Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

  “My gun is trained on you, Olivia,” Ryan interrupted. “Tell your lady friend I don’t have a sense of humor, Aiden. Tell her I run down little old ladies who accidentally step off crosswalks.”

  “I wasn’t being funny,” she said. “I decided it was safest to pack them. They’ll be fine. I’ll get them later, I expect.”

  Aiden said, “Please step outside, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Chris heard the “sweetheart.” So did Ryan, who said, “I guess you two didn’t waste your time alone, huh?” he said. “Well, the face is Miss Next Door, but the body’s got possibilities. Nice breasts, Olivia. Am I right, Aiden?”

  Olivia’s face flamed, but her mouth set in a firm line and whatever flashed in her eyes, it wasn’t submission.

  “Shut it, Ryan,” Aiden said when he trusted himself not to goad the bastard into action. “Olivia. Out.”

  “Right,” she said. “Out I go. Come on, Boswell, pet. Come with Olivia.”

  At first Chris missed her intention, but when Boss tramped across Ryan, he got it.

  Aiden beat Chris to it. Cuffs and all, he launched himself like a stunt diver and landed on top of Ryan.

  Rather than leave, Olivia shut and locked the door and ran to Ryan. She knelt and grabbed handfuls of his hair. Then she thumped his head on the floor.

  “The gun!” Chris yelled. Boss had ruined Ryan’s view for some seconds, but the guy could see again now and the instant he managed to remove Aiden’s knees from his shoulders, he’d start shooting.

  Olivia shuffled to Ryan’s right side and grabbed his wrist. This she banged up and down with even more enthusiasm than she’d used on his head.

  A roar escaped Ryan. Rage contorted his face and he surged upward. Aiden was thrown aside. Olivia landed against a wall and her skull made a sound like someone punching a melon. She sat where she was. Boss sat near her, his ears cocked and twitching, waiting to be told what to do next.

  “Okay,” Ryan shouted, on his feet again, his stance wide. “Come and get me, Talon.”

  The guy was all muscle. His white-blond crewcut and Teutonic features had earned him the nickname of Fuhrer. The weirdest things about him were his eyes, very pale, and a mouth that came together in a tight gash with almost no lips.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” he taunted, the palm of his free hand turned up, the fingers beckoning. His gun was aimed at Olivia. “Shoot me, Talon. You three will fry for it because you’ll never get around my groundwork. It’s too good.”

  Chris couldn’t risk holding back. This might be the best, and last, chance. He sprang on Hill and landed a punch guaranteed to wind the guy.

  “Fuck you,” Hill gasped, but came back fighting. He ducked a shoulder and rammed Chris who jammed the back of a knee against the bed and fell.

  Hill bombed down on Chris, whose gun sailed from his hand and slid against the baseboard near the door.

  Chris was all over the guy. Again and again he slammed the wrist that held the gun while Hill sobbed out his wrath and fought back.

  Chris saw Olivia go to Aiden, but couldn’t risk taking his concentration from Ryan Hill.

  When Olivia moved in behind Ryan, Chris almost ordered her away—until he saw what she was doing. She shot a hand into each of Ryan’s pants pockets. The man started, and Chris closed his hand over the gun.

  “Get off me,” Ryan yelled. “Get the bitch off me.”

  Olivia was into the guy’s pockets in earnest, and when her hands came up empty she instantly went for the back pocket.

  “Shit.” Ryan exploded. “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

  She jumped away from him and went to Aiden.

  “Damn you, Hill,” Aiden said. He got awkwardly to his feet, threw his arms over Hill’s head, and ground his cuffed wrists into the other man’s throat. His feet were free and Olivia danced around the edges of the action with the cuffs dangling from her fingers.

  Chris collected himself and took the gun from Hill’s flailing right hand. The guy gurgled and his face darkened.

  “You’re a really bad man, Mr. Hill,” Olivia said. “I can’t think of a single nice thing to say about you.”

  Aiden grinned.

  Chris said, “You’re killing him.”

  “What a pity,” Aiden told him.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Olivia said. “Really, it isn’t. You know how things can go. My friend Mark, who investigates crimes, talks about how criminals get away with murder but good people don’t.”

  “You’re right,” he told her. “But I think I’m prepared to take the risk.” He jerked the cuffs a little tighter.

  “Oh, dear,” Olivia said and from the corner of his eye, he saw her bend down beside Ryan.

  “Don’t touch me,” the man managed to sputter. “Stop it! Stop her. I’ll kick your teeth in, you bitch.” He tried to kick her, then screamed.

  “Stand still and let me do this,” she said. “I haven’t bitten anyone since I was a child. I only have Mummy’s word for it that I did then. But I’ll bite you again if you keep kicking.”

  “She’s fucking mad,” Ryan said, and he was crying. He screamed again and Aiden met Chris’s eyes.

  “She bit me again,” Ryan said.

  Chris stood ready to move in, but Olivia was busy snapping the available cuffs on Ryan Hill’s ankles. This done, she stood up and crossed her arms. “I think we should get away fast.”

  “Good idea,” Aiden said. “Let’s get these cuffs off my wrists.”

  “Hold Mr. Hill’s arms, please, Chris,” Olivia said. “Point one of those guns into his ear if necessary.”

  Aiden shouted with laughter. “You get us organized, honey,” he told her.

  Olivia was quick to transfer the cuffs from his wrists to Ryan’s.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if he didn’t shout?” she said.

  Aiden said, “Surely would, ma’am,” and threw the still struggling Hill over his shoulder to carry him into the bathroom.

  “I’m going to win,” he gasped. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Need my tie?” Chris called.

  “No, thanks,” Aiden said. “Check outside.”

  Chris did so. A blast of cold through the door felt great. There wasn’t anyone in sight. He closed the door again. “Still clear.”

  “Great. We’re out of here.”

  A glance into the bathroom showed Ryan Hill with the band of a red bra between his teeth and wrapped around his neck. The hooks and eyes were fastened at the front of his neck. The cups made passable blinkers. Aiden had tied the straps on top of the man’s head. “Courtesy of Mrs. Rupert Fish,” he said.

  Olivia’s laughter surprised Chris. He wouldn’t expect her to see the humor.

  Chris opened the door a crack. “Okay, all, stay close behind me.”

  “Even if three of us could ride the bike, four of us can’t,” Olivia said. “And we’ve got to get away from here with Boswell, haven’t we? Probably to that airport?”

  “You bet your boots,” he said.

  “Whoa,” Aiden said, sounding suddenly strong. “What about Bo’s Rover?”

  Chris looked over his shoulder at him. “The dead Rover, you mean? It’s in a cornfield where you left it. If we come through this, we’ll arrange to get it towed. Now we have to hope I haven’t forgotten how to hot wire.”

  “You haven’t,” Aiden said, “but you don’t need to. Ryan the control freak insisted on being the keeper of the keys.” He held up the objects in question and reached under the bed at the same time. “Keys to the castle—truck, that is. And I need my boots.” He tore off the spur.

  “I’ll be right back,” Chris said, and made a dash from the room to the Harley. He retrieved Olivia’s things from the saddlebags, remembered just in time to take Aiden’s phone with him, and ran back the way he’d come.

  Aiden, holding Olivia’s hand, went silently to get into Fats’s truck. Boss was shut into the back but promptly moved forward and shoved his head through
the window that opened into the cab.

  “You come up with the darndest things, Olivia,” Chris said, sliding behind the wheel. Even if he’d wanted to, Aiden’s wrists and ankles were in no condition to allow him to drive. “What would make you say those photos were in your luggage and in Seattle?”

  Her attention was only for Aiden. Vaguely she said, “I don’t like telling lies and I didn’t really. Not completely. Actually, I have one set of photos with me. The other set is in the bag that went to Seattle.”

  “Both sets were the same?” Aiden asked.

  “More or less. They were taken on consecutive days. Penny wasn’t sure I got everything just the way she wanted it the first time.”

  Chris didn’t trust himself to speak. Somewhere, presumably at Sea-Tac airport, stood a piece of luggage containing evidence people were willing to kill for. Now at least one of those people knew about it.

  “You should rest, Aiden,” Olivia said. “You’ve had such a hard time. Feel free to put your head on my shoulder.”

  “Thank you very much, I’ll do that,” Aiden said, sounding almost British himself. “I’ll do that. Some forces are too strong to fight, Chris. Get us to O’Hare.”

  Twenty

  Fats leaned on the trunk of the black Cadillac and took deep breaths. Of all the complete screw-ups. And now he was supposed to keep on mincing around like Ryan’s lap dog, doing whatever the master told him to do while the master stayed out of the line of fire. Balls to that. Ryan had shown just how smart he was—and wasn’t. Now it was time for someone else to take over, someone whose intelligence could be relied on. Ryan Hill couldn’t be cut out of the picture—that would be asking for more trouble—but he’d have to let Fats call the shots from now on.

  He opened the driver’s door and looked down into Rupert Fish’s face. God, he hated the man, and his bulbous purple nose, and his continual bickering with his buddy, Moody, who was as bad if not worse.

  “All change,” Fats said. “Give me the keys.”

  “I can’t do that,” Fish said. “I’m the only driver on the rental agreement. No one else is allowed—”

  “Move over,” Fats said, “or get out. The choice is yours.”

  “Do as he says, Rupert, dear,” Kitty said from the back seat, her voice dripping sympathy. “Mr. Lemon knows the road so much better.”

  Huffing, Fish did as he was told, drawing muttered complaints from Moody about being crowded. “Get in the back, then,” Fish said.

  “With her? I think not. You get in the back, Rupert. You’re the one who made the mistake of marrying her.”

  Fish stayed put in the middle and didn’t answer his partner. Fats got in and took the keys from him. “I don’t like talking when I’m driving,” he said. Mostly he didn’t want to have to answer the questions that were bound to come.

  “What was that phone call you got?” Moody asked.

  Fats ignored him and concentrated on finding his way back to the interstate.

  “I say,” Moody said when Fats settled in at a very fast but steady pace. “I say, Lemon, I asked you a question. You got a call in that execrable call and started rushing about. What was that all in aid of?”

  “We’re on our way to O’Hare. That’s the Chicago airport.”

  “We know that,” Moody said.

  “You know sweet frigging all,” Fats said. He was long overdue to be in charge. “Flynn’s going there. I know what his plans are and why.”

  “You said Flynn was under control. You said the photos would be in our hands before the night was out.”

  Fats felt Kitty’s hand on his shoulder. She smoothed his neck and played with his earlobe. Trying to calm him down, he guessed. Kitty was something. Maybe they could keep on having good times together. He was going to need her help, and he’d have to trust her.

  “We will have the photos,” Fats said. He twined the fingers of his left hand into Kitty’s and squeezed. “I know what has to be done.”

  When they got to the airport, they’d have to move fast and there couldn’t be any mistakes. Ryan had been right about one thing; it would be a disaster for Fish and Moody to arrive in Seattle in time to ruin everything by getting their hands on FitzDurham’s bag.

  “If you know where they’re going, why not say?” Moody asked.

  No harm in them knowing now since they’d have to find out soon. “Seattle.”

  “Where’s the FitzDurham woman, then?” Rupert said. “You said you separated that lot. Don’t know why when it’s dangerous to have her running around flapping her mouth.”

  “She’s not, goddammit,” Fats said, and instantly knew his mistake.

  Moody leaned forward to see past Fish. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting news. Where is she?”

  Rupert snickered, and wiggled in his seat. “She’s with him, isn’t she?” He elbowed Fats. “Isn’t she? Caught up, didn’t she? Rescued him from under your nose. And we’re supposed to take instructions from you? That’s rich, isn’t it, Winnie?”

  “Rich,” Moody agreed.

  This time Rupert burst into snorting laughter. “They took your car,” he blurted out, “didn’t they? What did you do, leave the keys in the ignition? Oh, rich, very rich.”

  “Next time you’ll know better than to leave a prisoner unattended, I hope,” Moody said. “Our photographs are with Olivia FitzDurham, and she’s about to slip away with them. We both know what could result from that.”

  “Only if she really caught what happened on film,” Rupert said, petulance personified. “We only heard her take photographs. We didn’t see what she was photographing. And if it was you know what, we don’t know she took a closeup that showed—”

  Thwap.

  Fats jumped and braked. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled. “What was that?”

  “One more word from you and you won’t live to be shot,” Moody said.

  Fats swerved onto the shoulder. “Want to repeat that?”

  Without a word, Fish grabbed Moody.

  Fats undid his seatbelt and hauled the guy off. “Are you nuts? We don’t have time to throw away. What’s this about shooting me, Moody?”

  “I was talking to Rupert, not you,” Moody said with hauteur. “I only tolerate him out of kindness. He comes from the scum of the earth. I taught him everything he knows, which isn’t much. I’m the brain.”

  “And I suppose he’s the brawn,” Fats said, feeling weary. He got on the road again.

  “If it weren’t for me,” Moody said, “he’d have spilled the beans about what’s in those photos ages ago.”

  Fats shook his head. Either he was in Never-Never Land or having a nightmare. He thought over the words that might fool Moody into saying more. “Good job he’s got you. Photographic evidence can be a killer. That one small thing the crooks never dreamed the cops would see.”

  “Exactly,” Moody said. “You’re an understanding man, Lemon.”

  “We should have been well away from Notting Hill,” Fish said. “You’re the one who got us late. And that’s what put us in the wrong place at the wrong—”

  Moody took him by the throat and said, “Shut up.”

  “Ah,” Fats said. “Don’t you worry about me hearing things, Winnie, I can be trusted.” Excitement raised his pulse. “Something was stolen, something worth a lot of money, and the woman caught some evidence on film that can incriminate you. Or she may have. That’s it, isn’t it? Happens.”

  There was absolute silence before Moody said, “That is not what happened in this case.”

  “I must say,” Fats commented, with feeling. “I must say I’m real hurt you don’t feel you can trust me after all the support I’ve given you.”

  “Oh, we do trust you,” Fish said. “Don’t we, Winnie?” Moody didn’t respond, but Fats didn’t need more drivel from Fish and Moody. He’d found out what they thought the pictures might show: evidence of a theft in a ritzy London house. And Fish and Moody would be implicated. Ryan had done a lot of talking abo
ut how much money they stood to make as long as the law didn’t get its hands on those shots, but he’d refused to explain why.

  Extortion had a potentially high profit margin.

  Now it was Fats’s turn to be in charge. Let Ryan stew, at least for as long as it took to get to Olivia FitzDurham’s luggage before she did.

  Olivia longed to put on some of her own clothes. She’d been into the washroom and done what she could with her appearance. The makeup was gone and she’d combed her hair through. With the new hat she’d bought at Wal-Mart—one of several—she felt more comfortable. But she still wore the frightful leather togs, including boots, and felt watched. The United gate for the Seattle-bound flight was crowded. They’d arrived at O’Hare when the next plane for their destination wasn’t due for over an hour.

  She sat down beside Aiden, who was slumped, legs outstretched, chin on chest, looking like death. His eyes were closed. He’d taken off the gray wig but made no attempt to remove either the tattoos or the profusion of silver jewelry.

  “Let him sleep,” Chris Talon said, arriving beside them. He’d been pacing back and forth across the concourse, always staring at the security point not far from the gate. He seemed more cross than tired. He picked up her carry-on bag and camera case. “Come with me.”

  Olivia got up again and followed him while he threaded a path through streams of passengers. He and Olivia dodged a motorized cart and stood near a row of seats with televisions attached. Every seat was taken by someone engrossed in a screen.

  “I just tried to call Sonnie,” Chris said. “She’s not there, which concerns me. I left a message explaining what I’d like her to do. I’ve told her to ask one of her friends to go with her to Sea-Tac to get your luggage. Now I want the damned plane to get here.”

  The anxiety in his eyes worried Olivia. It was her fault he hadn’t left for home when he’d intended to.

  “It’ll take time to retrieve our weapons at the other end,” Chris said. The guns had been checked and would be kept by the plane’s pilot. The police got to carry weapons on board, but only in the protective custody of the captain. “As soon as we land, you make a dash for baggage claim and go to the customer service desk. Just in case Sonnie doesn’t make it there first. Get that bag of yours and don’t let it go.”