shield. It was almost as if they were expecting something to come down from the ceiling.
What the hell was going on? They couldn’t know. Could they?
Still cursing, he watched the action below, judging the right moment to personally take command of the playing field.
At the end of the game, he’d always gone after the victims in the funhouse up close and personal, with knives. That way, he had the satisfaction of plunging the blade into their flesh.
With these two hard cases he wasn’t going to take a chance on getting close enough for hand work. Better safe than sorry, he told himself. From a drawer in the wall unit, he pulled out a Sig Sauer and made sure the safety was off.
Then he flipped a series of switches on the control panel so that the final drama would play out the way he wanted.
When he was ready to leave his lounge, he looked at the monitors one last time to check their location before stepping into the hall.
JAMIE GLANCED AROUND, TRYING to orient herself, then gasped as she realized their position. “I’ve got a better idea. If we go that way, we’ll hit the front hall.” She pointed down the corridor.
Mack nodded, and followed her to the right. They came to a door that was locked, but Mack kicked it in and they plowed through into the foyer.
“Thank God.”
He dashed to the front door. It was secured with two locks, one a dead bolt that required a key. There were long, narrow windows on either side of the door, but they were sealed with plywood.
This time when he used his foot to try and bash through, there was no effect.
“We need something to use as a battering ram,” he muttered.
“I guess we go in the dining room after all. We can use one of the chairs.”
Jamie was already heading for the door that she’d used in her dream. It was locked, and it was solid. Too heavy for Mack to break down.
“Other way,” she shouted, heading for the hallway.
Before she’d gotten more than a few feet down the corridor, something shot down from the ceiling.
It was a feathered monster. A great black bird whose bill clanked with stainless-steel knives. As it came swooping down at them, she saw needle-sharp claws. Mack was looking the other way, and the thing was heading straight at him.
Chapter Fifteen
As the bird shot toward Mack, she shouted “Watch out,” and leaped toward him, pushing him out of the way and rolling as she hit the floor.
Mack hit the ground, dodging the talons, but one of them caught his sleeve and scraped across his arm.
Jamie gasped as she saw a line of blood.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
He was just pushing himself up when a popping sound filled the air. Mack grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her across the floor and farther into the hallway.
“What was that?” she gasped.
“He’s got a gun.”
“He never did before.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t mention acid before, either. I guess he doesn’t like the way we’re getting out of his traps. He’s still on the stairs. Can we get to the dining room?”
Jamie took a moment to orient herself. “Yes,” she finally said, pointing to the right and praying that she hadn’t gotten twisted around.
She moved cautiously down the hall with Mack right behind her. “Stay away from the right-hand wall,” she told him. “There’s a trapdoor somewhere along there.”
They hurried along the left side of the hallway, through the next doorway and into the dining room.
“Watch out for a spider,” she told Mack.
To trigger the mechanism, she waved her arm through the doorway, and the thing zoomed down. When it had landed on the table, she stepped into the room, glad that Fried hadn’t activated the flashing lights.
Orienting herself, she pointed to another door at the far end of the room.
“That’s the exit that leads back to the front hall,” she said, thinking that Fried wasn’t going to hear her on his microphone. He was already down on this level. With a gun.
She glanced at Mack. “Is he out there? Or is he circling around, do you think?”
“Don’t know.”
“Careful of the chairs. They may pull out by themselves and hit you.”
Mack kicked out a leg, making one of the chairs shoot away from the table. He avoided it and yanked another out of position, looking at the seats and seeing the knives that she’d told him about.
He worked to pull two knives loose, handing one to her and sticking the other in his waistband. Then he started moving the chairs, laying one across each doorway, a little inside the room.
“What can I do?”
“Can you bash out the lights?”
She reached for the candelabra in the middle of the table. It was sticky with artificial spider webs, but she grasped it firmly, swinging it at the chandelier, shattering the bulbs.
A noise in the hallway made her go rigid.
“Under the table,” Mack whispered.
She dived below the table, just as another shot rang out.
“Got ya.”
Obviously confident that he had them cornered, Fried came charging into the room. In the darkness, he didn’t see the chair in his path and pitched forward, cursing as he came down on the carpet.
Mack was on him in an instant, striking at him in the back of the neck with the knife.
Jamie sprang forward, her own knife in her hand. Without any hesitation, she chopped down at the killer, hitting him in the back, wincing as she heard the blade clash against bone.
Fried lay sprawled across the chair. Mack pulled the gun out of his hand and turned him over, then yanked off his death mask. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the man’s face.
“What is it, Mack?”
“He was in the restaurant when I picked up dinner the other night.”
“Do you think he knew who you were?”
“He didn’t act like it.”
Blood leaked from Fried’s mouth, but he managed to give them a parody of a smile.
His eyes went to Jamie. “Were you here before?”
“Yes.”
“How…?”
“In my nightmares.”
“I…knew…something.” He closed his eyes. Then they snapped open again. “You haven’t won. It’s not over…” he gasped before he went still.
Jamie looked at Mack. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “But we’d better get the hell out of here.”
Cautiously, he opened the door to the hallway. When he saw nothing there, he picked up a chair and went toward the front door, where he began bashing the chair against the plywood that covered the windows. The plywood was screwed tightly to the wall and held fast.
“Help. Let us out of here. Somebody let us out,” Mack shouted.
To Jamie’s astonishment, a familiar voice answered.
“Mack?”
“Brady?”
“Yes. We were trying to get in without getting you killed.”
“Fried is dead,” Mack answered.
“Can you open the front door?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t open the windows down here either.”
He was about to say something else when an explosion rocked the house.
The first one in the basement had been a fake, designed to scare them. This one was real. The whole structure shook, and Mack and Jamie clung together. When the floor stopped vibrating, flames were already shooting up from a heating vent and smoke was pouring into the hallway.
“What happened?” Jamie gasped out.
“He must have had some mechanism set to go off if he didn’t return to his command post. Or maybe he had some kind of button in his pocket that triggered the mechanism when his grip relaxed.”
The floor beneath their feet had turned hot. Flames were eating their way up the walls.
“What happened?” Brady shouted from outside.
“Explosion in the basement. Fire. We’re going upstairs,” Mack answered. “Call the fire department.” Gripping Jamie’s hand, he started up the stairs.
She stumbled after him, her mind trying to take in what had happened. Against all odds, they’d killed Fried, but he had still reached out to finish them off.
Smoke rose around them. When Mack stopped moving, Jamie bumped into him.
“Door,” he said. “It’s locked.”
She moaned, then began to cough.
“Take shallow breaths. He must have the key. I’ve got to go back and get it.”
“No! You can’t go down there.”
“I have to.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“The hell you are. Stay here.”
He turned and dashed down the stairs, but she couldn’t let him go alone. And what good would it do anyway? If something happened to him, she was still trapped.
>
She could hear him coughing as he disappeared into the smoke. When she lost sight of him, she got low to the floor, knowing that the smoke would rise.
Agonizing moments ticked by. Finally she thought she saw him crawling back toward her through the smoke. Before he reached her, he collapsed, his head hitting the floor.
She wanted to cry out. But she didn’t dare waste the breath. Crawling forward, she grabbed his arm, pulling him across the floor as flames licked up the walls.
“Mack. You’ve got to get up, Mack,” she begged.
He lifted his head, looking at her, then firmed his lips. She knew he was making a tremendous effort as he pushed himself forward. They both climbed the stairs on hands and knees, the smoke rising with them.
Finally she bumped into the door.
“The key. Where’s the key?”
He held out his fist. Opening his fingers, she found the key he was holding. Somehow she fumbled it into the lock and turned. To her vast relief the door opened, and she tumbled through, then turned to help Mack. He tried to crawl forward, but he had obviously come to the end of his resources.
With all her strength, she pulled him, lugging him through the door and slamming it shut behind them, blocking the smoke.
She dragged clean air into her lungs. But they weren’t safe yet. The door had stopped the smoke, but it wasn’t going to stop the fire.
Mack had pushed himself up and sat with his head against the wall. She let him stay there for a few moments, then tugged at his arm.
“We have to get out of here.”
“I know.”
“Can you climb out a window?”
“I hope.”
She had started across the floor when a figure loomed in front of them, and she screamed.
“It’s okay,” the man said. “It’s Brady Lockwood.” He reached out to steady Jamie. “We found a ladder outside and climbed up.”
“Thank God.”
Mack pushed himself up.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked him urgently.
“Yeah.”
“You just have to climb down,” Brady said. He helped them to the window, and when she looked out Jamie wanted to scream with relief.