She stepped closer to the thing, looking pinched and frightened. “Please don’t watch me so closely,” she said. “It makes me nervous.”
“Excuse me.” He stepped back.
Raine reached out and placed her hands on either side of the gun. “It feels different than the rapier. The…the stain is very fresh.”
“Yes,” he corroborated.
Her eyes were blind and wide, as if she saw far beyond the gun. As, indeed, she did. He felt a pang of sympathy. So much crashing down on her young head all at once. But she had to face it.
“A woman, murdered,” she whispered. “By a person…no. A thing. A thing so dead inside, it isn’t even human anymore. God.”
She doubled over, choking as if she were about to retch. Her hair coiled and draped across the plastic case. She shuddered violently.
He led her to a chair and pushed her into it, alarmed. She hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking so hard it seemed that she was weeping, but she made no sound. He poured her a glass of the cognac he kept on the shelf. “Katya. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
She unfolded. He pressed the glass into her hand, and she held it, as stiff as a doll. “What is that thing, Victor?”
He was taken aback by her flat, hard tone, by the bluntness of the question. “It’s a piece in a game I’m playing,” he said, feeling defensive. “It’s a stolen murder weapon. I am sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to upset you. I showed it to you to see if you could feel—” He stopped.
“Feel what?” She set down the glass of cognac.
“The stain,” he said.
Her eyes looked old beyond her years. “I felt it,” she said in a low voice. “I hope to God I never feel anything like it again.”
He felt a twinge of guilt. “I had no idea you were so sensitive. I assure you, I—”
“Your game is not worth it. Whatever it is.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he demanded.
“That thing is poisonous.” Her voice rang with authority, even in the muffled, soundproof room.
Victor was surprised at how uncomfortable he felt. “Aristocrats throughout the ages dosed themselves with tiny bits of poison over a period of years, becoming immune to anything their enemies might throw at them. That’s what has happened to me, my dear. Immunity.”
She shook her head. “You’re not as immune as you think you are. And if you’re so hung up on facing the truth, then face that one, Victor. You shouldn’t have this thing. Whatever you did to get it was wrong. Whatever you’re planning to do with it is wrong, too.”
He was so amazed at her gall that it took a moment to find his voice. Her self-righteous tone infuriated him. “And where does this talent for tedious moralizing come from?” he mocked. “Not from me. Certainly not from Alix.”
“Maybe it’s all mine,” she said. “Maybe I found it all on my own, with no help from any of you.”
“Ah. The angel of judgment rises above the cesspit of her past. Transcending the sins of her lying, thieving, fornicating ancestors.”
“Stop it, Victor.”
He snapped the case shut and placed it in the drawer. His hands shook with anger. He hadn’t been so furious in years, not since Peter—
No. He did not want to think about Peter.
He slammed the drawer shut. “That’s enough shocking revelations for us this morning. It’s time to deliver you back into the care of your new guard dog. God knows what might happen to him if he comes sniffing after you in a place so steeped in sin.”
“Enough, please, Victor.”
The misery on her face prodded at something inside him that was rusty and stiff, better left untouched. The feeling made him even angrier. He swung the door open. “After you,” he said coldly.
She preceded him out of the room, holding herself very straight.
He armed the alarms, wondering if he should change his divine override computer access code. But then again, why bother? With the opinion she had of him, the girl would never guess the code, anyway.
Not in a million years.
Chapter 21
There would be plenty of time to grill her later. No reason to bother her if she was feeling silent and solitary, Seth told himself again.
He’d tried to persuade her to sit in the sheltered cabin for the boat ride back to the city, and a mute shake of the head was all he’d gotten for a reply. She’d stared out at the water, heedless of the wind and the cold, whipping rain. When he tied up the boat, she disdained his help and clambered out on her own. It made him nervous.
Once in the car, he fired up the engine and turned the heat up to full blast. “So?” he demanded.
She gave him a confused little shrug.
His patience was wearing eggshell thin. “Hey.” He waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Anybody home in there? Tell me what happened.”
“It went all right.” Her voice was completely flat and colorless. “I did exactly what you wanted me to do.”
He was suspicious of the blank, staring look in her eyes. “He told you it was the Corazon?”
She turned away. “Not exactly. It was a Walther PPK, in a plastic bag, housed in a hard plastic case. Recently acquired, and not for him. For a client. He said it was a stolen murder weapon.”
“So far so good,” he said doubtfully.
“He told me that the stain…was fresh.”
He puzzled over her halting words. “Stain? What stain?”
“Of violence.” Her face was taut with strain.
“Huh.” He pondered that. “That was all he told you?”
She shook her head. “I led him, a little. I pretended to sense that it had been used to murder a woman. His reaction seemed to confirm it, so I went for it. I hope I did the right thing.”
He could not believe his luck. Literally. “You planted it?”
“I stuck it under the foam, in the carrying case.”
“And you’re sure he didn’t see you do it?”
“My hair was draped over my hand, and I was blocking his line of vision with my body. I’m reasonably sure he didn’t see me do it.”
He studied her tight, miserable face, his gut clenching with apprehension. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “You should be glad. You want to get this guy, right?”
“I guess so,” she said dully. “It’s just that I feel…”
“What?”
She threw up her hands. “More betrayal and double-crossing. I’m sick of it. I just want to be honest. Clear. With Victor, with everyone.”
His teeth clenched at her tone. “Some of us have to compromise our principles just to survive, princess.”
“Oh, God, please don’t. Please, not you, too.”
Shit. She was crying again, and it was his own goddamn fault. They didn’t have time for this. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she was stiff and unyielding. Finally he let go and put the car in gear, feeling like an asshole. She sat there, shoulders jerking. Tangled locks of blond hair poked out of her hood. She finally noticed their route, and shoved her hood back, alarmed. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe,” he snapped back. He was grateful she was speaking, in spite of her accusing tone. He preferred her pissed off and snappish to catatonic. Or worse, crying. God, how he hated that.
“I want to go home, Seth. I need some time alone.”
“Dream on. No way am I leaving you alone. Not after today.”
Her eyes blazed. “Seth, I am this far from losing it.” She held up two fingers in a circle that didn’t quite close. “Take me home, right now!”
“Home is a piss-poor idea. I can feel it.”
“I feel, too, Seth. Too much. But right now I need to lock myself in my room and lie facedown on my bed for a long time. Completely alone.”
He darted into another lane. “You can lie facedown in the hotel.”
“Not with you around. You take up a lot of psychic space, Seth Mackey. No. Turn this goddamn car around and take me home.”
<
br /> “You’re tormented by the fact that you betrayed your beloved uncle, hmm? And after he gave you that pretty necklace, too.”
She stared down at her shaking hands, and clenched them into white-knuckled fists. “My God, you make me angry.”
“Truth hurts, don’t it?” He was unable to keep the sneer from his voice. “Victor may be your uncle, and he may be rich and powerful, and he may give you presents and treat you like a princess, but he’s a murdering scumbag who deserves everything that’s coming to him. So if you’re having a crisis of conscience, hold off. Wait till we get to the hotel. You can have it in the bathroom, where I can’t see you.”
“Fine.” She unsnapped her seat belt and shoved her door open.
He was too busy braking on the rain-slicked pavement to grab her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Someplace where you can’t see me.”
Raine slammed the door shut behind her and darted into the traffic.
The light went green. Horns blared and traffic surged around him. He tried to follow her gray-clad figure out of his rearview mirror as she climbed over the median and darted across the opposing line of traffic.
He was losing her in the gloom, two lanes too far to the right to turn after her with all these goddamn cars in his way, and by the time he managed to get over to the left and turn around, she was gone.
He was screaming obscenities into the windshield, and other motorists were giving him nervous looks. One was eyeing him while talking urgently into a cell phone. He lunged for his own and fumbled with it, hitting the sequence for Connor.
Connor picked up instantly. “It’s about time you got back to me,” he snapped. “I’ve left you six messages already, and we have to—”
“Connor, do me a favor. Open up the X-Ray Specs on Raine’s house. Now, quick. Don’t take your eyes off them until I get there.”
There was a startled silence. “The shit must have really hit the fan for you to be calling me Connor,” he said slowly.
“No time for wise-ass bullshit. I’m tailing her home, but she’s got too much of a head start on me for the sick feeling in my stomach.”
“Gotcha,” Connor said, with a businesslike air. “Later.”
The phone clicked off. Seth grabbed the handheld from the glove compartment. There she was, five kloms ahead, almost out of range, blipping away. He dropped the monitor to his lap and concentrated on driving too fast, a skill at which he fortunately had a great deal of practice. He wove through traffic, ignoring the cacophony of offended horns, hoping like hell that no cops would spot him.
The cell phone rang. His stomach sank lower than he ever knew a stomach could go. “Yeah?”
“It’s a bad scene at Templeton Street.” Connor’s voice was hard and tense. “Your lady’s got company in the garage. Black ski mask and gun. You’re closer than any of us. Floor it.”
She’d thought that getting away from Seth’s taunts and jeers would make her feel better, but surprise, surprise…she felt worse.
She shivered in the back of the cab. Just the short dash to the shelter of the bus stop had drenched her. The beautiful Prada boots were clammy from splashing through puddles, but she barely felt the chill. She couldn’t register that sensory information and still think about Victor’s revelation.
Her father. How was it possible?
One thing was certain. She didn’t dare tell Seth. His reaction to learning that she was Victor’s niece had been bad enough. She cringed at the thought of his reaction to finding out she was Victor’s daughter.
She stared at the lights that blurred through the rain-streaked glass, hoping that Seth wouldn’t storm into her house tonight. She didn’t have the strength to deal with his anger. It was all she could do to process the shocking knowledge that touching the Corazon pistol had revealed to her.
She had told Seth that she’d faked her reaction to the gun, but she had lied. The gun had vibrated in her hand, like a trapped animal. Both hot and hideously cold. The memory made her queasy. She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to think of something else. Eagles swooping, snowcapped mountains at sunrise, the ocean.
No image of tranquil beauty was strong enough to cleanse her of the remembered sensation, like a blow to the solar plexus. And the images, racing through her mind: white carpet, spattered blood, tulips scattered across the floor. Screaming. Oh, God. She pressed her hand against her stomach, wondering how long this would last. It was worse than the dreams, because there was no waking from it. She just had to grit her teeth and endure.
Being with Victor on Stone Island had tuned her like a radio to this awful new frequency. She felt raw, torn open. Too much information pouring in. Maybe it was her overwrought imagination, she told herself bracingly. A chorus of sarcastic voices cackled and hooted in her head at the lame attempt to deny reality.
She was Victor’s daughter. She had to avenge her uncle against her father, not the other way around. She could go crazy, reasoning it out, but nothing had changed, really. Murder was murder.
The cab pulled up at her house, and she sighed with relief. It would be dark and cold, but at least it would be private. Her stiff hands could barely handle the money. The bills and coins kept sliding from her numb fingers. She got out of the cab.
The house looked desolate, almost menacing. The untrimmed hydrangeas spread out long branches, dripping with rain. The windows that flanked the front door regarded her like cold, unfriendly eyes.
She spun around to tell the cabbie to stop, but his taillights were already receding, picking up speed. Too fast now to chase him down. He turned the corner, and was gone.
Don’t be fanciful. Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t let your imagination run away with you. Alix’s scolding tone echoed in her head as she moved slowly up the walk. It was just an empty house, and her car was parked in the garage. If she didn’t like the place, she could go in, get her car keys, pack her suitcase and check into a hotel.
That was a great idea, in fact. That was exactly what she would do. She approached the house so slowly that raindrops began to sneak into the collar of her coat, like chilly little fingers.
After today, it would be a miracle if she weren’t paranoid, Raine told herself, fumbling with the key. The phone was ringing inside, but there was no use in hurrying. Her fingers would not cooperate.
She had been an idiot to run away from Seth. He might be rude and difficult, but she would have given anything to have him beside her right now, saying something sarcastic and infuriating. His warm, solid presence would drive away any goblins that inhabited this murmuring darkness.
How embarrassing. The first big tantrum she’d ever had in her whole, decorous, polite life; and she had to end up feeling like a fool. She dropped her key for the third time, and almost yelled with frustration.
Finally, she made it inside. It was cold and dark, but nothing jumped out to bite her, thank goodness. She stripped off her coat, turned the thermostat up and flipped on light after light on her way to the bedroom. The phone rang again as she perched on the wingback chair and started unlacing the soggy boots. She’d left muddy footprints all over the beige carpeting. Should have taken them off in the foyer. She let the phone ring, unable to contemplate talking with her mother.
She peeked at the machine. Five messages.
Strange. She never had so many. It wasn’t like Alix to call obsessively, and no one else knew she was here. None of her far-flung friends had this number. Her stomach did a slow, lazy flip.
The machine clicked on, the outgoing message played. The beep sounded. “Raine, are you home? Pick up the phone. Now! Move it!”
She lunged for the phone, weak with relief. “Seth?”
“Christ, Raine, you turned off your fucking cell phone!”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Never mind. No time. What room are you in?”
“The bedroom,” she faltered. “Why—”
“Does the door lock?”
She w
as shaking so hard she wanted to fall down. “It has a flimsy little lock, yes,” she said, teeth chattering.
“Shit,” Seth muttered. “Lock it. Get a weapon. A lamp, a bottle, anything. Then get into the bathroom, and lock that, too. Move it.”
“Seth, please, what’s happening? Why—”
“Get off the fucking phone and do it!”
The strength of his will leaped through the wires like a blast of hot wind. The receiver flew out of her fingers like a live thing, pulling the cradle off the table, thudding onto the floor in a tangle of wires.
In the silence that followed, she heard it. The swinging door that led from the dining room to the stairs. The squeak was quickly silenced.
There were no more doors to squeak. The stairs were thickly carpeted. There would be no more warnings.
She lunged for the door. Bright, metallic panic pumped through her body. Step one, lock bedroom door. Done. Step two, find a weapon. Her umbrella was in the basket in the foyer. Her pepper spray was in her purse, next to the cell phone on the table in the foyer. The knives and the cast-iron skillet were in the kitchen. Bedrooms yielded a pitiful household arsenal.
He was coming up the stairs. This was not her imagination. It was horribly real, and she had to react, right now. She rummaged across her dresser. Hair sticks, too small and fragile. She grabbed the hairspray, the hair dryer. Her eyes fell on the bedside lamp, made of brass. She grabbed it just as the doorknob turned. Rattled.
She dove for the bathroom with her armful of makeshift weapons. The stuff crashed to the floor, the bulb of the lamp exploding across the tiles. She flipped on the light, yanked the door shut, locked it.
Three loud, awful, crunching thuds and she heard the bedroom door splinter and give. She was huddled on the floor next to the toilet, shaking so hard she could barely move, tears of panic streaming down her face. White, all around her, white tiles, white fixtures…it was the curse of the Corazon, she should never have touched the hellish thing; it was speeding through time and space, coming to get her, and there would be crimson spattered all over the bright white—
Behind Closed Doors (The Mccloud Series Book 1) Page 32