Against her will, Claire followed Tony’s lead and crept on her hands and knees toward the door. Her skin was bleeding and bruised by the time they reached it. Tony jumped to his feet and pushed her inside, easing the door closed behind them.
The odor of mildew, and a familiar smell Claire could not immediately identify, assaulted their senses as they hurried down the stone steps. Pulling the flashlight from the jacket he made Claire put on, Tony moved the beam around the room.
It was surprisingly bare. A few cardboard boxes sat in one corner, a chair with ripped upholstery in the other. A group of shiny cans stood in a row beneath a workbench, which held a toolbox. The only other item was a freezer. The door of it was propped open with a pole, and a series of puddles radiated from it, leading up the stairway to what was probably the kitchen. There were no windows.
Holding Claire by the hand, Tony led her to the steps on the opposite side of the room. The door at the top of the landing was locked. Tony pressed his ear to the wood but heard nothing. “I bet there’s a screwdriver down here. I’ll go find one and work on this lock. What did you see inside?”
Claire recounted the story, hugging Tony close.
“Are you sure you only saw an old woman inside with Roz? No one else?”
“No, I’m not sure of anything.” Claire pulled away. “All I saw was the woman’s feet and legs. And I don’t know what was wrong with Roz. She wasn’t shot or anything, just unconscious. I think she spilled her tea and then passed out. Who else were you expecting to be here?”
Tony stared at her for a moment. “It’s been obvious from the beginning that Sarah had to have had an accomplice. There’s been too much physical mayhem. The fact that you saw her inside seconds before we were targets for the gunman outside proves it.”
“Do you still think its Newcastle?” Claire searched Tony’s face for the truth, but before she could press him further, his hand shot to her mouth.
“Ssh. Listen.”
Claire listened. From the basement entrance across the room came the sound of metal scraping against metal. As her brain tried to identify the sound, Tony ran toward the door. Before he got halfway across the room, the noise stopped.
Seconds later a car engine roared to life, the sound slowly fading as the car headed away from the house.
Hanging on to the stair railing, Claire watched as Tony pushed his weight against the door they had come in through. He didn’t have to say a word. She knew it, too, was locked.
“Tony...”
“It’s okay, Claire. We’ll be okay.”
Seconds later he came back to her, helplessly grasping, then releasing the knob.
At that instant, Claire identified the other odor she noticed when they first walked in. “I smell gas. Is there a water heater down here?”
“No. It’s probably those cans. Hold the flashlight for me while I look around down here.” He jumped down the stairs and began rattling through the toolbox.
Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw that the fog was now seeping through the cracks around the basement doorway and wafting toward them. Her nose crinkled at a new aroma. “Are you going to smoke now, of all times?”
Tony turned from the bench, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just told you those cans are full of gas. I’d never risk lighting a cigarette.”
Panic pulsed through her veins as she realized what it was she smelled. It was not fog that seeped under the basement’s outer door.
As Tony headed back up the stairs, Claire raised her outstretched arm and pointed toward the locked door behind him.
Then came her scream, a one word nightmare. “Fire!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Take off your panty hose and skirt,” he ordered.
Claire trembled as Tony wrapped wet strips of his torn shirt around her forehead and neck. Despite the desperate circumstances, she was sure they would figure a way out.
Holding Claire’s clothes in one hand, Tony stripped his pants off and threw all the garments into the freezer. Claire rubbed them in ice. They worked as a team, no words necessary for the task at hand.
After a few seconds, Claire pulled his dripping wet Levi’s out and handed them to him. “Put these back on.”
“Thanks. You better take your shirt off and wet it, too, and dunk your hair. Hurry, Claire. We don’t have much time before that gas blows.”
Smoke was beginning to fill the basement. It was now pouring through the cracks around the outer door, upward toward the only other exit, which was bolted closed from inside the house.
Claire pulled the shirt off over her head and dunked it into the melting ice. Her face glowed as her full breasts rubbed against Tony’s arm.
As her eyes met his, they both broke into nervous laughter.
“You have beautiful breasts, Claire.”
Her gaze dropped to the firm silhouette of his buttocks. “And you’ve got a fabulous rear end, Mr. Nichols.”
“This is insane.” Tony helped Claire pull her shirt back on, caressing her briefly through the freezing material. “This isn’t the way I’d imagined undressing you.”
“You’ve thought of that, have you? With all that’s been going on?”
“Yes.”
“Good, I’m glad I’m not the only nut who has fantasies during stress.”
“You’re not a nut at all. Now, let’s try the door again.”
Claire covered Tony’s massive hands with her smaller ones. “Having you back in my life, even in this situation, is like hitting the jackpot. Even if we don’t get out, I want you to know how much.”
Noting the hysteria rising in her tone, Tony stroked her hair, matted to her head and dripping wet. “We’re going to get out. Right now, as a matter of fact. Are you ready?”
“What about the people inside? Why don’t we pound on the door? Roz may be able to wake-up.”
“Save your breath. Whoever locked us in and drove off probably took Roz and Winesong with him, or else it’s too late to worry about them anymore.”
As he walked back toward the stairs, Claire’s eyes scanned the dim basement. She picked out the outline of a door on the far wall, and a light came on in her head. If she was not mistaken, she had found a way into the house. “Tony, come here. It’s a dumbwaiter.”
Tony followed her to the small open door.
“This is great. I’ll get in and you send me up.” They both looked in, seeing at the same time that his broad shoulders would never fit.
“It’s not big enough for you. I’m going to have to go.”
Tony blinked. “Okay. But don’t mess around trying to help Roz if she’s still here. Go straight to the kitchen, unlock the door and let me into the house.”
“Yes, sir.” With a small salute, Claire climbed into the cramped space.
Tony saw his own fear and trepidation mirrored in Claire’s face. Roughly he pressed a hard kiss onto her lips, handed her the flashlight, then pulled up the wide swatch of torn wet fabric at her throat up to cover her mouth and nose. “You look like a bank robber.”
He closed the door on her and Claire felt the panic of someone about to drown. She struggled to stay calm. A sudden jolting movement, then a swift, somewhat jerky climb began as Tony pressed the lever to send the dumbwaiter upward.
Toward what? An unknown gunman? A deranged novelist? A dead rival?
The possibilities were all too gruesome and frightening to contemplate, so Claire instead concentrated on Tony. Shivering, she yanked on her leather skirt and cursed her tights, which bit into the tops of her legs. Just then the jerking movement stopped.
Had she made it? Was she in the kitchen?
Pushing excitedly at the door of the tiny compartment, Claire panicked when it only opened a scant two inches. Shining the fight out the crack, she saw a solid wall. The elevator must have stopped before it had gotten completely up to the opening.
Drenched with sweat, Claire banged on the sides of the dumbwaiter. “Tony! Tony, it has stopped.
Tony!”
Below her Tony’s voice echoed up the shaft. “Claire, it’s okay. The electricity’s off, but I’ll use the manual crank and get you up the rest of the way. Hang on.”
She began to hyperventilate. Another sluggish vibration on the hoist rocked the dumbwaiter, then Claire felt herself moving upward again.
After several seconds the contraption came to a stop, and she immediately popped open the door. Craning her neck, she pulled down the fabric that covered her mouth and drank in the air. The room was dark and smelled musty, but it was so much cooler than the dumbwaiter she felt like a bird set free in a clear spring sky.
Carefully she unfolded her legs and crawled out, shilling the light in wide arcs. The room was an office of some kind, books were piled high, and stacks of paper sat next to wooden file cabinets.
Running across the hardwood floor, Claire reached the door and peeked out. An enormous dark hallway loomed in front of her, filled with smoke.
“Dear God, the house is on fire, too.” Not sure which way led to the kitchen, Claire rushed barefoot down the hallway. The smoke was getting thicker, and when she reached a new set of stairs she was greeted by orange and red flashes licking at the banisters.
What appeared to be the foyer below her was also full of smoke, and greenish tentacles wafted from the room to the right, back lit with sparks and a roaring fire. Running down the center of the stairs, Claire looked around, and then headed through the smoke toward the rear of the house.
Nearly gagging on the acrid stench of burning fabric, she raced into a room full of sheet-draped furniture. A dining room? Scorching paths of fire gnawed the chairs, like ravenous guests from hell.
Moving a few feet down the hall, she opened another door. It was the room Claire had peeked into from outside the house. It was consumed with fire, the smoke black and merciless, blocking all vision. In vain, Claire dropped to the floor, and above the crackling roaring fire screamed, “Roz? Miss Winesong? Are you in here?”
Dizzy, her eyes streaming blinding tears, Claire crawled out into the hallway toward the last entrance at the back of the house. Pushing against a swinging door, she nearly yelled in delight. The kitchen!
Smoke obliterated the appliances, but she managed to locate the doorway to the basement.
Crawling, crying and choking, she got up on her knees and pulled on the door. It was stuck. Beating on it, Claire yelled. “Tony, are you there? Tony!”
Calm. She had to be calm. Claire ran her fingers over the door latch, finally finding the dead bolt. After a moment she slid it back and threw open the door. Where was Tony?
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion, ten times louder than the one that had destroyed Tony’s car. The shock waves tossed her across the kitchen and into the wall. Fighting the pain from what felt like a million punches, Claire began to crawl. Flames poured through the basement doorway.
Tears ran down her cheeks. In the distance sirens blared. As unconsciousness clouded her mind, she was aware of being picked up and carried out of the house. Fighting the blackness, Claire sobbed.
“Tony. Don’t leave me now, Tony. Please don’t leave me.”
“Relax, dear Claire. It’s all over now.” The man holding her staggered away from the house, his arms aching with her unaccustomed weight. He rued the fact that he had left his favorite cane behind.
* * *
In the thick shrubs, Tony regained consciousness and shook his head. Rising unsteadily, he ran around toward the front of the inferno, but stumbled and fell against a patch of hacked away tree stumps at the edge of the drive.
Clear your head, Tony-boy. What are you doing? Tony allowed himself to rest as the past incredible minutes replayed themselves.
While waiting for Claire to get out of the dumbwaiter and back down to the kitchen door, he had a brainstorm. By using the heavy metal pole that had propped open the freezer, he managed to pry open the outer basement door and get back outside.
His only thought had been to reach Claire, but before he could, an explosion knocked him yards away from the house into the trees.
Claire. My God, no! The pain in his left leg had been overshadowed by a consuming fear.
“Claire! Claire!” His smoke damaged vocal cords rasped, but before he could drag himself more than a couple of feet, he saw the slight figure of a man carrying Claire toward a blue Jaguar parked away from the fire.
Her hair hung in blond soot-covered streaks, and her long legs were gashed. Lunging toward the pair, Tony fell headlong into the grass. He could not move his leg.
Quickly refocusing on Claire, Tony felt a surge of relief wash over him as he saw her raise her head and then nuzzle back into the man’s shoulder. She was alive.
But who was the man carrying her?
As vertigo swept through him, Tony fought to remain conscious. He blinked furiously to wash away the ashes in his eyes, and Claire’s rescuer came clearly into focus.
It was Damien Laurent. How in the hell?
Sirens screamed and fire engines pulled into the circular drive. Tony took a deep breath and clutched the small piece of jewelry he had found next to the freezer.
He had recognized it immediately, both whom it belonged to, and what it meant. Things were going to be okay.
He now understood exactly what was going on, and who the enemy was.
* * *
Someone had put rolls of cotton in Claire’s mouth and down her throat. And then beaten her severely with a cast iron pan. She rolled over onto a shoulder stiff with pain, and then opened her eyes. Putting her hand to her lips, she stuck out her tongue and searched her mouth. No cotton.
Was all this pain a dream? She tried to sit upright, but a heavy strap held her down on the hospital bed.
In a rush, the room spun into view, and then back out again as dizziness overtook her. A pair of gentle, but firm hands guided her head to a basin where she retched, then mopped her face with a cool cloth. The nurse fluffed the pillow behind her and then eased her back against the sheets.
“There, there, Miss Kennedy. Just relax.”
“Where’s Tony? Tony Nichols. Is he okay?”
The young nurse smiled reassuringly at Claire and took her pulse. “I’ll send in Dr. Waters as soon as we’re done here. How are you feeling?”
Claire jerked her hand out of the nurse’s grasp, and rubbed it furiously. A heavy gauze bandage covered the palm.
Suddenly the vision of the firescape that was Sarah Winesong’s house crowded out the antiseptic order of her hospital room. Tears ran down Claire’s cheeks as she fought the horror. She had not been able to get to Tony.
Was he dead?
The nurse put her hand on Claire’s shoulder, urging a glass of water and a small paper cup of pills on her. Without arguing, Claire swallowed them.
She wanted desperately to sleep. To sleep dreamlessly. To not contemplate the fact she may have lost Tony. But she had to find out; not knowing was a thousand times worse than knowing.
“Is Tony Nichols okay?” she rasped.
“Just try to rest, Miss Kennedy. I’ll send the doctor right in.”
For a few moments, Claire laid still, the only movement she made a fitful swallow as she choked back quiet tears.
“Miss Kennedy? How are you feeling?”
Opening her eyes, Claire met the kind ones of a young resident. He had a denim shirt on under his white coat, and merry blue eyes. “I feel lousy. Are you going to tell me where Tony Nichols is?”
Dr. Waters walked closer to Claire, unfolding his arms and dropping his clipboard onto the bed beside her. He reached for his stethoscope, placing his pink fingers on Claire’s neck. “If you’ll just breathe deeply, Miss Kennedy, I’ll get my exam over with quickly and you can go back to sleep.”
As the doctor raised Claire to a sitting position, her dizziness returned. She fought it off with deep ragged breaths. “Doctor, either you tell me if Tony Nichols was admitted to this hospital, or get someone in here who can. Then we’
ll discuss my condition.”
A look of pity crossed the resident’s face, but before he could respond, another, more familiar voice addressed Claire from the doorway. “Claire, my dear, you must calm yourself. The doctor is trying to help you.”
Claire jerked her head toward the speaker, shocked at the pale, exhausted features of Vincent Harrison. “Mr. Harrison! Tell me what’s happened. Is Tony okay? What happened to Roz, and Miss Winesong?”
Mr. Harrison put his finger to his lips to quiet Claire, and then nodded at Dr. Waters. “Doctor, could you leave me alone with Miss Kennedy for just a few minutes? I think I can get her to cooperate if I impart some information to her about last night.”
The doctor smiled and walked out of the room, annoying Claire even more by the pronounced look of pity on his smooth face. The restraining belt around her chest dug into her ribs, and Claire tugged at it. “Do you know why I’m trussed up like this?”
“My dear Claire, you cracked several ribs last night. Please lie still.”
Forcing herself to lean back into the pillows, Claire waited. “What’s happened, Mr. Harrison? Please tell me everything.”
Taking Claire’s hand, Harrison sat next to the bed. “My dear, it appears that Mr. Nichols escaped the fire that consumed Sarah Winesong’s house last night. At least the police haven’t been able to find his body.”
Joy flooded through her, and tears of happiness welled up in her sore eyes. “But where is he? He must be hurt, maybe unconscious, or suffering from amnesia. Have they searched the grounds?”
“Yes. There is no trace of him. Or his car.”
“His car? He drove away from the scene and no one saw him?”
“It appears that way, my dear. However, don’t concern yourself. The police won’t let him near you.”
A roaring started in Claire’s ears again as her head began to throb. Something was very wrong with this conversation. She knew a lot had happened, but Mr. Harrison’s comments were confusing her. “I want to see him.”
Stranger Than Fiction Page 18