Gift of Gold (41 page)

It didn’t take long to reach the cliff edge. Not nearly as long as Jonas would have liked. There was no time to create a distraction or come up with a brilliant plan of action for disarming Tresslar.

One thing was certain: whatever happened at the top of the cliffs was going to be messy and totally lacking in finesse.

“All right, this is the place.” Tresslar swung the flashlight’s beam along the broken railing at the edge of the cliffs. The unconnected posts jutted out of the wet ground at an odd angle.

Jonas swung around to face Tresslar, the edge of the cloak gripped in one fist in what he hoped looked like the white-knuckled grasp of a very nervous man. “You expecting me to jump? If so, you’re in for a long wait.”

“You want a helping hand? Glad to oblige.” Tresslar reached out and picked up one of the pieces of broken fence railing. Without any warning, he heaved it heavily toward Jonas.

Under ordinary circumstances, a man would have instinctively stepped back to avoid the length of splintered wood aimed at his head. But a step backward in this case would be a step into the sea.

Jonas realized what was happening as he saw Tresslar’s aim move, but even so he was vaguely surprised at how difficult it was to stifle the instinct to get out of the way.

Jonas tightened his grasp on the edge of the cloak and swung around in a small, stumbling circle that could have been mistaken for an attempt at scrambling to evade the piece of wood.

It took Tresslar a couple of seconds to realize that Jonas hadn’t flinched backward but had only turned around. By then it was too late. The cloak was swinging in a wide arc at the
end of Jonas’s arm. The heavy, wet length of it struck Tresslar’s hand just as the broken length of wood thudded against Jonas’s shoulder.

For an instant Jonas saw the psychic corridor in his mind and he wanted to scream in rage. The last thing he needed now was that kind of distraction. An image started to materialize, the picture of a man falling to his death over the cliffs. He was reaching desperately for the fence post and it was breaking free in his grasp. A frozen scream shaped the man’s mouth.

Jonas saw no one else in the quick, strobelike image, but he knew instinctively that the victim had been pushed. He could feel the murderous intent that permeated the scene even before the ribbon of darkness started to snake toward him.

Then the old fence post bounced off Jonas’s shoulder and fell to the muddy ground. During the brief, disorienting instant, Jonas’s hand had never paused. He had continued the lashing motion of the cloak. He knew a kind of numb gratitude that he was able to continue functioning even through the distraction caused by the image. He was definitely getting stronger. This time a part of his awareness stayed in the present.

The swipe of the cloak wasn’t strong enough to force Tresslar to drop the weapon but it deflected his aim for a crucial instant. Jonas
was on him before Tresslar realized what had happened. Jonas concentrated on the gun.

Tresslar yelped in fury, twisting powerfully in the mud. Jonas hung on, using every trick he had picked up in five years of surviving in port towns and backwater villages.

Tresslar heaved, slamming his free fist into the side of Jonas’s face. Jonas absorbed the blow and barely avoided the knee to the groin that followed. He gritted his teeth and set about breaking Tresslar’s gun arm.

Tresslar screamed, the sound muffled by the sound of the sea and the storm. He bucked upward again, partially dislodging Jonas. The two men rolled in the mud, coming up against another fence post. This one mercifully did not give off the vibrations the other one had.

The post gave beneath the impact. The softened earth around it was not enough support to hold it in place.

Jonas felt the wood tilting in the mud and sensed what was about to happen. He released his grip on Tresslar and flung himself back out of the way.

The
softened ground around the post gave way. The post toppled over the edge of the cliff as Tresslar’s weight proved its undoing. More earth crumbled. Tresslar screamed again as the world collapsed beneath him and then he was gone, the gun still clutched in his fist. The flashlight vanished from view simultaneously.

Jonas gulped air and crawled forward on his hands and knees to peer over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t dare get too close.

There was nothing to be seen. The insatiable black sea foamed far below, eager for another victim.

Jonas backed carefully away from the edge and jumped to his feet.

It was as he pounded heavily toward the house through the mud that he remembered to check the knife he had shoved under his sleeve.

It was gone. He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. One look was enough to make him give up any idea of trying to find the knife in the dark without a flashlight.

He turned back toward the house and saw a familiar figure appear in the doorway.

“Quarrel! Thank God, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Tavi! Where’s Kincaid?”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to find you. He disappeared a few minutes ago and so did Verity. Caitlin hasn’t realized it yet. But I was watching him. I knew things were going wrong. I knew it. When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified that something had already happened…” She broke off and flipped on the porch light. She stared at Jonas, taking in the mud and the blood. Her somber face assumed a stricken expression. “What happened?”

“Later.” He leaped up the steps and pushed past her into the house. “Did Kincaid leave in his car?”

“I don’t know for certain. There are so many cars parked in the driveway. It will take ages to figure out if one of them is gone. But he must have taken her away in the car. It’s the logical thing to do, isn’t it?”

Jonas shook his head impatiently. “Not necessarily. Why would he want to call attention to himself? It’s just as likely he’s taken Verity away to stash her somewhere temporarily. He’ll probably be returning to the party as soon as he’s got her under control. Go tell Caitlin what’s happened. Get everyone out of the salon and have them start searching the house and the grounds. We haven’t got any time to lose. Hurry, goddammit!”

Tavi gasped and fled down the hall toward the main salon.

Jonas leaped up the back stairs, flinging open doors as he raced down the hall on the second floor. The odds were against Kincaid having tried to leave with Verity through the front door. Someone would have been sure to see him, and Verity would have been struggling. Jonas knew the man hadn’t left through the back door, because he
would have spotted him.

That meant Verity had to be somewhere in the big house.

Chapter
Eighteen

The
instant she spotted Kincaid slipping out of the crowded salon, Verity made her decision. She had no option but to follow him. There was every possibility that he had realized Jonas had left a short time earlier. She couldn’t let Jonas be caught unawares.

A few people milled around in the downstairs hall but no one paid any attention to Verity as she walked swiftly toward the back of the house. In a matter of seconds she was out of sight of everyone, hurrying along the corridor that would bring her to the back stairs. She had to get to the third floor and warn Jonas that Kincaid might be searching for him.

Verity swung around the steel newel post, lifted her velvet skirts, and started up the stairs. She had raced up three steps when she heard Kincaid’s voice in the hall behind her. A chill went through her as she realized he had just come in from outside.

“What a fortunate coincidence, Verity. I was just coming to look for you.”

Verity stilled on the third step and turned to look at him. She forced herself to think clearly. Chances were that Jonas was still in Caitlin’s third-floor room. The best thing Verity could do now was to keep Kincaid occupied.

“I was just going upstairs to my room to freshen up,” she said with a bright smile. “Have you been outside? It sounds like it’s pouring out there.”

“It is. A very treacherous night.” He walked toward her, a pale-haired demon moving through shadow. He halted at the foot of the stairs. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. “A very dangerous night.”

Verity didn’t need the overhead light to detect the strange excitement in Damon Kincaid. There was something very wrong about him. Her fingers trembled and she found herself clasping the folds of her velvet gown with enough force to whiten her knuckles. But her smile never wavered. She had a special restaurateur’s smile reserved for occasions when a difficult patron made a fuss. It was the one she used now.

“Were you getting some fresh air outside?” she asked pleasantly. “I don’t blame you. It’s awfully crowded in the salon.” How much longer would Jonas be upstairs? she wondered. The next question was whether he would use this staircase or the front stairs when he returned to the party.

“I agree. The crowd is a bit much,” Kincaid said easily. “Perhaps I’ll join you upstairs.” He put one foot on the bottom tread.

Verity sucked in her breath as she instinctively retreated to the step behind her. She wished she had turned on the light at the foot of the staircase. Light would be comforting right now.

She no longer tried to ignore her queasy stomach. In the shadows Kincaid was suddenly terrifying. He wore his Renaissance clothes with the nonchalance of a Borgia, looking as much at home in them as Jonas looked in his. The entire evening was taking on an air of unreality, aided and abetted by the elaborate masquerade arranged by Caitlin Evanger.

“I’m afraid I’m heading for a powder room,” Verity managed to say brightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you in a few minutes back in the salon.” It took an incredible amount of courage to turn her back on him and start up the stairs with the air of a woman who was merely looking for a place to freshen her lipstick.

The tactic was a mistake. Kincaid leaped soundlessly up the stairs behind her and whipped an arm around her throat. Verity felt the cold steel nose of a small gun on her neck and the sickening strength in his arm.

“Not a sound, my lady, or I’ll squeeze the breath out of your windpipe.” Kincaid’s voice implied he would like nothing better than to carry out the threat.

Verity didn’t doubt him for an instant. Her father had a saying for such moments, she recalled. It flashed through her head:
Things have gone from sugar to shit.
Where was Jonas?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Verity demanded in a husky whisper.

“Rearranging tonight’s agenda. Let’s go.” He urged her up the stairs. “We’ll give Tresslar a few minutes to finish the job he’s working on now, and then I’ll signal him and have him remove you to a less crowded location. I want to take my time having a little chat with you, Verity Ames. You’re going to give me some answers to some questions I didn’t have an opportunity to ask Quarrel.”

Verity tried to turn her head and found the gun pressing into her throat. “What are you talking about? Who’s Tresslar? And where is Jonas?”

“Tresslar is an employee of mine. And as for your friend interesting Quarrel, I’m afraid he’s no longer factor in this interesting charade we’re all playing. But I think it’s safe enough to dispense with him because I have you. And you, Verity, will tell me all I need to know. But we’ll conduct that conversation much later. I don’t have time for it now. I’ve got to get back downstairs before too many people notice we’re both missing.”

“You’re crazy! What have you done to Jonas?”

“Don’t waste any time worrying about your ex-lover. He’s out of the picture for good.”

“Damn you, what did you do to him?” Verity’s voice rose in spite of the gun and she started to struggle fiercely.

Kincaid responded by tightening his arm until Verity could no longer breathe. Panic raced through her as she grew dizzy. She twisted violently in his grasp, trying to hit him with her fists. The heavy velvet skirts she was wearing made it almost impossible to kick out at Kincaid’s legs.

“Stop it, you little bitch!” Kincaid lost patience and slammed the barrel of the gun against the side of her head.

The blow wasn’t hard enough to knock Verity unconscious but it dazed her. She collapsed weakly, nearly taking Kincaid down the stairs with her. He staggered beneath her unbalanced weight but recovered within a couple of steps.

“Be careful, Miss Ames, or I may decide it’s more trouble than it’s worth to keep you alive for a while.”

Verity couldn’t speak. The impact of the gun against her head had had a disorienting effect. The staircase wavered sickeningly as she tried to clear her fuzzy brain. By the time the world settled down again, Kincaid had yanked her to the top of the stairs. She took deep breaths, trying to gather enough strength to scream as he jerked her down the hall.

The back stairs had been built against the side of the house and did not bisect the corridor as the main staircase did. Kincaid and Verity emerged next to Jonas’s room.

Kincaid didn’t hesitate. “I think we’ll stash you in your own room for now. Tresslar went through the house earlier and figured out which ones you and Quarrel were using. You’ll be safe here until Tresslar can get up here to retrieve you.” He came to a halt in front of the door, twisted the knob, and thrust Verity into the darkened room.

Verity reeled from the force of Kincaid’s push. She stumbled, tried to regain her balance, and struck the bed. Desperately she reached out to grab a post. Once again she opened her mouth to scream. This time Kincaid backhanded her with such force that she sprawled across the bed. Her velvet skirts were flung high above her knees. When she rolled frantically to one side, they went higher, riding up above her thighs.

Kincaid dropped the gun on the nightstand and used both hands to subdue Verity. She still hadn’t completely recovered from the blow against the side of her head and her resulting weakness made her an easy victim.

Furious with herself and enraged with Kincaid, Verity lashed out again and again as Kincaid anchored her heaving body with his own and slapped a pillow over her face.

Verity gasped as the stifling softness came down over her nose and mouth and then it became impossible to get a complete breath. She was going to die here in this terrible bed. Kincaid was going to suffocate her. Jonas might already be dead.