“You okay, Boss?” she asked, concern in her voice.
“Just get the calls, Cathy…”
“Well, I’d like to, but there’s no answer from Miss Stephens or from Mr. Rush, and Chief Ohmer is apparently out on an emergency—a multiple pile-up on the 401.”
Goddammit!
“Okay, give me a few minutes – maybe you’d try the Stephen’s number again and also Warren Dillon? And get me another company cell phone, will you?”
A short time later Cathy came back with the phone and carrying a ham and cheese sandwich and a mug of strong coffee on a small tray.
“You looked like you could use this,” she said. “And there’s still no reply from any of the numbers. Is there anything I should know? Are we likely to get calls I need to field?”
Jon took a deep breath. How could he explain his fears to this quiet, efficient woman? Telling her to simply continue taking messages and to forward immediately anything from Dillon, the police chief, Lauren or Stephen, he gulped down the last of the coffee and snatched up his jacket.
“Just one thing, Jon,” Cathy touched his arm to detain him. “I thought I’d have the operator do a line check on the Stephens’ number. You know my folks have a cottage up there and it’s amazing how often the lines go down. Anyway, the operator says all lines are functioning normally. But the Stephens’ residential number seems to be off the hook or disconnected.”
Fear curled icy fingers over Jon’s gut as he absorbed her words, then he dashed from the room, commandeering the executive suite elevator from under the amazed noses of several other executive officers, and drummed his fingers with impatience as the elevator car seemed to creep down the twenty-six floors to the basement garage.
Minutes later, he was gunning a big company four-wheel drive Jeep through the heavy traffic of a late Toronto afternoon, skillfully weaving in and out of the home-going commuter traffic. Frequently risky moves earned him a blast of horns and rude finger gestures from other drivers, but he was oblivious to all that was going on around him. Cathy had put through a call from Chief Ohmer to his cell phone, and when the officer heard Jon’s discoveries at Rush Co., told him that he was sending a car immediately to protect Lauren. However, there was still no answer on Lauren’s number. Jon had toyed with the idea of calling Paul Howard, but assumed the older man would be at the ABC committee meeting. He also had a gut feeling of terrible danger and didn’t want to involve the lawyer or his fragile wife in whatever might transpire.
Now Jon had only one thought in his mind. He must get to Lauren—before it was too late. His stomach clenched again and adrenaline shot through his veins, accelerating his heartbeat as his hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Chapter Seventeen
Lauren fought against consciousness. She didn’t want to open her eyes; she wanted to recede back into that abyss where there was no feeling. But consciousness was insistent. Her whole body seemed a mass of pain, her arms and wrists especially, and her previously injured shoulder was now cramped in fiery protest. Something was nagging at her, a busy itch in her mind that insisted she face it. Then a glass was pressed against her lips and water, cool and soothing, tipped in a thin rivulet down her throat. A soft damp cloth wiped gently over her forehead and cheek, and she instinctively raised her face towards its comforting coolness. Too soon, it was jerked away, and Lauren finally opened her eyes to see Steve’s dark figure crouched over her.
“Ah, Lauren, even now you’re so beautiful. We could have had so much together, you know. With you at my side, I know I could have made things work. But like everyone else, you betrayed me.” His voice was quiet and calm, but there was no mistaking the insanity which danced in his eyes and spilled from his lips.
Lauren looked around her, dazed. She was slumped against the heavy oak baluster at the bottom of the stairs, her arms wrapped around it and handcuffed tightly together at the wrist. Her mind flashed to the protesters who tied themselves to trees to prevent the loggers’ progress, but shook her head then to clear it.
“Steve—I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” she managed, her voice a croak. “How can you say that I betrayed you? Just because I said I couldn’t go to dinner…” Her words were cut off in a sobbing gasp as he slapped a vicious hand against her face.
“Shut the hell up, Lauren! You flaunted yourself at me, but then my cousin crooked his finger and you thought he was the better target. You thought he was richer and more powerful, could give you what you wanted—wealth and power! Isn’t that what women like you sell themselves for?”
There it was; the scrap of information that had itched at her mind.
Swallowing over the pain, Lauren gasped out, “Your cousin? I don’t know your cousin, Steve.”
His smile was ugly, brutal, as he ground out, “Jon Rush, president of Rush Co., is my cousin. Wallace was my mother’s maiden name.”
Lauren’s mind reeled. Jon! This was the connection, the missing piece! Through the fog of pain that clogged her brain, one thought beckoned like a light in a window on a stormy night. If she could keep this man talking, maybe she could find some way out of this. She had to find some way to stay alive long enough to warn Jon. Because Lauren knew now that Steve wouldn’t stop with killing her. Some mad plan had been set in motion and would only end when all the players were dead. She shuddered, the movement causing pain from cramped, bruised muscles to shoot through her, leaving her gasping. When she could speak again, she caught Steve’s eye.
“But I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. What has Jon done to hurt you?” She fought now against a wave of faintness that threatened to swamp her and wash her back into that dark abyss from which she had emerged so reluctantly. Yet this time, she knew if she slipped into the darkness, she would never return.
“I know you’re playing for time, but it will do you no good. All your artsy-fartsy friends are going to the committee meeting, aren’t they? And your lover-boy is in Toronto, trying to save his precious company.” Steve’s mouth was smiling, but his eyes were icy with hatred.
“Someone will come around, Steve – or should I call you Stephen? If I’m not at the meeting. So many things have been happening and people will worry. Why don’t you undo these handcuffs, let’s talk, and see if we can work this out? Whatever there is between Jon and I, it isn’t something I went looking for; you must understand that. I enjoyed the time you and I spent together and when I said I couldn’t see you because I was too busy, that was the honest truth.
“I didn’t meet Jon until after that, at the first public meeting. If I’ve hurt you, I am really sorry.” She spoke softly, half expecting another savage blow from this unpredictable man.
It didn’t come. For a second, violence flashed across his face and was gone, replaced by something akin to sorrow. Despite her predicament, Lauren was touched by an unexpected compassion that welled up in her breast for this man who was so obviously causing hurt out of his own deep pain.
“I can’t do that, Lauren. Don’t you see? It’s all too late. I’ve done everything wrong. My father told me I’d never be any good, and he was right.” Tears ran in slim rivulets down Stephen’s cheeks, and he wiped them away with an impatient hand. “My father was a great wildcatter, one of the best, but he had no head for business. When they made the first really good strike, back in the fifties, his brother—Jon’s father—cheated my father out of his shares of the property. Dad realized too late what had happened, and he got to drinking.
“My mother—you’d have liked her. She was a beautiful, gentle creature, but she couldn’t take the hard life of never having enough and she died when I was just nine years old. Dad died a few years later and when I was twelve, and I was sent to live on my Uncle’s charity.”
Bitterness twisted Stephen’s handsome features at the memory of past wrongs. “Oh, he treated me well enough, I suppose. He always claimed he raised Jon and me like we were brothers but it was never really the same. I knew I was there on sufferance, tha
t I was second-best after his real flesh and blood son. After Jon left to live with his mother in the States, I thought it would be better. I thought Uncle Jon would turn to me, take me to his heart as the son who hadn’t deserted him.
“Instead, he buried himself in the business, and at night he’d sit in his study and drink. The only time he seemed to come alive was when Jon came back for one of his brief visits, looking for a handout. When Jon went in the army, it just about killed him, but still everything was Jon this, and Jon that.” Stephen was silent, staring inwards to some long past emotion.
“Then Jon inherited everything, all the money and the power of Rush Co., while I got a few hundred thousand and a job—a job—at Rush Co. The company I should have owned. I tried, Lauren, I really did. I did the best work I could but I knew everyone sneered behind my back, laughing, saying that I was really only there because Jon had promised his father he’d take care of me.”
“After a while, the humiliation got to be too much, and I decided to claim some of the money I was owed. It was so easy. I set up my own company, investing in land here and there, getting building projects under way and having Rush Co. foot the bill. But like everything I touched, it started to go wrong. Not because of anything I did - the economy took a nose dive and I was left with unfinished, unsold buildings and land that had lost its value. All of it beyond my control, none of it my fault, but Jon was still there in his ivory tower, having people fawning over him and raking in the dough. That’s when I really started to hate him and I thought I’d cause a few little ‘incidents’ at Rush Co., let him feel what it was like to not be in total control.”
“But then that clever bitch Pippa Williams poked her nose in where it didn’t belong. I knew everything was over when I overheard her on the office phone, asking to see Warren Dillon on an urgent matter.”
“There’s still time to stop, Stephen.”
He looked at her, his expression incredulous. “I’m not going to jail.”
“Maybe, but only for a little while. Then you could start all over again…”
“Like my father tried to start all over again? With nothing but the shirt on his back? Oh, I don’t think so, Lauren. Besides, I wouldn’t survive two minutes in jail. No, no,” he shook his head, his expression sad. “Everything has been set in motion, and I’m going to see it through.”
Pulling a mobile phone from his pocket, Stephen deftly dialed and listened for a moment to the ringing tone. Holding the phone to Lauren’s mouth, he told her: “When Jon answers, tell him you have to see him. Tell him to come here immediately!”
“Go to hell!” Lauren flashed back, and saw Stephen’s hand rise in anger to slap her again. Just then, the telephone was answered and Jon’s beloved voice spilled into the room.
“Jon—it’s Lauren. Stay away from here, Jon—your cousin Stephen—Oh!” her words cut off in a cry of pain as Stephen grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back painfully.
“Stephen—Stephen, if you’re there—don’t hurt her!” Jon was shouting down the telephone line, his heart pounding at the desperation he’d heard in Lauren’s voice and the terrible sound of her pain as the words cut off.
* * *
He heard Lauren’s desperate cries and then the line went dead as the other phone was closed down. Jon desperately juggled the steering wheel as he tried to dial Stephen’s number with fingers gone clumsy in panic. But there was only the forlorn sound of an unanswered ringing phone, and then a stranger’s officious voice invited him to leave a message.
The terrible pounding of his heart was slowed as an icy determination filled him. His foot pressed hard on the accelerator. First, he would get to Lauren and see she was all right. Secondly, he’d find some way to stop Stephen.
And if Lauren wasn’t all right, if his cousin had hurt her in any way….
* * *
Stephen got up from the spot where he’d been crouched beside Lauren and went quietly out through the front door. For a moment, Lauren thought he’d left and hope was blossoming in her breast that somehow the worst was over. Her heart sank as she heard his return, and fear gripped her as the smell of turpentine invaded her nostrils.
Stephen had found the two large containers of turpentine, the cleaning and thinning liquid she used when painting in oils, in her storage cabinet. Whistling off-key, he began sprinkling it around the studio cottage. Turpentine fumes made Lauren’s nose burn and her eyes water, and terror swamped her as she saw Stephen’s plan with gut-wrenching clarity.
“My God, Stephen, what are you doing? You’re going to burn us alive!” she screamed, pure panic almost choking her.
He turned to look at her, eyes dark with madness.
“Not us, Lauren. Just you. Artists’ studios burn all the time, don’t they? All that paint and turpentine. You’ve brought this on yourself, you know, through not inviting him here as I asked you to. I would have waited until Jon came and you could have been together. But don’t worry. You won’t be alone for long. You see, Jon is going to die tonight, too. Only before he does, he’ll know that he’s also responsible for your death. And a pretty horrific death, too.”
With a last casual wave of his hand, Stephen grinned at her and left.
Lauren wildly tugged at the handcuffs, but couldn’t free herself. The slick, sticky feel of blood coated her hands and arms as the wicked steel bracelets dug in and tore her delicate skin. Frantically she levered her shoulders against the banister rail, hoping to dislodge it from its joint at the baluster. Sobs racked her body and tears caused by fear and turpentine fumes blurred her vision.
Then she froze in her struggles as she heard the back window shatter. Moments later the kitchen curtains caught fire with a gentle whoosh, and she knew Stephen had set the match that would turn her beloved studio into her funeral pyre.
* * *
Jon had broken all the speed limits, and probably a number of records, too, in his crazed flight from Toronto. But since Lauren’s frantic telephone call, his foot had been floored on the accelerator and the one thought hammering at his mind was that he had to get to Lauren, had to keep her safe.
Because I’m in love with her, I can’t lose her now! The thought hit him as he made a fast pass into another lane to overtake a sports car, venturing recklessly into the path of a huge juggernaut, and caused him to pause briefly when he should have been mashing his foot down on the accelerator. The truck driver blasted him with a multi-note horn, the angry sound attracting the attention of the longhaired young man in the sports car, who laughed and flipped Jon a thumbs-up sign as Jon steadied the Jeep and glanced in his rear-view mirror. It wasn’t a thumbs-up sign that the truck driver was flashing in his direction and judging from his red, angry face, the words he was mouthing weren’t very pleasant, either.
At the moment Jon didn’t care. Drumming in his brain were the words, I’m in love with her; I’m in love with Lauren Stephens. And like the knell at the end of the world, I can’t lose her now!
Haunting him was the terrible knowledge that, despite her own danger, Lauren had taken her one opportunity to warn him of what was happening. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he knew that in doing so she might have signed her own death warrant. Helpless anger flooded through him, and he slammed an impotent fist against the steering wheel.
Cutting in front of another car, he saw the West River sign coming up, and earned a blast of the horn and a surprisingly good-humored shake of the head from the laid-back sports car driver as the Jeep swerved across to position itself in the exit lane. It was then that he saw the smoke, saw the faint orange red glow in the distance.
And he knew. He knew with a certainty that brought bile into his throat, even before the cell phone chirruped and Chief Ohmer’s tension-filled voice barked in his ear.
“Jon, we’ve had a fire call…”
“God, Oh, God, I know, I can see!” Jon’s voice was a ragged sob as he slammed the phone down onto the leather seat beside him.
He gunned the ac
celerator, ignoring traffic signs and the angry shrieks from other cars as he hurtled from the highway onto the quieter rural roads towards Haverford Castle.
Already he could see the pall of smoke rising above the trees, and a distant dull orange glow where flames were already spilling from the rear windows of Lauren’s home.
* * *
Lauren twisted again, bracing her body against the baluster as she swung her feet up against the banister rail. The movement was awkward because of the handcuffs that hugged her firmly to the big oak pillar, and pain shot through her feet, jarring along her legs and spine as she kicked against the banister. Loudly she cursed her own habit of wandering around the studio barefoot and briefly imagined how much easier and less painful it would be if she was wearing her hefty walking boots. She laughed aloud, hearing the sharp note of hysteria in the sound. A coughing fit took her as choking smoke began to curl towards her from the blazing kitchen area.
Hysterics aren’t going to get you out of this alive, kiddo, the voice in her head told her sternly, and they’re not going to get you safely back into Jon’s embrace.
The hysteria was swept away at the thought of Jon and the danger he might be in. She had to get through this for Jon’s sake. The memory of Stephen’s face as he promised that Jon, too, would die that very day was punched into her brain. With all her strength, Lauren swung around, throwing her torso backwards as her legs and feet came up. The pain made her gasp but there was also a rough thrill of victory as she managed to wedge her feet against the banister. With her back braced against the baluster, she used every ounce of her failing strength to push hard with her feet. Desperation made her strong and the wood gave a sharp crack.
It’s working! She exulted, bracing herself for another effort. This time she screamed as her injured shoulder joined in the cacophony of pain that paraded through her body, led by her rapidly numbing hands and wrists. One more try!
Focusing her mind on Jon’s face, she used every ounce of fear-ridden strength to push at the banister rail, her efforts forcing the dry oak to splinter and give way.
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