A Perfect Stranger

by Ryan, Jenna

  His smile widened. “My grandmother bought me an Elvis suit, the white Las Vegas one, when I was five. She thought it was cute. I thought it was cool. My father thought it was possessed, but, hey, he’s sick.”

  He set his lighter down, removed an iPod and cell phone from his scrubs. When he saw her watching him, he did a pirouette—gun in hand, Darcy noticed, though right then she was more interested in the phone.

  “These aren’t mine,” he admitted, indicating the scrubs. “I had to borrow them so I could walk around without being noticed. I know the hospital, though. I started volunteering after I clocked the old lady. I figured you’d feel bad, seeing as you found her, and come to visit. Thought, hey, we could leave together.”

  His expression grew reptilian, chilling her blood. Madness, Darcy reflected, brought out the changeling element like nothing else.

  “But you always brought Marlowe with you. I’d have killed him if I could. I killed the other P.I. tonight, but it’s not the same. What was his name?”

  Darcy worked her way toward the table. “Ivan Kazarov. He used to be a hit man.”

  “No kidding?” His face brightened. “The old man hired a hit man to find me? Must have been desperate. Kazarov, huh? I never knew who he was, only that he was after me. Duh. Didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that one out. But you and Marlowe screwed him up good. Wherever you went, he went. You thought he was the one grabbing you, but really, it was me. He was just there, skulking. That’s called an ironic twist.”

  Picking up his iPod, he dropped it into a battery-operated dock and pressed Play. Elvis immediately poured from the speakers.

  “‘The Wonder Of You,’” Ethan intoned as he moved toward her, his eyes shining. “The wonder of us.”

  Darcy forced herself to breathe. She had to stay centered, talk to him, play along.

  She fanned her face. “It’s very hot up here, Ethan. Do you have anything cold to drink?”

  “Lemonade.”

  Thunder rolled through the foundation and up the walls. Darcy heard the joists creak, saw the candles flutter.

  “It’s over here,” he said. “In the red Thermos. No, the blue one. Red’s full of kerosene.”

  Darcy’s breath hitched. She masked it with a cough and a wave. “Dust. Old houses.”

  He picked up the Thermos, turned. “Are you sure you want me? You haven’t kissed me.”

  She moved to the end of the table and smiled. “I want to kiss you, Ethan, but well, actually, I’m a little shy.”

  “Were you shy with Marlowe?”

  “Sometimes. Most times.” Reaching behind her with one hand, she felt for the keypad on his cell phone. “I mean, he didn’t matter, so I’m not sure shyness was ever an issue.”

  Instead of diminishing, his suspicion deepened. “I saw you kiss him more than once.”

  She thanked God as her thumb raced over the buttons that the next rumble of thunder was a protracted one. “I kiss lots of people. It doesn’t mean anything.” She sent him a deliberately flirtatious look. “Most times.”

  He gaped for a minute. “Oh, yeah? Wow.”

  Pick up, she willed silently. Please pick up. She had to let Marlowe know where she was, what was happening. And then she had to pray he’d make it here in time.

  She accepted the lemonade Ethan handed her, and endured the light stroke of the gun barrel across her cheek. “I like your photos. They’re very…flattering.”

  “I know. Okay, let’s do it.” He used his body to urge her toward a velvet-covered mattress in the corner.

  Clamping down on her rising panic, she skimmed a finger over his jaw. “How did you happen to find Faldo Road?” she asked for—she hoped—Marlowe’s benefit.

  “It’s Aunt Hannah’s place.” His own answer seemed to surprise him. “Did you hear that?” He laughed. “I called her Aunt Hannah. I’m still living the role. Don’t you love it?”

  “She’s that kind of woman. Easy to know and like.”

  “Easy to dupe, you mean.” He grinned. “She got arrested tonight. Cops going round the block—probably on account of you—saw her and Hancock mashing down the flowers at the front of your house, and they went to check it out. Guess her ‘I’m the landlady’ spiel didn’t impress them. Hancock ran but she hung. Another squad car showed. It got really crazy, or so Uncle Eddie said. I didn’t see any of it—I was too busy following you, Darcy doll—but Eddie did. Must’ve happened between innings. Anyway, he said they took her away.” His eyes brightened. “So, do you wanna be on top or underneath?”

  Darcy managed, barely, not to recoil when he kissed her hair. Think, she ordered herself. Stall.

  “I, um…” Smiling, she set a hand on the wall. “I’m still feeling a little shy, Ethan. Tell me more while I work on that.”

  “More what?” He sounded impatient now, en route to angry.

  “The gifts,” she recalled suddenly. “You sent them, right? The dolls, the flowers, the jewelry? When I was in L.A.”

  The grin reappeared. “I sent you lots of things, but I liked the waterfall best. I saw it as you and me all twisted together, hot, then frozen in place forever. It is us, Darcy doll, or it will be. Hot and steamy now, streaking toward forever. It should have happened in Atlantic City. You were so pretty that night in your strapless dress and red shoes. So perfect.” His features clouded. “So sneaky. I was telling Elvis how really great it had all gone down. I was thanking him for helping me, and then I heard the door opening and when I came back into the room, you were gone. Did you get confused?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I did. I lost my bearings. Must have been the chloroform.”

  She knew he was watching her face so she smiled again and touched his cheek. “Chemicals are unpredictable things, Ethan. People react to them in different ways.”

  “So you weren’t running back to Marlowe like I thought?”

  A resounding bang from the lower level cut off Darcy’s response.

  “You here, Bert?” a voice shouted up the stairs. “It’s Ernie. I got the shipment. Uzis and Lugers, boxes of ’em. Been practicing with one of the new models. You could shoot the wings off a fly at fifty yards.” A disgusted snort reached them. “Aw, what’s this crap? You’re burning candles? When’d you turn into a girl? Maybe I need to shoot you, huh?”

  Darcy checked a desire to bolt. “He sounds big.”

  “Bert!” The name was a snap now.

  Her fingers curled into Ethan’s arm, but he twisted free, began blowing out candles. “Help me. No, wait!” He whipped his gun around. “I can shoot him first.”

  Darcy thought fast. “Dark’s better than light. Gives us the advantage.”

  “Yeah, dark’s good.” He used the gun to gesture. “You blow. I’ll watch the door.”

  She went straight for the candelabra on the table.

  She heard footsteps in the corridor. “Crissakes, Bert, you got flowers up here, too? What kind of sissy you turning into?”

  Instead of extinguishing the candles, Darcy grabbed the brass holder with both hands, and, using it like a bat, she brought it down hard on Ethan’s arm. He grunted and dropped the gun just as the door burst open and Marlowe flew inside.

  Two others might have followed. Darcy couldn’t be sure because Ethan had knocked her sideways, and now there was chaos everywhere.

  “No!” Ethan screamed, then snarled and dove into the corner.

  Someone shoved Darcy, but she spun around, caught hold of a T-shirt.

  “It’s me,” Marlowe said quietly.

  “I know.” She shook him. “He’s has kerosene. And a gun.”

  As if on cue, a bullet ricocheted off the table next to him.

  “Go.” Marlowe pushed her toward the door. “Backup’s coming.”

  “Backup’s here.” She recognized Val’s voice.

  Another shot glanced off the edge.

  “You tricked me,” Ethan cried.

  He fired off successive shots. Before anyone could move, the Thermos explod
ed. An enormous ball of flame erupted. Kerosene sprayed everywhere, and with it thousands of orange sparks.

  “Comet!” Marlowe caught the informant as he toppled into his arms.

  “He hit me in the shoulder. Stings,” Comet said through his teeth.

  Ethan fired two more shots.

  Marlowe pushed Darcy down with a hand on her shoulder. He held her there.

  Choking smoke filled the room. Marlowe’s fingers wrapped around her neck as he crouched. “Take Comet and get out of here.”

  He held her stare until she nodded. Then he kissed her and vanished. Not into the fire. She had to believe he wouldn’t go that far.

  Flames flowed across the floor like lava. They rose up the wall to the ceiling, swept along the rafters, then rolled back down.

  Smoke surrounded them, a noxious black cloud of it. She heard more shots—two, three, four of them. They seemed to come from every direction.

  Comet wheezed as she helped him stand. “Eyes are spotty,” he grunted. “Arm’s going numb. Which way’s out?”

  Darcy couldn’t see the hall. She could only go on memory.

  She heard someone yelp as another bullet whizzed past.

  “Val?” Darcy waved at the smoke. “Is that you? Are you all right?”

  A hand appeared as he hauled himself up. “He hit me.”

  She got Val around his waist, felt him sag against her.

  The fire spit embers at them as the flames crept closer.

  “Get out of here, Darcy,” Marlowe hissed in her ear.

  “I’m trying,” she said and, coughing, got Val’s arm around her. “Where’s Ethan?”

  “I lost him. Go. Stay ahead of me.”

  He took Val’s weight, left Comet to her.

  She couldn’t see any better in the hallway, but at least she could breathe.

  They were halfway down the wide staircase when a fresh round of bullets peppered them from above.

  Marlowe spun, crouched and fired back. Darcy reached for Val’s arm. Or started to.

  The movement happened so fast, it didn’t register. One minute, she was beside Val; the next, someone darted past, grabbing her and hauling her down the remaining stairs.

  She landed on something soft, but only for a moment. Ethan whipped his forearm around her throat and yanked her back against him.

  “Cat in the dark, Darcy doll.” He jammed his gun under her chin, cocked the hammer. “I’ve got three bullets left. One for you, one for me.” His voice quivered. He snatched the gun away, pointed it three steps up. “And one for your lover.”

  “Ethan, don’t.” She pried on his wrist. “He’s not—”

  “He is. The King told me to be suspicious in his song, but I ignored him.”

  “Let her go, Lyons.” Marlowe lowered his own gun.

  Ethan gave a bitter laugh, coughed at the smoke that was slinking down the staircase. “Well, okay, I’ll do that, then.” He raised his voice. “Either of you move, and loverboy here gets a bullet between the eyes. Oh, wait, he’s going to get one anyway. My mistake. Feel free to move.”

  Darcy couldn’t see Marlowe’s face. She couldn’t even see the staircase. But she knew Ethan could.

  “Don’t,” she said when his firing arm vibrated.

  “Shut up, Darcy doll. Your lover can send you a postcard from hell.”

  She didn’t know what else to do. Standing beside him, she couldn’t spike him, and if she went for his solar plexus he’d shoot. So she sucked in a breath, shouted at Marlowe and, twisting sideways, sank her teeth into Ethan’s wrist.

  He jerked and jumped backward, the gun firing as he did. The arm holding her tightened and he made a garbled sound. Then, as if his bones had dissolved, he slithered to the ground.

  Darcy freed herself before he could drag her down. She almost lost her balance, but Marlowe was there to steady her. He shielded her with his body—but not before a large portion of the ceiling detached and landed in a shower of sparks on the floor below.

  Everything had become surreal and Darcy couldn’t discern reality any longer. Around her she heard shouts and sirens and saw a dizzying array of lights. Their strobing tempo seemed to bring all the action to slow motion. Behind her she heard the roar of the fire and above her, the underlying growl of thunder. Clearing her eyes, she saw angry orange and blue flames and wicked zaps of lightning.

  Firefighters and rescue workers came and went. At one point, she saw Val tumble onto the lawn, followed by Comet. Then she noticed Ethan Lyons, strapped onto a gurney, jerking convulsively as consciousness returned.

  Five feet away, she saw Marlowe watching her while he talked to Val’s captain.

  It could have been an hour, it might have been five. The house was a raging inferno; then, in a snap, it was charred rubble. The storm moved on, leaving the smell of wet wood and eerie tendrils of black smoke in its wake.

  A gray car rolled to a halt at the curb while the firefighters were packing up their hoses. Darcy noticed it, but her focus remained on Marlowe as he walked toward her.

  She would have met him halfway if her legs hadn’t felt like straw. She leaned on the fire truck instead and hoped he’d get there before she collapsed.

  When he caught her hand and tugged, she summoned a weary smile. “I gather—”

  Whatever she’d been about to say died as his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that electrified every beleaguered nerve in her body.

  Nothing penetrated until he raised his head to stare down at her.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let the horror fade into the background and amusement stir. “You really know how to do that, don’t—”

  He cut her off again, this time with a gentler kiss that took her on a carousel ride of pure pleasure.

  “Excuse me.”

  A man’s voice slowly worked its way in. Darcy had an impression of authority combined with advanced age. Then she spied the man speaking and, fisting her hands in Marlowe’s hair, tugged.

  He looked frail, almost birdlike, sitting in his wheelchair. Neither smiling nor frowning, he waited patiently for their attention. Once he had it, his ice-blue eyes began to glitter.

  “Ms. Nolan, Mr. Marlowe, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Constantine Lyons.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Are you serious?” Darcy’s boss was elated. “You met the old man himself? Kiddo, Constantine Lyons is the Howard Hughes of the heavy-duty tool industry….”

  If only she knew, Marlowe reflected late the next day. That she probably never would was something he chose to let Darcy deal with alone. He had enough on his plate, juggling Val, Blydon, the Lyons’s new family lawyer and his own conflicted emotions.

  “He won’t serve a day in prison,” Val predicted as the last of Ethan Lyons’s belongings were bagged and tagged at the boardinghouse. “Old Conly and his pal, the California Supreme Court judge, will see to that. On the plus side, he won’t see the free light of day again, either.”

  “All kinds of prisons out there,” Marlowe remarked. “Long as he ends up in one of them.”

  “That’s awfully big of you, considering he tried to kill you and would have killed Darcy if you hadn’t shot him first.”

  “Murder, suicide.” Marlowe regarded the now locked door of room four. “That was the plan. Both of them dead. Together forever.”

  “You think the family can hush it up this time?”

  “Don’t know. It’s been done before—several times apparently—with Ethan, his brother and his father. Keep it in the family, no cops, no media, no fuss. In this case, only Lugo and his backup, Kazarov, were in the old man’s loop. The rest of the family was oblivious.”

  “To Ethan’s escape or his obsession?”

  “Both, if Constantine’s telling the truth. And at this point, he’s got no reason to lie.”

  “Yeah, well, money may talk, old friend, and certain legal eagles might listen, but this time around, there are two dead bodies and a certain newsmagazine editor who’s chom
ping at the bit to be the next Woodward or Bernstein. We also have a snitch with a hole in his shoulder—although that part’s more my fault than Lyons’s. I let Comet ride with me from the hospital. Man, I’ve never had an informant show me a tenth the loyalty that guy showed you. You should take him on as your assistant.”

  Marlowe gave a small laugh. “Maybe I will.”

  “And if you’re planning to expand, you might also consider taking on a junior partner, one whose AA meetings begin tonight.”

  Marlowe started down the stairs. “Sick of the cop life, Val?”

  “Sick of, not cut out for—take your pick. How’s Darcy doing? Last I saw, she had your landlady draped all over her, sobbing about an outraged husband, a missing tenant and a flip-flop she still can’t find. Whatever that means.”

  “It means she was having an affair with Hancock and using Darcy’s place for her low-rent rendezvous. Hannah didn’t quite make it out the first time. That was the night Darcy and I found her in a closet with a garrote.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Think dominatrix, and if you’re smart, don’t take it any further. The next problem occurred when she lost one of her trademark flip-flops. In Darcy’s house, she thought. It fell out of a bag, so she didn’t realize it was gone at first. Eventually, she sent Hancock back in to get it. When he couldn’t find it, he started searching the bushes. Darcy showed up, he hid, used the cat as a diversion and managed to slip away unnoticed. The third time, last night, it was the cops rather than Darcy who showed. She got caught, Hancock took off, and Eddie discovered the pitfalls of being a couch potato.”

  “The stuff that goes on in sleepy neighborhoods.” Val shook his head. “Not that this relates, but we found Hickey.”

  “Performing?”

  “Rehabbing. He checked into a private hospital in Queens while you were in Atlantic City.” His brows went up when Marlowe’s cell phone began playing Clapton’s “Beautiful Tonight.” “Well, hey, that’s a pleasant switch. Any particular blond-haired, blue-eyed reason?”

  He cast a meaningful look at Darcy, who’d apparently ditched both her landlady and editor and was currently leaning on the side of her car. Waiting for him, Marlowe hoped, though he was still too twisted up inside to think about where any of this might lead.