Set the Night on Fire (32 page)

“How fortunate for me.” Dar wondered why he’d been spared. Was it Teddy’s doing? Or did Markham assume that, because he was serving a life sentence, he couldn’t possibly be a threat?  That if he did implicate Teddy, his accusations would be dismissed as the rantings of a bitter convict?

Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. Now that Dar knew the truth, Markham would never let him leave alive. Dar realized he had made another blunder. Lila was right. He should never have come. He looked around. Only one door. And the windows behind the drapes. Escape was impossible. His only choice was to brazen it out. And buy enough time for Lila and Cece to escape.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Dar said. “I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

Markham pressed a button on his desk panel. As if on cue, the bodyguard came back in. This time he didn’t stop at the entrance but planted himself a few feet from Dar.

“You didn’t really think I’d allow you to go, did you?” Markham asked.

Mr. Clean took a step closer.

“No, I didn’t.” But the judge was right about one thing. Like him, Dar had a child to protect. He cleared his throat. “Judge, you and I will never agree about most things. But, for my daughter’s sake, I am willing to negotiate.”

“About what?”

“Call off the men who are targeting her. She’s got nothing to do with us, or Teddy, or our history. Let her live in peace.”

Markham’s expression grew puzzled. “Targeting your daughter? I’m not doing that. I have no interest in taking this to the next generation.”

“But your . . . the man on the motorcycle. And the rental truck. They’re your men.”

Markham looked at him. “What man on a motorcycle?”

“The man who . . . ,”  Dar’s voice trailed off. The look on Markham’s face said he was telling the truth. Markham wasn’t going after Lila. But if he wasn’t, who was?

The bodyguard cut in before he could process it further. “Matches?” He sounded almost eager.

Markham looked at Dar. “David has a trick which is quite effective. It involves lit matches and the tips of your fingers. I’m going to allow him to proceed. Unless you tell me what I need to know.”

Dar thought about Markham, Teddy, and Lila. If Markham wasn’t going after Lila, negotiation was moot. He shook his head.

“Changed your mind again?”

Dar kept his mouth shut. Markham shrugged and nodded at David. The bodyguard rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a box of kitchen matches. He advanced on Dar.

A
fter Dar went inside, Lila went down to the water, circling around the fence surrounding the Markhams’ property. Lake Monona was smaller than Lake Michigan, but tonight a frigid wind lashed its surface, producing explosions of tiny whitecaps out beyond the ice. She tucked her hands in her pockets.

“It’s hard to wait, isn’t it?” Cece joined her at the shore.

Lila didn’t answer. She listened to the plop of the waves. Then she walked back to the fence and peered through it. Three balconies on different levels jutted out from the redwood walls, making a rough triangular design. The triangle was supposed to be the most stable shape in the universe, she recalled. That’s why Buckminster Fuller championed the geodesic dome, a series of interlocking triangles.

The balconies were fenced off with slabs of redwood supported on iron bases. Behind each balcony Lila could see sliding glass doors. The rooms beyond the doors were dark. The only illumination came from the first floor. A large window was covered with drapes, but a narrow sliver of light seeped out where they were joined together. Was that where Dar was meeting with Markham?

The lowest balcony was about ten feet off the ground. Ten or ten thousand, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t reach it. Still, she wondered if the glass door was unlocked. That would never happen in her home—she always made sure all the doors and windows were locked. But this was an old man living next to a strip of woods on a tiny outcropping of land. The topography was a buffer. And Markham probably didn’t get around much. He might not go into some of his rooms for weeks on end. There might be a chance the door was unlocked.

She found the gate to the back. Would there be some kind of alarm?  Some buildings in New York and Chicago, post 9/11, had added them, but this was secluded property.

She tentatively pushed against the gate. It was unlocked. Had it just been installed? She opened it and stepped through, motioning for Cece to follow. They were creeping across the back yard when a set of floodlights kicked on. Lila froze. Motion sensors. Damn! Adrenaline surged through her, and she threw herself on the ground.

“Drop!” she whispered to Cece.

Cece did.

The drapes covering the first floor window flew apart. The shadow of a burly man appeared in the light, arms crossed. Lila held her breath. Maybe he wouldn’t notice them. Maybe he’d think a squirrel or possum or some other animal triggered the sensors.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Please, God. Just this once.

A moment later the drapes closed. Lila took in a ragged breath, and tried to slow her heartbeat. But she didn’t move. Someone could be coming. She counted to twenty. No one came, but the floodlights stayed on. Finally she stood up and took a cautious step forward.

Cece whispered, “What the fuck are you doing, Lila? Let’s get out of here.”

Lila shook her head. “Dar shouldn’t be in there by himself.”

“Agreed. But what can we do?”

Lila turned and went back to the Econoline. Opening the side door, she rummaged around on the floor, retrieved something, and quietly closed the door. She carried it back gingerly.

When Cece saw what it was, she inhaled sharply. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?”

“Reba.”

Lila nodded. “It’s a .38 Special. She taught me how to use it.”

“But you know what Dar said.”

Lila didn’t reply. She’d been swinging between confidence and panic since they’d started out for Madison. She was in pretty good shape. Or had been before the grenade. And Dar Gantner, father or not, had risked his life for her. She slid the .38 Special into her jacket pocket, and returned to the house. Closing in on the lowest balcony, she beckoned to Cece. “If you give me a boost,” she whispered, “I might be able to swing myself up.”

Cece looked at the balcony, then at Lila. “You’re not serious.”

“Well, I can’t very well knock on the front door and stroll inside.”

“We promised Dar.”

“I don’t like the look of the guy who opened the drapes.”

Cece shook her head. “Dar was clear.”

“Cece, I can’t do this without you.”

“Jesus, Lila. What if something happens to you? Your father will . . . ”

“What if something happens to him?”

Cece looked at the lit window, the balcony, then back at Lila. “Shit. What do you need?”

Lila explained. Cece bent over and locked her hands together. Lila stepped one foot into them. As she shifted her weight onto that foot, Cece grunted and collapsed. Lila fell to the ground with a thud.

Her heart hammered like the wheels of a runaway train. An eternity passed. Nothing happened. Lila slowly raised herself. “Let’s try again.”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You have to be.”

Cece just looked at her.

“Use the side of the house to support your back.”

Cece wedged herself up against the wall of the house and dropped to a squat. Locking her hands together, she nodded to Lila. Once again, Lila stepped into Cece’s locked hands. This time they held. Lila tried to grasp the siding of the house to gain purchase, but there was nothing to grab onto. Splinters dug into her nails. Somehow, though, Cece managed to lift her a few inches. Lila stretched her arms over her head, reaching for the balcony’s iron support base. She was close. Just a few more inches. Then Cece’s upward motion slowed. Lila could feel the woman shudder. The strain on her back must be excruciating. There wasn’t much time. She stretched again. Please, God.

Her fingers made contact with the post. She clamped one hand around it, then the other. Frigid metal stung her skin, but she held on. Remembering all the gymnastics classes Casey and Gramum made her take as a child, she swung back and forth to build momentum. Meanwhile Cece collapsed, gasping for air.

Lila swung a few more times. Each time her grip became sturdier, the arc wider. Then, with a Herculean effort, she swung herself up and through the gap between the slabs of wood fronting the balcony. She locked her legs on the lower slab, hoping it was strong enough to hold her weight. It was, and she hung, upside down, her feet curled around the slab of wood. She grabbed the top slab with her hands. Her muscles screamed. She wondered if she’d made too much noise. She carefully shimmied across it. Then she pushed and shoved and rolled her torso through the space between the slabs. She’d always been slim, and since her injuries she’d lost weight. She managed to squeeze through.

A minute later, she was lying on the floor of the balcony. Her back, arms, and legs ached. She would have bruises. She waited until she was breathing normally, then stood up and patted her pocket. The .38 was there.

She moved to the sliding glass door. If the door was locked, she would have a problem. There was no way she could climb back down. She’d have to smash the glass or shoot the lock off. Which would, of course, announce her presence.

Reaching out, she gripped the handle of the door and gave it a tug. Nothing. She tried again, pulling harder. This time she thought it budged. She tried again. The door seemed to want to move, but it was caught on something. Rust? Dirt and dust in the tracks? Either way, her spirits lifted. It was moving a little. Which meant it was unlocked. She braced herself, bent her knees, and pulled with both hands. The door slid open an inch. She kept pulling, hearing the scraping sound of metal on metal. The door gave, but in stingy increments. Finally it was about ten inches open. She slithered inside.

A guest room. Dark, but a mirror above a bureau reflected the floodlights outside. Lila could see a queen-sized bed with a heavy quilt, and a braided rug on the floor. The door to the room was closed. She crept to it and leaned her ear against it. At first she heard nothing. She pressed her ear harder. She became aware of a murmur, but it wasn’t coming from the other side of the door. She cocked her ear, trying to pinpoint its source.

It came from back near the balcony door. She moved silently across the room. The murmur was louder. Still indistinct, but she recognized Dar’s voice. Where was it coming from? The room with the gap in the drapes was below and to her left. Were they in there? She tried to concentrate, but the wind outside had kicked up and a draft whistled through the door. She couldn’t close it; couldn’t risk making more noise. What now? She realized she didn’t have much of a plan.

She could still hear conversation. But where was it coming from? She looked at the floor. An air vent! She knelt down and put her ear against it. The voices were clear. Dar was talking.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Dar was saying. “I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

A gruff voice. “You didn’t really think I’d allow you to go, did you?” Markham.

A pause. Then Dar again, “No. I didn’t.”

Chills skipped up her spine. Lila straightened up, unzipped her pocket, and fished out the .38. She moved to the door. As she opened it, air blowing in from the balcony rushed through the room. But there were no other telltale sounds.

She stepped into the hall. After being in semi-darkness, the blinding light from a ceiling chandelier was disorienting. She blinked to adjust her vision. A flight of stairs lay to the right, flanked by a wide curving banister with carved spindles. A thick oriental carpet covered the floor. She took a step. No noise. The carpet felt cushiony. She took another. She made it to the top of the stairs. A voice rose from downstairs, more distinct than what she’d heard through the air vent.

Markham. “David has a trick which is quite effective. It involves lit matches . . . ”

She tiptoed to the edge of the carpet. The steps were hardwood and covered by a thin runner. She’d heard somewhere it was better to tread on the edges, not the middle. Less noise. She took a tentative step down. No squeaks. She took another. So far, so good. She began to feel more confident and snuck down to the third step.

It squeaked.

Lila froze, the .38 in her hand.

At the same time she heard an intake of breath from downstairs. “I thought I heard something on the stairs.” Markham sounded concerned.

“That’s impossible.” A low-pitched voice. Irritated.

“I tell you I heard something.” Markham again, irritated as well. “Go see.”

“What about him?”

Lila heard the sound of a drawer sliding open, followed by Markham’s voice. “I’ll handle it.”

“A .22 won’t do the job.”

Markham’s voice was impatient. “David, stop wasting time. I need him alive for the moment. Go check the noise.”

Lila pressed herself against the wall. Whoever came out would see her, but she might have the advantage of surprise. She aimed the gun down the steps. Straightened her arms and her body. Tried to clear her mind.

The door opened. A beefy man with a shaved head emerged. The same man who’d opened the drapes. He pointed a huge gun her way. Lila’s eyes widened, and she ducked behind the spindles of the banister as he fired. She saw a flash of light, heard two deafening cracks. Her stomach lurched. She didn’t know if she’d been hit. Her ears were ringing. She smelled gunpowder.

“David!” Markham yelled. Querulous. Fearful. “What’s happening?”

Chips of paint and plaster rained down the steps. But Lila was still alive. He’d missed. The shots must have ripped into the wall beside her. She forced herself not to panic. With the gun in front of her, she moved her aim slightly to the right between the spindles. The beefy man mirrored her movement. But before he could take another shot, she squeezed the .38’s trigger.

The muzzle flashed, and the crack of the discharge slammed into her ears. The recoil made her arm fly up. The beefy man groaned, dropped his gun, and fell to the floor clutching his thigh. Blood oozed out, staining the floor and carpet.

Markham yelled, his voice edged with panic. “David, what’s going on?”

A smell like firecrackers drifted through the air. Lila started to shiver.

“David, get in here. Now.”

Her heart thumped in her chest, but it wasn’t over. Clutching the gun, she stood and raced down the rest of the stairs. Stepping around the bodyguard, she pulled open the door to the room.

An old man in a wheelchair was aiming a gun at Dar.

“Drop your gun.” She raised the .38. “Now!”

Markham twisted around. Confusion swam across his face, but then his eyes grew cold, as if he couldn’t believe anyone, especially a woman, had the gall to confront him. He swung the gun from Dar toward her and pulled the trigger.

The shot went wide and plowed into the door to her left.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of movement. Dar threw himself at Markham’s desk and leapt on top. Markham aimed the .22 at Dar. At the same time Lila hurtled towards him from the side and grabbed for the gun. There was another muzzle flash and explosion. The bullet pierced the ceiling, triggering a spider web design. Dar crawled over the desk, grabbed Markham, and wrestled him out of the wheelchair. The chair tipped over, and both men fell to the floor. Markham dropped the .22, and it skittered across the carpet. Dar rolled over Markham, clutching him until the man was on his belly with Dar on top. He grabbed Markham’s arms and pinned them behind his back.