“Well, that’s what’s on the burned clothes.” He handed her the report. “And they were monogrammed, Darcy, with his full name.”
Her mind started clicking. “Take a left here.”
He did.
“You wouldn’t happen to have your old badge, would you?” He gestured to the glove box. She found it, and for a second ran her fingers over the gold shield. “Detective, huh? Would your sister like that you quit because of her?”
“No, she wouldn’t. You’d have liked her.” The sadness in his tone punched a hole in her heart.
“I know I would have.” She kissed his cheek.
“So what’s up your sleeve?”
“Use this to get in the gate.” She handed him the shield. “I’ll tell you where to go.”
Jack’s badge did the trick, and Darcy directed him to the Studio Eight warehouse. It was late afternoon, and shooting was done for the day except for night filming on other lots. The area was deserted. She climbed out and went to the warehouse door.
She cursed. “My lock picks are in my hotel.”
Jack nudged her out of the way and with his own, opened the lock. She looked at him. “I’m impressed.”
“Bounty hunting gives you certain advantages a cop doesn’t have.”
They opened the door, the seal popping loudly. Jack flicked on the light.
“You don’t care if we’re seen?”
“I’m calling the police as soon as we’re sure.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
“You’ve been right all along so far.” He winked at her, then gestured to the cylinders and barrels, the rolls of cord and cases. “You know what all this stuff is for?”
“Yeah. Some of it’s corrosive—acids, ammonia. But the HCHO is over there.” She pointed to the back. They moved together.
“God that stinks,” he said.
“I know. When I was in here before it made me sick, light-headed. I almost got caught. I wrote down all the chemicals stored in here, but with all that’s been going on, I didn’t have a chance to research all of them. HCHO was one of the chemicals listed, but I didn’t realize it was formaldehyde.”
She inspected the barrels, finding nothing untoward. “So what do we do, open them all?”
“Where is the one that leaked?”
She tried to remember where she’d stood, moving from her hiding spot then pretending to go back into the warehouse as she had for her bag. “Here, this one.”
Jack knelt, touching his fingers to the concrete floor then bringing them to his nose. “This is it.” He looked around. “We need a crowbar.”
“The chemicals aren’t opened in here, Jack, they’re taken to the sets. There won’t be one.”
He went to his car, coming back with the tire iron. He pried up the lid.
Darcy’s heart pounded, half of her hoping, and the other wishing that Porche Fairchild hadn’t paid with her life. The lid popped and Jack used the tire iron to swirl the liquid.
Nothing.
“Damn.”
He looked at the bases of the barrels. “We have to open them all.”
She crossed to a row of three and stilled, something catching her eye. She moved to the back where the cylinders were lined up like soldiers. She tried moving one.
“Help me move this.”
He came to her, straining to move the cylinder. “Why am I doing this?” he said.
“Look, can you see in there, between the cylinders? There’s something back there and it’s shorter.” She pointed upward to the tops of the cylinders. “And there’s a gap.”
“They aren’t lined up against the wall.”
“Yeah, but there’s so many, who’d notice?”
Jack moved another; it took a few minutes. They weighed in excess of a hundred pounds.
In the center of the CO2 cylinders, there was a barrel. Jack looked at her, then got the tire iron to pry up the lid. It didn’t pop like the others.
Darcy realized instantly that Maurice hadn’t done his research. Most of the chemicals in here were corrosive, or explosive. Except HCHO. He thought it would disintegrate the body, instead, it preserved it. The night she’d lured him here, he’d checked to be certain the container was still hidden, but had no way he could remove it. So here it had remained. If he’d known the components and put her in another barrel, she’d have had nothing to prove him a killer.
Darcy didn’t have to look close.
Jack didn’t have to stir the chemical.
Porche Fairchild was there.
Perfectly preserved.
So much so that even her hairstyle was still in place.
Jack lifted his gaze. “Now, we call the police.”
Darcy smiled. “I hope you have friends, because we could be charged with breaking and entering.”
It only took the police a few minutes to get there and suddenly it was chaos. Police, forensics, studio officials and chemical experts crowded the area. The barrel was removed with Porche still inside and taken to the crime lab. Darcy had answered several questions and met Agent Bale. She freely offered her DNA, her shoes and prints, but by the time that was done, the place was lit up like a premiere and there were people everywhere, working, or there to gawk. Jack, she noticed, was in detective mode, and Darcy backed away from the crowd, heading toward the gate. Jack was going to be mad, but she had to leave. Now. Maurice would be nailed to the wall in a couple of days.
But Charlie was still in danger now.
She couldn’t waste another moment.
Chapter 16
W ithout a moon, there were no shadows.
Beyond the occasional streetlight or headlights, it was a soot-black night. Perfect. Crouched in the dark on a property across the wide street, Darcy watched the estate. A couple of the staff departed, leaving one car in the driveway. Maurice’s BMW would be in the garage under a tarp.
She didn’t have much time. When Jack realized she was missing, the cavalry would come and there was no telling what Maurice would do. She had to get Charlie out first.
Darcy removed a small package from her pack before slipping it on her back. The cat suit was black, and she wore a vest over it, zipped to her throat, more for storing a few things than for warmth. She tucked the small package in a vest pocket, then rose to a crouch, ran across the street and ducked into the shadows.
She approached from the east, on a neighboring property, beyond the blind spot of the security cameras she remembered from when she’d left Maurice. She shined a penlight at the camera, counting off the seconds it took for it to pan the yard and return. From her pack, she pulled out a thermal blanket with a thick rubber backing. Getting past the electrified wires on the top of the stone wall wouldn’t be easy. But she was more worried about the dogs. They weren’t pets, they were attack dogs. If she wasn’t quick, she’d be ripped apart before she could get to Charlie.
She climbed the large tree beside the fence on the neighbor’s property. They didn’t have Maurice’s security paranoia, but she still had to avoid the sensors. She wished she could risk the strength of the tree limb and just move out to the edge, but if it cracked, they’d hear it for half a block. Like a lizard, she lay facedown on the branch, then scooted inch by inch out onto the limb, balancing herself with her ankles wrapped around the thick branch.
In one quick motion, she unrolled the blanket, throwing it toward the wall and letting it sail open todrape over electrical wires as thin as hair. Gripping the branch, she rolled off, dangling for a second before swinging her legs up and throwing her weight at the wall. She caught the edge, praying the blanket didn’t slip out from under her as she flung her leg over. Sitting on the ledge, she watched the cameras pan, then jumped.
Immediately she heard the dogs growling, the soft thump of their paws as they raced toward her. Quickly Darcy pulled the package from her vest, but in seconds she was cornered, the black Dobermans baring their teeth and barking.
She unwrapped the raw meat and stretched out he
r arm. One dog snapped at her.
“Easy, Hercules,” she whispered and the dog cocked its head. “Hello, Zeus, how’s it going, buddy?” Her voice was hushed, the meat hanging from her fingers. The growling was a low constant hum. Before she left Maurice she’d secretly fed the dogs so they’d obey her and wouldn’t bark when Rainy came to help her escape. She tossed the meat to the left near the wall, but the dogs didn’t go for it.
Now what?
Tugging off her glove, she extended her arm. The dogs growled, shiny fangs bright in the dark. Darcy didn’t think she’d ever been more afraid of being eaten. She let them sniff her.
One whimpered. One sat.
“Go on, eat.” They just stared, their growls low and steady. Then she remembered the commands, and motioned sharply to the meat and said, “Eat.”
The deadly black pair went for the food. Quickly, Darcy backed against the wall, blending into the dark, glancing down at the dogs. The drugged meat would put them out cold for at least a couple hours. Harmless drugs, but necessary. Pulling on her gloves, she moved swiftly along the perimeter toward the back patio where she was able to see a considerable part of the lower level through the great room. With the lights on inside, no one could see her.
She edged around the house, remembering when she’d selected the flowers and bushes, the curtains and furniture. Maurice had given her free rein and endless money to decorate. It had been a blanket covering the truth about her husband. There was always a price with Maurice. That was how he’d gotten Kel Adams to do what he wanted.
She slipped over the low retaining wall that cupped the back patio, her felt-and-rubber-bottomed shoes soundless. She heard music, Bach, and knew Maurice was near. She inched along the outer wall of the house, sliding up to each window and looking in. The floor plan in the house was etched in her mind, the way in, the way out. Darcy knew she had to find Charlie first.
The great room was empty, the low light spilling softly over the decor. It looked just as it had when she left. Nothing had been changed. Even her wedding picture still hung over the mantel.
A shadow flickered, and Darcy’s gaze shot to the walls, then to her surroundings. It moved again and her gaze zeroed in on the lower guest-bathroom window to her left. Darcy rushed to it, peering.
Oh, crap. Her mother!
What the hell was she doing here? First instinct was that her mother was in on this. She still hadn’t forgiven Delores for not helping her when she needed her mother’s understanding the most. But Darcy wasn’t leaving her mom behind. And if she was drunk? Getting to Charlie was one thing—getting her mother out as well was another.
Darcy watched Delores fill a glass of water and leave the bathroom. Quickly she moved to the next window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Charlie on the bed, motionless. Delores held his head, tipping the glass to his lips.
Charlie was pale as a sheet and not moving. Damn you, Maurice!
She squatted to rethink the plan. If Charlie was drugged, then he’d be tough to carry out of the house with any speed. And her mother—drunk? Or not?
The dull rumble of voices pierced the quiet, and she hurried along the length of the house. There was a long breezeway leading from the house to the garage with doors to the side lot where the servants parked.
Strapping on her NVGs Darcy shifted around the bushes and leaped the north patio wall to see who was leaving for the night. Two women hurried down the glass corridor, one glancing back at the house. When the first woman stopped, the other grabbed her, shaking her head.
They knew and did nothing.
Darcy moved along the west side of the breezeway, then around the garage to the east side. One woman punched in the lock code. Darcy inched closer. She ought to knock one out and take a uniform, but the maids usually lived in the house. Which meant Maurice had sent them home for a reason.
One woman stepped out, then the second. Darcy slipped up behind them and caught the door, darting past. It closed without her being noticed. The lock clicked shut, the alarm light turning from green to red.
Inside the breezeway, she stored the NVGs in the pack then moved down the hall toward the main house. Outside the kitchen door, Darcy concealed a couple of her knives. The gun was a last resort, in a holster under her left arm and hidden by the vest.
She opened the door slowly, her gaze shooting around the kitchen. To the left was the dining room, to the right and beyond the separating wall was the foyer and stairs leading to the second floor. She hoped her mother and Charlie stayed on the lower level. If they didn’t, she’d have a tough time getting upstairs then back down.
Part of her needed to confront Maurice, but her maternal instincts wanted her son out as safely and silently as possible.
She stepped inside.
She moved through the kitchen, alert to sounds. She needed to locate Maurice first and suspected he’d be in his office to the left of the foyer, next to the library. Music still played, muffling any sound she’d make. She followed it, then realized it was over the in-house speaker system. Where was he then?
She moved through the house, to the foyer where she’d landed when he’d pushed her down the stairs, then beyond. The door to the library was open, but the room was empty. The door to his office was closed. Keeping back so she didn’t cast a shadow on the floor in front of the door, Darcy listened. She was nearly certain Maurice wasn’t in there till a chair squeaked. She darted back, flat against the wall. His high-backed oxblood leather chair, which looked like a throne, had always made that sound. Retracing her steps, she passed through the kitchen, crossed the dining room and into the back hall.
Her mother was talking to Charlie, but her son wasn’t responding. Darcy checked the unopened doors before slipping into the guest room.
She reached her mother just as Charlie opened his eyes. “Mom!”
Her mother turned, and Darcy covered their mouths, hushing them with a warning look.
Her mother just stared at her, her gaze moving over the cat suit, the knives. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Darcy glared at her mother to be quiet as she scooped up her child, hugging him tightly. She checked him for injuries, noticing his pupils were dilated, then motioned for him to stay quiet. Darcy pulled out her cell, hitting send, and she let the call ring once, then cut the line. Her own cavalry would come now. She took a step. Her mother stood there, immobile. Darcy inclined her head for Delores to follow.
Down the hall and into the dining room, Darcy made a decision to take the shortest distance and headed toward the great room. If she could get out without Maurice knowing, she’d consider it a miracle. But she couldn’t shut off the alarms. Maurice was paranoid about security and changed the codes all the time. Even if she tried the breezeway doors, the floodlights would come on, and every window and door would lock down. It was how he kept her trapped in here.
They edged the room, behind the sofas and tables to the French doors leading to the back patio deck. Darcy set Charlie down to cut the sensor wires in the glass door.
“Well, aren’t you the clever girl.”
Darcy whipped around.
Maurice was standing on the far side of the great room near the Roman columns, a cocktail in his hand. He smiled and a chill rippled all the way down her spine.
“Hello, my love.” He looked her over thoroughly, walking closer. “You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”
Her lips thinned. She put herself between Maurice and her family.
“You were stupid to even try this, you know that, don’t you?”
He spoke to her the way he had four years ago, reasonable, as if making him mad over something trivial was her fault, as if the threats to her life were her doing. It just pissed her off more.
“Bite me, Maurice.”
“Interesting proposition, but my tastes have changed.”
“You have taste?”
His expression sharpened and he tsked. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Darcy.” He set the glass dow
n and shrugged his jacket into place. It set off a warning in Darcy. He always did that before he hit her, before he pushed her down the stairs.
Maurice moved closer, eyeing her. “I like the longer blond hair better. That reddish mess doesn’t suit you.”
She said nothing.
“And what do you think you are, dressed like that?”
He moved closer and she advanced, not about to let him near the only exit and her child.
The dignified act slid away and he lunged for her. Darcy tipped her body, her foot shooting out and hitting Maurice in the chest. He flew backward, banging into a delicate table, sending the lamp and knickknacks across the floor.
Maurice gasped for air, clutching the table ledge, glaring at her. “You deserve a beating for that, bitch.”
He came at her and Darcy struck first, one to the face, a second to his stomach. But Maurice was fit and took the brunt of it easily, locking his arm around her throat. She went loose, sliding down and twisting. He tightened his grip, held her back against him.
“Fighting me just makes it all the more interesting,” he growled in her ear. “Now what, my love?” He jerked tighter, cutting off her air.
She answered in successive moves. She threw her head back into his nose, drove her elbow into his stomach, then snapped her fist down to slam into his groin.
He grunted each time, howling with the last. She shoved him away, turned, fist primed. He was folding to the floor.
Charlie moved.
“No!” she shouted.
Maurice surged and grabbed Charlie’s leg. Darcy went after him till he pulled a tazer from his pocket. He held it crackling near her son’s skin.
Darcy froze. “Don’t, Maurice.”
“Give up then.”
She said nothing, trying to ignore the fear in her son’s eyes.
Maurice gave the tazer a jolt, blue current sparking. “This is supposed to take down a two-hundred-pound man, what will it do to a child?”
Alias Page 18