Darkness before the Dawn (21 page)

She could feel his erection against her leg, feel his clutching fingers clawing at her arms. She stood motionless, and he pulled away, pushing her into the bathroom and aiming the gun at her. “Sorry I don’t have more time,” he said. He shut the door on them.

She listened to the sounds of the locks, listened to the muffled tread of his footsteps as he moved away. And then she turned and walked over to her sister’s huddled figure, a cold knot of hatred churning her stomach.

“He made a mistake,” she said out loud.

Kate raised her head from the cradle of her arms. “What do you mean?”

“He wanted me to be too freaked out to think or do anything. But he misjudged me,” she said fiercely. “I’m getting out of here, and when I do, I’m going to kill him. Don’t just sit there, Kate. Help me.”

“Help you what?” she echoed, dazed but game.

“Help me break down this damned door.”

“You mean you let her go after Kate alone?” Caleb demanded, his usually deep voice rising into high-pitched rage.

“Maggie can take care of herself. We weren’t sure of you.” They were speeding across Chicago as fast as the traffic would allow them, which wasn’t fast enough. “Someone had to be in on it with Alicia, and you were one of two possibilities.”

“What made you decide to trust me?”

“I don’t trust you,” said Randall. “I don’t trust anyone. I decided you weren’t the one involved with Red Glove Films, or you wouldn’t have confronted Francis about the money. You also don’t have the motive and the connections to screw me up as badly as I’ve been screwed the last few days. And the other possibility does.”

“Who is it?”

“No one you know. A man named Bud Willis.” A brief, savage smile lit Randall’s dark face. “You can meet him after I finish rearranging him a bit.”

“Can’t you drive this damned thing faster?” Caleb fumed. “I thought Jaguars were sports cars.”

“This is a sedan,” Randall said. “And it’s the traffic that’s slowing us, not the car. I have complete faith in Maggie. They’ll be all right until we get there.”

“And if they’re not?” he said stubbornly, drumming his long, freckled fingers on the leather dashboard.

An odd, twisted look came into Randall’s eyes, as if the possibility had never occurred to him, and once it had, it been found completely unacceptable. “If they’re not,” he said finally, “then I doubt you’ll find pieces of Bud Willis big enough to identify.” And the Jaguar bucked forward with a roar.

“Maggie, it’s hopeless.”

“Nothing’s hopeless, damn it,” Maggie snarled. “Again!”

Once more they crashed in unison against the flimsy bathroom door; once more they heard the encouraging splinter of wood that still failed to make any headway. “Why the hell didn’t I ever take karate?” Maggie fumed, rubbing her aching shoulder. “I could kick the damned door down if I had.”

“What makes you think we have any chance at all?” Kate said.

“This house is cheap and gaudy and all show. The interior doors are hollow and flimsy. Come on, Kate. Once more, and put your back into it. Think of Chrissie.”

“I’d rather think of Randall Carter and what I’m going to do to him when I catch him,” Kate said bitterly.

Maggie managed a wry smile, pushing her hair out of her sweating face. “Then imagine you’re slamming into him. Let’s try a running start this time. Once more, kiddo! We can do it.”

This time when the combined two hundred-plus pounds of female muscle slammed into the door, the crack was louder, and Maggie felt it give. “We’ve almost got it,” she panted. “One more time.”

Once more they drew back to the far wall of the sprawling bathroom; once more they raced for the door. Maggie shut her eyes, braced for the blow, expecting to bounce back again. But with a crashing, rending sound, the door split down the middle, and Maggie and Kate tumbled through, landing in a
tangle on the hot pink wall-to-wall carpeting that stretched through the hallway.

“You okay?” Maggie questioned, sitting up.

Kate sat with a slightly dazed expression on her face. “We did it!” she murmured. The splintering wood had ripped away her sleeve, and a long, nasty scrape was oozing blood. “We really did it.” And she started to laugh.

For a moment, Maggie was prepared to stop the incipient hysteria. And then she realized Kate wasn’t hysterical; she was just happy and amazed to be alive. Before Maggie could gather her somewhat scattered wits, Kate had jumped to her feet and was grabbing her sister and yanking her upright.

“Come on, Maggie! We’ve got to go after them. Randall and Caleb are walking into a trap, and we have to rescue them.” Her brown eyes were alight with excitement and determination, and Maggie shook her head.

“Listen, kid, don’t get cocky,” she muttered. “We broke out of a locked bathroom; that doesn’t mean we’re ready to save the western world.”

“Are you going to sit by and let Randall and Caleb fend for themselves?”

“Serve ’em right if I did. The first thing we’re going to do, dear heart, is get the hell out of here. Then we’ll worry about saving their lives. Let’s move it, kid.”

Kate was ahead of her, leaping down the steps. Maggie followed at a calmer, no less speedy pace, shaking her head. A little danger, the ability to rescue oneself, and one got just a tiny bit crazy. Maybe that would help carry Kate through the next few hours, hours that weren’t going to be pleasant. She only wished she weren’t too jaded to experience some of that euphoria herself. She needed all the edge she could get.

Caleb was yanking at the padlocked gates, cursing with inventiveness that would have impressed Randall at another time. “This is Kate’s car!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Don’t just stand there, man! Help me!”

“You’re not going to be able to break that chain with your
bare hands,” he said, his mild tone belying the tension that was vibrating through him. “We’ve got to find another way in—and fast. Stop wasting your energy.”

Caleb promptly wasted more energy cursing Randall, but Randall ignored him, turning his attention to the narrow door set deep into the thick stone walls. It was now locked, but locks were not much of an obstacle to a man of Randall’s talents. In moments the door had swung open and Randall was heading up the driveway, his long legs eating up the distance.

Caleb’s distant curse floated after him, and then his pounding feet signaled his advent up the driveway. Randall didn’t even bother to turn and look; all his attention was concentrated on the front door and the two figures he saw there.

Then Maggie and her sister were running toward him, and he could hear Maggie’s strong voice on the sultry breeze: “ ’Bout time you showed up,” she called when she was within hearing distance.

He stood there, wanting to run to her, but his feet were glued to the ground. He waited as she ran toward him, one shoe missing, her hair streaming out behind her.

She stopped just short of him, mere inches from his arms. Her bruised face was pale and sweaty; her eyes were blazing. And without thinking, he grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and held her as relief washed over him.

She didn’t fight him, much as he had expected her to. She leaned against him, resting for a moment in the shelter of his arms, and he could feel the hot August sun baking down on them.

He moved then, pulled away, and looking down at her. “Are you all right? Bud didn’t hurt you?”

“How did you know about Bud?” She moved away, running a nervous hand through her tangled hair.

Randall shrugged. “The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. It had to be someone who knew the international scene and our past well enough to screw things up in Gemansk. Bud was the only logical choice. I don’t suppose
Bud and Alicia are tied up somewhere in that monstrosity of a house?”

“No such luck. Bud locked us in the bathroom, thinking we’d be stuck there when the wreckers arrived tomorrow. In the meantime they took off for the studio. I think they’re hoping you’ll catch up with them there.”

“We will,” he said grimly. “I would have found you, Maggie. I promise you.”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

Kate pulled out of Caleb’s protective arms. “That reminds me,” she said in a dangerous voice, advancing on him. “What the hell did you do to my baby?”

“I do hope you’re not planning to beat me up,” he drawled, watching her approach with a jaundiced eye, “because your sister already did the honors.”

Kate stopped midstride. “You did?”

Maggie smiled with more than a trace of weariness. “I did. Trust me, little sister.”

“If you all don’t mind, I think we should get out of here,” Caleb interrupted. “If we waste much more time, Alicia and her friend will get away scot-free.”

“You’re right. We’ve got to get to the studio,” Maggie said, heading for the door set in the stone wall.

Randall’s hand caught her arm. “What’s this
we
, white man? Don’t you think you’ve been through enough today?”

Maggie remembered Bud’s skeletal smile and his cheerful, taunting confession. “Honey,” she said, “I’ve only just begun.” And she shook off his hand.

Stoneham Studios was a vast, silent, deserted tomb when the four of them entered.

“Why isn’t anyone here?” Maggie whispered to Kate.

“We’ve always had Tuesdays and Wednesdays off,” she replied, looking around uneasily. “We work so many weekends that Alicia decided to change the work week.”

“But what about security? A night watchman, or anything like that?”

“No such animal,” Caleb offered. “We’ve been cutting costs right and left, and security was one of the first things to go.”

“I wonder how they expected to get you two here,” Maggie said, limping forward. She still wore only one Nike, the other having been snatched out of her hand by Bud.

“Probably by telling us you’re here,” Randall said. “At least they won’t be expecting us so soon—we have the element of surprise on our side.”

“I’m afraid you don’t, honey.” Alicia’s voice shattered the stillness. “You have to get up real early to pull something over on a tough old buzzard like me.” She was standing in the shadows, her cigarette a tiny glow of light. The dimness almost concealed the gun in her hand. She’d taken over Bud’s more efficient sawed-off machine gun, and if her face was still pale with strain, her hand was rock steady.

“Beats me how you two got out of my house so fast,” she said. “I got locked in that bathroom once, and it took the fire department to get me out.”

“You underestimated us.”

“I guess we did.” She sighed gustily, exhaling blue smoke into the murky darkness. Holding the gun with one hand, she tossed her cigarette onto the floor, then grimaced. “I loved that house. Billy-Bob built it for me, with everything I wanted in it. Guess it didn’t mean much once he died. Spent too much time here in this goddamned studio, trying to save his dream. Well, it’s too late for that. Too late for everything. Tomorrow everything will be gone. I’ll be real glad to get away.”

“Alicia,” Kate said softly, “you don’t really want to kill us.”

“Of course I don’t, honey,” Alicia said. “But I don’t see that I have much choice. You all move into the center of the room, real slow and careful. If you put a hand toward your pockets, I’ll shoot it off. You hear?”

“We hear,” Maggie said grimly, and they all obeyed. Randall’s body was tense, ready for the slightest opportunity, and that tension radiated through her own body. Somehow or
other, she had to distract Alicia just long enough for Randall to pounce. “What do you think Billy-Bob would think of what you’ve been doing? Turning traitor, involved in murder?”

“He wouldn’t like it,” Alicia agreed, and Maggie could see the telltale signs of a slightly relaxed guard. The gun drooped a tiny bit, and her basilisk eyes were somewhat less alert. “But I comfort myself with the knowledge that his ma would be spinning in her grave. Don’t move, mister.” The gun spun around to train itself on Randall’s middle. “I’m faster than you’ll ever be.”

Randall lifted his hands and shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it, Alicia,” he said, and only Maggie noticed he was still edging closer to the old woman.

“What are you planning to do after you kill us?” Maggie questioned, still trying to divert her attention. “Do you think you’ll get out of the country without being caught?”

“Of course we will. That little skunk Willis ought to be good for something. He’ll cover things up long enough for my brother and me to get to Peru, and then no one can touch us.”

“Has Bud left Chicago for any reason in the last few days?” Maggie questioned softly, fiddling with her tangled hair.

Alicia’s eyes were trained on Maggie’s nervous hand. “He flew back to Washington to clear up some last-minute details yesterday morning, and he returned on the midnight flight,” she said. “What the hell does that matter?”

“I just wondered if he was the one who murdered Admiral Wentworth or if he delegated the responsibility.”

Alicia was very still. “What the hell are you talking about, girl?”

Randall was almost in reach. “You’ve been too busy to listen to the news today. Probably too busy to answer the telephone. Your brother was found dead in his apartment in Arlington. It was supposed to be suicide, but the police think it might be murder. What do you think?”

For one brief, crucial second, the machine gun dropped. It was long enough. Randall made a flying tackle and toppled
Alicia’s rangy body, and Maggie caught the gun as it skittered across the cement floor.

With calm efficiency she checked the ammunition clip, shoved it into place, and advanced on the wildly struggling old woman. Alicia grew very still as Maggie placed the snub-nosed barrel against her temple.

“Where’s Willis?” she said gently.

“Maggie, for Christ’s sake …” Randall began, but the anger and disbelief in his face faded as he surveyed Maggie’s implacable, deadly expression.

“Shut up, Randall.” Maggie’s voice was still polite and even. “Where is he, Alicia?” And she cocked the gun.

“Come and get me, sweetbuns.” The mocking voice floated down from overhead, and Maggie looked up, way up, into the catwalks that crisscrossed the top of the cavernous sound stage. It was too dark and shadowy to see him, but his soft, evil voice called to her.

“Maggie,” Randall’s voice was a plea and a warning.

She ignored him, rising and moving out of his reach. “I’m coming, Bud,” she said grimly, and headed for the cement stairs.

The higher she climbed, the hotter it became. The air was thick and suffocating, but she refused to pause. She kept moving upward, flight after flight of cement steps, the gun held at her side, ready to jerk upward at the faintest sound, her heart cold as ice. Down below, she could hear the murmur of angry voices, could even pick out Randall’s outraged tones, but she didn’t look down. Bud Willis was ahead of her, and she was going to do to him what he’d done to Pulaski.

She reached the first catwalk and stepped forward onto the narrow walkway, all traces of acrophobia banished in her determination. The gun was unwieldy, and her palms were sweating, belying her calm. She heard a noise up ahead, a tiny scuffling that was undoubtedly a rat. Whether it was the human variety or a rodent remained to be seen.

She was halfway across the wide room when her instincts warned her. A second later, the walkway shook as Bud Willis
dropped onto it from the catwalk overhead, and she whirled around to face him, the gun ready.

He looked like death, a grinning, horrifying personification of the grim reaper. His lips were drawn back in a smile, and the veins stood out in his forehead. Every nerve, every muscle, every cell in his body was geared for confrontation. He also had a gun in his hand, the smaller one Alicia had used before.

“You’ve got to learn not to let your emotions get in the way,” he said patiently. “You’ll never be any good until you shut out everything. Anger, revenge, even pleasure. Killing has got to be an instinct, not an emotional experience, unless you’re a real expert, as I am.”

She aimed the gun at him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“Sweetcakes, there isn’t going to be a next time,” he said sadly.

“You don’t think so? You’ve got a twenty-two pistol, buddy-boy,” she mocked. “I’ve got a sawed-off machine gun. I’m sure you’re quite lethal with that, but my firepower far outdoes yours.”

“But Maggie,” he said softly, “you can’t do it. You can’t stand there and shoot me in cold blood, no matter what I’ve done to you and yours. You can’t pull the trigger until I fire first—and my first bullet will kill you.”