Judgement By Fire (26 page)

The man
focused an intense look on him for a moment, and then relaxed. “Yes, well,
everything seems strange at the moment. We have an exhibit, yes, the finest in
Toronto: Ontario Wildlife. We are run off our feet, clients everywhere, even
the artists behave themselves, and I know right then that everything has gone
too well.”

Jon almost
smiled at the dramatic intensity of the man, but his lips froze in the middle
of the act. Ontario Wildlife? Wasn’t that the exhibition that Lauren had been
taking part in, the one where she’d met that guy Steve? Jon’s stomach plummeted
like a runaway elevator and the pulse at his temple began to pound. He had a
fleeting crazy thought that now he knew how Wily Coyote felt when he saw the
cartoon boulder dropping towards him from the top of the canyon, then struggled
to focus as the visitor began to speak.

“I’m Victor
Schenko,” he announced, ignoring Jon’s abstracted expression. “And I have come
to demand to know why a check I take in good faith, payment for two beautiful
paintings by an even more beautiful young lady, why this check is returned to
me by the mighty Rush Co.? Surely,” he added dryly, “it is not that you have
run out of money?”

            Jon swallowed hard
against the fear that was building in his chest. “What reason were you given?”
he asked quietly.

            “That stupid woman,
she tells me it is as the letter says that the signature on the check is
unknown to Rush Co., and even though it is one of your checks, I must get some
further authorization.”

             Jon wished he could
turn around, walk away. He wished he hadn’t already guessed what was coming
next. But he did—and the normally spacious offices had suddenly become airless
and too close.

            “Do you have the
check with you? Could I see it?” he asked Schenko.

            “Of course I have it
with me,” the other man looked at Jon as if he was a total idiot. “Would I come
on this matter without the proof? And it was lucky, too, that I put it away in
my briefcase last night and took it home with me. Overnight my little gallery
was broken into, my office wrecked, papers torn and thrown around from the
files!

            “It was the strangest
thing, too. Even though we took a lot of money for the exhibit, it is deposited
in the bank every evening. Everyone knows this. No one in Toronto ever keeps
money in the office overnight any longer. It is not safe. So you think when
thieves break into an art gallery, what do they take? Do they take the valuable
paintings on the wall? Do they take the prints? No, they ransack the office and
they take nothing!”

            “It does sound
strange, all right,” Jon said, although he knew it wasn’t really strange at
all. Not when you had all the parts of the puzzle. And he knew, in a few
moments, he would look at Mr. Schenko’s check and the last piece of the puzzle
would fall into place. His stomach roiled in rebellion against the tension that
flooded him.

            “Here is the check,
and that is the invoice with the delivery instructions. The signature on the
delivery chit is the superintendent at the building, who had a key and let my
delivery men in.”

            Jon was sure his hand
would shake, and was surprised to see his fingers quite steady as he took the
papers from the other man’s long, thin fingers. It was a Rush Co. check without
a doubt. With a signature that was not listed on Rush Co.’s check authorization
list. The name wasn’t unfamiliar, although Jon could see why the clerical staff
had returned the check unpaid. It was signed with a bold, flourishing script:
Steve Wallace.

            Clipped to the check was
a delivery notice/invoice: Two small paintings in acrylic by Lauren Stephens.
The address was familiar too; it was Stephen Rush’s expensive city center
condominium.

Just then, shy
Elizabeth handed him a telephone message slip. “Your housekeeper called, she
said it was urgent,” the woman told him in hushed tones.

His jaw tight,
Jon read the message. ‘Your Uncle Stephen’s wife’s surname was Wallace’.

*
* *

            Lauren had finished
her shower and was just blow-drying her short, wavy hair when the doorbell
sounded, its gruff chimes echoing in the small studio. She guessed it would be
Tom Perry back to take up sentry duties again after his brief tour of duty at
the Highway 401 collision site. She’d already pulled on old jeans and an
oversized tee-shirt, and felt decent enough to answer the door, padding
barefoot across the smooth pine planks. There was still time to offer the
likeable young man a warming cup of coffee while she got ready for the ABC
committee meeting, and Lauren had a welcoming grin on her face as she pulled
the big front door open.

           
 
The grin
quickly faded to a watered-down version of itself as she saw the man standing
on her doorstep.

Forcing a
friendly note into her voice, hoping that he wouldn’t see the impatience in her
eyes, she greeted him. “Steve? This is a surprise.”

            “Hello, Lauren. I was
in the area and thought I’d call in to see you. Aren’t you going to invite me
in?” Steve Wallace gave that charming grin of his, only now the chill in his
eyes was very evident.

            “Gosh, Steve, I wish
you’d called ahead. You see, I have to go out, a committee meeting…” Lauren
stammered, good manners warring with the intuition of danger that filled her
senses.

            “Hey, I’m a long way
from home and it's cold out here. You’re not going out dressed like that I’m
sure. At least I could get a coffee from you while you’re making yourself
presentable,” the tall blond man said affably. If his sharp eyes picked up the
flash of anger on Lauren’s face at his presumption, he showed no sign. Instead,
he bulldozed past her into the cozy living area of the studio.

            “This is certainly
pleasant,” he said, his eyes taking in the motley collection of cast-off
furniture. “I’m glad you invited me.”

            Lauren bit back a
retort, furnished him with a hospitable dose of coffee, and slammed into her
bedroom to change. How dare he comment on what she chose to wear! And he’d taken
no effort to disguise the contempt at her less-than-salubrious furnishings!
Deliberately, she retained the worn jeans and simply pulled a thick cotton
sweater on over the baggy tee shirt, dragged a brush through her hair and
swiped a lipstick across her full lips.

            She was already
telling herself that remaining in the clothes he’d criticized was a pathetic
and unnecessary bit of rebellion as she stepped out from her loft bedroom onto
the balcony that overlooked the living room. Feeling contrite enough to be nice
to the man for a few minutes until she had to leave—after all, he had had the
good taste to buy two of her paintings! Lauren looked over the rail, intending
to call some pleasantry to him, but her breath caught in her throat and the
world took a dizzying spin on its axis.

When it had
steadied, everything was the same—and completely changed. For the man she knew
as Steve had drawn back the living room drapes and was standing with his back
to the room staring out of the window. For a moment, his back view had reminded
her of Jon—and then memory had come crashing back in on a wave of fear.

The last time
she’d seen this back profile, she’d called after him, running to catch up and
thinking he was Jon Rush. And a horrific blast had blown her from her feet,
deafening her and knocking her unconscious with its force. Then, she’d thought
the tall figure was that of the man she loved. Now she saw that it was a sick
parody.

“Oh, damn, my
bag,” she said, striving for a tone of irritated normality in her voice as she
found a mundane excuse to return to her room and the bedside phone that waited
there. With shaking fingers she began to dial the local police number, but the
handset was cold and unresponsive in her hands. Someone—her thoughts flew to
the man downstairs—had disconnected the telephone line…but why? He’d have to be
crazy to come after her like this. Probably there was a reasonable explanation,
Lauren told herself as she sat down heavily on her bed, breathing deeply to
ward off panic.

Like Paul
Howard, she was convinced that the same person was behind the destruction of
her studio, the incident with the truck, and the burning of the information
center.
Ergo
, the same person must have some connection to Rush Co. She
remembered Jon’s theory that the same individual had caused the incidents that
had been occurring at his company over the past few months. What connection
could Steve Wallace possibly have with Jon Rush?

Oh,
God….what if she’d got things the wrong way around? What if Jon was in danger
because of her? What if the events at Jon’s company were just coincidental and
the real danger to Jon was through her relationship to Steve?

 The very
thought brought shivers of horror through her, yet also a glimmer of hope. If
this was about some sick stalker’s fantasy—and she had little trouble seeing Steve
Wallace in that role—then she could put an end to it, protect Jon from any
danger.

Yeah and
maybe just get yourself  hurt in the process,
the little voice in her mind
was sneering.

Not if I
play this right
—
Baby Cop will be back soon, and then…
she replied.

So you’d
risk that poor kid being hung out to dry as well?

No, I’ll
contact Chief Ohmer…

And how you
goin’ to do that? Telepathy?
The voice in her head mocked, and her eyes
were drawn to the lifeless phone in her hands. Lauren swallowed, trying to keep
back the fear that was honing her nerves to screaming point.

She didn’t
hear him come in, not until her brown leather purse was dropped on the bed
alongside her, and her startled gaze flew up to meet his mocking, contemptuous
look.

“Ah, there it
is. Wherever did you find it?” she said brightly, grasping the bag to her as if
the soft leather could afford protection from a world gone mad.

“It was
downstairs, on the table by the door, where you probably always keep it.” There
was no mistaking the sarcasm in his tone. “Did you mistake the telephone for
your bag? Or were you going to telephone around to see if anyone knew where it
was?”

Lauren
colored.
He knows you know,
the voice in her head confirmed.

But what do
I know?
She asked.

Too much,
the voice replied sadly. Lauren bit her lip, then pasted a puzzled expression
on her face and tried to look Steve in the eye.

“Don’t be
silly, of course not. I was trying to call one of the other committee members
to check on the time of the meeting, see if maybe we had time for a beer at the
tavern beforehand.” Lauren tried to smile sweetly at him, but knew the rictus
of her lips was a dismal failure when she saw anger flash in his eyes.

“That would be
nice. Why don’t you phone, then?”

“Because…because
the phone doesn’t seem to be working. I…I guess the lines are down or
something. Happens a lot out here.”

“Did you think
that luring me up to your bedroom might put other thoughts in my head and save
your pretty skin?” His voice was almost caressing, but the suggestion came so
far out of left field that Lauren gasped as she absorbed the words.

“Good God, Steve!”
she managed to croak. “Just what do you think I am?”

Anger
tightened whitely around his mouth and flushed red across his cheekbones as he
grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers biting painfully into her soft flesh.

“I cut the
telephone lines, Lauren. You can’t call out and have one of your boyfriends
come running to save you,” Steve ground out, his voice hoarse with fury. “And
just so you’ll know, I think you’re a lying, cheating whore and I’d sooner lie
down with one of the working girls from Jarvis Street than touch you. At least
they’re honest about their whoring!”

As he spoke,
he pulled her to her feet, dragging her from the bedroom. Halfway down the
stairs, he turned to her again, and this time Lauren shrank back from the
madness that peered out from his eyes.

“I’ve seen
you, fornicating with my cousin, tempting him with your naked body, offering
him everything you should have been giving to me,” he spat.

Fear
galvanized Lauren and she lunged forwards, driving her knee upwards at Steven.
But he moved too fast, and instead of hitting delicate parts, she only caught
him a glancing blow on the thigh. Nevertheless, he howled in pain, releasing
his grip on her arm as she wrenched herself away. Before she could turn to
flee, he lashed out in fury. His fist caught her across the face and hot red
blood spurted from her nose as she tottered backwards on the wooden steps. Arms
flailing, Lauren lost her balance and began to fall backwards—and as she fell
she saw Steve, a wild gleam of pleasure in his eyes, watching her fear and
making no attempt to save her from the fall.

It was only then
that she knew with terrible certainty that he intended to kill her.

*
* *

Jon left Mr.
Schenko with Elizabeth; the tall thin man watching hawk-like while the clerical
assistant wrote out the new check which Rush Co.’s chairman had already signed
for the gallery owner. With blood pounding urgently in his temples, Jon raced
to his office and yanked his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket—damn! With
everything that had been happening, he’d forgotten to put the instrument on
charge and the batteries were dead. Even if Lauren—or Stephen—had tried to call
him, they would not have been able to get through. His startled secretary,
Cathy, had followed him into his office after he had rushed headlong past her
desk, and now regarded him with shocked eyes.