No Escape (21 page)

* * *

Heath sat at the desk in Lauren’s hotel room and worked on the captured pistol. He’d gotten some mechanical pencil lead from the gift store in the hotel lobby, chopped it fine with a razor blade purchased from the same place, and turned it into a fine powder. A brush from a small cosmetic kit, also bought for an unconscionable price, allowed him to dust the graphite onto the pistol’s surface.

The natural lighting from the balcony door provided plenty of illumination to see the latent friction ridges on the weapon. Using transparent tape, he lifted the prints, then affixed them to a sheet of typing paper that the gift shop had carried.

“Who knew the gift shop was one-stop shopping for your own CSI lab?” Lauren sat in the nearby wingback chair and watched the proceedings with avid interest.

Heath went in search of another print, this one off the magazine. “A very pitiful excuse for a CSI lab.”

“It seems to be getting the job done.”

“I hope. And I hope she has a file.”

Lauren kept working on her iPad. Heath didn’t know what she was doing, but when she wasn’t watching him, she was very intent on the device. She looked up again. “You’re different than I expected.”

“How so?” Carefully, Heath extracted one of the bullets from the magazine. When he dusted it, nothing came up. He hadn’t expected to net any results because brass could get lost during a shooting. Keeping up with ejected casings could be too problematic. The woman had been a professional. She would have used gloves to load her weapon. Dusting the bullet had been to confirm his impression, and it had.

“I knew you were a tough cop. I could tell that from the first time I met you.”

“During which time you were thinking I was a morgue attendant.”

She frowned at him.

“Okay, maybe that’s too soon. Blame it on tiredness.”

“You slept later than I did.”

“True.”

“No, I knew you were tough.”

“Had a lot of experience with tough cops, have you?”

A ghost of a smile turned up her lips, and for a moment he could see the little girl she might have been. “I grew up in foster care for half my life. Of course I knew tough cops.”

“Any outstanding juvenile warrants?” Heath affixed another print to the paper. He had eight of them so far, which he thought was a good number.

“All of them have aged out, Detective.”

“Then you’re safe.” Heath reached down into his equipment bag and took out the camera he’d brought with him. He took several hi-res photographs of the prints, then sent the images to Jackson Portman’s email at the P.D. Whoever had broken into his hotel room had stolen his computer, but the camera was Wi-Fi capable. “So how am I different?”

“You’re more thorough than I thought you would be. And you know a lot about your job.”

“I have to know a lot about my job. It’s what I do.” He looked at her while waiting for the uploads to cycle. “How many coin tricks do you know?”

“Disappear? Appear? Change? What kind of coin?”

Heath grinned. “I guess neither of us learns just one trick, do we?”

“I suppose not.”

Heath glanced at his watch. It was after two. “We missed lunch, and breakfast was too long ago. It’s going to take my partner a while to run down these prints, if he’s able to. Let’s assume the restaurant in this hotel is adequate. Do we do room service or dine there?”

Lauren thought for just a moment. “Let’s eat in the dining room.”

The decision was disappointing. Heath enjoyed his time alone with Lauren, probably more than he should have. He stood, wiped the graphite from his hands and picked up his jacket.

She smiled at him. “It’ll give you another chance to show off your new wardrobe.”

“A limited wardrobe, it seems, since recovering my other clothing is going to require me talking to Inspector Myton and his people.”

“Maybe you can go shopping with me this time.”

“I’d rather have a root canal.”

* * *

Only a few people were in the dining room when Lauren and Heath arrived. They took a booth in one corner and looked at the menu for a while.

Lauren didn’t know what Heath was thinking. His face didn’t give away much about what was going on inside his head. She watched him over the top of her menu, and for just a short time, she imagined what it might be like to actually be out for a meal with him.

He was attractive, and it wasn’t just the physical aspect. Not just the tough cop, or even the thorough cop. He was...attentive. He watched things, really saw them. And he saw people, too. She knew that she aggravated him. He didn’t like the fact that she didn’t listen to him, but he respected it. When the situation was bad, he trusted her, too. Even when it was circumstances that he knew Lauren had never been involved with.

Not a lot of men would do that. Especially not rugged, tough, thorough homicide detectives. She decided that maybe she’d been wrong about him in the beginning, except that she knew she was right. Under prevailing circumstances, Heath Sawyer could be a complete jerk. That was just how he’d been made. It was going to take a woman with a lot of patience to put up with him. Lauren had never been patient for anybody outside of herself and her family.

He looked up at her without warning, and their eyes met. He smiled inquisitively.

Lauren broke the awkward silence quickly. “What are you having?”

“They have steak. They have potatoes. I’m a happy guy.”

She laid her menu aside. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m going to have?”

“Sure. What are you going to have?”

“Maybe you should guess.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because, even if I get it right, you’ll just say that’s not what you’re having and tell me you’re having something else.”

Despite herself, Lauren grinned. She knew she would have done exactly that.

* * *

“This lady has been busy.” Jackson Portman spoke over speaker function while Heath’s phone sat on the desk. Lauren’s iPad sat beside the phone. Jackson had sent his findings to a Dropbox account Heath had activated to receive the file.

Lauren sat beside Heath, but he was asking the questions. She stared at the hard-faced woman in the photo. The image had been captured in three-quarter profile. She’d been wearing combat fatigues and a helmet. She carried an assault rifle in her arms. Her eyes were dead and flat.

“Who is she?”

“Name’s Suzana Veslin.” Jackson spelled it out. “She’s a mercenary. A high-end operator out of the Balkans. Interpol has conflicting reports about where she’s from exactly. They believe she was sold into human trafficking and fought her way out with a toothpick. After that she learned how to use knives and guns. I have to tell you, amigo, you went up against this one and came out on top, you’re better than I think you are or you got lucky.”

“It’s always good to be good, but it’s better to be lucky.”

Lauren couldn’t believe Heath was passing off whatever had happened inside that hotel room so casually. A chill tightened her stomach at the thought that he had come so close to getting killed.

“Who’s she working for?” Heath slid his fingers across the iPad, changing out the first image for others that showed Veslin in military gear in other places.

“Hard to tell, bro. Some of the big corporations have used her to get back hostages, but Interpol says she’s been used on dark ops most of the time. She’s taken hostages, killed people, all the bad stuff.”

Heath reached the end of the images, then started over. “Doesn’t make sense. A guy like Gibson wouldn’t have access to people like this.”

“You’ve gone up against his people.” Jackson’s voice was tense. “You can’t deny what you’ve been dealing with. Veslin isn’t quite to Roylston’s pedigree, but she’s close.”

“Any connection between Roylston and Veslin?”

“None that I can find. None that Interpol and a half dozen other international agencies know about. By the way, I’m getting some heavy interest from some of those people. They want to know why I’m asking.”

“Tell them you’re curious.”

“Yeah, because that’ll satisfy them.”

Heath tapped the desktop irritably. “There’s a connection somewhere. We just have to find it.”

“I know. I’m looking. You guys just need to watch yourselves down there.”

* * *

An hour later, Heath was cleaning both his weapons, the revolver he’d gotten and the 9 mm he’d picked up from Suzana Veslin, getting them ready to use. While he’d been doing that, he’d been watching Lauren. She sat cross-legged on the bed, fingers working intermittently on the iPad. She’d changed out of the sundress, much to Heath’s chagrin, and into cargo shorts and a tunic top, which wasn’t bad. She’d also pulled her hair back into a short ponytail. He admired the way she worked, full-blown concentration, no holding back. He wanted to ask her what she was working on, but that would have meant direct interaction and would have robbed him of the chance to watch her. When she moved, she was smooth and graceful, and he liked the curves and lean tautness of her body. She was made well. There was no other way to put it.

She looked up at him and caught him staring, almost like earlier in the dining room when he’d looked up from the menu and caught her looking at him. For just a moment, everything felt awkward. Then she smiled at him.

“Want to guess where Gibson is going to be tonight?”

That caught his attention, and the awkward moment fled. “Have you turned into a mind reader for real now?”

“No. But I know where he’s going to be.”

“Where?”

“Have you heard of Agony House?”

Heath thought for a moment and finally came up with it. “Some kind of haunted house?”

“Yes.” Lauren’s smile grew wider. “Supposedly a
very
haunted house with a long and bloody history. They’re having a fundraiser there tonight for a children’s nonprofit organization.”

“Why do you think Gibson will be there?”

“Because I see it in the crystal ball.” Lauren turned her iPad around, showing him a Twitter page. She tapped one of the entries with her forefinger.

I’m gonna be at a haunted house 2nite with the Amazing Gibson! Check out Agony House!

A tiny url was provided after the announcement. Lauren tapped it and the iPad linked to a website dedicated to Agony House. In the center of the page was Gibson’s photograph.

Chapter 17

A
t 8:00 p.m., Agony House was lit with baby spotlights that picked up the color from the ocean out front and the sky above that tinted the white exterior blue. The original house had been built in 1817 by a sugarcane plantation owner for his new bride, and that was only part of the story. Lauren had told Heath the rest of it while they’d gotten ready for the soiree, and he still couldn’t believe everything he’d heard.

The house had been remodeled several times over the years, but in 1957, Prudy Cranmer, a small-time Hollywood actress who had married big-time money, purchased the estate. Several films had been shot there, most of them low-budget thrillers and a few horror movies.

The actress had left Agony House to her granddaughter. These days Agony House continued to be, according to Lauren, a place of mysterious happenings and curiosity.

Heath stood in front of the hotel and felt dwarfed. Fountains sprayed up from a half dozen pools, three on either side of the wide stone steps that led up to the main lobby from the beachfront plaza. Several of the guests talked about the rumors of ghosts and offered testimony as to what they would do when they found one tonight.

Heath drifted in with the herd and paid the price of admission at the door. Lauren was already inside, and he felt uneasy without her in his sight. The past couple days had been filled with close calls. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

* * *

Inside the hotel, Heath found an alcove that allowed him to watch everything while staying somewhat in the background. Everyone had gathered in the main room to await the start of the show. At the bar set up in the corner, Heath paid for a bottled beer and returned to his post.

At 8:45, Lydia Cranmer, the granddaughter of the actress who had initially purchased Agony House, put in her appearance. The lights were dimmed, and a baby spotlight dawned at the top of the long stairs. No one had been allowed access to the upper floor yet.

A hush fell over the crowd as they waited expectantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lydia Cranmer, and tonight you are my guests.” She smiled at the crowd. “Welcome to my home. Welcome...to Agony House.” She threw an arm theatrically into the air.

A laser light show suddenly erupted, and bright colors blazed around the ceiling. The kaleidoscope of neon lights whirled faster and became a blur.

Then they disappeared, and the lights went out, leaving the grand room doused in shadows. The blue light glowing outside created just enough illumination to allow people to see a few feet into the cottony darkness.

The crowd started whispering, wondering if this was part of the show. A few of the women grew scared, and a few of the men did, too. Heath was convinced it was all theater, but he was frustrated that he didn’t know where Lauren was. He hadn’t liked the separation aspect of the plan.

The baby spotlight came on again, and this time it picked up Lydia Cranmer halfway down the stairs, standing quietly at attention. “Many of you are first-time arrivals here at Agony House, and many of you are returning guests. It is good to see those of you who have returned, and I look forward to meeting new friends.”

Gradually, the lights came back up, but they remained soft, a buttery-yellow that allowed deep shadows.

“The history of this house goes back to 1817, when plantation owner Benjamin Hervey built a magnificent home for his young bride, Abigail.

“Six months later, her husband was dead, and no one knew the cause. It didn’t take long before talk of voodoo started every tongue wagging. When Abigail first came over to Jamaica, she’d suffered a dangerous fever that had been cured by a woman who practiced medicine. Her name was Tante Simone and she was reputed to be a
mambo,
a female voodoo priest.