Mortal Pursuit

74

Crossing the living room was perilous. The broad bay window, curtains open, afforded a clear view to anybody who might be stationed outside.

Barbara kept her head down, staying close to Philip as he navigated a course through a surreal archipelago of overturned and mutilated furniture. A single lamp remained standing, a brass torchier, stoic as a lighthouse in a storm.

The destruction here was not the work of an explosion. It was deliberate vandalism, senseless and grotesque. Barbara knew she would feel something later about the loss of her precious heirlooms and antiques, but Ally was her sole concern now.

Had the bastards killed her Kidnapped her Or was she lying injured somewhere, unable to call for help

Philip reached the den, washed in the glow of a ceiling light. He looked cautiously inside, then entered, Barbara right behind.

The first thing she noticed was the wall safe, open and empty. Some remote part of her mind calculated the losses, covered by insurance but irreplaceable in personal terms.

Her gaze widened, taking in the rest of the room, Charles’s private retreat, his refuge. She died a little to think how he must feel to see his big-screen television smashed, his elaborate sound system cannibalized, his leather armchairs gutted like stockyard animals.

But when she glanced at him, she saw nothing in his face-no hurt, no anger, only a curious resolve, the look of a decision reached.

No time to wonder about that. The important thing was the phone on the desk, the phone that must have been sabotaged like the others.

But no.

The phone was in place, seemingly undamaged. The mayhem had been interrupted before that corner of the room had been touched.

Barbara reached the desk in two strides. She lifted the handset, put it to her ear, heard the hum of a dial tone, the most welcome sound she could ever hope to hear, other than Ally’s laughter.

“It works.” Her words hushed and solemn like a prayer.

For a moment she just stood there, marveling at the reality of a lifeline to the larger world.

“Nine-one-one,” Judy said gently.

Of course. Stupid of her to freeze up like that.

She tapped one digit, and from across the room a harsh voice ordered, “Stop.”

Her husband’s voice.

Baffled, she glanced up, and the glance hardened into a stare.

Charles stood just inside the doorway, his blazer unbuttoned, a black pistol in his trembling hand.

With a sickening switch of perspective, she saw what was really going on.

Saw why Charles had tried to talk her out of reporting the prowler in the backyard.

Saw why he had behaved so inexplicably ever since.

The violence of this night was not random. It was a plot, carefully planned, professionally executed, and its ultimate target could only be herself.

“Let go of the phone,” Charles said evenly.

Judy and Philip stood frozen, stares fixed on the gun that had appeared so unexpectedly in Charles’s hand, like a palmed card in a magic trick.

Barbara knew her husband well enough to see through his pose of cool assurance. The gun shook, just slightly but enough, and his left eyelid twitched.

Would he shoot her Did he have the nerve

Before tonight she wouldn’t have thought so. But if he’d hired assassins, staged this ugly show, then he was capable of anything.

She released the handset. It thumped on the desk.

“Now come over here.”

“Charles.” Philip sounded less angry than disappointed. “What’s this all about”

“Marital problems.” He chuckled. “A little domestic discord in the Kent household.”

Barbara reached him. Up close she saw the mustache of sweat fringing her husband’s smile.

“Stand with them,” he said.

She eased alongside the Danforths. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to them. Obscurely she felt responsible for all this.

“Quiet,” Charles snapped.

She ignored the order. “Where’s Ally”

“I said, be quiet.”

“Where is she What did they do to her”

“Shut up!”

“Is she … alive”

In the beat of silence that followed, she heard his answer.

“God damn you, Charles.”

“We had no choice,” he said as Judy began to pray softly and Philip’s hands tightened into fists. “She saw Cain’s face-the man I hired. She had to die.” The gun lifted. “And so do you.”

Judy moaned.

“You’re going to kill us yourself” Barbara breathed, unable to quite make it real. “All three of us”

“Have to. My friends appear to have left early.” He licked his lips. “So here’s the new story. Philip broke out of the closet, but we were caught trying to call for help. I’m the only one who got away.”

“How lucky for you,” Philip said with cool contempt.

“Yes, well,”-a faltering smile-“I’ve always been quick on my feet.”

Barbara stared at him, full comprehension finally settling in. “You’re serious about this.”

“Yes … dear.”

She lifted her chin, and in that moment she knew she was her father’s girl, an Ashcroft, facing death with aristocratic poise.

“Then,” she whispered, “start with me.”

Charles aimed the shaking gun.

Headlights.

They splashed across the curtained windows as a powerful engine hummed up the drive. Barbara recognized it: the Danforths’ Porsche.

Charles blinked, registering the car’s arrival, and the gun lowered fractionally.

“On second thought,” he said, “I’ll let Cain handle it.” He giggled, a manic, mirthless sound. “That’s what I’m paying him for.”