About an hour after he'd left she was scraping coral with a dental tool from what might be a group of silver coins.
The telephone shrilled, and Camille said, "I'll get it. It could be Rogan. The Sea-Rogue should be in range of the phone system anytime now."
She came back, saying, "It's for you, Sienna. Aidan?"
Camille was right. And he sounded agitated, his voice low and hurried. "Sienna, I need you," he said. "Can you come to the hotel?"
"Why?"
"Something's happened." His voice rose briefly, then sank again to almost a whisper. "I need you. Please, Sienna. You've got to come."
"Aidan—"
"I can't explain on the phone," he said rapidly. "Sienna—I'm begging you, for Pixie's sake. And your friend Brodie's."
"Brodie?" Her voice sharpened. Was Brodie in trouble?
"Come now! And don't tell anyone."
The phone went down in her ear, and she lifted the receiver away, stared at it, then dialed the number of Brodie's shop. Engaged. Slowly she replaced the receiver.
"What's up?" Camille asked.
"He wants me to go to the hotel."
"Brodie said not to leave the house."
"I know what Brodie said!" His high-handed command still rankled, no matter how sensible it was. And now her anger was mixed with a renewed anxiety for him. "Aidan said something's wrong, and not to tell anyone."
Camille said, "You're not going?"
Sienna chewed her lip. "Aidan sounded so urgent."
"Phone the police."
She dialed the number of the police station, and got an answer machine advising her to dial 111 for an emergency, or the Whangarei office for other business. She didn't suppose this would be classed as an emergency, and Whangarei was over an hour's drive away. Besides, according to Brodie they already had officers in Mokohina waiting for someone to try taking the ring from him.
"There's no one there," she said, putting down the phone.
"Try the dive shop," Camille suggested.
"I did." But she tried again. The number was still engaged. Could Brodie have slipped away without his police protection, got himself into trouble somehow? He was so damned gung ho, thinking he could outwit a master criminal who already had blood on his hands. "Do you know his cell phone number?"
Camille shook her head.
Sienna decided. "I'm going."
"Sienna…"
She was already on her way to the bedroom, picking up a jacket, and as an afterthought her cell phone, dropping it into the jacket pocket.
Camille had followed her. "Sienna, do you really think you should? If anything happens to you—"
"It's broad daylight, and there are plenty of people around in the street and at the hotel. And I'm not the one in danger now. Brodie's wearing the ring."
"I'll come with you," Camille said.
"No. Keep trying to reach the dive shop. And if you get hold of Brodie or the police tell them where I am."
If Brodie was in danger because of her, she wasn't going to just sit around and do nothing.
Camille looked dubious. "All right. Be careful."
On her way to the door, Sienna paused at her workroom, then walked in and picked up a smallish brown bottle. She slipped it into the other pocket of her jacket, then hurried out to her car.
At the hotel she was sent straight up to Aidan's room. Before knocking she pulled out her phone and dialed the number of Brodie's house. Engaged. She hoped Camille had got hold of someone. She dropped the phone back into her pocket, knocked, and Aidan opened the door looking as if he'd had no sleep, hadn't even shaved this morning. He quickly pulled her inside, closing the door immediately and locking it.
"Sienna," he said, "I'm sorry."
So was she. Even before he turned away from the door she'd seen the man sitting at a table near the window, seeming completely at ease, one ankle propped on his other knee, a pair of almost colorless eyes, like a wintry morning, surveying her, and a quite small but lethal-looking silver gun held casually in his hand.
If she screamed, surely someone would hear. But would the man panic and try to shoot his way out of trouble? She'd be first in the line of fire, then Aidan.
Though the man didn't look the type to panic easily. He wore an open-necked gray shirt under a darker gray suit, very respectable-looking. A pair of wraparound sunglasses lay on the table beside him. His hair was brown, slicked back from a smooth, expressionless face that, except for the cold, light eyes, had nothing memorable about it. Mr. Average.
"Mr. Conran," she said.
She made to put her hands in her jacket pockets and he said quietly, "Don't move, sweetheart."
This was ridiculous. The hotel wasn't busy at this time of the year—the long corridor had been empty with several room doors wide open, showing the lack of occupants—but there must be people about.
"What do you want?" she said. There had to be a reason for him to have forced Aidan to summon her here.
"The pleasure of your company," he mocked. "Sit down." Indicating a chair at the other side of the small table. "I want you to do something for me."
"No," she said instantly.
Conran smiled. It made her inwardly shiver. "What a brave girl." His tone changing to a peremptory command, he raised the gun and said, "Sit down."
"If you fire that thing people will come running," she pointed out. "They'll call the police, and the armed offenders' squad will surround the place."
Conran's eyelids flickered in faint surprise. "They're miles away in Whangarei. By the time they got here I'd be long gone, believe me."
She supposed he had an escape plan ready. But it seemed he didn't know there was already a larger than usual police presence in Mokohina. She hoped they were armed. Anything she knew that he didn't might give her an edge.
Conran sighed and reached a hand into his jacket pocket, bringing out something that looked like a short length of pipe that he proceeded to attach to the barrel of the pistol. "Haven't you ever heard of a silencer?" he asked. "Miss Know-it-all. Now for the third time—and my patience is getting short—sit down!"
Her heart going into overdrive, she walked forward slowly and took the chair. Aidan, as if afraid to attract any attention to himself, stood rock-still where he was.
There was a telephone book on the table, open at the Yellow Pages, and a phone. Conran turned the book toward her.
She looked down and saw a half-page ad for Brodie's dive shop, with the number in large bold print.
"Phone your friend," Conran said, "and tell him you want him here." His perfect teeth showed in a crocodile smile. "Maybe he'll think he's in for a good time."
Sienna lifted her eyes from the page. "No."
He sighed again. "Don't be difficult, darling."
"I'm not your darling!" she flashed at him. "Or your sweetheart."
He leaned over the table and grabbed at her chin, his fingers cruelly digging into her cheeks. "You're anything I want you to be," he said, quite softly. "Anything, understand? As long as I hold this." He lifted the gun and pressed the end of the silencer against her forehead.
Sienna reminded herself that he wanted something from her. He wouldn't give up that easily, just shoot her and be done with it. She dared to lift a hand and push the gun aside. "Do you need that to make you feel like a real man?"
He released her chin and slapped her hard, making her ears ring, her skin sting fiercely. Aidan made a sound of protest and started forward, but Conran swung the gun in his direction and said, "Stay there!"
Aidan stopped, with a glance of hopeless apology at Sienna. She had to clench her hands to stop herself raising one to her smarting cheek.
"Phone him," Conran said, looking at Sienna again.
"No." She looked back at him defiantly.
For a moment disbelief brought a spark of humanity to his eyes, then unexpectedly he laughed almost tolerantly. He turned to Aidan. "You do it," he said, and got up from his chair, coming to stand behind Sienna. "Go on
."
Aidan approached hesitantly. Conran tugged at Sienna's hair, painfully, forcing her head back until her neck ached. "Dial," he said to Aidan. "Tell Stanner his girlfriend's here and wants to see him."
"He won't come," Sienna said, her voice strained. "I'm not his girlfriend."
"The phone's engaged," Aidan said.
Sienna hoped Camille had got through and was telling Brodie and the policeman where she'd gone. Conran swore and released her. "Try again," he ordered.
On the third try Aidan said, "Brodie Stanner? I have a—a message for you." He looked at Conran, his eyes dilated with fear. "Sienna's here—at the Imperial. She … she needs you. You'd better come."
There was a pause, and then Aidan said, "No, it's true—she's really here." He covered the receiver. "He wants to talk to her."
Sienna shook her head.
"Put the receiver near her," Conran said, and as Aidan held it to her, suddenly her arm was grabbed from behind and twisted viciously up her back. The pain was unexpected and agonizing, and she was unable to stifle a cry of protest. She heard the sound of Brodie's raised voice saying her name, and screamed, "No, Brodie!"
Then her head exploded and she thought, This is how it feels to die, before everything turned to blackness.
There were voices somewhere far away. They became louder. Her head hurt, and something trickled along her cheek. She seemed to be lying at an odd angle, with her head on a table. Right in front of her eyes she could see a telephone and an open telephone book.
She blinked. Brodie. One of the voices was Brodie's. "I'll track you down," he was saying in a voice like a tiger's snarl, "and make you pay for this."
Someone laughed, sending a shiver of fear down her spine. Danger—the man who'd laughed was dangerous. She blinked her eyes, willing herself to full, alert consciousness. Her brain felt woolly, but she lay still. Don't let him know you're awake.
He was a few feet away with his back to her. She could see Brodie now, and Aidan, both partially obscured by Conran. By the way he was standing Conran still held the gun. He'd laughed because obviously he intended to kill them all once he'd got the ring from Brodie. He thought Joe was dead, and knew that Brodie had taken the ring from Drummond's skeleton. Once they were both gone and he disposed of the ring there'd be nothing to connect him to Drummond's murder—unless someone could locate the skeleton again and identify it.
It must have made him anxious if he'd seen—or Aidan had told him—that Brodie was flaunting the ring in public.
Sienna and Aidan too were expendable—Aidan had failed in his mission but had been useful to lure her here as bait. Conran must have been desperate, to have taken over the job himself. And now they knew who he was, he'd have to get rid of all three of them.
Damn Brodie, with his determination to protect her—why hadn't he let the police do the job instead of riding in like Zorro to rescue her, putting himself in danger? Where were the police? How could they let him do this?
Her hands lay in her lap. Very slowly she began to move one to the pocket that held the brown bottle. Brodie was saying, "You've forgotten something."
"I don't think so," Conran answered. "Give me the ring."
Sienna's fingers closed on the bottle. Her head moved slightly and she shut her eyes momentarily against a blinding pain. Inch by inch she drew the bottle out of her pocket. Conran said, "Give me the bloody ring! How did you find it, anyway?"
"Luck," Brodie said. "Sheer dumb luck—the day yours ran out."
If she swiveled her eyes she could just see Brodie's face, his eyes fixed on Conran, lit with a deep, piercing rage. As if he'd felt her looking at him, he moved his gaze momentarily, and she saw a quickly doused flare of some emotion before his face closed down to a wooden mask and he wrenched the ring off his finger and handed it over. "And I found something else. Something that could put you in jail where you belong. The bullet."
There was a strangely still little silence before Conran spoke again. "What bullet?"
"The one you put into Drummond's head. It was still there when I found his bones."
"Joe never said anything about any bullet! You're making this up."
"Nope. Think about it. Did you see any exit wound when you dumped Drummond's body overboard? I'm telling you, the bullet was still in the skull. The police were very interested."
"No." Conran was shaking his head. "Why would you take it to the police?"
"Why wouldn't I? Unlike you, I have no reason to fear the law. I thought they'd like to know about a murder. And in fact—" Brodie's voice hardened "—this place is surrounded by armed police right now."
"Don't make me laugh."
"It's true. They're out there, just waiting for you to make a move. Give it up, Conran. If you hire a good lawyer you might get away with killing Drummond, but you'll never get away with shooting us. You've gotten too clever for your own good. Or too nervous."
After a moment Conran laughed. "Good try," he sneered. "You haven't had time to get the police here."
"Wrong. They've been here for hours. And at Rusden. If your threat to this guy's daughter ever was real, the cops there would all be ready to nab your hired thugs the minute they make a move."
"You told them…" Conran swung the gun toward Aidan, who stepped back, looking terrified. "You stupid—"
"It wasn't me!" he said.
Brodie cut in. "If you don't believe me, look out the window. They're probably all in position by now. But be careful you don't get shot by a police marksman."
This time the silence seemed to stretch forever.
Then Conran took a step back, and another. "Don't move a muscle," he warned.
He bumped against the table, and Sienna's stomach lurched. Her hand was on the screw cap of the bottle, very carefully removing it. She closed her eyes, then slitted them open.
Conran had moved to the other side of the table, backing against the wall beside the window. He still held the gun pointed at the two men. He turned his head, took a quick look. "I don't see anything. You're lying."
"Look again. I tell you, they're out there."
"You're bluffing. Wasting my time."
Sienna lifted her head, pushing back the chair, and hurled the contents of the bottle at his hand.
Chapter 15
« ^ »
There was a sound between a hiss and a pop, and a lightbulb shattered. Conran dropped the gun, emitting a spine-chilling howling sound as Brodie leaped toward him.
"Be careful!" Sienna screamed. "It's acid. Get him into the bathroom."
Someone was banging on the door, shouting, "Police! Open up!"
Brodie kicked the gun across the room, then grabbed Conran from behind by his good arm and pushed him toward the bathroom, telling Aidan, "Open the door and let the cops in."
Sienna darted ahead of Brodie and turned the shower on. She wanted to throw up or faint, but instead she helped Brodie get Conran into the stall, where he writhed and swore and moaned under the force of the water. His hand was raw and red, and there were holes burned in his clothing, small peeling spots on his face. "It was all I could think of," she said. "We'll need an ambulance."
Then two men in police uniform burst in, carrying guns at the ready. Another man wearing a floral shirt and jeans also had a gun. He looked at Brodie and said, "I could charge you with obstructing the police. I told you to stay out of it. You could have got yourself killed."
"You guys took your time," Brodie retorted. "What if he'd killed Sienna while you were getting your act together? You can take over now."
"I thought he had killed you," Brodie said, back at the house after lengthy police interviews and a visit to the hospital. "When I saw you lying there bleeding. Then your eyelashes moved a fraction. I've never been so relieved in all my life. And when you opened your eyes I was sweating in case you let on you'd woken up."
She'd been sweating too, at first simply thankful to see him, then sick with fear and anger that he'd put himself in danger for her sake. "Th
ank you for coming to the rescue. But you should have waited for the police."
Camille offered coffee, and he and Sienna both gratefully accepted. They sat side by side on the big sofa, and Camille seated herself opposite them. "What on earth happened?" She looked at the dressing on Sienna's forehead. "Are you all right?"
Sienna had a huge, throbbing bruise with a nasty little cut in the center where Conran had hit her with the butt of the gun. "I'll be fine. It didn't even need stitches." At the hospital they'd suggested keeping her overnight but she'd said firmly that she wanted to go home.
"What the hell were you doing there anyway?" Brodie demanded roughly. "I told you to stay put! I thought you were safe here."
"While you were happily playing sitting duck?" Sienna inquired.
"I had police protection!"
"Which you apparently evaded. That detective was livid."
"He was rabbiting on about backup, and I could hear you screaming at the other end of the phone."
"I did not scream," Sienna said. "At least, only to tell you not to come."
Brodie's expression was taut and murderous. "The bastard was hurting you. What the hell did you expect me to do?"
So he'd jumped into his four-wheel drive, roared off leaving his police protection behind, and once at the hotel hurtled up the stairs to Aidan's room. If Conran hadn't been waiting for him and made Aidan open up immediately, he'd have broken down the door.
He'd nearly died when he saw Sienna slumped at the table, her face deathly white and a pool of blood spreading under her head. The gun wouldn't have stopped him if he hadn't seen that faint flicker of her dark lashes and realized she was still breathing, and forced his mind into some kind of rational thinking, starting to consider ways of getting her out of there without further harm.
Conran had been smarter than Brodie had bargained for. Expecting to be held up at the shop, or that the crook would wait until after dark and make his move then, he'd missed the possibility of a more devious plan. The slimy scumbag had used Sienna to make sure of a private little killing party, with all his victims conveniently in one spot—a neatly devised trap.
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