Duplicity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  John glanced down and sucked in air.

  The other man held a gun. John quickly changed his mind. The creep looked very capable of harming someone.

  Jason fired. A flash of light. The smell of gunpowder. The bullet arrowed toward John.

  Twisting, John pivoted to the side, dodging the bullet by mere centimeters. Then he lunged toward the other man.

  In alarm, Jason’s mouth gaped open. John hit him in the face with a fist. The man’s mouth sagged wider, and the gun flew out of his hand. John caught the weapon in mid-air and watched Jason crumble into an ungainly heap on the floor.

  After John set the gun down on the counter behind him, he glanced back to Spalding’s henchman. Jason hadn’t moved. John nudged him with a toe, but the man still didn’t stir. Realizing he might have actually killed him, John hunched down by the body and checked for a pulse.

  Yes. Definitely there.

  John exhaled. He didn’t want murder on his conscious, but he did want the creep alive and awake. The bastard knew tonight’s plans. John needed that information.

  Hunching down, mindful of the power in his hand, he gently slapped the man’s cheek. Head lulling to one side, Jason remained unconscious.

  “Damn it.”

  John sprang to his feet, grabbed a glass in one of the cabinets and filled it with tap water. He tossed the contents into the creep’s face. Not even a flicker of movement.

  Glaring down at Jason, he brushed his hair back from his brow. He was wasting time. He couldn’t stay here indefinitely with Katherine across town with a killer.

  He rummaged through the drawers, found some thick, durable packing tape, and bound Jason’s ankles and wrists behind his back. John thought of tying him even more securely in case Jason managed to get free and go running to Spalding, but he didn’t dare waste another minute.

  John dropped the tape’s empty cardboard ring by the discarded cell phone. Something—a hunch, instinct, gut feeling—whatever—made him pick up the phone and scroll down its menu. He punched the button to retrieve the last received call and then dialed the number.

  He waited tensely. On the third ring, someone answered.

  “Hello?”

  John frowned. The person on the other end wasn’t Spalding.

  “Jason, is that you?”

  He didn’t answer—even if he wanted to. Shock affixed the words to his throat.

  “Jason?”

  A long, thick pause of silence followed. Then the connection died.

  But John heard enough to recognize the person. And it scared the hell out of him.

  He and Katherine never suspected. Never would have. They’d been so damn clueless, and now Katherine was in that house, vulnerable, unsuspecting, and blind to the truth.

  Holy Shit.

  ~~*~~

  Katherine stood tensely along the edge of the room and watched the dance floor in the midst of over two dozen tables slowly filling with people. Waiters impeccably dressed in black and white uniforms cleared the last course. Chandeliers glittered from above, while candlelight glowed on tables draped in crisp, white linen, highlighting centerpieces of fresh cut flowers in wispy shades of pink and lavender. Their floral scent teased the air while the slow beat of music played over the hum of voices and laughter.

  The setting, romantic, expensive and surprisingly unpretentious considering the $10,000 per person contribution needed for the evening, contradicted the storm of emotions raging within Katherine.

  So far she’d managed to avoid her uncle, but she’d caught him watching her over the course of the evening. And each time their gazes clashed, she’d been the first to glance away, finding his look too threatening, too disturbing to hold his gaze for long.

  Rolling tense shoulders, Katherine glanced over to the doorway, which led to the front entrance of the house, and searched the crowded room. No sign of John. She thought he’d be here sooner.

  Unless something happened...

  No. Impossible. John wouldn’t let anyone get in his way. He stood by his promises, an anchor of stability and strength Katherine desperately needed. All too quickly, he’d entangled himself into her life so thoroughly that she didn’t see a future or a possibility of happiness without him.

  When she glanced back at the doorway, she thought of the hidden closet in her uncle’s bedroom. For hours she’d been battling the urge to sneak upstairs and pull the company paperwork on Kirkwood and Harvest Associates. She remembered the combination but hadn’t yet had the opportunity. That is, until now. She hadn’t seen her uncle for the last fifteen minutes and everyone else seemed occupied long enough for her to slip away for a couple of minutes.

  “Hey, Katherine. You can relax. The evening’s almost over.”

  When she turned around and found David, she hid her disappointment with a smile. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

  “God, no. Probably the only reason I can tell is because I feel the same way. You’d think we’d both be used to it by now.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, well. Here. This should help.”

  He held two glasses and offered her the fluted one. At her questioning look, he explained. “Champagne. I, on the other hand, prefer something a bit stronger—like a good, expensive glass of scotch. Especially when my father’s footing the bill.”

  “Thanks.”

  Katherine sipped her drink and watched David’s profile as he looked out over the huge hall. She’d never been particularly close to David. Probably because their interests were far too diverse to have anything in common. Articulate, always immaculately groomed, a trial lawyer in pursuit of fame and his own fortune, he possessed the characteristics her mother fawned over and found sadly lacking in her daughter. With a perfect nephew like David, no wonder her mother considered Katherine a disappointment.

  “Cheers. To a successful evening.” Her cousin lifted his glass in a toast.

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “Close enough.”

  After taking a long, deep swallow of champagne, she nodded at her half-empty glass. “I think I needed this.”

  “I’d like to take the credit, but it was my father’s idea. He got sidetracked by a guest and asked me to do him the favor. He thought you could use a drink.”

  Before she had a chance to work out David’s words or her uncle’s motives, a man materialized by her other side.

  She turned. Standing inches from her elbow, Paul Spalding smiled down at her. She couldn’t smile back, couldn’t do anything for several seconds but stare back as she grappled for self-control.

  All evening she’d managed to avoid the man so why did her luck have to run out now?

  “Oh, I better go,” David said.

  No. This couldn’t be happening. Her luck hadn’t just run out—it had crashed and burned.

  “I see my wife, and I can’t ignore that look on her face. She’s in desperate need of rescuing.” David touched Katherine’s elbow in parting before he left her alone to deal with his father.

  Panic. The sheer force of it momentarily cut off her breath.

  Get a hold of yourself.

  She grasped her glass, started to take a drink, but decided against it. Her uncle might have put something in it. He had every opportunity. As to motive—

  Her panic escalated to new heights.

  No. You will not give him the satisfaction of seeing how frightened you are.

  “As always, you’re looking good tonight, Katherine.”

  Nodding, slowly dragging in a lungful of fortifying air, she turned and met Paul’s cold gaze.

  ~~*~~

  “Can’t you move this thing faster?”

  Sitting in the back seat of a taxi, John, in mounting frustration and anger, watched the vehicle inch through traffic.

  “Hey, Buddy. Give me a break. I’m not some friggin’ superhero. Take a look around,” the driver tossed over his shoulder, disgust evident in his voice. “There’s obviously an accident up ahead. Hell. It’s not like I can take the sidewalk.”
>
  He muttered something else John didn’t catch, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the man’s driving. And his driving wasn’t getting John anywhere any time soon.

  Irritated, John shifted on the vinyl seat and watched the lane of traffic to the left move forward.

  Even with his powers—characteristics admired in any fictionalized superhero—John was helpless, unable to get to Katherine’s side fast enough.

  What type of hero did that make him?

  John grunted in self-disgust. He was far from a hero. He’d let his superior abilities inflate his ego and blind him to reality.

  But he’d always been a self-important fool. His parents, both from the scientific community, encouraged his every move when they learned of his interest in the sciences. They’d left his sister, Margot, to flounder while they’d praised and fawned over him, their darling little boy. Faculty and then co-workers considered him gifted, and he let their praise encourage his self-absorption.

  Then his world had been ripped savagely from beneath his feet because of Miltronics. Those teenage boys... They’d never stood a chance—

  John blinked rapidly, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and cleared his throat. Guilt. Years wouldn’t be enough to get it out of his system.

  How Katherine saw him in such a favorable light amazed him. She’d always believed in him, and he found her complete faith humbling, because he knew he’d never done anything to warrant it.

  No, he wasn’t some hero, and he sure as hell wasn’t in some comic strip with a fictitious villain. The danger to Katherine was far too genuine.

  John couldn’t—no—wouldn’t fail her.

  Somehow he’d get across town and to Spalding’s estate in time. He’d thought the quickest way was by cab through the freeway system and surface roads. He’d never tried running for any length of time or thought he’d hold the same speed as a car, but at this point, John was liable to try anything.

  He glanced down to Jason’s cell phone in his hand. Hitting the menu button, he illuminated its face and the time. Just over thirty minutes since he’d left Sharon’s headquarters. Too much time. Too many possibilities of something going wrong.

  Fear. He tasted it against the back of his throat, experienced it in every tendon of his body—actually felt ill from it.

  The traffic on his left moved ahead two car lengths. Frowning, he glanced down at the cell again. Another minute.

  “Get in the left lane,” John ordered. “It’s going faster.”

  “Bud, how about you keep that trap closed and save your opinions for someone else. Or better yet, if you’re in such a damn hurry, why don’t you walk?”

  “Good idea.”

  John grabbed the handle and opened the door.

  “Hey, what are you doing? You gotta wait until I pull to the side—You crazy fool!” The cab jerked to a stop as John placed a foot on the pavement. “You haven’t even paid me! Take another step, and I’ll call the cops!”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  John slapped at his coat pockets until he found his wallet. He threw a couple of twenties into the driver’s area but didn’t wait around to see where they landed.

  “Idiot. What a—”

  John didn’t pay attention to the cabby’s last words as he slammed the taxi door. Metal groaned. He cringed, knowing he’d broken something. The cabbie started screaming. Any second and the driver would get out and start pointing at him. The police would get involved. Time would be wasted.

  He grabbed his wallet, took the last of the cash, reopened the cab door and threw the bills inside. Another minute wasted.

  More screaming, but John didn’t care as he pivoted around. He needed to get to Katherine. A horn blasted. A car came at him from the other direction. He sucked in his breath, twisted and pulled himself away from the car’s grill. Metal nicked his hip. The car swept past, the heat from its engine smacking his exposed skin.

  Another round of screaming. This time from someone else. Too much noise. Too much chaos.

  Breathing heavily, chest pounding, he leaped to the other side of the road. Unharmed.

  Another minute wasted.

  Then John ran. Ran across busy intersections, dark alleys, snow-covered yards and dirt packed parking lots. Minutes relentlessly ticked by. Minutes, which brought the future perilously closer. At this very moment, John never felt more powerless.

  Chapter 31

  Her uncle might think she looked good tonight, but Katherine couldn’t say the same for him. He appeared haggard—his band of brown hair dull, his face and bald patch sallow. Even his cheekbones seemed sunken.

  Good.

  He deserved sleepless nights. No. He deserved so much more. He deserved to feel Jeffrey and Brian’s pain, to experience their horror right before their deaths. She stared at Paul and wondered how he could be so immoral and such a—

  “Sick bastard.”

  Her words, unconsciously spoken aloud, hung in the air between them. Paul grabbed her wrist. Eyes narrowed with fury, he flexed the fingers of his other hand. She hitched her chin up. He wouldn’t dare hit her here.

  Katherine yanked at her arm, but Paul didn’t let go. He dug his fingers deeper into her flesh, pressing yet harder when she didn’t react.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  Her father appeared at her side. Katherine didn’t answer as she stared at Paul. This time she didn’t intend to be the first to look away.

  “No. Of course not.” Paul released her arm, stepped back and glanced over to her father.

  Katherine ignored the urge to cradle her arm against her stomach; she wasn’t about to give her uncle the satisfaction of showing how much he’d hurt her.

  “Are you sure?”

  She turned and met her father’s questioning gaze. “Positive.”

  “Well, you seemed upset. I hope it wasn’t because you were trying to get Paul to contribute to the Morning Dove.”

  “Of course not!” Katherine denied.

  “Good. I know how much that shelter’s been consuming your life. You know, you tend to force it on everyone in the family.”

  At her father’s uncalled for taunt, she lifted her brows. “It never seemed to bother you before.”

  “A person can take only so much.”

  Katherine stiffened. She hadn’t expected this from her father. “You should have said something.”

  “I guess my patience’s finally run out from your continued obsession with the Morning Dove,” her father retorted, his voice loud and fierce. “You’ve ignored your friends and family because of it. Now it’s hurting you financially, and still, you continue. You know, you’re letting this shelter distort your judgment.”

  “My judgment?”

  “Yes,” Spalding interrupted. “You’re so fixated with the Morning Dove that you’re letting it affect your health. It’s not worth ruining your life,” he insisted, raising his voice even louder than her father and causing several heads to turn in their way. “Just don’t do anything drastic. Come to us first.”

  Katherine frowned. Her uncle’s behavior was all wrong. When she met his bland expression, she realized then that he was orchestrating something—something that involved her. Fear, raw and unmistakable, scraped up her spine, and she stepped back from both men.

  Suddenly, nausea surged into her stomach. Katherine clutched her middle with her free hand, willing the sensation away as she slowly inhaled and exhaled. Now was not the time to let her nerves get the better of her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Katherine didn’t believe her uncle’s look of concern.

  Gently, her father rubbed her upper back. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?”

  “It’s my stomach.” Abruptly, the queasiness vanished as quickly as it materialized. Her nerves were obviously a mess. She dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” Her father offered her his elbow. “How about we forget the Morning Dove, and you give y
our old man a dance around the floor. You know, they’re playing something slow and old-fashioned.”

  “Sure.” Anything to put some distance between Paul and herself. She looked around for a place to set her drink.

  “Here. Give your glass to Paul. He’ll have one of the waiters take care of it. Isn’t that right?”

  “Of course.”

  Katherine gave Paul her glass. His hand, cool and dry, brushed against her fingers. Smothering the urge to shake off the feel of his touch from her hand, she clasped her father’s arm and let him lead her through the tables to the center of the room.

  Unable to relax, she circled the dance floor with her father. As other couples flowed and ebbed around them, she caught a glimpse of her uncle standing where they’d left him, her drink still in his hand. Then he disappeared when more dancers merged onto the floor. Somehow Katherine found his departure more threatening than if he’d continued watching her.

  Someone nudged her elbow. A woman’s high, piercing laugh hit her ears. Bodies edged closer, trapping her, shrinking the little space they had on the floor. Arms, shoulders, heads of the crowd swayed and shimmered. She blinked as the strong tang of cologne mixed with the sweet, cloying scent of perfume wafted across her nose. Her stomach twisted and rolled with nausea.

  Stumbling, Katherine clutched her father’s shoulder. He clasped her elbow and pulled back.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She grimaced, embarrassed. Even though she’d only had two glasses of champagne, she felt drunk. She should never have had alcohol on a nervous and empty stomach.

  “I don’t know.”

  Katherine staggered to an abrupt stop. Someone collided against her back, but her father steadied her.

  “Here. We need to get you outside and into some fresh air. You look pale and clammy. We’ll go through the game room. That way, we’ll avoid anyone asking questions.”

  With the help of her father’s much-needed arm for support, Katherine focused on getting her feet to move in front of her and ignored how the walls in the hall tilted back and forth. Somehow they slipped into the game room and away from the public without any embarrassing mishaps.