by Anne Stuart
She made it to the toilet in time, throwing up. Her stomach was empty, and dry heaves followed, wracking her body, until she collapsed on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, too sick and miserable even to think.
He came and stood over her, turning on the blinding fluorescent light. “You should have had the vegetable drink, Cassie,” he said kindly. “Compazine is good for the stomach as well.”
“Go away,” she groaned.
“Certainly, my dear. I just wanted to add my condolences on the death of your father. I gather he passed away yesterday. We were enemies, but we shared one thing. The devotion of our daughters.” And he closed the door silently behind him.
It was a long time before Cass could move. Could struggle to her feet, leaning on the sink.
HER EYES WERE dry—there were no tears to shed for Sean right now. No tears for anyone.
She grabbed a snowy white towel and began to wipe the mud and dirt from her face. She looked like death—a fitting comparison. Hobbling over to the edge of the bathtub, she sat, carefully unfastening her mud-caked running shoe. The pain was agonizing as she tried to ease it off her damaged foot, and pulling off the wet sock, she could see her ankle was swollen and purple. She had no idea whether it was broken or not, and she didn’t care. If need be, she’d walk down the mountain, carrying Francesca’s drugged body over her shoulders.
She emerged from the bathroom, still cold and wet but marginally less muddy, and knelt down by the bed. Francesca lay still and cool, her jaw slack, all the bewitching adolescent vitality drained from her.
“Oh, baby,” Cassie murmured, stroking her forehead, “I won’t let him do this to you. I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”
Francesca’s eyelids twitched, just faintly, and her mouth barely moved. “I’m okay.” The words were so quiet she thought she imagined them. And then Francesca’s eyes opened for a fraction of a moment, and she could see the fierce light in them before she closed them again. “I tried to spit out most of the drugs he gave me when he wasn’t looking. But be careful, Cassie. He’s got cameras everywhere.”
“Francesca . . .”
“Shhh,” Francesca whispered drowsily. “Go for help. He’s left me alone so far. I’ll be okay. I didn’t take that much. Just find help.” She closed her eyes again, slipping back into unconsciousness.
“Sonny.” Cassie heard the voice, calm and soft, echo from the living room. She rose, pressing Francesca’s hand in silent comfort, and hobbled toward the noise as a wave of hope washed over her. Only to have it ebb, as she saw the general’s wife.
Essie Scott was wandering around in a soiled dressing gown. Her gray hair stood out around her head, her eyes were vacant, her tongue busy as she licked her lips, over and over again. “Sonny?” she called plaintively.
“Mrs. Scott,” Cassie said, limping forward.
Essie tried to focus. “Who are you, dear?” she murmured. “You’re not one of the maids. We don’t have maids here, do we?”
“No, I’m not one of the maids.”
“And you’re not my daughter. My daughter’s dead.”
“I’m not your daughter. Mrs. Scott . . .”
“And you’re not one of Sonny’s little friends. You’re much too old.” She sighed, moving around to the bar. To the lethal green concoction. “Why are you here?”
“Mrs. Scott, we need your help. Your husband isn’t well . . .”
“Nonsense,” Essie murmured, pouring herself a glass of the vegetable juice. “He’s perfectly fine. He’s a national hero. I’m the one who’s not well. I need my medicine. He’s protected me, but he knows how I get. I imagine things. Terrible, terrible things. But my Sonny couldn’t do such things. He’s a war hero.”
“Mrs. Scott . . .”
“No, I won’t listen to you,” she said firmly. “I know who you are now. Sonny warned me about you. You’re the enemy. You’re going to confuse me, tell me lies.”
“They aren’t lies. Your husband is a monster. He rapes children. He raped your daughter, Mrs. Scott. And he’ll keep on, unless you help me.”
“No! I won’t let you say these things! Go away.” Her voice began to rise in a hysterical shriek. “Go away!”
“Come, my dear.” The general had reappeared, freshly dressed in a spotless uniform. “Don’t let her upset you. You know they’re nothing but lies. Come and lie down. You need your medicine. You know what happens when you forget your medicine.”
She looked up at him, dazed, trusting. “They are lies, aren’t they, Sonny?”
“Of course, dearest.” He patted her hand, leading her away tenderly. He paused in the doorway. “And in case you’re wondering, Cassidy, there’s no way Richard can sneak up here when I’m not looking. Along with video cameras I have heat sensors activated. An alarm would sound if he came anywhere near the perimeter of the grounds. There’s no way he’s going to gallop to the rescue.”
“How reassuring,” she said acidly.
Amberson Scott only smiled.
She watched him go, leading his wife away, murmuring soothing, solicitous phrases. The door shut behind them.
Cassie immediately hobbled back to Francesca, but her sister had ingested more drugs than she’d realized. Shaking her, slapping her did no good whatsoever—she simply blinked and sank back into a stupor. “Damn it, wake up, Francesca,” she cried. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast. Before he comes back.” Francesca didn’t move.
Cassie froze suddenly, as a shadow loomed up behind her, silent, deadly, and she knew it was too late. Hands reached down, catching her shoulders, dragging her away from the bed, and she started to scream, as she felt herself pulled up against a large, hard body, and his hand covered her mouth, stifling that scream. In the distance she could hear the general coming, and the man behind her dragged her into the darkened bathroom, closing the door behind them. She struggled, desperate, until she heard his voice hissing in her ear. “What in Christ’s name are you doing here?” Richard demanded.
HE PUSHED HER up against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and she was unable to fight him. He reached over and turned on the shower, full force, the noise and heat of it filling the room, and she fought him in mindless panic, unable to breathe, until she heard the sharp rapping on the door.
“Decided to take a shower after all?” General Scott’s voice came through the thick door.
Slowly Richard released his hand from her mouth. It took her a moment to be able to speak, but she managed a creditable job. “Yes.”
“A wise idea. You’re probably chilled to the bone, and who knows how long it will take before Richard realizes he’s not going to be able to sneak in. He’s going to have to walk in the front door, and there’s no need for you to be uncomfortable while we wait. There are some clothes of Diana’s in the closet when you’re finished. I couldn’t bear to throw them out.”
Cassie leaned her head against the tile, Richard’s body still pressed tight against hers. “They wouldn’t fit me,” she murmured.
“Certainly they would,” the general said cheerfully. “They fit me.”
Richard’s hand came over her mouth again as she began to struggle once more. They fought, in the steamy darkness, until he simply flattened her against the wall, immobilizing her. “Stop fighting me,” he said in her ear. He waited, damnably long, and then removed his hand.
“Let go of me. He’s going to hurt Francesca . . .”
“He’s not going to touch her. Right now he’s far more excited by the game of cat and mouse he’s playing with me than he is by the thought of another child to molest. Amberson’s interests are simple. He finds the hunt to be the most appealing. After that he’ll settle for sexual perversions.”
“You can’t be sure . . .”
“No,” he said brutally. “But there’s nothing we can do about it right no
w. I don’t have any weapons, and he does. We’re going to have to figure out a way to distract him. If I know him, and I do, he’s gone back to sit in the living room with his gun across his lap, just waiting for me to put in an appearance. He doesn’t know I managed to get past the heat sensors and the cameras by coming straight over the cliff, but he’s smart enough not to rule it out. He’s waiting for me, and he’ll be ready. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him. He’s a formidable opponent.”
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “How can we stop him?”
If she hoped for reassurance she was doomed to disappointment. “I’m not sure. I know one thing, we’re only going to get one try at him. You’re going to need to get your sister out of here while I go for him. It’s our only chance.”
“No,” she said fiercely. “He’ll kill you.”
“Maybe. Probably. But not before I take him out.”
“I don’t want you to die.” It was a cry of pain, of despair, and his reaction was immediate.
His hands slid up her body, to cup her face, and his mouth covered hers in the darkness. It was a long, slow, gentle kiss, as his mouth slanted across hers. He took his time as he took her mouth, with tenderness and longing and a promise of love that was no more than a dream. He gave her more in that kiss than he’d given her in half a dozen sexual encounters. He gave her his soul. And she took it, willingly, gratefully, knowing without words that she was loved.
The rap at the door was sudden, shocking. “Still in there, my dear?” The general called. “I think you’ve had a long enough shower. We wouldn’t want to waste energy, now would we? Come out.”
Richard leaned over and turned off the shower. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she called, knowing her voice shook.
“I have keys to every lock in this house. You’re not my type, Cassidy, but that wouldn’t stop me from . . .” His voice halted abruptly, and through the thickness of the door the sound came, soft, whispering.
“Sonny. Where are you, Sonny?”
He didn’t curse. “Coming, Essie,” he called, ever-patient. “You’ve upset my wife, Cassie,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you for that.”
Richard had already moved away from her, the tenderness vanishing. “You’ve got to get out of here,” he breathed in her ear. “Now.” He yanked open the door, and the dim light of the stormy day filled the room. Francesca lay on the bed, unmoving.
“I can’t leave her.”
“You won’t need to.” He moved to the bed, hauled Francesca into a sitting position, and slapped her across the face, twice. Francesca blinked, opening her eyes, her mouth agape with drugged outrage.
“You’re developing a talent for that,” Cassie said furiously, still shaking.
He glanced back at her. “I don’t expect to have a chance to do it again.” He rose, moving away. “Get her out of here.”
“Come on, Francesca,” Cassie murmured, hobbling to the bed and putting an arm under her sister’s shoulder. “We’ve got to leave before the general comes back.”
“Yes,” Francesca murmured docilely enough, struggling to her feet. The two of them stumbled toward the sliding glass door, pushing it open. Cassie turned, looking for Richard, but he’d disappeared. Without a goddamned word.
The mist had turned to snow once more, coating the lawn, leaving a layer of frozen scum on the wooden deck. But neither of them noticed as they staggered across the lawn toward the woods and the steep, treacherous path down off the cliff.
Cassie felt the sudden burn in her shoulder, like a fist punching her, knocking her away from Francesca, throwing her to the ground, the walking stick still clutched in her hand. A moment later she heard the noise, felt the warm and wetness of blood, and she realized she’d been shot.
“I can’t let you interfere,” the general shouted through the whirling snow, coming toward them. Francesca was on her knees, swaying slightly, and Cassie reached out, trying to protect her, to hold her, when the general fired again.
Her sister’s frail body recoiled, and she fell, rolling over the rocks and ice, falling down the steeply sloping lawn. Falling toward the edge of the cliff.
Cassie screamed, lunging for her, but Francesca was moving too fast. She clawed out, desperate, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her sister made no sound at all as she hit the rock ledge, and then she went over, tumbling through the air to oblivion.
The silence was deafening. Cassie struggled to her feet, ignoring the heat and wetness of the blood from her shoulder. She clutched the walking stick as she advanced toward the general.
“You killed her,” she whispered.
“Richard is to blame,” he said calmly, unmoved. “For all of this. If he’d just left us alone, everything would have been fine. But now matters have been precipitated and I can’t wait until he shows up. You’re going to have to die now, my dear, much as I regret it. You know I admire you very much,” he said, advancing on her, slowly, the small, deadly gun in one capable hand. “Your devotion to your father, your blind loyalty to Richard. Your stamina. As I said, you would have made a hell of a soldier. You would have made a hell of a daughter.”
“I’m not your type, remember,” she shot back, waiting for him to get within range.
“Who knows what would have happened if you were my child?” he mused, coming closer. Almost within reach. Within a few, dangerous yards of the cliff that had taken her sister. “But that’s impossible. A weakling like Essie could never have given birth to an amazon like you. The best she could offer was Diana. Lovely though she was, she was hardly worthy of me. I should have had sons.”
Cassie looked up, past Scott, and an unearthly calm settled over her. Richard had found his weapon. A human one. He appeared on the snow-covered deck, Essie Scott’s dazed, drugged figure standing limply beside him.
“Would that have made the difference?” Cassie deliberately pitched her voice to reach the deck. “Would you have molested your sons as you molested your daughter?”
“Undoubtedly,” said the general calmly, and stopped. “This gun has a greater range than that walking stick, and I have no intention of coming any closer. I’m sorry, my dear.” And he raised the gun.
Her next moves were instinctive. She hurled the stick at him, with all her force, ducking and rolling on the ground as the gun spat. In the distance she heard the high, keening wail that came to an abrupt halt, and when Cassie came to a stop she looked up, to see Richard and the general wrestling in the snow, sliding and struggling, moving toward the cliff that had taken Francesca. There was no sign of Essie Scott.
She tried to rise, but couldn’t. Blood was everywhere, her blood, and she had used up the last of her reserves. She lay in the snow, watching the vicious confrontation in horror.
It was like nothing she’d seen in the movies or on television. It was violence, scratching, clawing, murderous violence, and despite Richard’s youth and size, they were evenly matched. The general had expertise and pure evil on his side, and they rolled toward the edge of the cliff, coming up hard against the stone barrier. Cassie held her breath, unable to move.
The general struggled to his feet. There was blood on the snow, and he reached down to touch the kitchen knife protruding from his chest.
He yanked it free. Blood was everywhere, but he simply didn’t notice, advancing on Richard as he lay panting against the wall. “Fitting, don’t you think?” he wheezed. “You should have learned you can’t win, Richard. I think I’m going to cut your heart out before I toss your body over the cliff. If they ever find you, they’ll assume the wolves got to you.”
He leaned down, the knife steady, then he jerked. A look of great astonishment covered his face. And then he dove forward, over the barrier, falling end over end down into the valley, the back half of his head blown away.
ESSIE SCOTT STOOD in the
snow, gray hair flying, rifle in her hand. “He did lie,” she said simply. “He did.” And she turned and went back inside the house. In the distance, in the deafening silence, Cassie thought she could hear her humming beneath her breath. And then she heard another sound. A soft, feminine cry. “Cassie. Help me.”
“Francesca!” she screamed, struggling to her feet, but Richard had already moved, scrambling over the wall. By the time Cassie had managed to drag herself to the edge, Richard had already reached her sister. Francesca was caught up against a small clump of trees, her frilly pink outfit stained with blood. But she was alive, and Richard was with her, and it was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right, she thought, sinking back into the snow. Everything was going to be just fine, as the icy blackness closed in around her, and she surrendered to it, running away for the last time.
Chapter 22
“YOU NEED TO speak to your stepmother, Cassie,” Alice announced. “She’s being completely unreasonable. And why she’s allowing that dreadful contessa woman around is beyond me. Francesca is just fine, she’s made a better recovery than you have, and the two of them ought to head back to Venice or Naples or wherever they come from. It’s not as if Sean is leaving her a thing in his will. Everything’s in trust for the girl.”
“As it should be,” Cass said wearily. “Alba is Sean’s fourth wife, and as such, has just as much right here as you do. And what is Mabry doing that has you in such an uproar?”
“She’s starting a fire in the library fireplace, and I was trying to read. It’s a blistering hot day, and she’s doing it just to drive me from the place. I won’t have it. She can’t drive me out of here . . .”
“She certainly can. It’s her apartment. Don’t you think it’s time you went back to Florida? Robert must be lonely without you.”
“Robert can take care of himself,” Alice said with a sniff. It was just past noon, and she’d only just started drinking.
“Oh, I’m sure he can. I was just worried about your friends.”
“My friends?”