Slow Burn (42 page)

Ashley’s level of panic shot up. The man was
clearly deranged, and Doyle was right after all. Frankie did things
behind his back.

“And what do you mean by my firefighter
buddies?” Frankie interrupted her thoughts.

For a moment, Ashley wasn’t sure what he was
talking about. Then she remembered. “The four men Doyle paid to
help you start the fire.”

Frankie limped to where Vaughn’s legs were
splayed and grabbed a foot. He tugged hard, shifting Vaughn and
freeing one of Ashley’s legs. She shifted her hips as he continued
to haul the younger man off her. If she could sweep a leg under
Frankie’s bad leg, she might knock him off balance and bolt.

“Three, not four.” He dropped Vaughn’s leg
and wobbled forward to grab his wrists. “It felt good to blow them
out of the water. They did nothing to earn their money, except
supply me with untraceable accelerant and delay their response time
to the 911 call. But Noble foiled that plan too, didn’t he? He
wasn’t even a full-time firefighter, yet he just happened to be at
the fire station when the call went through.”

Now he had Ashley’s attention. “Noble wasn’t
in on it?”

His eyes flashed with malice. “No, but he got
what was coming to him. Doyle didn’t take kindly to anyone touching
Nina, so he asked me to soil Noble’s memory. I deposited the money
in Noble’s account and let him take credit for my work, the final
nail in his coffin.” One last pull and Ashley was free of Vaughn’s
weight. Her legs tingled as circulation rushed back into her lower
extremities. “I would have loved to see Nina’s face when she heard
her precious husband was behind the fire.” He laughed like a maniac
and dragged Vaughn toward the front entrance.

Ashley folded her legs and started to get up.
Frankie’s head whipped up.

“Don’t move,” he snarled, a vicious gleam
blazing in his eyes. “This will be over soon enough. If I you
behave, you’ll go to sleep just like your daddy did and not feel
any pain. But if act like your crazy mama, I
will
make you
pay. The crazy bitch hurt me.” He sounded petulant, like a child
whose toy didn’t act like he’d expected. “I don’t like to get angry
when I work. It messes with my concentration. You should understand
that, being an artist and all. Dunn showed me some of your pieces
when he planted those bugs at your place.”

The thought of this man inside her loft made
her feel violated, but she had no time for indignation. Her eyes
darted around the foyer and searched for an escape route. Her gaze
landed on the front door with its bolts. An idea popped in her
head. Could she make it before him this time? He had a limp now and
was older. And she had mace.

Her hand crept inside her bag. She closed her
fingers around the cylinder, pulled it out and gripped it tight. As
though he sensed her plans, Frankie paused and glanced at her, his
eyes cold and menacing. He must have decided she’d behave, because
he went back to hauling Vaughn.

Ashley sprung forward and sprinted toward the
door. She squirted the mace gel in his general direction as she
neared the door, dropped the can and reached for the knob. She
almost made it. He grabbed her from behind. Ashley screamed,
writhed, kicked and jerked to escape his grasp.

“Shut up,” he snarled and clapped a hand
across her mouth.

She sank her teeth in the flesh of his hand.
He cursed and flung her to the side. Ashley landed on her back,
skidded on the floor until the back of her head connected with the
wall. For a moment, all she saw were stars. Then Frankie’s sadistic
face hovered above her, his baseball bat readied for a strike.

Ashley closed her eyes and braced herself for
the pain that was sure to follow. Frankie cursed at her, calling
her every filthy name in the book. Then he went quiet. The sound of
the front door creaking caused her to open her eyes.

He was in the doorway, having a hard time
pulling Vaughn with a bleeding hand and that stupid bat under his
armpit. She stayed in the same position, her neck at an
uncomfortable angle so he’d think she was still unconscious. She
bid her time, her heart pounding, her entire body throbbing.
Frankie glanced her way one more time, then stepped outside and
dragged Vaughn across the threshold.

Ashley scrambled to her feet and raced toward
the door, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Frankie saw her
coming, but with Vaughn’s body between him and the door, he
couldn’t reach her. The last thing she saw was his wide eyes as she
slammed the door shut. She rammed the bolts in place and took a
step back, her heart pounding and sweat trickling down her back.
Any minute, she expected Frankie to shove his bat against the glass
panels, reach inside and unlock the door. All she heard were
curses, then silence. She swallowed, her knees shaking and teeth
chattering.

Think, Ashley. Don’t let terror paralyze
you now.
She couldn’t afford to check whether Frankie was still
out there. A house this big probably had more than one entrance.
Then there were the tunnels and the secret rooms.

Ashley hurried across the room to where she’d
dropped her mace, then went for her bag. She fished inside her bag
for her cell phone and pressed the power button with a trembling
thumb. Muffled sounds came from the basement, again. Her heart
froze, the phone almost slipping from her hand. She stared at the
door with wide eyes, her fingers pressing buttons without looking
at who she was calling.

She heard them, the scraping sounds of
footsteps on the wooden floor. Ashley whirled. Her gaze swung to
the front door, except it wasn’t the front door anymore. She was
inside a room, alone in dark, hiding and waiting. The footsteps
grew closer and closer. Ashley shook her head. Her memories were
screwing with her head.
No one’s there…just your
imagination….

The past receded and the present came into
focus as the foyer replaced the dark room. The bolts at the front
door snapped back, one at a time. The sounds reverberated through
the empty house like gunshots, causing her to flinch. The knob
turned. She shuffled toward the basement door, her body shaking so
much her legs threatened to give away from under her. Time slowed
down as the door swung open and Frankie limped into the foyer, his
eyes in slits.

Ashley slapped the phone to her ear. “Help
us. I’m at Carlyle House. Nina’s trapped in the basement.”

“You bitch,” Frankie snarled.

***

“I’m going to make you beg me to kill you,” a
man’s voice echoed through the receiver, sending a chill through
Ron.

He stopped yelling Ashley’s name and broke
into a run through the terminal. He jumped over luggage, bumped a
few people and shouted, “sorry” over his shoulder. At the front of
the building, he recognized Kenny’s man and raced toward the SUV.
The man saw him coming, got behind the wheel and gunned the
engine.

Ron dived in beside him. “Carlyle House.”

As the man left the terminal and turned right
on La Tijera Boulevard, Ron speed dialed Kenny’s number. Cold sweat
pooled on his brow and trickled down his face. Every breath he took
hurt his chest. “He’s got them. The bastard Frankie has Ashley and
my mother at Carlyle House,” he croaked.

“What? But your mother—”

“Is an expert at escaping paparazzi. Your men
didn’t stand a chance. Call Ashley’s cousin and tell him to get to
the house. She sounded bad, man. Terrified.”

“Meet you there.”

Ron snapped the phone shut and scrubbed his
hand over his face. He rolled his shoulders to ease the knots of
tension and leaned back against his seat. For the first time in his
adult life he didn’t know what to do, and it scared the hell out of
him. Everything was out of his reach. Doyle. Frankie. Ashley. His
mother. Would he save the women he loved or let them down? No, he
couldn’t afford to think like that. Ashley was his future. Not
rescuing her from a murderous maniac was not even an option.

He dialed her number again.

***

Ashley leapt toward the basement door,
slammed it shut behind just as her phone started to ring. She
ignored it and fumbled with the lock. The lone bulb had given up a
while back and the hallway was in darkness. Expecting Frankie to
break the door and rush after her, she raced down the stairs to the
only lit room, her bag bouncing against her hip.

She froze at the entrance. Instead of bare
floors and walls, the room was opulently decorated—black, leather
chairs and African motifs on paneled walls, velvet burgundy
draperies on the windows and bar stools along a gleaming, dark
cherry counter and hardwood floor with area rugs. A figure on the
sofa drew her attention.

“Daddy?” she gulped.

Not real. None of this is real.
Despite her thoughts, she still raised her arms as though to touch
him. A sound came from behind her and she whipped around, her mace
ready, but there was no one on the stairs. More memories rushed
back with a vengeance, her past and present meshing, haunting
her.

Frankie entered the room and approached her
father from behind. Behind him stood Sherry with another towel,
waiting. Before her father realized he wasn’t alone, Frankie
slapped a cloth on his face. Her father started to get up, but the
combination of alcohol he’d been consuming and whatever Frankie had
put on the cloth weakened his responses. He jerked, then went still
and fell sideways, his head lolling on the arm of the sofa. Frankie
threw down the cloth and reached for the one Sherry held.

A mewling sound escaped Ashley’s lips and her
knees threatened to give out from underneath her as her mother
appeared from a side-door leading to the downstairs bathrooms. She
shut her eyes tight, a futile attempt to block out the images and
stop the next scenes from unfolding. It didn’t work.

Her mother saw her husband’s prone body and
the people standing over him and screamed. She turned to run, but
Frankie grabbed her and lifted her in the air, her kicks and
screams useless against his strength. He tried to cover her mouth
with the cloth, but she twisted her head and scratched his
face.

He threw her down, her body landing next to
her husband’s. Frankie grabbed her face and slapped her, the force
jerking her head back. She scrambled away on her hands and knees,
Frankie close behind her. Her hand closed around the champagne
flute on the coffee table. As Frankie reached for her, the cloth in
his hand, she smashed the crystal on the table, turned and brought
the jagged edge toward Frankie’s face.

Black spots appeared in Ashley’s vision, the
tell-tale acrid smell of smoke drifting to her nose. She struggled
to concentrate on the present—the bare walls, the brown carpet, the
source of the smoke. Nothing worked. She closed her eyes and sunk
onto the floor.

A more recent vision appeared—Ron smiling,
eyes shining with love; Ron cleaning her wounded feet; Ron sitting
by her side during hypnosis. He loved her and wouldn’t want her to
give up.

Ashley focused and found balance. Reality
shifted. The bare room came into focus. The pungent air drifting
from upstairs was real smoke, not something from her imagination.
Her eyes stung and her throat tickled. She coughed. Another sound
echoed it, causing her heart to jump to her throat. She got to her
feet and walked further into the room, searching for the source.
Bound legs sticking from behind the counter on the floor caught her
eyes first. It was Nina, her mouth, hands and legs tied with duct
tape.

Just as Ashley rushed forward, flames licked
the top stair. They leaped and crept downstairs. The smoke grew
thicker. Coughing, she rushed to Nina’s side, gripped the edge of
the duct tape covering the actress’ mouth and yanked hard. The
woman gasped.

“Are you okay, Nina?”

The actress nodded.

“We must hide in the speakeasy room,” Ashley
said as she freed Nina’s ankles and helped her up. She’d survived
the last fire because of that room. They were going to survive this
one, too. “Where’s the door that leads to it?” she asked,
panting.

Nina pointed at the wall across the room.
“Secret panel. Over there.”

“Go. I’ll pull the fire alarm.” Ashley ran to
the wall at the foot of the stairs, reached up and gripped the
central bar. She yanked it hard. The ear-splitting sound of the
fire alarm resounded in the empty house. She fought dizziness as
she ran to where Nina was pushing a section of the wall.

Ashley gave it all she had, bouts of coughing
and dizziness slowing her down. But she kept pushing and pushing
until the wall gave. With a final heave, they cracked a space wide
enough for a person to fit through. She pushed Nina inside first
then followed, almost tripping over the actress who was doubled
over coughing. Ashley shoved until the wall closed again. She
sagged against the door, her chest hurting, eyes burning and tears
running down her face. She took gulps of air. The moldy stench was
a blessing after the pungent smoke. And they were safe now. But for
how long?

There was no time to worry about that. She
touched the concrete wall and searched for a switch. There was none
and the wall was damp. Determined not to panic, Ashley fumbled
inside her bag for her cell phone. The call she’d missed was from
Ron, but she couldn’t call him back because there was no signal.
The concrete walls of the secret room blocked it. Ashley lifted her
cell phone and used the LCD light from its screen to get her
bearing.

Just like Ron had told her, the room was huge
and piles of boxes and wooden crates were everywhere. Beside her,
Nina was bent over, the heels of her palm on her knees, her
breathing shallow. “Are you okay?” Ashley asked.

“I’ll live, thanks to you. I’m so sorry for
everything. The way I treated you and blamed you for everything,”
she moaned. “That man bragged to me about everything, killing your
parents, destroying my husband’s reputation.” A sob escaped her,
which became a cough.