Ronnie sniffed. "I'll charge up my old one. You still remember my last number, don't you? I'll program it in, OK? And call me. Call soon."
Tears grabbed them by the throat, and it took a good fifteen minutes of hugging and sniffling before she could start to plan. Though plan was really too kind a word for it. This was a blind impulse. A suicidal dive out of the frying pan and into the naked flames.
But it was all she could do. There was no excuse for cowering here like a bunny in a cage, waiting for the walls to close in on her.
She convinced Ronnie to wait in her room, so that she could think a straight thought without blubbering. She stood in the corridor, gathering her wits, her nerve. What to do. Money. Car keys. A way out of here. A place to go. Her list of goals. She hurried to the room earmarked as hers, and rummaged through the jewelry box. She'd opted to keep her valuables here, and there were costly pieces, with good stones that she might be able to sell. She shoved pendants, earrings, bracelets, rings into her pockets. Funny how the jewelry was hers, but she still felt like she was stealing it.
At the bottom of the stairs was Dad's studio. She went in, opened the desk drawer where he'd kept keys. Three of his four cars were parked downstairs, but inside the compound. One set of keys was to a Porsche that was acutally hers on paper, being one of Dad's string-attached gifts. She'd never gotten an opportunity to drive the thing. It was also inside the walls, though, and she was never going to be able to convince the security personnel to open the gate for her to drive out.
She saw a set of keys she remembered Dad using one day when he'd taken some philanthropist friend of his to look at the Parrish Foundation building. A building master key. She thought about the boxes in the library, and slid it into her pocket.
Her next blind impulse compelled her down to the security room. She stood outside the door, which was slightly ajar.
Paul Ditillo's voice floated out. His back was to the door. "...told you that crazy rich bitch hated her dad! She's in it, up to her neck! And if you ask me, she's even more dangerous than that...huh?"
Robert nudged him, eyes darting toward the door as Edie pushed it open. Paul turned, stared. Funny, how that hostility used to bother her so much. Now it was so insignificant. She stared at the banks of TV screens that showed all the vantage points of the security cameras.
Paul cleared his throat. "What can we do for you, Ms. Parrish?"
She groped for a coherent answer as she studied the screens. Four images on each screen. Four different screens. Five seconds for each screen. God, how she sucked at multitasking. "Ah...I was just, um, wondering what your security procedures were, tonight," she said, lamely. "I wondered what, ah, precautions you were taking."
Paul exchanged can-you-believe-this-chick glances with Robert while she checked the clock on the computer screen against the watch she had on her wrist. Her watch ran thirteen seconds ahead. The north view appeared when the minute hand was at twelve. Five seconds. Then the south view. Then east. Then west. Back to the top, twenty seconds later. Three cycles of each direction of views each minute.
"We're taking all due precautions," Paul said. "You have nothing to worry about. Why not just go take a nice little pill and lie down?"
She blinked. Wow. Gloves off. Not that Paul had ever been particularly polite to her, but zowie, that was harsh. Contemptuous.
At the right of the entry were hooks for hanging coats. She recognized the one Paul had worn the other day when he picked her up to go to the salon. Charcoal gray, lined with puffy silver down. Funny, how vivid every little detail was. "Actually, I was wondering if one of you gentlemen would drive me someplace," she improvised wildly. "I need to run a couple errands, and obviously, it's better if I'm not--"
"No," Paul said.
His response was certainly no surprise, but she bristled and put on an affronted look. "What do you mean, no?"
"No, meaning you're staying right here, Ms. Parrish."
She lifted her chin. "You have no authority to keep me here. My father thought he did. But he's not here."
"Yeah, and isn't that convenient," Paul sneered. He circled the desks and backed her up with the force of his hostility, right up to the row of coats. She sidled until she was pressed against Paul's coat in the corner, recoiling at his hot, smothering tobacco breath.
She groped delicately behind herself for his coat pocket. Found it. Dug, found nothing. Shit.
"I'll be honest with you, Ms. Parrish. I'm not real sure who's in charge around here right now." Paul lifted a thick forefinger, tapped her collarbone with it. "But one thing I am sure of. It isn't you."
Edie glared back as she scrabbled in the other pocket. There. Zipped halfway up...but the zipper gave. Her hand slid in. Car keys. A wallet. She seized both, slid them into her jeans pocket. Grateful for the corner she was wedged into, hiding her criminal activity.
Paul was getting off on his intimidation show. "Go on upstairs, Ms. Parrish." His lip curled in an unpleasant smile. "Be a good girl."
She backed out, trying to look cowed, and ran up the stairs, back to Ronnie's room. She slapped the door open. "I'll need help to get out," she said breathlessly. "Do you have some firecrackers left?"
"The ones Dad had a fit about? That I was supposed to get rid of?"
"You didn't, did you?" she asked, anxious.
Ronnie's eyes lit up. "Oh! You want a diversion? Super cool!"
"But I don't want to get you in trouble," Edie fretted.
Ronnie shrugged. "With who? With Aunt Evelyn? Get real."
Ronnie pulled the cardboard box of firecrackers out of her closet and began to scoop out her favorites while Edie puzzled through the logistics. The escape had to be meticulously timed. Since there was not room inside the enclosure for the vehicles of security and domestic staff, they parked in a covered structure outside, parallel to the west wall. The oak tree in the middle of the west yard had branches that would get her to the edge of the eight foot wall, and foliage to hide her while she climbed. They decided that Ronnie should start throwing firecrackers from the terrace five seconds before the second hand clicked on twelve.
"But how many should I throw?" Ronnie asked.
"Just enough to get me over the wall," Edie said. "I'll have a fifteen second blind spot from when the first firecracker goes off to do it."
"It would be more believable if I lit them all," Ronne mused. "Like, I flip out, and just keep throwing and screaming and crying until they come running up there to stop me. A total, frothing at the mouth freak-out fit. Actually, that sounds kind of nice. Cathartic."
Edie harrumped. "Don't push it. It's bad enough that they think I'm bonkers. Trust me on this. You don't want to fall into that trap."
"Hey." Ronnie sounded hurt. "I'm high-strung, I have an artistic temperament, plus I was orphaned today. I think I'm entitled to a screaming nervous breakdown, like all the other overpriveleged brats."
Edie grabbed her. "You know what? I love you," she whispered.
"I love you, too." Ronnie squeezed her breathless. "Of course, Dr. Katz will zap me again, but I wouldn't mind being knocked out for a while longer." She pressed her hand against her belly, and blew out a breath. "It would be nice. To take a break from this feeling."
That made Edie nervous. "Ronnie. Don't even say that. That's no way to deal with your feelings. Promise me you won't start--"
"Shhh." Ronnie gave her a sad smile. "Give me some credit. I'm not stupid. And I'm not a coward, either."
"I know you're not," Edie sniffled. "Thanks, baby. I love you."
One last hug, and they crept up to the terrace. Edie waved to her sister, and dropped down onto the slanted shakes of the solarium roof.
She slipped on the deep slant and grappled for purchase, heart thudding. Falling off the high side of this roof was certain death. She steadied herself, crept across the roof of the solarium. Ronnie watched anxiously over the railing while Edie dangled off the edge, and dropped out of sight down onto the lower roof of the huge kitch
en space, hoping that no one was in there to hear the thump. She was glad she had the high-tops. Once across that, it was only an eight foot drop or so off the eaves and down to the patio below.
The oak's branches nearly touched the kitchen roof, so she slunk beneath its cover into the yard. Her heart raced so fast, she felt faint.
Part of her begged for the rest of her to go back, to where things were safe and certain. Where someone else made all the decisions.
But that safety was just an illusion. It always had been. She leaped up, grabbed the biggest branch of the oak, and scrambled into the tree. Light slanted through the ragged leaves clinging stubbornly to the branches. She held her wrist up to it, and peered at her watch.
Oh, God. She had to get up into place and hop onto that wall in only thirteen seconds! Thirteen desperate, sweaty, face scratching, knee wobbling seconds of climbing through a tree, in the dark--
Pop, pop, whiz, bang, the first firecrackers exploded before she was in place. She scrambled faster, feeling her tiny fifteen second window ticking into nothing. More fireworks on the other side of the house. Ronnie yelled, in a thin, high voice. Hissing, bangs, pops. The scent of sulfur drifted over. Men, shouting. Doors slamming. Hubbub.
Edie lunged for the top of the wall, slipped, grabbed, caught herself by bloodied fingertips. Scrabbling for traction with her rubber-soled sneakers. Pop, pop. She could see bursts of light flickering. Ronnie was screaming. It sounded very believable. Someone else screamed, too. Maybe Evelyn, maybe Tanya, or both. Shrieking like tin whistles.
A final, desperate burst of scrambling, and she heaved herself up, got her leg over. Lowered her body down as far as she could, hanging by shaking arms. She dropped, landed painfully on her wobbly legs, and took off sprinting. Fell headlong, landing on her face. Mouth full of dirt and grass and woodchips. She struggled up, and took off again.
She dove for the shadows between the parked cars under the shelter. She'd run several seconds over. If anyone had the presence of mind to watch the screens during that screamfest, they would have seen her. And if so, so be it. She was done, for the moment. She panted, letting that twenty seconds of security camera shots cycle through, and then another, and another. If they'd seen her, let them come for her.
No sign of it, though. She checked her watch for the next blind spot, peeled herself up off the asphalt, and pulled out Paul's car keys, creeping along until she found his dark green Saturn. She let herself into it. Ronnie was still screaming, but the fireworks had stopped.
She fired up the engine in the next blind spot, pulled out and accelerated down the long drive, turning out and onto the main road. She pulled out the phone, called the nearest car service she knew of on Ronnie's cell. There was a GPS device mounted on Paul's dash. She had to get rid of this car as soon as possible. They'd nab her in a heartbeat.
"Clark Car Service, can I help you?" said the bored voice.
"I need a car to meet me at the outlet mall on Montrose Highway," she said. "In front of the Shari's restaurant, please."
"Ten minutes," the man said, and hung up.
Edie parked Paul's Saturn at the Target lot on Montrose, and searched through Paul's wallet as she jogged through oceanic parking lots to the Shari's. Eighty-three bucks. Not bad. Car fare. For tonight, anyway. She stayed away from the restaurant until she saw the car pull up, and eyeballed the logo. She sprinted over, got in. The plush leather seat of the limo felt like a lover's embrace. "Evening," she gasped out.
The guy glanced over his shoulder, did a double take. She looked down at herself. Jesus. Blood, dirt, leaves. Yikes.
"Where to?" the guy asked, sounding nervous.
Edie took a deep breath. "Take me to the Parrish Foundation building. Five hundred Highett Drive, off Montrose Highway. Toward Hillsboro."
The place was deserted when they pulled over in front of the main entrance. There was crime scene tape over the door, but everyone had left. "Can you wait for me here?" she asked the driver. "I won't be long."
The guy nervously eyed the yellow tape stretched across the entrance. "Meter's running," he said.
"That's fine." She fished the master key out of the snarl of jewelry stuffed into her pockets. She could see the gaping hole in the glass on the fifth floor of the Helix building, like a gouged-out eye. Dad's office. It made her dizzy. She had to dangle her head, let the blood run back in.
It didn't matter if the security camera saw her. She walked in with her head high. There was no shame in trying to protect the man she loved. She wasn't going to get anywhere near the actual crime scene on the unfinished eighth floor, where the sniper had set up his perch. She wouldn't touch anything, move anything, mess anything up for the forensics people. Her conscience was clear. She took the back staircase in the dark. The door to the library suite was wedged open.
She switched on the light. Tears overflowed in her eyes. Heavenly choruses sang. The boxes. They were there, as Kev had said.
It wasn't that she had doubted him. Never that. But oh, God, it was sweet relief, to have physical reality back up her own instincts.
She pulled out a tissue, and examined their contents without touching them. There were no archived files, no computer discs. Just accordian folders, stuffed with paper culled from the recycling bins outside the Helix mailroom. Memos, newsletters, junk mail. The dated stuff was no more than a month old. And under the top layer, not even that much theater. The boxes below were stuffed with shredded paper.
It was a stage set, but a very shallow one. They'd had no intention of keeping him here more than a moment or two. This had just been to make him relax, assume things were normal, and then...
And then? What the hell had they done to him then? She pressed her hand against her belly, fighting not to cry. She would call him again, but first, Detective Houghtaling. Clearing his name, protecting his freedom, was more important than indulging her shaky nerves.
After all. He had all those missed calls on his phone. If he was reachable, he knew damn well that she was thinking of him. The dog.
She took pictures of the boxes from every angle with Ronnie's super-duper smartphone. She shot a mini movie, panning from the pile of boxes to the view outside the window, the gaping broken window of Dad's office. She struggled until she figured out how to attach the photos to a text message, sent them to Houghtaling's phone, and called.
The detective picked up quickly. "Houghtaling here," she said.
"Detective, this is Edie Parrish."
"Hello, Ms. Parrish. What can I do for you?"
"I found some information that might be of interest to you," Edie said. "It's about the boxes at the library. The ones that Des Marr said didn't exist. They do exist. I'm looking at them right now. I took pictures, and sent them to your phone. Did you receive them?"
"Yes, I did. You're at the Parrish Foundation building right now?"
"Please come and verify what I'm saying for yourself," Edie said. "As you promised that you would."
"And I would have kept that promise, if you'd given me time," the detective said.
"I don't have time," Edie replied.
"Ms. Parrish, you are aware that you are violating a crime scene?"
"This isn't the sniper's perch. You said yourself that no one has looked at the library until now. I took a movie of the broken window of the Helix building, to date the photo, and I didn't touch anything with my bare hands. The boxes are filled with scrap paper and shredded paper. It was a trap, for Kev, Detective. They lured him here."
"I'll send someone to pick you up right away," Houghtaling said.
Edie felt a maddeningly familiar frustation crush her lungs, her throat. Those pauses, that silence. She knew the vibe. The realization grew, blooming into frantic disbelief. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"It's not that I don't believe you," the woman said carefully.
"Come and see for yourself!" Edie begged. "Des was lying through his teeth! Doesn't that change things? Point to other inconsistencies?"
> The woman was silent. Edie's brain raced ahead, trying to anticipate her. "Oh, God. You're thinking that I set it up? Aren't you?"
"No, not necessarily," Houghtaling said. "But you're stressed, confused, and grieving. You have access to that building, which begs the question as to who else had access to it. You are also in serious danger. Please stay exactly where you are, Ms. Parrish. Someone will be there to get you in a couple of minutes. We'll keep you safe."
Edie let the hand that held the phone drop, swinging limp at her side. The woman's voice chattered on, tinny and far away. She thumbed the line closed, staring out as...oh, dear God.
Headlights were coming up Highett Drive.
CHAPTER 34
"I can't do it tonight," Ava repeated, for the tenth time.
"You'll do as you're told, Av."
Ava's teeth rattled violently as she stared out the windshield at the city lights, raindrops beading the glass. She couldn't stop shaking.
She'd shaken the whole time she'd been locked in that stifling hell of a supply closet, and she still shook. Some mechanism in her brain, concussed by that horrible mind-to-mind encounter with McCloud.
Rape, she amended silently. What he'd done to her was rape. Feeling him in there, jerking around, feeling her feelings, knowing them intimately. Her shuddering intensified. She couldn't bear to feel her own feelings. Much less could she bear for a hostile stranger to feel them.
She was never crowning the treacherous bastard again, but she would love to tie him to a chair and crown his precious girlfriend. Sign her up for that. She felt a squirmy rush of sexual heat at the very idea.
Odd. She'd been with so many men, she did not even consider sexual contact particularly intimate. She was so accustomed to using sex. First for survival. Then she'd been compelled with X-Cog. Then she'd used her beauty and her body for advancement, and convenience. Finally, out of sheer habit. She barely noticed the sex, except insofar as she had to keep up a pretense of enjoyment.
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