Sooner or Later (42 page)

“Kneel.” He pointed to the place near the desk. She stared mutely at him with those big opal eyes.
“Kneel, I said.” He
threw her to the floor, pressed her face into the beautiful red silk Turkish rug.

Now he had Ellie Parrish Duveen at his mercy. And he had no mercy left to give her.

T
HE RUSTY PICKUP SQUEAKED UP THE DRIVEWAY, WITH
Cecil, the brown mutt, and Pancho swaying in the back. It was pitch-dark and Carlos peered through the window, looking for the Explorer. It wasn’t there yet and he parked halfway, as Dan had instructed, then paced around, waiting.

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of a car turning into the gates. Crouching behind the truck, he eyed the vehicle warily, nerves crackling. It was the Explorer.

Pancho leapt out of the pickup, dancing on his hind legs and yipping loudly. Carlos shushed him quickly as he climbed back into the cab and followed them up the long gravel driveway.

Light glowed behind the curtained library windows, and a black BMW was parked outside.

Piatowsky reached for his gun. They were taking no prisoners tonight. “You called it right, Cassidy,” he said.

Buck lifted his head at the sound of tires on the gravel. Panic flickered in his eyes. He could kill her now, have
done with it. But then his revenge would not be complete. Like this, they might catch him, and he had vowed he would never be a prisoner again.

They were hammering at the front door now, calling Ellie’s name. Hefting her in his arms, he carried her upstairs to the grandmother’s room and threw her on the bed, then went back and locked the door. Now they were alone.

He tugged the cans of lighter fluid from his pockets. He’d meant to use them to incinerate the car when he’d done with it. Now he emptied them over the carpet, the furnishings, the hallway. Then he lay on the bed, next to her. She stared wide-eyed at him, like a cornered animal.

“I really loved you, Ellie,” he said. Then he kissed her.

His tongue forced her mouth open, his hands explored her breasts, traveled down her body. She wanted to scream, to vomit,
she wanted to kill him.
She lunged back and fell off the bed, heard him laughing as she crawled to the window and tugged desperately at the catch. It was locked. Her fingers groped for the key.
It wasn’t there.

Trapped, she turned and looked at him, caught the insane gleam in his eyes as he tossed the match to the floor. Then, with a great
whoosh
, the room burst into flames.

Dan saw her, a dark shape against the hot red glow. “He’s torched the place,” he yelled. “Ellie, Ellie, break the window, jump.” But Ellie couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him, didn’t even know he was there.

Carlos sped off in search of a ladder. Piatowsky was running for the pickup. He drove it back along the terrace and positioned it under the balcony. Dan vaulted into the back, then climbed onto the roof of the cab. An
old fig tree grew up the wall, it would give him a handhold, if it could take his weight.

Grasping the thickest branch, he hauled himself up. It creaked ominously, and he leapt for the balcony rail, hanging by one hand, suspended in space. Sweat beaded his forehead, he could feel himself slipping …

Buck was bursting with laughter, delighted with his cleverness. He had won, and the prize was his.

Through the smoke, Ellie saw his mad eyes lit red by the flames. He reached for her, dragged her back toward the bed. The smoke was choking her, searing her lungs, the whole world was going black. She was dying after all.

Suddenly the window exploded inward. Fueled by the oxygen the room roared suddenly into an inferno. Ellie’s brain was hazy, her eyes unfocused … for a minute she thought it was Dan standing there, with Piatowsky behind him.

Quick as a panther, Buck lunged for Dan’s heart, but Piatowsky’s gun was quicker than the knife. It spat once, twice.

Piatowsky leveled it at him again. He fired at Buck one more time, to make sure. He jerked backward, like a puppet with the strings cut, then dropped to his knees.

Buck’s world was full of pain. A million knives pierced his chest. He looked at Ellie lying on the floor in front of him. The flames were licking at her long red hair. It was burning like a halo, around her beautiful face. “Ellie,” he whispered, smiling, “Ellie …”

Dan beat out the flames with his hand. He picked her up, put her over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Carlos held the ladder steady as they climbed carefully down, and laid Ellie on the cool grass. Looking at her, Dan didn’t know if she was dead or alive. Piatowsky was
already on the cell phone, calling for paramedics, the fire rescue squad, the police.

A terrible howl split the night, and they looked up.

Buck was crouched at the window. The pain was clamping down in his chest like a mighty sword. With a tremendous effort, he hauled himself to his feet, his strong arms gripping the window frame. He looked like a great bird of prey, wings outstretched. Behind him was only scarlet heat. In front of him, an abyss of darkness.

That buzz of power was humming through him. He was alive as he had never been before, every part of him in an agony of pain. It was almost beautiful. Then the sword thrust through his chest again. Flinging back his head, he howled like a wolf. Just the way he used to in Hudson, when the guards would say “There goes Buck Duveen again. It must be the full moon.” Only now there would be no more full moons.

He was still howling when he fell backward, into the flames.

D
AN HAD NOT BUDGED FROM
E
LLIE
’
S HOSPITAL BEDSIDE
all night. They had bandaged his burned hands and kept telling him to go home, that she’d had a strong sedative and would sleep for hours, but he’d refused to move. Piatowsky had gone to get some sleep, after dealing with Farrell and Johannsen, as well as calling Maya to let her know Ellie was okay.

The slight mound of Ellie’s body under the white sheets reassured him that she was still with him, in the land of the living. Her bruised face glowed yellow and purple; antiseptic gauze covered her singed arms, and they had cut off what was left of her beautiful long red hair. She looked like a little boy, sweetly sleeping.

Her face had such a look of innocence, it wrenched his gut when he remembered how close it had been. He still didn’t know what had happened during her abduction, and he sighed deeply, hoping it would not scar her soul forever. She had already been through so much.

Ellie had never dreamed of such peace, such sweet silence, such a soft pillow.
It smelted of hospitals.
Fighting the drugs and the pain, she opened her eyes. Dan’s face swam into view and she thrust the black memories to the back of her mind. Everything was all right now.

“Hello, friend.” Even raspy, her voice was sweet as spun sugar, deep as rich chocolate.

Dan threw his hands up helplessly. “I’m afraid to touch you. And I want to kiss you, so badly.”

The big grin was the same. “Go ahead, friend.”

He leaned across and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

“Mmmmm, soft as a feather.” She sighed.

“Consider that feather a down payment.”

Ellie wiggled her eyebrows in a question; it hurt like mad and was about the only bit of her she could wiggle. “A down payment? On what?”

“On future kisses, and … oh hell, enough of this friend stuff. I need you, woman.”

“Oh?” Even drowsy, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “For what, exactly?”

“Let me think.” He ran a hand through his disheveled dark hair, frowning. “To run the tasting room at Running Horse. Maybe open a cafe there, nothing pretentious, you understand. Just a little French kind of place, sawdust on the floor, green-checkered tablecloths, great food …”

Ellie heaved an enormous sigh, wincing as the pain hit her. “Dammit, Dan Cassidy, any woman could do that. Where do I figure in all this?”

“Right in the middle,” he said, smiling. “I can’t live without you, Ellie Parrish Duveen.”

Her sigh was happy this time, but the sedative was kicking in again and her eyelids drooped. “Right in the
middle of your life,” she murmured. “Exactly where I want to be.”

His lips brushed hers again as she drifted, contentedly, back to sleep.

Dan was smiling as he watched over her. He knew that what had happened would have to be spoken of later, addressed, resolved. It would take a long time to recover from something as terrible as this, but with his help, and the peace and quiet of Running Horse Ranch, they would survive. His car might be a wreck, but his life was great. He had no regrets.

They were the winners.

ELIZABETH ADLER is the bestselling
author of
Sooner or Later, Now or Never,
The Secret of the Villa Mimosa
, and
other internationally acclaimed novels.