by Rebecca York
Ariadne stirred. “Shush, little one,” he murmured, and she nestled more snugly against him.
She’d tried to stay awake for him, but she’d been exhausted. She’d fallen asleep after she’d made him tell her the ancient myth of Ariadne—how she’d helped Theseus and married Dionysus. He gathered from the way she prompted him that she already knew the story by heart. But he’d enjoyed sharing it with her.
He wanted to keep holding her, but he couldn’t afford that luxury. Time was slipping through his fingers.
“Irena, can you take her?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Shifting on the cot, he laid the child in her lap. Then he stood and stretched his cramped muscles before pacing across the ten-foot length of the cell.
The woman moved the sleeping girl so that Ariadne lay with her head in her lap and her legs on the rough wool blanket Agnapopolis had provided. She looked down at his daughter. “What is he going to do with us?” she asked.
“He’s going to let you and Ariadne go,” Zeke said. “He was only using you to get to me.”
“If he’s going to let us go, why hasn’t he done it yet?”
Zeke shrugged and turned away, so that she couldn’t see his face in the dim light from the lantern sitting on the floor in the corner. He wanted with every fiber of his being to believe Agnapopolis would set the woman and child free, now that they’d served his purpose. Yet his short interview with the man revealed he was dealing with someone ruthless. What if Agnapopolis planned to kill them first and make him watch? He shuddered, wishing he could dismiss that possibility. Once more, he silently thanked God that Elizabeth wasn’t with him in this prison.
It took a few moments to compose himself. When he was sure he could speak without his voice cracking, he tried to sound coolly practical. “What do you know about Agnapopolis?” he asked.
He heard Irena swallow. “I thought he was a good man,” she whispered. “He said he wanted to help me, and I believed him. He can be kind,” she added with regret in her voice. “I thought he cared for me. And I—I was hoping…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
Yet Zeke heard the yearning in her voice. My God, it sounded like she’d fallen in love with the bastard. Too bad for her.
“He offered you a place to stay?” he asked.
“Yes. He said my parents had done him a service long ago, and now he wanted to repay them by helping me.” She gestured helplessly. “I wanted so much to believe him. Now look what has happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” Zeke whispered, wishing he could make things right for her. She was a good woman, who had been trying to do what she thought was best. She’d put herself in grave danger, the moment she’d run away with Ariadne. “Don’t blame yourself. I’ll always be grateful to you.”
She wrapped her arms more tightly around the little girl. “You came all this way to get her. I knew you would come.”
He nodded, struggling to breathe around the lump wedged in his chest. She had more faith in him then he’d had in himself. Unfortunately, he could see now that he’d never had a chance of success. Agnapopolis had planned things too carefully, marshaled too many resources. Even when the man had lost control of the situation, he’d had the determination and the capacity to recover.
Before Irena could see the anguish on his face, Zeke stooped and picked up the lantern, holding it high so he could examine the walls and ceiling of the cell. They were cement, probably very thick cement, since they formed part of the support structure of the house. When he wrapped his knuckles against them in several places, they seemed quite solid. He wasn’t going to get through them in this century with anything less than plastic explosives. Even if he’d had explosives, he could hardly use them in such close confinement. Stepping toward the door, he examined the planks. They were also thick, but perhaps penetrable—if he had a couple of weeks to work on them. The metal hinges were large, with no rust, no corrosion. And the bolts that held them in place were—
He stopped short, afraid to let himself think there was a chance to get away. Yet he hadn’t been mistaken. The top bolt on the uppermost hinge was a little loose. If he could work it free, he might be able to remove the door.
“I’ve found something,” he whispered, turning back toward Irena.
“What?”
“I want to try and remove this hinge.” He felt in his pockets. Agnapopolis had taken anything that might be useful…his coins, his pen knife, even his belt. “Do you have anything I can use on this?”
“What?”
“Something metal.”
She looked blank for a moment, then reached under her scarf and produced a black hairpin. He took it in his hand, feeling the softness. It wasn’t much to work with, but it was going to have to serve.
Quickly he began to twist at the bolt. From somewhere above him in the house came an ominous thumping sound. He froze and heard Irena draw in a sharp breath. The sound was followed by what appeared to be a shout.
Irena’s eyes grew round. “What was that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
Turning back to the door, he began to work at the bolt with increased speed, fighting the ominous feeling that he was already out of time.
IT WAS A LONG WALK through the hills, as they worked their way cautiously upward toward the villa—particularly since Elizabeth and Sophia had to keep stopping, to avoid contact with other people.
The whole time, Sophia kept up a running monologue about how unfair life had been to her. Elizabeth supposed the woman was fighting a bad case of nerves, yet she couldn’t imagine revealing so much to a total stranger. To hear her tell it, Zeke was the only good thing that had ever happened to her. He was the only one who had really loved her.
And she wanted him back.
Elizabeth kept telling herself that it was all a desperate fantasy, since Zeke’s version of events had been somewhat different. Yet the sick feeling still churned in her stomach. She’d convinced herself that over the past few days Zeke had come to care for her. Now the mother of his child had turned up alive and well and determined to win him back. And even if he’d started to feel something for his wife, everything had changed. He’d thought Sophia was dead. But he’d been wrong.
Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the resolute set of Sophia’s shoulders, terrified by the new equation that had been created. Zeke’s lover was a woman of determination. Did she love him—or was she simply out to use him?
It sounded like the latter, Elizabeth told herself. But she suspected Sophia was very good at playing the part of a woman thrilled to be reunited with the man she loved. Would Zeke see through that? Or would he be blinded by his own feelings, she wondered with a gulp.
But she was getting ahead of the story, Elizabeth reminded herself. First she had to get Zeke out of Cyril Agnapopolis’s clutches. And she had a better chance of doing that with Sophia’s help. Unless Sophia was playing some terrible game of her own, Elizabeth realized with a shiver. What if the woman was deliberately leading her into a trap? If so, she was doing a pretty convincing job of making the journey difficult.
“Almost there,” Sophia whispered, pointing to a low building spread out along the side of a hill. It gleamed whitely in the last rays of the setting sun.
Elizabeth stared at the light pouring through the windows, trying to spot some people inside. She could detect no movement and knew she’d have to get closer—which would be dangerous.
“What does Agnapopolis look like?” she whispered.
The other woman gave her a quick description of a gray-haired man with a lined face.
“Okay. I’ll go first. Keep close to me.”
Sophia didn’t protest. Apparently, she was perfectly happy to leave the riskiest part to someone else.
After saying a quick little prayer, Elizabeth scurried forward through tall grass and low bushes, keeping as close to the ground as possible. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she could see Sophia a good ten yards behind her.
Thankful there were no spotlights on the exterior of the house, she moved forward. But the growing darkness proved to be a hazard, she discovered when she bashed her knee against a rock. She had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out.
She noticed with a little inward shrug that Sophia didn’t rush to her aid. When the pain subsided, she maneuvered forward again, this time more cautiously.
The house was larger than most of the ones she’d seen in Mythos. It had a rectangular central structure with smaller wings jutting out on either side. She was at the back, she surmised, since the access road and the parking area were on the other side.
As silently as she could, Elizabeth climbed a low wall into a flower-filled courtyard and made her way to the closest windows, in the left-hand wing. Raising her head cautiously above the sill, she discovered that she was looking into a dining room, which was empty. The well-equipped kitchen was nearby, also vacant.
Moving along the perimeter, she came to a large room furnished with comfortable couches, chairs and oriental rugs. Her heart leaped and began to pound faster, when she saw Zeke sitting on one of the couches, holding a darkhaired girl on his lap. She must be Ariadne, his daughter—the reason they had both come here. Elizabeth lingered on the pair for several moments, rejoicing in the child’s easy posture. She trusted Zeke already, and the rapport between them made Elizabeth feel a warm glow. Still, she clenched her hands when she saw a bruise across his cheek. Otherwise, he seemed to be all right—except for the tense set of his face. But the harsh lines softened as he looked down at his daughter. Beside him on the couch was a woman who resembled Sophia. That must be the aunt, Irena. To their left was the gray-haired man Sophia had described. Cyril. Standing behind him was the notorious Mr. Smith—looking ashen, Elizabeth noted with a spurt of satisfaction.
And he wasn’t the only part of the picture that seemed out of kilter to Elizabeth. Everyone else in the room was facing another man who had his back to the window. Apparently, he was speaking to the group, since she could hear the low hum of his voice. When he turned slightly to the left, Elizabeth saw that it wasn’t his spellbinding oratory holding everybody’s attention. It was the gun in his hand.
Sophia had entered the garden and was staring at the group inside the room. She gave a little gasp. “Aristotle. Holy Mother, it’s Aristotle,” she croaked.
“Your husband?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth put her finger to her lips. Taking care not to alert the group facing in her direction, she moved stealthily along the wall to a spot where a sliding-glass door was open a crack. By straining her ears, she could hear some of what was going on inside.
“I have first claim on Chambers,” Aristotle was saying. “He ruined my wife.”
Cyril growled a negative response she couldn’t catch.
Then Zeke broke into the conversation. “You can stop fighting over me,” he said wearily, and inclined his head toward the aggrieved husband. “I’ll go with you, but I want your word that Ariadne will be unharmed.”
He was giving the impression of a man at the end of his rope. Yet Elizabeth knew him better than anyone else in that room, and she knew he wasn’t simply going quietly with Aristotle. He had some plan. If she only knew what it was, she could help him.
“I don’t have to guarantee anything to anyone, especially not you,” Aristotle countered.
Zeke’s face darkened. “She hasn’t done anything to you!”
Irena stood. With a defiant look at both men, she picked up Ariadne and carried her out of the room.
“Come back,” Aristotle bellowed.
Irena continued down the hall and out of sight. Long seconds ticked by. Finally, Irena returned, but she didn’t have the girl with her. “She doesn’t need to hear any more of this,” she said in a grim voice. “One of the maids is tucking her into bed.”
Cyril opened his mouth and closed it again. Aristotle gestured to Zeke. “Come on.”
“What can we do?” Sophia whispered.
Elizabeth stared through the window. Was this what Zeke had planned? She didn’t know. And she didn’t know what would happen to Ariadne and Irena once Zeke left the room. Taking several steps back, she reached under her shirt and pulled out the gun that had been hidden all this time.
Sophia’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?” she hissed.
“Zeke.” She kept her eye on Aristotle. What if she shot him in the back? The plan had a simple appeal, yet he might still be able to shoot Zeke. “Duck down,” she warned Sophia.
Silently, Sophia dodged to the left, pressing herself against the garden wall. Elizabeth raised the pistol and aimed at the top of the window, firing two shots and shattering the glass. Her finger kept clicking the trigger until she realized that the gun must be out of bullets.
It was almost impossible to follow the sequence of events she set in motion. Aristotle whirled in a half crouch, his face contorted and his own weapon pointed high, as he squeezed off several shots where he apparently imagined the attack had originated. A split second after Aristotle fired, Zeke sprang toward the intruder’s back. Almost at the same time, Cyril scrambled to open the drawer of the table next to the sofa. He came out with a gun in his hand, and pivoting, he aimed it at Zeke.
Chapter Seventeen
“God, no!” Elizabeth screamed, her finger still wrapped around the trigger of the now useless pistol as she pushed open the sliding-glass door. The only thing she knew, as she lunged into the scene of chaos, was that she had to save Zeke.
But Irena was closer to the action. As Elizabeth watched wide-eyed, the other woman threw herself between Cyril and Zeke.
“Get out of the way!” the old man screamed. “Get out of the way, you fool. I’m going to kill him, even if I have to kill you, too.”
She raised her chin, staring at him defiantly “No. Zeke Chambers is a good man, and I won’t let you do it.”
“Move, woman!”
She shook her head. “I won’t. Not just for him. For you. I won’t let you go back to prison. I care about you too much.”
For a terrible moment, Cyril stood with his face contorted and the gun leveled at her chest. Then he muttered an oath. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his hand and dropped the pistol with a thunk on the rug. Then his knees seemed to buckle, and he sank onto the couch.
The moment the weapon left his fingers, Elizabeth sprinted forward and picked it up. When she straightened with the pistol in her hand, she aimed it toward Mr. Smith, who looked as if he was coming out of a trance.
Irena knelt in front of Cyril, and he cradled her head in his lap, stroking her hair. “I thought…I thought prison had turned me into a monster,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t shoot you. I couldn’t.”
“I love you,” she whispered back, her voice soft. Yet her own amazement showed on her face.
Elizabeth wrenched her gaze away from the tender scene, as a lamp crashed to the floor and shattered.
Looking to her right, she saw Zeke struggling with Aristotle—who had knocked over the lamp table with his foot. The two men rolled across the floor, battling with the fury of old rivals finally granted a confrontation. But Zeke was by far the younger and stronger. It took only a few more seconds for him to deliver a knockout blow to the other man’s chin.
When Aristotle went slack, Zeke sprang up and stared at Elizabeth, the look in his eyes slightly dazed.
Cyril twisted toward Mr. Smith. “No more attacks on Chambers,” he said.
“But—”
“No more!”
It was over. It was finally over. Elizabeth put down the gun and took a step toward Zeke, but before she could cross the house, Sophia sprinted through the sliding-glass door.
“Zeke. Thank the Holy Mother. Zeke,” she cried, dashing toward him.
If he’d looked dazed before, it was nothing compared to his reaction now. His mouth dropped open, and he reached to steady himself with a hand against the wall. “Sophia,” he gasped out
. “I thought. But you’re—”
“I’m alive,” she interrupted. “And I’ve been waiting all this time for you. Now we can finally be together.”
He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.
Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for him to speak.
When he remained silent, Sophia took another step forward. “Zeke, it’s not too late,” she continued. “Now we can finally be together.”
He found his voice. “No.” The syllable came out harsh and grating.
Sophia made a low sound. “You love me. We were meant for each other.”
He shook his head. “I was never in love with you. But I was lonely and I wanted to be close to someone. You knew that, didn’t you? You took advantage of me. I guess you thought I was going to marry you. Then your family interfered.”
Elizabeth stood with her heart pounding, barely able to believe what she was hearing. All this time she’d thought Zeke loved Sophia. But he hardly sounded like a man reunited with his lost love.
“Zeke—what are you saying?” Sophia gasped out.
“I’m saying you had me so confused I wasn’t sure whether I was coming or going. It’s taken me a long time to find out what real love is. But I have—with Elizabeth.”
“Oh, Zeke,” Elizabeth whispered, overwhelmed.
“You can’t be in love with her,” Sophia screamed, color rising in her face.
“But I am. I was crazy not to admit it years ago.” Turning away from Sophia, he started toward Elizabeth, who was so stunned she couldn’t move. The warm look in his eyes released her, and she found that her legs would work, after all. Throwing herself toward Zeke, she landed squarely in his arms. With a glad exclamation, she buried her face against his shoulder. His hands came up to support her and they clung together, as she tried to shut out everything else but him.
“God, you were magnificent bursting into the house like that,” he growled.