Nightfall

by Anne Stuart

  She kept her face averted. “Not since I was a child.”

  “Hit?” he said. “Or spanked?”

  “Hit.”

  Again the dark rage. At whoever had hit her, a helpless little girl. And at himself. “Who hit you? Sean?”

  “Whoever was drinking the most at the time,” she said. “You don’t have that excuse.”

  “I don’t have any excuse.”

  To his astonishment she managed a faint trace of a smile. “True enough. What are we waiting for?”

  “I can take you to a motel. You could wait there . . .”

  “No. And don’t think you can clip me again. I’m coming with you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m your albatross,” she said with a fierce kind of humor. “Your barnacle, your worst nightmare.”

  He stared at her. At her pale, defiant mouth, her sorrowful eyes. “I’ll dream about you in hell,” he murmured.

  “See that you do.”

  The barricade at the foot of the Notch road was feeble enough—just a couple of highway sawhorses with flashers attached. He stopped the car, but before he could move Cassie had jumped out, moving swiftly through the slush to pull one of the barriers out of the way. He drove through, waiting for her, squinting at the slowly lightening sky. The stuff coming down was something between rain and snow, wet, but not icy, and the gritty stuff beneath the tires had at least a trace of traction. Cass jumped back into the car, and he started up the twisty road slowly, keeping up enough speed to maintain his steady climb.

  They made it farther than he would have thought. The tires spinning, BMW traveling sideways, they slid their way up the hairpin turns, until the slush turned to ice and the car ended up sideways in a ditch. He switched off the motor, turning to look at her. “You’re not dressed for this,” he said in an even voice.

  “Neither are you.” She was already out of the car, a determined expression on her face. She looked like an Irish Valkyrie, an amazon, ready to do battle. That strength would have to carry her through whatever they faced at the top of the hill.

  He pulled himself out of the driver’s seat. He was wearing Nikes, not the best for climbing an icy mountain trail, but then, he didn’t have a choice. The mist that was falling had already coated Cassie’s hair and sweater, and she blinked. He wanted to kiss her eyelids.

  “Let’s go,” he said in his coolest voice, starting the rest of the way up the road.

  She trudged behind him, silent, steady, no complaints. Her feet would be wet and soaking, blocks of ice. He knew, because his were. She was having trouble keeping up with him, but he didn’t slow his pace. He didn’t dare. Too much time had already elapsed.

  He almost couldn’t find the trail. He’d climbed it years ago, when he and Diana had first married and they’d come up here for a family visit. Even then there’d been trouble, and he’d gone for long hikes, discovering the back trail up to Scott’s mountaintop retreat. It looked different, years later, in the snow and ice, than it had in the height of summer, but for once his instincts were working.

  The trail was slippery, the rocks coated with ice. He heard her scrambling behind him but he didn’t dare pause, dare help her. He had to concentrate on what lay ahead.

  Her voice came from behind, breathless. “What do you think he’ll do to Francesca?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he said grimly.

  “I have to know. If I’m going to make it up this goddamn cliff, I need to have a reason,” she snapped, panting.

  “How old is she?”

  “Thirteen going on thirty. She’s precocious, very Italian, very loving . . .” her voice cracked for a moment, but Richard kept on walking.

  He took pity on her. She needed fear and rage to keep her going. She also needed hope. “I don’t think he’ll have touched her yet,” he said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “I think he’ll be waiting for me.”

  “What about his wife? How could she stand by . . . ?”

  “She’ll be drugged. She’s been an addict as long as I’ve known her, and Amberson keeps her well-supplied. I never realized why. With luck he’ll have knocked your sister out with something. She might never have to know what happened to Amberson.”

  “What will happen?”

  He paused, turning to look down at her. The evergreens were shorter and more scraggly as they climbed higher, but the trail was dark and brooding, making it hard to see her expression. He knew it in his heart anyway. “You don’t need me to tell you, Cassie. You know.”

  “Richard, you can’t . . .”

  “I no longer have any choice.”

  She looked up at him, and he felt her despair echo in his veins. “Richard, I love you.”

  “I know,” he said. And he started back up the mountain.

  CASSIE HAD NEVER been so miserable in her entire life. Her feet had gone beyond numb to a kind of stinging pain, the cold had seeped into her bones along with the liquid air, and her sweater hung wetly around her frozen jeans. The rocks were icy, the dirt was mud, and for every few steps she took, she slid back at least one.

  Richard moved ahead of her, tall, unyielding, untouched by mortal concerns. It was always possible she hated him, even as she followed him, turning her mind off, turning her fears off, simply enduring, as the icy needles of mist coated her, seeping through the cotton sweater, encasing her arms.

  She barely felt it when her ankle twisted beneath her. She went down again, scrabbling for a handhold, sliding in the ice and mud a few feet until she ended up against a stubby pine tree.

  She lay there for a moment, catching her breath. Richard hadn’t stopped, moving relentlessly upward, and cursing silently, Cassie struggled to her feet.

  Only to collapse again, as the pain sliced through her in white hot waves, and she couldn’t stifle her soft moan of agony. She sat back, pulling her foot out from under her, carefully, leaning against the tree, watching as Richard climbed back down to tower over her.

  She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I blew it,” she said.

  “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “I have no idea. I heard a crack. I know I can’t stand on it, at least now. Go on ahead.”

  He stared at her, and she waited for some token protest. She got none. “All right,” he said. “The path is well-marked. If Francesca doesn’t come to find you, the police will find the car abandoned on the road and send out a search party. They’ll find you before long. Make sure they check at the general’s house. They probably have orders to leave him strictly alone—Scott has that kind of power—but make up some story. About your friend going on for help.”

  “You aren’t coming back down?”

  He knelt down beside her in the rain, and she wasn’t sure what she expected. Not the gentleness of his hand, touching the bruise at the side of her face. Not the tender brush of his lips, against her eyelids, her cheekbone, her lips. A benediction. A promise.

  A farewell.

  She watched him until he disappeared into the woods up ahead. Listened until the sounds of his climb were swallowed up in the mist and rain. She sat back, shivering, miserable, still feeling the warmth of his mouth on her. She trusted him. He would save Francesca. He would stop the general. He would . . .

  He would die. Her eyes shot open in sudden horror as the final realization hit her. He wasn’t coming back down. He wasn’t planning to survive. He was going to kill General Scott, and stop the threat to his children forever. But he was going to die as well, to expiate his sin, his crime—a crime no court would recognize.

  She sat up, screaming his name, but the sound was swallowed up in the mist. She couldn’t let him do it. She was a fighter, a survivor. And right now her survival depended on Richard’s. Her life, and any possibility of happiness.

  She started after him, crawling, scrambling,
dragging her wounded ankle behind her, her fingers sliding in the mud, her face scratched by branches. She was as relentless, as determined as he had been. Nothing was going to stop her.

  She reached a rise, a leveling off of the steep terrain. She had no idea how long she’d been scrambling after him—she’d lost all track of time. Suddenly everything began to look a little less wild, a little more ordered. Military order. She had to be getting closer.

  She slid again, landing on her stomach in the mud, and she lay there, panting, trying to catch her breath. Listening to the sounds of the forest. The drip as the mist condensed and dropped off the trees. A distant, quiet hum. And the sudden, horrifying sounds of footsteps, coming closer.

  She lifted her head, ready to roll into the bushes and hide, but it was already too late. The general stood there, dressed in impeccable fatigues, a walking stick in his hand, looking down at her as she lay in the mud, an amused expression on his kindly face.

  “I’m quite impressed, Cassidy,” he said. “I’ve been watching you for quite a while. You would have made one hell of a soldier. Most new recruits start whining the moment things get tough. A sprained ankle would have them screaming for their momma. But you just kept crawling up this mountain.”

  “I had a reason.”

  “So you did,” he said pleasantly. “I expect you’re wondering how I knew you were here. This place is a fortress, but I’m not interested in having a private army interfering with my personal life. The security system is the best in the world. I can watch anyone who gets within a mile of this place. That’s why I’m wondering where Richard is.”

  The hope that flooded her was warming, strengthening, and she struggled to sit up. “He’s not here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You would never have found this place without him. I don’t like liars, Cassidy. I have to discipline them.”

  “Where’s Francesca?”

  “Safe.”

  “Safe?” she echoed. “In your hands?”

  “Ah,” General Scott murmured. “I gather Richard told you the truth. Or what he considers to be the truth. Did he tell you how he murdered my little girl? He didn’t understand the bond we had. He was jealous, he always had been. Diana and I used to laugh about him, about his efforts to make her what he wanted her to be. Diana knew who she was.”

  “Diana never had a chance. Not with a monster like you for a father.”

  His expression didn’t alter. “No one understands,” he said lightly. “I don’t expect them to. Come along, Cassidy.” He leaned down and hauled her to her feet, putting an arm around her waist. “I’ll help you up to the house, and we can wait for Richard.”

  She tried to push him away, to free herself, but he was almost unnaturally strong. He half dragged, half hauled her up the mountain, oblivious to the mud and filth, oblivious to her struggles.

  The house was just over the rise, a peaceful, sprawling mélange of wood and glass. “My little aerie,” the general murmured, not even out of breath, as they started across the stretch of ice-rimed lawn leading to the deck.

  “I don’t see any state-of-the-art security system,” she muttered.

  “I have all I need. Cameras, so I know who’s coming. And a high-powered sniper rifle. I was an expert marksman when I was younger, and I believe in keeping up my skills. The moment Richard appears in one of my surveillance cameras, I’ll be ready for him,”

  “You’ll kill him?”

  “Eventually.” He was panting now, a fact that gave Cass only faint satisfaction. He opened the sliding glass door and shoved her inside. She collapsed on the pure white carpeting, smearing it with mud. “I want answers first.”

  Cass was silent for a moment, listening. “Where is Francesca?” she demanded. “Where’s your wife?”

  “Both sound asleep.” He shrugged out of his fatigue jacket, moving over to the bar. “I’m more than aware of the value of pharmaceutical aids. Can I get you a vegetable drink? It has excellent restorative properties.”

  “Will I need them?”

  “Actually,” he said in an apologetic voice, “no.”

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “I’m afraid it’s necessary. And your sister as well. In the army you learn to face the unpleasant task, and not waste your time lamenting over the inevitable.” He poured two glasses of a greeny-orange mixture and brought one over to her. For the first time in her life she longed for whiskey.

  “Why?”

  “I have to make absolutely certain that Richard is known for the monster he is. I’m afraid of your father’s book. I’m afraid of the appeal. As long as he didn’t fight it, I was content. But I know about the justice system in this country. Despite my best efforts, he could spend the rest of his life in some place that’s a hell of a lot more hospitable than an army barracks. I can’t let that happen. He has to be punished for what he did. If he won’t die for Diana’s murder, then he’ll die for yours and your sister’s.”

  “You’re going to frame Richard?”

  “I’ll need an excuse for shooting him, won’t I? I’ll say he took you hostage, dragged you up here, and shot both you and Francesca. I had to kill him like the mad dog that he is.” He held out the glass. “Take this. It’ll make you feel better.”

  She knocked it out of his hand, and the green slime landed on the white carpet. “I’m not into drugs,” she said.

  The general smiled. “A perfect little soldier,” he murmured. “You want it the hard way. You know where my grandchildren are. Tell me.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. “Where you’ll never find them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can find anything I want. If I’d had any idea they were still alive, it would have been a matter of days, maybe hours, before I had them with me. Richard was very clever about that. I never even guessed. I thought he must have found out that Diana was carrying my child, and gone mad. Of course, madmen can be very crafty.”

  “You’re a prime example.”

  The general shook his head. “I’m not mad, child,” he said reprovingly. “I do what needs to be done. It’s just that simple.”

  “That simple,” she echoed.

  “Would you like to clean up a bit? See your sister?”

  “I thought you were going to kill us?”

  “If you’re dead when Richard appears, I’ll have very little bargaining power. And I need to find out what happened that night.” There was a faint crack in the general’s facade, one that made his paternal calm all the more frightening.

  “I want to see Francesca.”

  “I thought so.” He helped her to her feet, solicitous, and handed her his walking stick. “This should help. This one belonged to the great General Dwight D. Eisenhower himself. I’ve always treasured it.”

  Cassie’s fingers curled around the handle of it, and she looked into the general’s face. She didn’t have the strength to use it as a weapon. Not yet. But she would.

  “Take me to Francesca,” she said again.

  “Gladly.”

  RICHARD WAS GLAD Cassie had fallen. She never would have made it up the sheer face of the cliff, and he knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t have accepted being left behind. He didn’t think he could have hit her again—he still felt sick at the memory of it. Though if he had to, he would have. He’d learned he had the ability to do just about anything.

  The cliff was the only way to approach the house without Amberson’s damned video cameras. There’d been no way to mount them over the ledge, and supposedly no need. No one would approach the place by such a suicidal method. No one in their right mind.

  Richard no longer considered whether he was sane or not. Oddly enough, it was his return from darkness that made him realize how very much over the edge he was. Sanity and madness were no longer issues in his life. He kne
w what he had to do, and intended to do it, and he would pay the price. He’d never been one to avoid the consequences.

  He’d done rock climbing before, but he’d done it with the proper equipment, and the rocks weren’t covered with a film of ice. He wondered briefly what would happen if he fell. And then he dismissed the notion. He wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t. He was going to kill Amberson Scott with his bare hands, and he was going to make it hurt.

  And then he was going to kill himself.

  Chapter 21

  “YOU BASTARD,” Cassidy said. Francesca lay on the bed, so unnaturally still that for a moment Cassidy had been afraid she was already dead. She was wearing something pink and frilly, exposing her long, coltish legs and budding breasts, and Cassie’s hand gripped tightly around the walking stick.

  “I haven’t touched her,” Scott murmured. “I had my wife change her clothes. I’ve watched her though. She’s very pretty, your little sister. Very innocent. Do you know if she’s reached puberty yet?”

  Cassidy wanted to throw up. “Yes,” she lied.

  “A shame. I like them when they’re still pure. Unsullied by blood. But I might make an exception in her case. Like Diana. I never could give her up. Don’t look so distressed, Cassidy. Your sister will never know. I fed her enough of Essie’s drugs to make sure she won’t accidentally regain consciousness. When I finish with her, I’ll see to it that a single bullet to the temple will take care of things. Immediate, painless. I’m not a cruel man.”

  She stared at him. “I thought you only liked your own children.” Her voice was unnaturally calm.

  The general chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous, child. I’m a soldier. Where do you think I learned my taste for children? Battle zones provide human casualties of every age and degree of innocence. I only turned to my daughter because I was home, back in so-called civilization. And because she wanted it.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “She was five years old,” the general continued, unperturbed. “The bathroom’s in there.”