“It was Nicholas I was after all along,” he said, snickering. “Until I met you. Then I wanted you too. When I met my wife, there was something about her that reminded me of my mother. You remind me of her too. There’s a bit of perfection in you, Laurant. Had the circumstances been different, I would have trained you.
“Mother’s gone now. There wasn’t any reason to keep her alive. She had reached perfection, and I knew I had to act quickly.”
The second he stopped, she blurted, “Who was Millicent? Did she exist?”
“Ah, so you listened to the confession tape, did you?”
Laurant felt him nod against her. She could smell the sweetness of the Calvin Klein cologne mixed with the sourness of his breath.
“Did Millicent exist?” he repeated. “Maybe.”
“How many did you kill?”
“None,” he answered. “Mother doesn’t count. You can’t kill perfection, and whores don’t count either. No, of course not. So you see? You’ll be the first.”
He saw the shadow. He swung Laurant around and shouted, “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her. Drop the gun, Nicholas. Do it now, now, now, now.”
Nick had reached the center of the balcony. He put his hands up, but he didn’t drop the gun. The dining room table was directly below him. If he could just get over the railing . . .
Stark was still crouched behind Laurant, trying to turn her with him so he could face the steps and be fully protected by the wall behind him.
“Drop the gun,” he shouted again. “And come on down and join the party.”
“You aren’t going to be able to sneak away this time,” Nick said. He could see the terror and pain in Laurant’s eyes. If he could just get Stark to move away from her, just a fraction, he could get a shot before he got hit.
“Of course, I’m going to get away. I’m going to kill Laurant and you, and I’m going to get away. The stupid mules will be looking for the hick farmer, Justin Brady. I’ll cut her throat if you don’t drop the gun.”
Nick let go of the weapon. It barely made a sound as it dropped onto the carpet at his feet.
“Kick it out of reach,” Stark screamed, waving his gun as he gave the order.
Nick did as he was told but slowly lowered his hands until they were level with his shoulders. Every second would count. He wanted his hands close to the railing so he could spring when the time came.
“I’ve got you now, don’t I, mule?” Stark shouted. “Who’s the master? Who’s the hero? They’ll never find me, no sirree,” he gloated. “They don’t even know who I am.”
“Sure they do,” Nick called out. “We’ve always known. You’re Donald Stark, and we know all about you. You’re a sleazy filmmaker. You use prostitutes to simulate amateur death scenes. S and M crap,” he added. “And not at all believable. Homemade stuff. You barely make a living selling the junk on the Internet, and you’ve got a lot of dissatisfied customers.”
“Dissatisfied?” he roared.
Nick deliberately shrugged. “You aren’t any good, Stark. You ought to get in another line of work. Maybe you can learn a new trade in prison.”
Stark’s full attention was riveted on the balcony. He wasn’t aware that he’d lessened his grip on Laurant or that the butcher knife was now pointed at the doorway and not her throat.
“No, no, you’re lying. No one knows who I am. You heard me talking to Laurant, and that’s how you knew—”
“No, we’ve always known who you are, Stark. The article we planted in the papers was just a way to draw you out. Everyone was in on it, even Tommy. We planned it down to the last detail.”
Nick could tell that his lies were working. The bastard’s face was red and blotchy, and his eyes bulged out of his head. He hoped that Stark’s anger would push him into making a mistake. Nick only needed a second.
Come on. Come and get me. Forget about her. Come after me.
Laurant saw the barrel of the gun coming up, felt the madman tense against her. He was trying to lift her up with him as he shot Nicholas. Then she heard the screech of tires on the gravel outside the door. Was it Tommy? Oh, God, no. Whoever came through the doorway was going to get killed.
“No,” she screamed as she twisted in his arms and threw herself backward. Her shoulder knocked the hand grasping the gun. Stark fired wild, hitting the glass picture window, shattering it. The blast was so close to her face she could feel the burning heat. She kept fighting and pushing as she turned, but he was too strong. He wouldn’t let go of her and he wouldn’t be budged.
Stark’s gun was swinging upward again just as Jules Wesson appeared in the doorway. Crouched down in a shooter’s stance, his arms straight out, both hands on his gun, he waited for a clear shot.
Laurant jerked back, twisted again, fighting with all her might until she faced Stark. Then she attacked. Her left hand gripped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin to keep him from aiming his gun. He tried to reach around her to stab her hand with the knife, and that’s when she swung her right hand up and rammed the needle into his eye.
Stark screamed in agony. He dropped the knife and reached for his eye, howling like a crazed animal.
The second Laurant struck Stark, Nick grabbed hold of the railing and swung over. Shouting for her to get down, he reached behind him, grabbed the Glock and started firing.
Stark leapt to his feet, uncontrollably firing his gun. Wesson dove for the floor, narrowly missing a bullet, and then he too fired.
Nick fired in midair, landed on the table and fired again. The first bullet struck Stark in the chest. Wesson blew the gun out of Stark’s hand, and Nick’s second shot got him in the head as he was turning to run. The third shot struck his leg.
Stark was on his back, one leg twisted under him, his eyes wide open. Nick stood over him, his chest heaving as he tried to calm his rage.
He heard a sob and whirled around. Laurant was on the floor, her head in her hands. As Wesson rushed forward, Nick dropped to his knees beside her and put his hand out to touch her. Then he stopped. He was afraid that he would only make her pain worse.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m sorry. I brought this to you and Tommy. It’s all my fault.”
She threw herself into his arms. “Is he dead? Is it over?”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Then he closed his eyes. “Yes, love. It’s over.”
B
y the time Nick got Laurant to the hospital, Noah was already in surgery. Tommy, still wearing his bloody vestments, came running down to the emergency room when he heard from one of the nurses that his sister had been brought in.
He was in a panic until he saw Laurant. She looked like she’d been through hell, but she was breathing and even managed a smile for him. Nick was sitting on the exam table beside her with an arm around her waist. Tommy thought he looked worse than she did, which was pretty awful. Nick’s face was gray and his eyes had a haunted look.
“What about Noah?” Nick asked. “How’s he doing?”
“They’re working on him now,” Tommy said. “The doctor told me the bullet didn’t hit anything major, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s going to be all right,” he assured them. “It’s just going to take him time to get his strength back.”
“How long has he been in surgery?” Nick asked.
“About twenty minutes. He’s going to be okay,” he said again. “You know Noah. He’s as tough as nails.”
Laurant sagged against Nick and put her head down on his shoulder. Her hand was in his lap and he was holding tight. She hurt everywhere. She couldn’t make up her mind which was worse, her head, her arm, or her leg. Every inch of her body seemed to be throbbing in pain. She wanted to rest, but when she closed her eyes, the room began to spin, and that made her queasy.
“Where the hell is the doctor?” Nick demanded.
“They just paged him,” Tommy said. He went to his sister and gently brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re going to be all right.” He tried to sound certain, confident, but it came out all wrong, and it sounded like he was asking her a question.
“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.”
“Can you tell me what happened? You were right behind me when I carried Noah outside.”
“He was there, and he called to me. He asked me to help him. I think he told me he’d been shot.”
“Who called to you?”
“Justin Brady,” she answered. “Only he wasn’t really Justin.” She looked up at Nick. “I started to go to him, but then all of a sudden I could hear your voice in my head.”
“What was I saying?”
“Don’t believe anything anyone tells you. I knew something wasn’t right about him, and then I saw the glove on his hand. It was a surgical glove, I think.” She looked at Tommy when she added, “I tried to run, but he came after me, and the next thing I remember was waking up inside the van. He took all the door handles off, and I couldn’t get out. Tommy, he showed me a photo of his wife. It was at the picnic, and he showed me a photo. He must have stolen it from someone.”
“Let’s talk about this later,” Tommy suggested when he saw how upset she was. “Don’t think about it now.”
“Tommy, go hurry up the damned doctor,” Nick barked.
The physician, a cranky, middle-aged man named Benchley, pulled the curtain back just as Tommy was leaving to go search for him. The doctor took one look at Laurant and then ordered Nick and Tommy to leave.
He had the bedside manner of a Doberman. Shouting for a nurse to assist him, he glared at Nick when he didn’t move from the table, and once again he demanded that he get out.
Nick refused to leave Laurant’s side. He wasn’t diplomatic in his refusal either. Fear made him hostile and belligerent, but he didn’t realize he was up against someone just as belligerent. Dr. Benchley had worked in Los Angeles for over twelve years in a rough inner-city emergency room. He had seen and heard it all. Nothing intimidated him, not even an armed FBI agent with a crazed look in his eyes.
Tommy stepped in and dragged Nick out of the cubicle before he lost his temper.
“Let him examine her,” he said. “He’s a good doctor. Come and sit down in the waiting room. If you sit near the door you can see the curtain from there.”
“Yeah, all right,” Nick said, but he couldn’t sit down. He paced instead.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and wait,” Nick suggested. “Have the nurse page me when Noah comes out of surgery. I want to talk to the doctor.”
“I’ll go up in a minute,” Tommy said. “But I want to stay here until Benchley finishes with Laurant. She’s gonna be okay,” he added, more of an assurance for Nick. “She looks bad, but she’ll be all right.”
“What if she isn’t? Tommy, I damn near got her killed. He had her. The bastard had her pinned up against him with a knife at her throat. I’ve never been so scared in my life. One second. That’s all it would have taken to cut an artery. And it’s all my fault. I should have known.”
“Known what?”
Nick didn’t immediately answer. He was reliving those terrifying moments when he’d crept out onto the balcony and had seen Laurant down below.
“I should have figured it out before he had a chance to grab her. And he never should have gotten that chance. Because of my incompetence, Laurant almost lost her life, and Noah got hit.”
Tommy had never seen Nick so shaken. “Stop beating yourself up, and tell me what happened. What should you have known?”
Nick rubbed his brow and leaned back against the wall. His gaze was glued to the curtain. He told Tommy everything, and when he was finished, Tommy needed to sit down.
“My God, you both could have been killed.” He expelled a long breath and then stood. “You know I’d tell you if I thought you screwed up.”
“Maybe.”
“You didn’t screw up,” Tommy insisted. “Pete didn’t figure it out either,” he pointed out. “You did your job. You protected my sister, and you saved her life.”
“No, she pretty much saved herself. There I was, armed to the hilt, and she nailed the son of a bitch with a safety pin. Drove it right through his eye.”
Tommy flinched. “She’s going to have nightmares.”
A nurse came to get Nick. There was a phone call from Agent Wesson. Tommy stayed in the waiting area. He happened to look down and only then realized he was still wearing his white robes and that Noah’s blood had saturated the garment.
“Wesson found the detonator. It was inside a garage door opener,” Nick said when he returned.
“What about the bomb?”
“The abbey’s blocked off, and the bomb squad is coming in by helicopter.”
“You know, Nick, we’re fortunate that no one else was hurt.” He was trying to keep his friend occupied because he knew Nick had about had it with waiting. He didn’t want him to go charging into the exam room.
“Why is the doctor taking so long?”
“He’s being thorough.”
“You’re awfully damn calm.”
“One of us has to be.”
“You’re her brother, and you saw what she looked like. If I were you and it was my sister in there, I’d be going nuts.”
“Laurant’s a strong woman.”
“Yeah, she’s strong, but a body can only take so much.”
The curtain parted, and the nurse who had been assisting the doctor came out. She went to the desk and picked up the phone.
The doctor stayed with Laurant. One-on-one with his patient, his bedside manner had vastly improved. He was kind, soft-spoken, and gentle. He numbed the arm and cleaned the wound. Then he wrapped it in gauze to keep it protected until the plastic surgeon arrived to stitch it. He probed the area around her left eye but stopped when she winced. “You’re going to have a doozy of a shiner.”
The doctor told her he was sending her to radiology. The swelling at the base of her skull worried him, and he wanted to make sure she didn’t have a concussion.
“We’re going to keep you overnight for observation.”
He put another strip of tape on the gauze to hold it in place as he remarked, “I heard what happened at the church. Bits and pieces anyway. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Laurant felt numb and a little disoriented. She was finding it difficult to concentrate. She thought the doctor had asked her a question, but she wasn’t certain, and she was too weary to ask him to repeat it.
“The nurse will help you get into a hospital gown.”
Where was Nick? Was he out there with her brother, or had he left? She wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her. She moved her leg and bit her lip to keep from crying out. It felt like it was on fire.
The doctor was turning to leave when he heard her whisper, “I think it’s bleeding again. Could I have a Band-Aid, please?”
Benchley turned around. “You need stitches in your arm. Remember I told you that the plastic surgeon was on his way?”
He was talking to her as though she were a child. He held up two fingers and asked her how many she saw.
“Two,” she answered, squinting against the penlight he was shining in her eyes. “I was talking about my leg,” she explained. “I fell down, and it’s bleeding.”
The queasiness was getting worse, and deep breaths didn’t seem to be helping.
Benchley lifted her skirt and saw the blood on her slip. “What have we got here?” he asked as he gently pushed the slip up over her knee and then lifted her leg. He examined the bloody wound.
She couldn’t see the injury. The skirt was in her way. “I just need a Band-Aid,” she insisted.
“You sure do,” he agreed. “But first we’re going to need to remove the bullet.”
The surgeon had a busy evening. Pulling his cap off, he walked into the waiting room to report that Noah was in recovery. He assured Nick and Tommy that there hadn’t been any surprises or complications and that the agent was going to be fine. Then he turned around to scrub again and operate on Laurant. While he worked on her leg, the plastic surgeon stitched her arm.
A nurse gave Tommy his sister’s watch and engagement ring. Without a thought, he handed them to Nick.
Laurant wasn’t in the operating room long, and for a short while she and Noah were in recovery together. She was still unconscious when she was wheeled into a private room.
After checking on Noah, Nick went to Laurant’s room and stayed with her all night. As soon as Noah was taken to ICU so that he could be closely monitored, Tommy went back to the abbey to change clothes. Then he returned to the hospital and sat with Noah.
Pete Morganstern arrived around two in the morning. He went to see Noah first. Tommy had fallen asleep in a chair, but he woke up as Pete was reading Noah’s chart. They went out into the hall to talk, and then Tommy told him where he could find Laurant and Nick.
Laurant slept fitfully. In those random moments of consciousness she called out to Nick. The anesthetic was slow to wear off. She couldn’t quite manage to open her eyes, but she felt him taking hold of her hand, and she would fall asleep again comforted by his soothing voice.
“Nick?”
“I’m right here.”
“I think I threw up on Dr. Benchley.”
“That’s my girl.”
Another hour passed. “Nick?”
“I’m still here, Laurant.”
She felt him squeeze her hand. “Did you tell Tommy we slept together?”
She heard a cough, and then Nick answered, “No, but you just did. He’s standing right here.”`
She fell asleep, but this time she didn’t have any dreams or nightmares.
When Pete walked into the room, he saw Nick bending over Laurant. He stood there and watched him slip the engagement ring on her finger and then clasp the watch around her wrist.
“How’s she doing?” he asked, his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb her.
“She’s okay.”
“What about you?”
“Not a scratch on me.”
“That isn’t what I was asking.”
They walked into the hallway to talk. Pete suggested they go down to the cafeteria, but Nick didn’t want to leave Laurant. He wanted to be there in case she called out to him again.
And so they sat together in the hallway in chairs Pete carried over from the nurses’ station.
“I came here for two reasons,” he began. “First was to see Noah, of course.”
“And the other reason?”
Pete sighed. “To talk to you and to apologize.”
“I’m the one who messed up.”
“No, that’s not true,” he said emphatically. “I messed up, not you. I should have listened to you. When Brenner was arrested, you told me it didn’t feel right to you, and how did I respond? By ignoring everything I trained you to do. I was so certain you couldn’t see the forest for the trees because of your personal involvement in this case. I ignored your instincts, and that was a mistake I won’t ever repeat. Do you realize how close to disaster we came this time?”
Nick nodded. He leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs out. “A lot of people would have been killed if that bomb had gone off.”
Pete began to question Nick then and didn’t stop until he had heard every detail and was satisfied.
“Reading the article in the paper . . . yes, that’s what set him off,” Pete said.
“I guess so.”
“His wife was almost perfect. That’s what you heard him tell Laurant?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “Stark’s wife had to have known what was coming. Once Stark decided she couldn’t get any better, that she was as perfect as she could be, he was going to kill her, just like he killed his mother. Knowing all the facts now, I think maybe her mind did snap, and that’s why she took the little boy.”