THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip. Did she risk running? He could come out of the bedroom at any second. Or should she try to hide?

  A gunshot from inside her bedroom made the decision for her. Survival mode took control. Elizabeth exploded out of the room and flew down the stairs so fast her feet barely touched the treads.

  Instead of running out the front door, she instinctively made a U-turn and raced down the central hallway. She made it to the study and reached for the door handle when another shot gouged into the door to the study, at about eye level, sending out a spray of splinters. One stung Elizabeth's right cheek, but she barely noticed the pain.

  Glancing back the way she'd come, she saw the man leaning over the stair railing, aiming his gun at her. Oh, God. He was halfway down the stairs! She darted into the study and slammed the door and locked it. It was dark in the room, but she didn't bother to turn on a light.

  Something brushed her leg, and she jumped and let out another shriek. Slapping her hand over her mouth, she backed up, straining to see in the dark.

  Oh, God, did he have a partner? A pitiful mewling answered that question and her shoulders slumped. Until that instant she hadn't known that the kitten had followed her.

  The big man's clumsy footsteps clumped down the hallway in her direction, and Elizabeth started to shake. Grabbing the wireless phone off the desk, she squeezed through the closed draperies, unlocked the terrace doors and burst out of the house into the freezing night.

  She gave a brief thought to running to Dooley and Gladys's apartment over the garage. It was closer than Mimi's, but both Dooley and Gladys wore hearing aids. To wake them up when they were not wearing the devices was next to impossible. It would take a clap of thunder.

  Elizabeth took the terrace steps in one leap and never broke stride, not even as she thumbed a number into the telephone.

  "911. What is your emergency?"

  "A man is trying to kill me," Elizabeth rasped out.

  "Kill you?"

  "Y-yes. He broke into my house. He's shooting … at me. Hurry." She gave her address and hung up, against the woman's orders. She had to concentrate on getting away from the man alive.

  Ignoring the stepping-stones that Dooley had wound artistically around and through flower beds and a small stand of woods, Elizabeth made a beeline for the narrow archway in the hedge. Like an Olympic athlete in a track meet, she leaped over flower beds, short boxwood hedges and a trickling stream, and tore across Dooley's carefully tended lawn, the back of her silk nightgown fluttering out behind her like a black sail.

  Please let her be awake, God, Elizabeth prayed silently. Please, please, please let her be still awake.

  The frozen stubs of winter-dried St. Augustine grass prickled the soles of her feet like tiny needles. She was freezing cold, but whether the cause was the twenty-degree temperature or the killer coming after her was a toss-up.

  Elizabeth shot through the narrow archway without breaking stride. The man fired again, and the bullet tore through the crepe myrtle branches just inches from Elizabeth's ear.

  She screamed and ran for the French doors that opened from Mimi's den onto her back terrace. She could see her friend peeping out through the curtains to see what was causing the commotion.

  Thank you, God! Elizabeth silently prayed. Thank you.

  She had forgotten about the motion-sensitive lights that Mimi had installed after her husband died. One after another they began to come on as Elizabeth ran by, marking her path for the killer.

  "Oh, God," Elizabeth groaned. Another bullet whizzed by and she screamed, a long, full-throated shrill of pure terror. "Mimi! Mimi, help me!"

  Elizabeth's only advantage now was she could outrun the big man, and she poured on the steam until her heart felt as though it would burst. She ran so fast her feet barely touched the ground.

  Shrieking every breath now, she leaped over the small hedge of azaleas that surrounded Mimi's stone terrace and negotiated its various levels. Reaching the top terrace, she crossed the cold stones and hit the door at almost full speed. She pounded with both fists. "Mimi! Mimi! Help! Help me!"

  Her friend yanked the door open and her face slackened with astonishment. "Sugar, what in the world are you doing out at this hour in your nightie?" She glanced downward and her jaw dropped. "And no shoes? You'll catch your death."

  "He's c-coming," Elizabeth gasped. "He broke into the house. He's try-trying to k-kill me."

  "What? Who? Who's trying to kill you?"

  "The man from New Y-York." She glanced over her shoulder toward the hedge in time to see her pursuer squeeze through the narrow arch. "See? See? Here he comes. Oh, God, I shouldn't have come here. Now he'll kill us both."

  "The hell he will," Mimi declared, bristling like a mama bear with a cub. "Get in here, sugar," she ordered, and pulled Elizabeth inside.

  "Mimi, we have to run. He'll break through this door. He's huge. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought this down on you."

  Elizabeth peeked around the edge of the door. The hulking man stalked across Mimi's lawn toward them with a determined gait. Whether that was because he had no doubt that he would catch her and kill her, or because he was too big and out of shape to run, she didn't know. But she did know that he was the most menacing creature she'd ever seen. "Oh, Lord, he's getting closer."

  "Don't you worry, sugar. I've got me an equalizer."

  If Mimi wasn't attending a formal or very dressy affair, she carried a large casual bag. Her current purse, a huge tapestry tote, sat on the hall tree by the door where she usually left it. She dug arm-deep into the bag. "Ah, there you are," she announced triumphantly, and pulled out an enormous revolver. "Now, I ask you, is that a thing of beauty or what?"

  "Oh, my word," Elizabeth stared, awed.

  "Yeah, I know what you mean. She's something, isn't she?" Gripping the weapon with both hands, Mimi pointed it at the ceiling: "This is a long-barrel .357 Magnum. It's the biggest, baddest gun around. If you don't believe me, just asked Dirty Harry.

  "Now, step aside, sugar, and let me deal with this."

  Elizabeth didn't know what else to do but obey.

  Standing just inside the open doorway, Mimi braced the side of the gun barrel against the edge of the door frame. "Hey, fatso!"

  The man was so startled that she was addressing him, he stopped.

  "Yeah, I'm talking to you, you no-neck goon. Git! You hear me? Git off my property. Now!" Taking aim, she cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger.

  Ka-boom!

  The revolver's recoil jerked Mimi's hands straight up and knocked her back a couple of steps.

  The bullet hit a pine tree, and a small branch fell off onto the man's head. Letting out a startled yelp, he fought with the prickly branches and needles as though he thought he'd been jumped by a mountain lion.

  "Oh, dear. You missed," Elizabeth cried.

  "Miss, my fanny. Sugar, I hit what I aim at. I'm not trying to kill that big ugly slug. At least not yet. I was trying to scare him away. Don't you worry. Big Daddy taught me how to shoot. I can hit a freckle on a gnat's behind at a hundred yards with this baby," she drawled with pride.

  Fortunately for Elizabeth and Mimi, the same couldn't be said for the man coming toward them. No-neck recovered from his shock and fired two more shots. One bullet dug into the door frame over Mimi's head and the other one shattered one of the two cobalt-blue enameled urns that flanked the door.

  Lights came on in Gladys and Dooley's apartment above the garage. The houses in this neighborhood were all mansions, so far apart it was difficult to see or hear anything, but a few more lights began to blink on.

  "Oh! Ooooh. Would you look at that!" Furious, Mimi stomped out onto the terrace and surveyed the damage. She whirled around and held her weapon at arm's length with both hands. "You shot my urn, you low-life creep! Big Daddy and I personally lugged those things through three airports and put up with a snooty French customs agent to get them here."

  The man responded wi
th another shot.

  "Oh! Now you've gone and done it!" Incensed beyond reason, Mimi stomped to the edge of the terrace. "You got some nerve! Comin' onto my property, shootin' up my prized urn with some pansy-assed little ole peashooter of a gun."

  Elizabeth darted out onto the terrace and grabbed Mimi's arm and began dragging her back. "Mimi, for heaven's sake. You're going to get yourself killed."

  "Huh! Not by that goon. He couldn't hit the backside of an elephant with a shotgun at three paces."

  "Mimi. Please, come inside."

  She shook off Elizabeth's hold and stomped back to the edge of the terrace.

  The man fired two more shots that whizzed right past her.

  "All right, fatso, I gave you a chance to leave with that lard-ass of yours intact. But if you want a gunfight, you low-life piece of garbage, you've got one. Let me show you how a real gun works." She took aim, cocked the hammer back and squeezed off another shot.

  Ka-boom!

  The man yelped, grabbed his leg and started backpedaling.

  A siren wailed in the distance, drawing closer fast.

  "Yeah, run, you good for nothin'!" Mimi yelled as the gunman hobbled back through the arch in the hedge.

  "Hey! What's all the racket down there?" Dooley demanded from the top of the stairs that led to his and Gladys's apartment. "Hey! You there! What're you up to?"

  "Get him, Dooley!" Mimi yelled. Another pistol shot sounded.

  Boom! The distinct sound of Dooley's shotgun reverberated through the night, and still more lights came on in the neighborhood.

  The big man let out a shriek of pain.

  Mimi whooped and pumped one fist in the air. "Way to go, Dooley! Give him the other barrel."

  Keeping her gaze on the opening in the hedge, Mimi said, "Did you hear that, sugar? I think Dooley gave him a rumpful of bird shot. From fatso's pig squeal, some of the pellets probably broke his skin. It'll sting for days, but at that range it's not a lethal load. Of course, that's assuming that hulk is human. To me he looked more like a slug in a suit." Mimi laughed again and did a little victory dance in her stiletto heels. "I bet Dooley made a sieve outta his fancy leather overcoat."

  Belatedly, it occurred to Mimi that Elizabeth had not said a word. "Sugar? Sugar, where— Oh, God, no! Nooooo!"

  Elizabeth lay on her back, eyes closed, blood running from a gash in her left temple forming a puddle on the terrace stones. More blood blossomed from a hole in her right shoulder and spread over her bare skin and the black lace nightgown.

  "What is it, Miss Mimi?" Gladys called, hurrying across the lawn toward her. "What's wrong? Who was that man? And what was all the shooting about?"

  "Oh God, oh God, oh God," Mimi murmured over and over on her knees by Elizabeth's side. "It's okay, sugar. You're going to be okay. I promise. Just stay with me. You hear? You stay with me." She threw back her head and screamed, "Dooley! Gladys! Help! Help! Elizabeth's been shot."

  "I'm here, Miss Mimi," Gladys said, huffing and puffing from running. She dropped down on her knees by Elizabeth's other side. "Oh, my baby! My poor, poor baby."

  Vaguely, Mimi heard tires squealing as a vehicle roared away. The shooter was getting away, but the only thing she cared about at that moment was her friend.

  Dooley appeared through the darkness with his old blunderbuss double-barrel shotgun broken open and hooked over the crook of his arm.

  "Merciful heavens," he murmured. "Is she alive? Does she have a pulse?"

  Quickly, Mimi felt her friend's neck with her fingertips. "It's there, but it's getting weak. We have to stop this bleeding."

  Gladys looked up at her husband and ordered, "Get me a couple of clean towels and one of those warm fleece throws off the couch."

  "There are some in the dryer," Mimi called to his back.

  Dooley returned in seconds with the items.

  "I'm going out front to direct the cops and paramedics," he announced, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mimi spread the warm throw over Elizabeth, while Gladys folded one of the towels. She handed it to Mimi. "Here, press that tight against that head wound."

  She folded the other towel and pressed it to the shoulder wound.

  "Oh, Lord, Gladys," Mimi said in a quivering voice. "There's so much blood."

  "I know. I know. Head wounds always bleed a lot," the older woman replied. Though her voice was more brusque than usual, Mimi could hear the fear there. "Just you hold on, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Mimi and me, we're with you, child. We're right here. And help is on the way. Hear 'em? You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be fine. Just hold on."

  As if on cue, an ambulance came up Mimi's driveway and three paramedics jumped out and ran over loaded down with emergency equipment. A swarm of policemen and Dooley were right behind.

  The paramedics went to work on Elizabeth and a uniformed officer started asking questions.

  "I'll tell you anything you want to know, but you'll have to come along to the hospital with us," Mimi declared. "I'm going with Elizabeth."

  "But ma'am, I need to—"

  "Save your breath, son," Dooley told him. "You heard what she said. That goes for me and my wife, also."

  "I'm going to get my coat and purse. Dooley, you and Gladys run and get whatever you need." She reached down and swooped up the frightened kitten that was mewling around her ankles and handed it to the housekeeper. "And do something with Bar Code."

  Without waiting for an answer, Mimi darted into the house. She emerged in less than a minute wearing her full-length sable coat, which had been the first one she'd come to, and clutching her purse, just as the paramedics were sliding the gurney, with Elizabeth on it, into the ambulance.

  Mimi stopped short and clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying. Elizabeth had a bandage on her temple, another on her shoulder, an oxygen tube up her nose and an IV in her arm. She had no more color than the coarse white hospital sheet on which she lay, still as death.

  "C'mon, Miss Mimi," Dooley said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Don't fall apart on us now. Miss Elizabeth is going to need your strength."

  "He's right, miss," Gladys said. "C'mon along with us. I put the kitten back inside and locked up all three places, so we're all set. Let's go."

  The elderly couple urged her to come with them, but Mimi held back. She looked pleadingly at the paramedic. "Is … is she going to make it?"

  The man gave her a look that turned her blood cold and said, "I can't say, ma'am. We've stabilized her. It's going to be up to the doctors to save her."

  Urged by Dooley and Gladys, she stepped back and the young man hopped up into the back of the ambulance with another paramedic.

  Moments later a caravan of police cars, the ambulance and Mimi's zippy little red sports car pulled out of the driveway. Police vehicles with flashing red lights on the top were parked up and down the street. Other police personnel were stringing yellow crime-scene tape across every entrance and exit to both Elizabeth's and Mimi's homes. Up and down the posh neighborhood, people in nightclothes had gathered and were standing around watching the spectacle.

  Dooley, being the steadiest of the three of them, drove Mimi's car. Seated in the passenger seat, Mimi dug deep into her leather tote bag, cursing under her breath when she couldn't find what she was looking for.

  "Great balls of fire, girl, what are you after in that bottomless pit?" Dooley asked.

  "My cell phone. Why is it you can never find the damned thing when you need it."

  "It's right there. In that outside pocket," Gladys said from the cramped back seat. "And can't we go any faster?"

  "The police car up front has his siren on and so does the ambulance. You women calm down. Getting all bent out of shape isn't going to help Miss Elizabeth."

  Mimi punched a speed-dial number on her phone and listened impatiently, counting the rings on the other end of the line.

  "Yeah?" a sleepy voice answered on the other end.

  "Max, it's Mimi."


  * * *

  Nineteen

  « ^ »

  "How is she?" Max demanded the instant he stormed into the ICU waiting room.

  In a glance, he took note that everyone was there, including Elizabeth's cousins and the household staff from both homes. All of them, even Camille, had red-rimmed eyes. Most terrifying of all, Gladys's and Mimi's clothes were smeared with blood. Elizabeth's blood.

  Max's fear level skyrocketed. Dear God. She wasn't…? She couldn't be…? No. No!

  "Dammit, can't any of you hear?" he shouted. "I want to know where and how my wife is. Someone had better start talking. Now."

  Iona went to her son's side and tugged on his sleeve. "She's still alive, son. But…"

  "But what?" he demanded.

  "She's… She hasn't regained consciousness since she was shot."

  "Oh, God." Max ran a trembling hand through his already tousled hair. "I need to see her."

  "I know, son. I know. I'll show you where she is, but first…" His mother tipped her head toward Talitha, her expression speaking volumes. "She's taking this hard," Iona whispered. "You know how she loves that girl."

  "Right." Max wanted to see Elizabeth. Touch her. Luxuriate in the sweet, feminine scent of her. Feel her breath against his skin. Inhaling deeply, he reminded himself that she was important to other people, as well.

  Talitha was so stricken she didn't seem to know he was there until he hunkered down in front of her chair.

  "Max! Oh, thank the Lord, you're here," she said. Her bony old hands latched on to both of his as though he were a miracle worker.

  He raised one age-spotted hand and kissed it. "How are you holding up?"

  Elizabeth's aunt met his steady gaze, her faded old eyes filling with fresh tears. Talitha always looked as well groomed and regal as a queen, but at that moment she looked defeated, her red-rimmed eyes weary beyond measure. In the space of a few hours she seemed to have aged years: fear and the pain of uncertainty had deepened the wrinkles in her face and smudged dark circles beneath her lower eyelids.

  That Talitha had been woken from a sound sleep was evident by the haphazard way her silver braids had been wound around into a coronet on top of her head. Wispy, curling tendrils had escaped her attention and floated around her face.