Cold as Ice (32 page)

There were other snipers around, but no one with as clear a vantage point, and Peter knew in the end it would be up to him. He'd never missed a shot, no matter how difficult it was. He could see through fog and a moonless night, he could see through anything to keep her safe. He couldn't waste his time making excuses or telling himself lies—they were down to the bare bones now. All that mattered was that she lived. Because he'd done the unthinkable. For only the second time in his life he'd fallen in love, when he didn't even believe it existed.

It wasn't the sex. It wasn't some crazy protective notion motivating him either; there were plenty of other people who could do as good a job of keeping her safe.

And it certainly wasn't that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He might be in love with her, but he devoutly hoped he'd never have to see her again after this afternoon. He wanted his old, calm, cold life back. He didn't like the heat melting the ice around his heart.

The iron gates swung open, slowly, and the back door of the car opened as well. He saw her blond hair first, and he held his breath. As far as he could tell, Harry had no comparable snipers overlooking the site, but he couldn't risk her life on that belief.

She stood very still, and he looked at her down on the driveway with the thick white fog blanketing her. She stood tall and straight, probably because of the armor they'd given her, and she didn't look around, or look back. Harry would know she wasn't alone. She took a step forward, and then another, and the door to the waiting limousine opened and Harry stepped out.

He had him in his sites, a perfect target, and then he was obscured again, fog rolling down in thick, wet waves.

"Peter!" Mannion's voice was urgent.

"Shut up," Peter hissed. "I can't see."

"Take your shot, man. He doesn't have the kids. They were found wandering down in the woods just off 330. She doesn't need to go."

Peter rose, but everything had disappeared. It wasn't a thick blanket of fog, it was a deep, poisonous shroud, and he couldn't see anything anymore, not the cars below him, not Genny's stalwart figure as she walked toward death.

He didn't hesitate. "Run, Genny! Get the hell out of there! Run!" he shouted. And then he started scrambling down the hillside, trying to make it to the driveway in the impenetrable mist, and it clung to his skin like tiny particles of ice, as he felt the first burst of fear crack inside him.

He slipped, rolling down the hillside, landing on the wide driveway just as the headlights of a car zoomed down on him. He rolled out of the way, into the bushes, and it moved on, clipping the waiting car as it went. And then all was silence in the cottony darkness.

He scrambled to his feet, the sniper rifle still with him, when Madame Lambert loomed out of the mist. "He's got her," she said, and he almost thought he heard emotion in her cool, controlled voice. "He shoved her in the limo and got away. I'm so sorry, Peter. At least he won't be able to take her off the mountain—we've got all the roads blocked. If it weren't for this goddamn fog… "

He'd never heard her swear before. It didn't matter. "I'm taking the car," he said.

"You should wait for backup…"

"I'm taking the car."

And a moment later he vanished into the mist, letting the darkness close behind him.

Harry Van Dorn was in the best mood he'd been in since he could remember. After weeks of having each of his careful plans dismantled, finding his most trusted servants betraying him, things had finally turned his way. Genevieve Spenser was sitting beside him in the back of the limo, looking pale and frightened, and he'd just been given a gift by the universe. He should have known his position as one of the chosen ones wouldn't have faltered.

"So Peter's alive after all," he said, reaching for the minibar and pouring himself a drink. "Can I get you something, sweet cakes? Afraid I don't have any of that belly-wash soda pop you seem to like, but I've got just about everything else. Might make things a bit easier on you."

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm fine."

Harry chuckled happily. "I doubt that. Now, why didn't you think to tell me that Peter was alive after all? "

"What makes you think he's alive?"

"Don't try that shit on me. I heard his voice, clear as day, telling you to run for it. Too little too late, but then, you've always been his worst nightmare, haven't you? If it weren't for you, I'd already be dead as a doornail."

"Then I'd think you'd be a little grateful," she said.

He backhanded her across the face, a casual blow that still snapped her head back. "I don't like mouthy women, did I ever tell you that? Your bosses should have known better than to send me a mouthy broad."

"Lawyers tend to be mouthy."

He slapped her again, and this time her lip started bleeding. He liked that, but he didn't want to let her leave any trace behind in the car. He would already have to get rid of the car the kids puked in. He'd set them down in the middle of the burned-out landscape—they'd never find their way out through those dead trees, and it got right cold on an April night up here in the mountains. The fog would just be icing on the cake.

He hadn't decided on a cover story for that one yet—he was still concentrating on the delicious package of revenge sitting beside him. If the kids were found alive no one would believe anything they said, not when charming Harry Van Dorn came up with a plausible explanation. He didn't know what that was, but it would come to him, spur of the moment. He was blessed that way. Everyone loved Harry Van Dorn—he could do no wrong.

"Watch yourself, missy. I plan to take my time with you, and I don't want you annoying me. Having Peter still alive changes everything. He's going to come after you."

"Don't be ridiculous. If he's really alive and cared the slightest bit about me, he wouldn't have let me walk into a trap like that."

"Good point," Harry conceded. "But I'm not giving up hope. Look at it this way, I'm keeping you in one piece until I'm certain Peter Jensen isn't going to ride to the rescue."

"His name is Madsen."

He contemplated hitting her again, then decided it wasn't worth it. "You see, it would be twice the fun making him watch. Double the pleasure, double the pain."

"I'm sure he's seen a lot of people die, Harry," she said, too calm for his liking. "He's not going to give much of a shit whether you kill me or not—he's not that sentimental. You could always kill him first and make me watch, but I'm afraid I'd simply enjoy that, and you wouldn't get your rocks off…"

"Don't you ever shut up?" he demanded.

"Not if I can help it," she shot back.

Oh, he was really going to enjoy killing her, maybe more than he'd ever enjoyed killing anyone. She was rapidly becoming even more infuriating than Peter Jensen…Madsen himself.

"Guess what?" he said cheerfully, slapping some duct tape over her mouth. "You can't help it."

He could barely see the road, but he tore up it like a bat out of hell anyway, trying to catch up with the taillights that must be somewhere ahead of him. Where the hell could he be taking her in this impenetrable fog? He could just as easily run off the road as Peter could, and they'd have to be careful.

They were in a limo. Presumably with a driver, since Harry never did a thing for himself when he didn't have to, and he'd have a hard time controlling Genevieve while trying to drive in this shit.

Which meant he had her to himself in the back of the car. Peter stepped harder on the gas pedal, guessing where the winding road led. They were heading in the direction of Big Bear, the tackier of the lake resorts, and if Harry got that far he'd be even harder to find.

Peter wasn't giving up. His rifle was beside him in the rental car, which had all the pickup of a donkey, but he didn't expect it to do him much good when he could barely see three feet in front of him. He was going to have to get a lot closer to kill Harry Van Dorn, and that suited him just fine. If he could just find him.

He was just past Running Springs when he saw the taillights, barely visible in the thick fog. They were moving up the road at a steady clip. He slammed on the accelerator and the car fishtailed on the wet road surface. It took him a moment to regain control, and by then the car ahead of him was out of sight, and he punched the steering wheel, cursing.

The road was straightening out a bit, and he sped up. He had no idea what time it was—with the fog that thick it could be daylight or midnight. His headlights bounced back at him, and he tried turning off the brights, hoping he'd be able to see a little bit better, when a vehicle came out of the darkness, slamming into his, knocking the car sideways off the road into a ditch.

He scrambled out of the car, ready to kill, when a voice he thought he'd never hear again broke the swirling clouds of night.

"He ditched the car and took her off into the woods, Peter." Bastien Toussaint's calm voice came out of the darkness. "You're heading in the wrong direction."

Peter froze. He didn't waste his time asking stupid questions, like why was Bastien there and how did he know. What mattered was that Bastien would have the answers.

"Where's he taken her?"

"There's an old abandoned school up this way—used to be some movie star's mountain home, and then it was a school. It's been closed down for years now, but Harry managed to buy up the rights under a dummy corporation. He'll have taken her there. And he'll be wanting you to come get her, now that he knows you're alive."

"That's exactly what I plan to do. What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in North Carolina having a baby?"

"My wife's got that under control right now. Madame Lambert asked for help, and she wouldn't ask lightly. I owe you, and I pay my debts. Come on. I'll show you the way to the school. We're better off going through the woods. I'm pretty sure Harry's on his own now with your girlfriend, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

"She not my—"

"Save your breath, Peter. Once we get her out of there and put an end to Harry, you can deny it all you want. It makes no difference to me. But in the meantime we'd better get to her before Harry gets tired of the game. He knows it won't take you long to find him, even without my help, and he'll be waiting. But he never was a patient man, and he'll have a toy to play with while he waits for you to show up."

Peter stopped arguing. Bastien didn't need to come with him, put his own life in danger after he'd walked away from all this, but he would do it, and nothing Peter said would stop him. He'd watch his back, as Peter had done for him, and between the two of them Genevieve Spenser would be safe.

If they could just get there in time.

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I
t really was a beautiful old building, despite the years it had lain empty. Genevieve had more than enough chance to admire it—after Harry had bound and gagged her, he'd walked her what seemed like miles through the thick fog, past abandoned buildings and torn-up parking lots. "Watch out for the swimming pool," Harry had said jovially as he'd marched her up a stone staircase. "Most of the water is long gone but there's enough in there to drown you, if the stink doesn't kill you." He pushed open a heavy door and shoved her inside, out of the fog, flicking on dim lights that still managed to hurt her eyes. They were in the middle of a huge room, built like an old hunting lodge, with a massive fireplace, a row of built-in seats around it and balconies crisscrossing overhead. Dead animals were stuffed and mounted on the walls, and across the top of the fireplace was the sign The Truth Shall Set You Free. If she hadn't been gagged Genevieve would have laughed.

"Great place, isn't this?" Harry said with the enthusiasm of a young boy showing off his newest toy. "It used to belong to John Huston or someone like that, and then it was turned into a school for drugged-out rich kids. They shut it down years ago and I bought it up on a whim. Always liked the place, even if it's seen a lot of hard use. Let me show you around a bit. You'll like it."

She had no choice, of course, trailing along after him, her hands bound behind her back with duct tape that was too tight, while Harry acted like a tour guide straight out of the Travel Channel, pointing out extraneous details like the dining room with its broken furniture, the wide row of decks overlooking the valley. "Too bad they let those little shits get their hands on this place," Harry said briskly, tying her to a chair near the fireplace. "There's nothing you can do with bad kids—hell, there's nothing you can do with good kids either. Might as well get rid of the whole lot."

He was using thick yellow nylon rope, tight around her already bound wrists and ankles, pulling it around her neck, and then flinging it over one of the thick logs that made up the exposed rafters. It took him a couple of tries to get it, but he laughed anyway, clearly in an excellent mood. "Wish you could appreciate those knots I tied, Ms. Spenser. I'm proud to say I was an Eagle Scout. You know how hard that is, what kind of commitment it takes? The years of hard work? I know what you're thinking—" He looped the rope back under her arms, then tossed it back over the rafter. "You're thinking the rich kid's father bribed them. But you can't bribe the Boy Scouts of America, Ms. Spenser. I know, because I tried. The only way I could get to Eagle Scout was to earn it the hard way, and I pretty much did. I think my old scoutmaster would be pleased as punch to see how good I still am with my knots. Of course, he might not be so happy to see how I'm using my expertise." Harry chuckled to himself.

He was kneeling down behind her, and she could no longer see what he was doing, and she wasn't certain she cared. The yellow nylon was scratchy against her throat, and when Harry tipped the chair back she could feel it tighten against her.

She tried to cry out, but the sound was forced down by the gag. Harry took a step back, surveying his handiwork with pride. "Now, that looks just fine," he said, "if I do say so myself. You gotta be careful not to move, not to squirm. That chair is balanced very precariously, and if it slips then that rope is going to tighten around your neck and strangle you. I wish I could promise you that I'd done such a good job that it would be instant, that your neck would break and it would all be over, but I don't think I'm that good anymore. I've done it in the past, but I've lost the touch over the years, and I'm afraid if that chair falls over you'll choke to death, and it's going to be slow and nasty. Just the way I like it," he added with a happy smirk.