Nightfall (34 page)

"Both sound asleep." He shrugged out of his fatigue jacket, moving over to the bar. "I'm more than aware of the value of pharmaceutical aids. Can I get you a vegetable drink? It has excellent restorative properties."

"Will I need them?"

"Actually," he said in an apologetic voice, "no."

"You're going to kill me."

"I'm afraid it's necessary. And your sister as well. In the army you learn to face the unpleasant task, and not to waste your time lamenting over the inevitable." He poured two glasses of a greeny-orange mixture and brought one over to her. For the first time in her life she longed for whiskey.

"Why?"

"I have to make absolutely certain that Richard is known for the monster he is. I'm afraid of your father's book. I'm afraid of the appeal. As long as he didn't fight it, I was content. But I know about the justice system in this country. Despite my best efforts, he could spend the rest of his life in some place that's a hell of a lot more hospitable than an army barracks. I can't let that happen. He has to be punished for what he did. If he won't die
for
Diana's murder, then he'll die for yours and your sister's."

"You're going to frame Richard?"

"Of course. I'll need an excuse for shooting him, won't I? I'll say he took you hostage, dragged you up here, and shot both you and Francesca. I had to kill him like the mad dog that he is." He held out the glass. "Take this. It'll make you feel better."

She knocked it out of his hand, and the green slime landed on the white carpet. "I'm not into drugs," she said.

The general smiled. "A perfect little soldier," he murmured. "You want it the hard way. You know where my grandchildren are. Tell me."

She didn't bother to deny it. "Where you'll never find them."

"Don't be ridiculous. I can find anything I want. If I'd had any idea they were still alive, it would have been a matter of days, maybe hours, before I had them with me. Richard was very clever about that. I never even guessed. I thought he must have found out that Diana was carrying my child, and gone mad. Of course, madmen can be very crafty."

"You're a prime example."

The general shook his head. "I'm not mad, child," he said reprovingly. "I do what needs to be done. It's just that simple."

"That simple," she echoed.

"Would you like to clean up a bit? See your sister?"

"I thought you were going to kill us?"

"If you're dead when Richard appears, I'll have very little bargaining power. And I need to find out what happened that night." There was a faint crack in the general's facade, one that made his paternal calm all the more frightening.

"I want to see Francesca."

"I thought so." He helped her to her feet, solicitous, and handed her his walking stick. "This should help. This one belonged to the great General Dwight D. Eisenhower himself. I've always treasured it."

Cassie's fingers curled around the handle of it, and she looked into the general's face. She didn't have the strength to use it as a weapon. Not yet. But she would.

"Take me to Francesca," she said again.

"Gladly."

Richard was glad Cassie had fallen. She never would have made it up the sheer face of the cliff, and he knew her well enough to realize she wouldn't have accepted being left behind. He didn't think he could have hit her again—he still felt sick at the memory of it. Though if he had to, he would have. He'd learned he had the ability to do just about anything.

The cliff was the only way to approach the house without Amberson's damned video cameras. There'd been no way to mount them over the cliff, and supposedly no need. No one would approach the place by such a suicidal method. No one in their right mind.

Richard no longer considered whether he was sane or not. Oddly enough, it was his return from darkness that made him realize how very much over the edge he was. Sanity and madness were no longer issues in his life. He knew what he had to do, and intended to do it, and pay the price. He'd never been one to avoid the consequences.

He'd done rock climbing before, but he'd done it with the proper equipment, and the rocks weren't covered with a film of ice. He wondered briefly what would happen if he fell. And then he dismissed the notion. He wouldn't fall. He couldn't. He was going to kill Amberson Scott with his bare hands, and he was going to make it hurt.

And then he was going to kill himself.

«
^
»

You bastard," Cassidy said.

Francesca lay on the bed, so unnaturally still that for a moment Cassidy had been afraid she was already dead. She was wearing something pink and frilly, exposing her long, coltish legs and budding breasts, and Cassie's hand gripped tightly around the walking stick.

"I haven't touched her," Scott murmured. "Just to get her changed. I've watched her though. She's very pretty, your little sister. Very innocent. Do you know if she's reached puberty yet?"

It was all Cassidy could do not to lash out at him. "Yes," she lied.

"A shame. I like them when they're still pure. Unsullied by blood. But I might make an exception in her case. Like Diana. I never could give her up. Don't look so distressed, Cassidy. She'll never know. I fed her enough of Essie's drugs to make sure she won't accidentally regain consciousness. When I finish with her, I'll see to it that a single bullet to the temple will take care of things. Immediate, painless. I'm not a cruel man."

She glared at him. "I thought you only liked your own children," she spat.

The general chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous, child. I'm a soldier. Where do you think I learned my taste for children? Battle zones provide human casualties of every age and degree of innocence. I only turned to my daughter because I was home, back in so-called civilization. And because she wanted it."

"I don't want to hear this."

"She was five years old," the general continued, unperturbed. "The bathroom's in there."

She made it to the toilet in time, throwing up. Her stomach was empty, and dry heaves followed, wracking her body, until she collapsed on the cool tile floor of the bathroom, too sick and miserable even to think.

He came and stood over her, turning on the blinding fluorescent light. "You should have had the vegetable drink, Cassie," he said kindly. "Compazine is good for the stomach as well."

"Go away," she groaned.

"Certainly, my dear. I just wanted to add my condolences on the death of your father. I gather he passed away yesterday. We were enemies, but we shared one thing. The devotion of our daughters." And he closed the door silently behind him.

It was a long time before Cass could move. Could struggle to her feet, leaning on the sink. Her eyes were dry—there were no tears to shed for Sean right now. No tears for anyone.

She grabbed a snowy white towel and began to wipe the mud and dirt from her face. She looked like death—a fitting comparison. Hobbling over to the edge of the bathtub, she sat, carefully unfastening her mud-caked running shoe. The pain was agonizing as she tried to ease it off her damaged foot, and pulling off the wet sock, she could see her ankle was swollen and purple. She had no idea whether it was broken or not, and she didn't care. If need be, she'd walk down the mountain, carrying Francesca's drugged body over her shoulders.

She emerged from the bathroom, still cold and wet but marginally less muddy, and moved to the bed. Francesca lay there, still and cool, her jaw slack, all the bewitching adolescent vitality drained from her.

"Oh, baby," Cassie murmured, stroking her forehead, "I won't let him do this to you. I promise. I'll get you out of here."

Francesca's eyelids twitched, just faintly, and her mouth barely moved. "I'm okay." The words were so quiet she thought she imagined them. And then Francesca's eyes opened for a fraction of a moment, and she could see the fierce light in them before she closed them again. "I tried to spit out most of the drugs he gave me when he wasn't looking. But be careful, Cassie. He's got cameras everywhere."

"Francesca…"

"Shhh," Francesca whispered drowsily. "Go for help. He's left me alone so far. I'll be okay. I didn't take that much. Just find help." She closed her eyes again, slipping back into unconsciousness.

"Sonny." Cassie heard the voice, calm and soft, echo from the living room. She rose, pressing Francesca's hand in silent comfort, and hobbled toward the noise as a wave of hope washed over her. Only to have it ebb, as she saw the general's wife.

Essie Scott was wandering around in a soiled dressing gown. Her gray hair stood out around her head, her eyes were vacant, her tongue busy as she licked her lips, over and over again. "Sonny?" she called plaintively.

"Mrs. Scott," Cassie said, limping forward.

Essie tried to focus. "Who are you, dear?" she murmured. "You're not one of the maids. We don't have maids here, do we?"

"No, I'm not one of the maids."

"And you're not my daughter. My daughter's dead."

"I'm not your daughter. Mrs. Scott…"

"And you're not one of Sonny's little friends. You're much too old." She sighed, moving around to the bar. To the lethal green concoction. "Why are you here?"

"Mrs. Scott, we need your help. Your husband isn't well…"

"Nonsense," Essie murmured, pouring herself a glass of the vegetable juice. "He's perfectly fine. He's a national hero. I'm the one who's not well. I need my medicine. He's protected me, but he knows how I get. I imagine things. Terrible, terrible things. But my Sonny couldn't do such things. He's a war hero."

"Mrs. Scott…"

"No, I won't listen to you," she said firmly. "I know who you are now. Sonny warned me about you. You're the enemy. You're going to confuse me, tell me lies."

"They aren't lies. Your husband is a monster. He rapes children. He raped your daughter, Mrs. Scott. And he'll keep on, unless you help me."

"No! I won't let you say these things! Go away." Her voice began to rise in a hysterical shriek. "Go away!"

"Come, dear." The general appeared, freshly dressed in a spotless uniform. "Don't let her upset you. You know they're nothing but lies. Come and lie down. You need your medicine. You know what happens when you forget your medicine."

She looked up at him, dazed, trusting. "They
are
lies, aren't they, Sonny?"

"Of course, dearest." He patted her hand, leading her tenderly away. He paused in the doorway. "In case you're wondering, Cassidy, there's no way Richard can sneak up here when I'm not looking. Along with video cameras I have heat sensors activated. An alarm would sound if he came anywhere near the perimeter of the grounds. There's no way he can get up here without my knowing."

"How reassuring," she said acidly.

Amberson Scott only smiled.

She watched him go, leading his wife away, murmuring soothing, solicitous phrases. The door shut behind them.

Cassie hobbled back to Francesca, but her sister had ingested more drugs than she'd realized. Shaking her, slapping her did no good whatsoever—she simply blinked and sank back into a stupor. "Damn it, wake up, Francesca," she cried. "We've got to get out of here. Fast. Before he comes back." Francesca didn't move.

Cassie froze suddenly, as a shadow loomed up behind her, silent, deadly, and she knew it was too late. Hands reached down, catching her shoulders, dragging her away from the bed, and she started to scream, as she felt herself pulled up against a large, hard body, and his hand covered her mouth, stifling that scream. In the distance she could hear the general coming, and the man behind her dragged her into the darkened bathroom, closing the door behind them, and she heard his voice hissing in her ear. "What in Christ's name are you doing here?" Richard demanded.

She tried to struggle, but he simply pushed up against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and she was unable to fight him. He reached over and turned on the shower, full force, the noise and heat of it filling the room, and she fought him in mindless panic, unable to breathe, until she heard the sharp rapping on the door.

"Decided to take a shower after all?" General Scott's voice came through the thick door.

Slowly Richard released his hand from her mouth. It took her a moment to be able to speak, but she managed a creditable job. "Yes."

"A wise idea. You're probably chilled to the bone, and who knows how long it will take before Richard realizes he's not going to be able to sneak in. He's going to have to walk right in, and there's no need for you to be uncomfortable, waiting. There are some clothes of Diana's in the closet when you're finished. I couldn't bear to throw them out."

Cassie leaned her head against the tile, Richard's body still pressed tight against hers. "They wouldn't fit me," she murmured.

"Certainly they would," the general said cheerfully. "They fit me."

Richard's hand came over her mouth again as she began to struggle once more. They fought, in the steamy darkness, until he simply flattened her against the wall, immobilizing her. "Stop fighting me," he said in her ear. He waited, damnably long, and then removed his hand.

"Let go of me. He's going to hurt Francesca…"

"He's not going to touch her. Right now he's far more excited by the game of cat and mouse he's playing with me than he is by the thought of another child to molest. Amberson's interests are simple. He finds the hunt to be the most appealing. After that he'll settle for sexual perversions."

"You can't be sure…"

"No," he said brutally. "But there's nothing we can do about it right now. I don't have any weapons, and he does. We're going to have to figure out a way to distract him. If I know him, and I do, he's gone back to sit in the living room with his gun across his lap, just waiting for me to put in an appearance. He doesn't know I managed to get through the heat sensors and the cameras by coming straight over the cliff, but he's smart enough not to rule it out. He's waiting for me, and he'll be ready. It wouldn't do to underestimate him. He's a formidable opponent."

"What are we going to do?" she whispered. "How can we stop him?"

"I'm not sure. I know one thing, we're only going to get one try at him. You're going to need to get your sister out of here while I go for him. It's our only chance."