Dark to Mortal Eyes (58 page)

“Where is she?” The brim of the man’s homburg lifted.

Skre-accck!

“Who are you? Where’s Marsh!” Stahlherz tapped his fingers so that the dagger slipped into his hand. A curved talon. Ready to strike.

With strips of gas-scented cloth over her eyes and mouth, Josee kicked at the heavy duct tape around her ankles. The trunk held her captive. Cold and cramped, she listened to the hum of the road beneath her. Through her gag, her intermittent cries went unnoticed.

Where were they taking her? Where was Kara? Even as she had declined into unconsciousness, she’d found comfort in her mother’s nearness. Now that was gone.

Fighting panic, she worked her ankles and wrists against her restraints. She found a metal ridge, a part of the trunk’s structure, against which to rub the tape, but then the car lurched to the side, thwarting her efforts and tossing her back into the wall. She tucked her head to avoid serious damage and braced herself against the motion.

Lord, help me here. Protect Kara. Don’t let it end like this
.

Scarcely able to breathe, Josee felt a peace beyond her own understanding wash over her. The helplessness of the situation negated any schemes of escape, and in the trunk’s inky space, she surrendered herself to the events of the past few days. She thought of the viper in the woods; of Sergeant Turney’s fang marks and his warm Hershey’s kiss eyes; of Scooter’s fleeing the slithering sorceress and later coming to the park to try to warn her away from Trudi. How had he known to find her there? She thought also of the nurse—the angel?—in Room 223. She remembered the Van der Bruegges’ kindness; the flexing muscles in Marsh’s back and his pine-and-cloves scent as she held on to him during their ride through the mud and trees; the light shining down the stairwell onto Kara’s face, and the lilting tenderness of her mother’s words:
No matter what happens … you’ll always be my baby
.

She could die knowing her mother’s warmth and her father’s strength.

But I’m not ready! Did Scoot survive? We can’t just let this hag carry out her plans, whatever they are. Where’s Sarge?

Sergeant Turney wiggled his toes. Okay, he still had some movement.

He maneuvered so he could see over the Tahoe’s seats into the park where Stahlherz and Esprit were talking. He’d heard the van arrive and watched Stahlherz head across the grass. Good time to make his exit through the released hatch. He swiped his sleeve over his mouth to remove the last remnants of chocolate and failure, then eased his bulk under the door. His right leg stretched down to the gravel. Left leg.

Thunk. Click
.

The hatch bumped him in the head as he completed his exit, then landed on its catch with a metallic sound. As he tried to regain his balance, rocks shifted beneath him.

Focused on the moment, Turney ignored the brief head pain and the gathering moisture around his scars. He was ringside, prepared to jump into the fray

All 238 pounds of me. You still in my corner, God? Or have I ruined everything?

“Who are you?” Stahlherz could feel himself shaking. “Where is Marsh?”

“I’m Henri Esprit, the winemaker at Addison Ridge.” Although the man looked to be in his late sixties, his wide shoulders and strong face bore a passing resemblance to his employer. “Marsh is far from here, I can assure you. He sent me to deliver this.”

“Impossible. He was here, here in town not long ago. I checked.”

“Oh, you mean this?” Esprit waved a card.

Stahlherz snatched it. American Express, Marshall R. Addison. He had been monitoring this credit card’s activity, and to think that it’d been in the
hands of this impostor before him. Disbelief hammered against his temples. Bile filled his throat. The dagger was a talon in his grip, poised to inflict damage. The creature had control.

Esprit said, “I’ve been enjoying the privileges of that account, Mr. Stahlherz—”

“Herr Stahlherz!
It’s German, you idiot.
Ich heisse Karl Stahlherz.”

“I’m quite fluent in many languages, Herr Stahlherz. From the beginning, Marsh suspected that you would monitor his moves. A diversionary tactic, that’s all this was. From your reaction, I gather that little card did the trick.”

“But he
has
to be here. Marsh has disregarded our agreement. With a single call, I could have Kara killed. I would take pleasure in ripping away all he holds dear!”

Esprit lifted an object wrapped in oilcloth. “Here, isn’t this what you’re after?”

“Unwrap it. Show it to me.” Stahlherz tightened his grip on the blade.

Marsh plowed through the trees and dune grass, back toward his car at the convenience store. He huffed into his phone. “I found the note. I called this number. Now what?”

“Tell me, sir, would you enjoy a stroll along the beach at Devil’s Elbow?”

“Devil’s Elbow?” He shuddered. Trudi’s voice sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. “I can be there shortly. Will you have Kara with you?”

“Will you have the journal? Do you have the key and the information I need?”

“You know that I do. It’s how I put the pieces together. You’re Trudi Ubelhaar.”

“Marsh, did I ever tell you how much your voice sounds like your father’s?” She sighed into the phone. “Chance loved me, you know. Simply wasn’t strong enough to turn against his dear wife. Men are weak, mere pawns in the hand of a determined woman. So, in answer to your question, yes, come along, provide that which I need, and I’ll allow you and your precious bride to reunite along the shores of the Pacific.”

The edge of the board. The eight row. Almost there.

Forgoing emotion, Marsh found strength in the chess metaphor.

“What about Josee?” he said. “Is she with you too?”

“Thanks to you.”

He ignored the gibe. “You never intended to show up for my meeting with Stahlherz, did you? What did you plan to do with my wife?”

“Oh, I was going to send her, true to the agreement Stahlherz brokered with you, while I waited here, covering our bases dependent on the bank’s location. Stahli’s become a liability though. Dead weight. To obtain victory, I’ve had to change plans.”

“It’s not over yet.” Marsh emerged from between buildings, saw his car up the road.

“You?” She scoffed. “You’re no threat. I’ve anticipated your every move. I knew you’d skip the rendezvous and head for the beach house. Your little trick alerted me. May have fooled Stahli, but I know of your plans to fly to Paris this weekend, so naturally I wondered why you and Kara would collaborate in a lie about getting away together. An attempt to gather information, was that it? I see it worked.”

“Once a chess player, always a chess player.”

“Who’d you send in your stead? Esprit? He’s similar in build.”

“Why reveal my tactics if you won’t reveal yours?”

“Aha. Clever, Marsh. You’ve inherited some of your father’s intellect.”

“And you’ve been a positive addition at the manor—efficient, resourceful.” Marsh softened his tone. “Rosie … Trudi, I know of your history, the mistreatment you suffered. I can’t even imagine. There’s no excuse. Your anger’s understandable, but you can still turn back. You’re not locked into this course of action.”

“Let’s not wax sentimental at this point, please. Are you en route?”

He reached the Metro, opened the door. “Yes, Trudi, I’m coming.”

“No dallying, you understand, or your wife will go on a stroll from which I fear she’ll never return. Really, Marsh, is that what you desire? Devil’s Elbow. For old times’ sake, be there below the lighthouse. Call me once you’re in position.”

“No more tricks,” Stahlherz said. “Show the journal to me.”

“First,” Esprit said, “bring Kara out. Her welfare is our primary concern.”

Stahlherz silently ridiculed this man’s naiveté. With the ICV recruits surrounding the park, Stahlherz knew he could take ownership of the journal at will. However, in a show of sportsmanship, he placed the call. “Move the queen forward three spaces,” he said, using the code words. “We’re ready to exchange the pieces.”

Within ninety seconds the Professor’s Studebaker rounded the corner and pulled into the gravel lot. Two figures stepped from the car, cautious. There was no sign of the Professor. Had he misunderstood her? Wasn’t she to be present?

Stahlherz led the way to the vehicle and barked at his acolytes, “Let’s get moving.”

“The items you requested, Mr. Steele.” The driver handed over a packet.

Steele Knight tore at the padded envelope, leafed through the documents, let the scent of ink and paper arouse his desire for recognition. As requested, the Professor had provided his proof of identity. She had watched over him, shaped him, forged him with undying attentiveness. He paraded a booklet and a sheet of paper for all to see. “This,” he proclaimed to his ring of listeners, “is my ticket to notoriety—my name, my identity, all the corroborating evidence to state unequivocally that I am who I claim to be. I am Herr Karl Stahlherz. Soon the world will know of me.”

“Kara Addison?” Esprit said. “Show her to me. I want to know she’s safe.”

“Open this up.” Stahlherz knocked on the trunk. “Let’s see how she is faring.”

The ICV driver inserted the key and opened the trunk for inspection.

“No
ooo!
”