by DV Berkom
“He was a loose end,” Angie snapped. “I told you I would do whatever was necessary to keep this plan moving forward. Luke, get the knife and give it to me.” Moving slowly, Luke did as he was told. His hand shook as he gave it to her. She slid the knife into her coat pocket and turned her attention to Dobson. “Now where the fuck is the Picasso?”
Dobson’s poker face barely cracked. The only indication of fear were the beads of sweat rolling down his face and the stains at his armpits.
His gaze flickered, landing on Amelia. “Amelia. What—”
“Don’t say another word,” Amelia said. She visibly stiffened and glared at him.
“Look, if this is about vacation time—”
“Fuck you.” Amelia advanced, her fists clenched tight. “This was never about vacation days. This is about you sitting on your flabby white ass while the people around you work themselves to death trying to keep their jobs.” She took another step closer, her breath coming in explosive bursts.
“This is about you not giving a shit who your mistakes hurt, just as long as you can have your precious art, and your expensive wines, and your—”
A knowing look filled Dobson’s eyes. “You’re jealous,” he mused. “And you feel entitled. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Amelia frowned. “What? No.”
“Fucking Millennials. Always thinking they’re entitled to everything. Well, I’ve got news for you. You have to work for shit. Get it? It isn’t just going to drop out of the sky and fall into your waiting arms.” He snorted. “And sure as hell nobody’s going to give it to you just because you think you deserve it. Special little snowflake, my ass. I worked hard for this house, the art. My wine. And here you are, Miss Crybaby, upset because your life hasn’t turned out like you planned. Waah.” Dobson screwed his face into a pitiful rendition of a baby squalling.
“You’re one to talk. You didn’t work hard for any of this.” Amelia gestured at the surroundings, her voice ratcheting up a notch. “You fucked people to get your money, that’s what you did.”
Dobson’s face turned crimson. “And you’re not doing that now? The woman with the gun over there just asked me where the Picasso was. Isn’t that why you let these criminals in?”
“I didn’t let them in. But I did make a deal with her.” She nodded at Angie. “For my life. I’m not taking the painting.”
Angie raised her gun and aimed it at Dobson.
“No, darlin’. I’m the one who’s gonna take the paintin’ just as soon as you tell me where it is.”
Dobson leaned back in his chair, apparently too arrogant to be afraid. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Did he think Angie wouldn’t kill him? Darwin was just the appetizer, as far as she was concerned.
“Fine.” Angie pointed the gun at his foot and fired. Dobson’s screams filled the room as he rocked back in his chair. With everyone’s attention on Dobson, it was now or never. I reached for my pistol.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” She turned her head and smiled sweetly at me. “Someone taught me that little maneuver a few years back.”
I froze, my hand halfway to the gun.
Angie refocused her attention on Dobson, who was now gripping the arms of the chair and hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut to block out the pain. I let my arm drop to my side.
There’d be another opportunity.
There had to be.
“Now where’s the Picasso?”
Breathing hard, Dobson opened his eyes and stared down at his bloody foot, pain and alarm obvious on his face. “I’m bleeding. Sweet Jesus, I’m bleeding.” His voice was one beat shy of hysterics.
Angie’s look of distaste brought him up short.
“My goodness. Men surely are sissified in this part of the country.” She took a deep breath and let it go with a quick glance at the ceiling as though some supreme deity would suddenly appear from the heavens and rescue her from this unmanly place. She refocused and aimed at his other foot. “Where. Is. The. Picasso.”
Dobson winced in anticipation of the bullet. His voice cracking, the words came out in a jumble. “A secret door in the guest bedroom. Use the keypad on the thermostat. Five-two-three-four.”
A smile curved Angie’s lips. “Perfect.” She glanced at Amelia. “Sugar, would you mind goin’ and tryin’ to access his li’l hidin’ place?”
Without looking at Dobson, Amelia nodded and walked out of the room.
Angie waggled the gun barrel for emphasis. “We’ll just wait here until Miss Amelia gets back. Luke, would you be a doll and make sure she actually does what I asked?”
Luke turned from staring at Dobson’s bloody foot and focused on Angie. His eyes were glazed, like he was in shock.
“Be quick now, hon.”
The look on his face told me he knew enough not to argue. He started for the door.
Still holding Darwin’s head in her lap, Eve glared at Angie, mistrust in her eyes.
“You don’t have to do what she says, Luke.”
The corners of Angie’s mouth twitched in an apparent attempt at suppressing a smile. “Oh, now darlin’, I do believe he does.” She jiggled the gun. “What is it they say? He, or she, as the case may be, who holds the gun, holds the power.”
Eve glanced at Luke. He paused for a moment, but then walked out the door.
When Luke had gone, Angie moved further back against the dresser so she had a full view of the room and everyone in it. Keeping her eyes on us, she grabbed the cell phone off the tripod and slid it into her pocket. My mind raced for a way to either disarm Angie or put her out of commission, but another opportunity didn’t present itself. Her sharp gaze roamed the space, flitting from Dobson to Eve to me and back again. I wasn’t certain of her plans, but I didn’t want to give her another reason to kill me.
I had a feeling I knew what she was going to do, and that feeling wasn’t good.
Everyone there was a witness to the art theft, not to mention Darwin’s murder. No way would she allow nonessential personnel to survive. I calculated how many of us she’d need to get the paintings off the island and came up with one.
Luke.
Once the frames had been discarded, two people could easily carry the canvases to the inflatable and then transfer them to the cabin cruiser. With his knowledge of the boat and the waterways, Luke was all she’d need to get back to Seattle.
That meant the rest of us were expendable. Eve, Amelia, Kitten, myself, and Lady D were all in danger. There had to be a way to let everyone know. But how?
It was then I realized I hadn’t heard from Kitten in a while. I checked my radio. The battery was still charged. Why didn’t she say something when Angie shot Darwin? Was she aware of Angie’s plans? Part of the deal?
I tried to catch Eve’s eye, but Angie noticed and turned her attention on me.
“You doin’ all right there, darlin’?”
“Jus’ fine, honey child,” I replied, smiling at the way my mocking tone pissed her off.
“Then why don’t you just hand over the li’l ol’ gun you have in that shoulder holster, hmm?”
“The what?” My heart sank into my stomach. I’d blown my only chance. She knew I’d been reaching for my gun.
“The gun.” She wiggled the fingers of one hand while aiming the .45 at me with the other. “Now.”
Reluctantly, I reached for my weapon. Fantasies of getting off a shot before she could respond warred with reality. There was no way I could out-shoot her. Especially since she was right there and in position.
I handed her my gun. “Did you expect me to be unarmed?”
“Of course not.” She slid the Beretta into her coat pocket. “I’d have been disappointed if you weren’t.”
“Then why take it? I thought we were in this together.”
She was about to reply when Amelia and Luke walked back into the room. Amelia’s eyes were wide with excitement and her cheeks were flushed.
“We found it,” she said breath
lessly. “The Picasso’s there.”
“Yeah, along with about thirty other paintings,” Luke added.
A slow smile spread across Angie’s face. “Well, that’s just swell, isn’t it?” She turned to Dobson. “Looks like it’s your lucky day.”
Dobson grimaced at his foot and then looked at Angie. “What do you mean? You put a fucking bullet in my foot.”
“I’m not gonna torture you, hon.” Angie raised her gun and shot him. Twice. Two perfectly placed rounds in the center of his chest. Dobson slumped forward.
Damn. Two down. Five to go. She was systematically picking off anyone who had no value to her. Dobson had outlived his usefulness now that she knew where she could find the prize she sought.
Where was Kitten?
I wasn’t sure how long Angie had been absent from the room when Eve was interrogating Dobson. Kitten had outlived her usefulness as soon as Dobson had entered the house and she’d restarted the video feed. Had she killed her, too?
Angie wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Lady D’s death was likely once Angie and Luke were on board the Olympic Dream. That left Eve, Amelia, and me.
Instead of seeking revenge as a vigilante group, by the end of this evening we’d all be dead.
Luke would just live a few hours longer.
Amelia started forward, but then stopped. “You—you…” She sank to her knees at the sight of her now-dead employer.
Angie looked expectantly at Amelia, waiting for her to continue. “I what? Promised not to kill him?” She shrugged. “Well, golly, I guess I lied, then, didn’t I?” She shook her hair back and gestured for her to get up. “Time’s a wastin’. We really do need to move this li’l operation along.”
By the look on Amelia’s face, the same realization I’d had was dawning on her—that she’d essentially made a deal with the devil. Would Angie make good on any arrangement she made with her? Knowing the assassin’s track record, it was highly doubtful, and Amelia was obviously just now figuring that out. She slowly climbed to her feet. Luke remained in the background, uncertainty obvious in his eyes. Angie gave Eve a sharp look.
“You too, darlin’.”
Eve gently laid Darwin’s head on the floor. With one last look at her dead friend, she stood, a wary look in her eyes. Dark blood from Darwin’s gunshot wound soaked her pants.
“Come along, now. Let’s all go see this secret room, shall we?”
Thirty-Three
WITH LUKE IN the lead and Angie at the rear, the five of us filed out of the master bedroom and down the hall to the room where Amelia had been. The television was still on, although there was no sound. The headphones lay forgotten on the bedspread.
A narrow opening in the wall next to the closet revealed a set of stairs leading to a lower level. At Angie’s prompting, we descended into a large room lit by strategically placed track lights. A large river rock fireplace with gas logs took up a portion of one wall. Two leather wingback chairs with side tables flanked the fireplace, positioned to get the maximum view of the artwork. The room temperature was cool, telling me that no one had been down here for a while.
There were at least thirty paintings on the walls, each with a spotlight aimed at it, perfectly illuminating the modern masterpieces. I recognized the signatures of artists from an art history class I’d taken. The thought that after tonight I would never get to see another painting flashed through my mind.
Angie let out a low whistle as she perused the art. Her eyes bright, she turned to Amelia. “And you’re absolutely certain these aren’t forgeries?”
“Mick wouldn’t have allowed it,” Amelia said woodenly. Judging by her expression, she was in shock.
“Excellent. Luke, you take them down, and Amelia will bring them here.” She walked over to the far corner of the room, beckoning us to join her. “Eve, you and Kate remove the canvases and put them in a pile here on the floor. Carefully, of course.”
As Eve and I waited for the first of the paintings, I systematically went through my options. Angie had her gun, my gun, and a knife, which put the rest of us at an obvious disadvantage. Escaping up the stairs wouldn’t work. Angie would shoot anyone attempting to escape, and then probably shoot whoever else she didn’t ultimately need. Right now it was convenient to have us do the drudge work.
Which meant there wasn’t much time.
There weren’t any windows or a back door, leaving the stairs as the only way out. I’d have to create a diversion so that Angie would be focused on something other than me or the stairs.
When Luke had a hard time removing a large de Kooning, Angie took off her jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs and went to help. The hilt of Darwin’s knife poked out from one of the pockets.
“You know Angie only needs Luke to get off this island, right?” I whispered to Eve, making sure Angie couldn’t hear our conversation.
She nodded. “What can we do?” she mouthed. “No gun.”
I nodded toward Angie’s coat and the knife. Eve shook her head. “Too risky.”
Amelia picked up a midsize painting and started toward us.
“We need a distraction. Think we can trust Amelia?”
Eve glanced at Angie, who was helping Luke lower the painting to the floor.
“Maybe.”
Amelia leaned the painting she was carrying against a nearby wall and turned to go back for the de Kooning when I touched her arm.
She hesitated a moment.
In a low voice I said, “We need you to distract Angie.”
Without turning she gave a quick nod and walked back to where Angie and Luke had successfully lowered the larger painting to the floor. I kept an eye on the three of them, waiting for her to do something as Eve and I worked on the canvas.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Amelia had almost made it to where Angie and Luke were standing when she tripped and fell. Her arms flailed as she grabbed for something to steady herself. That something was the de Kooning. Both she and the priceless painting crashed to the floor. Angie’s cry of horror and subsequent leap forward to try to save the painting was my cue to move. With Angie’s back to me, I quickly crossed the room to the fireplace, searching the firebox for the gas valve. A flat metal handle jutted out from the ceramic logs on the right side. I didn’t see the telltale flame of a pilot light, which I assumed was powered by a wall thermostat. I grabbed hold of the valve and twisted it wide open. The stench of garlic-laced propane hit me and began to fill the room.
I glanced at Angie who was inspecting the de Kooning for damage, and started back to join Eve. Angie’s coat lay enticingly close, but I didn’t dare take the time to grab the knife.
Good thing I didn’t.
“What are you doing, Kate, honey?”
I froze, halfway across the room, heart pounding in my chest.
“I—I thought you might need help, but I see now that you’ve got it under control.” I continued back to my spot next to Eve and turned to look at her. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion and cut a glance to her coat, then my hands. Unaware that I’d been clenching my fists, I flexed my fingers to show her I wasn’t carrying anything. She frowned but appeared to let it slide. Relieved, I knelt to help Eve remove the backing of the painting she was working on.
“Whatever you do, don’t turn on or off any lights, and be ready to move,” I murmured. Eve nodded and we bent to our task.
A short time later, Angie stopped what she was doing, lifted her head, and sniffed the air.
“What the hell—?”
I did the same and was rewarded with the distinct odor of garlic-scented propane. The gas, at first heavier than the available oxygen, had filled the room and was now obvious. Angie’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as she searched the room, her gaze landing on the fireplace.
“Shit.” Her face a mask of cold fury, she started for the stairs. “Grab as many paintings as you can,” she snapped at Luke. She elbowed her way past Amelia, who dropped the artwork
she’d been holding. Angie whirled on her, pulling out her .45. Amelia shrank back at the sight of the semiauto.
“Don’t shoot!” I was on my feet in a flash, holding my hands out in an attempt to stop her from discharging her gun. “One shot and the room blows,” I said as I edged closer to the stairway. Eve followed my lead.
Angie gave me a look that could freeze a nuclear blast. “Well, isn’t that just dandy?” She turned back to Amelia. “Looks like you get to live a few more minutes.” She pushed Amelia backward onto the floor, then grabbed her coat off the chair and shoved her gun into Luke’s back.
“You first,” she said. His face pale, Luke started toward the exit.
I’d almost made it to the top of the steps. Eve raced past me and through the door as I turned to block Angie and Luke’s way, my hand on the light switch. Angie scowled but paused on the stair, the .45 aimed at Luke’s head.
“Give me the gun, Angie.”
“What are you going to do? If I don’t pass, then neither does Luke or Amelia. You don’t want to be responsible for their deaths, do you?”
“Give. Me. The. Gun,” I repeated, and held out my hand.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll flip the light switch and blow the room.”
She gave me a look that said either she didn’t believe I’d go through with it, or she didn’t think flipping the switch would work.
I wasn’t exactly sure, either. In theory, the sparks from the contacts in the light switch could set off the propane now filling the stairwell. Hell, sparks from the static cling of a polyester shirt had been known to set it off. All I needed was for her to think there might be a possibility that the spark from the contacts in the switch would be enough to ignite the propane.
“Now, Kate. After all the time we spent together don’t you think I know you? You’d rather die than be responsible for ending an innocent life. Last time I checked,” she nodded at Luke and then at Amelia, who stood on the stairs behind her, “these two didn’t do anything wrong, other than being accessories to a little breaking and entering.”
When I didn’t respond, she turned as though to look behind her and then swung back with the coat in her hand. I punched at the fabric as Angie shoved Luke away from her and into me. I lost my balance, and Luke and I landed hard on the stairs. Luke rolled off of me just as Angie reared back, her leg raised for a kick, but I moved in time and she hit air. I grabbed her ankle and gave her foot a fierce twist.