Beware. Part 14

A long time, five minutes.

A long time for that dumb woman. A long time for a guy like Scott, waiting to get bailed out.

It took him under a minute to dress.

Then he ran downstairs, through the dark house, and out to his garage. He jumped into his Jaguar. Thumbed the garage door switch. Keyed the ignition. The engine thundered, shaking the car.

In his rearview mirror, he watched the door rise. The gap widened. He saw the dark-robed man looking in at him, the naked body of the girl still over his shoulder.

Dukane jammed the shift to reverse and floored the gas pedal. He popped the clutch. The car leapt backward. He gripped the wheel, expecting an impact, but the car shot past the figure. Caught in the headlight, the man turned slowly to face him.

Dukane's foot hovered over the brake. He could easily stop and have another try.

But Scott was waiting.

He'd already wasted too many minutes.

So he sped backward to the street, leaving the strange man alone in the driveway with the corpse.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"What was that about?" Lacey had asked as soon as Scott put down the phone.

"Saving our hides."

"Dukane? Who's he?"

"The real-life Charlie Dane. Excuse me a minute, I want to get dressed." He left her alone in the room.

Lacey got up and followed him. When she reached the bedroom, Scott was stepping into his pants. "There really is a Charlie Dane?"

Scott fastened his trousers and picked up his shirt. "Sure is. No trench coat and battered fedora, and he operates now instead of the forties, but the rest is pretty close. A h.e.l.l of a guy. He'll get us out of here. We just have to stay alive for the next four hours, till he arrives."

"Maybe we should call the police."

"What good would they be against an invisible maniac?"

"What good will this Dukane be?"

Scott grinned, for the first time since the attack looking calm and confident. "Good enough."

"What time is it?" Lacey asked.

"Eleven forty."

"Is that all?" Only twenty minutes had pa.s.sed since Scott's talk with Dukane. For the past ten, Lacey had been sitting cross-legged beside the barricaded door, her pocket knife open on her lap, the paint can beside her ready to spray if the door should be forced open.

Scott had spent much of the time wandering the suite. He'd looked out the windows and determined that no ledges ran over from adjacent rooms. He'd shoved the couch against a locked, connecting door. Then he'd knelt down to remove the knife from Carl's throat.

"Should you do that?" Lacey had asked. "What about fingerprints?"

"We need it."

"But the police. My G.o.d, we don't want them thinking we killed Carl."

"Don't worry."

"Thanks, but I can't help it."

"The police are the least of our problems, right now."

Lacey had looked away when he pulled out the knife. He arranged the blanket again over Carl's head, then took the knife into the bathroom and cleaned it.

Now Scott was turning over the coffee table.

"What're you doing?"

"Clubs," he said, and began to unscrew one of the short, tapering legs. When it came free, he tossed it underhand. It thumped the floor near Lacey, and rolled toward her. She picked it up by the narrow end. It felt like a small baseball bat. A thick, inch-long bolt protruded from the top.

As Scott twisted another leg off the table, Lacey heard voices in the hallway.

"Six fifty for a Pina Colada," said a man. "You believe it?"

"That's not so bad," a woman said. "It included the gla.s.s."

"Sixty cents' worth of gla.s.s. A nickle worth of booze."

"They're awfully cute gla.s.ses."

"Maybe we should get a few more."

"It would be nice to have a complete set." The woman's sudden yelp made Lacey jump. Her mind flashed an image of the two under attack, and she grabbed the spray can, tensing, ready to unblock the door and rush out to help. But the yelp led into a giggle. A different kind of attack. "Jimmy, don't! Christ, I almost dropped the gla.s.ses."

"Anything but that."

Lacey heard a key ratchet into a lock. A k.n.o.b turned. A door swung open with a barely audible squeak, and banged shut.

"Hope they got in alone," Scott said, starting on a third leg.

"I sure hope so. They sounded nice."

"The guy's a cheapskate."

"He was just kidding around."

"Yeah. On the surface. Underneath, he's a cheapskate."

"He did buy two of those drinks."

"At six fifty a whack. Not only a cheapskate, but he likes to play martyr."

Lacey looked at Scott, and saw he was smiling.

The door's lock b.u.t.ton snapped out. Lacey turned, saw the door lurch, the chair tip forward a fraction. She thrust herself to her knees. The knife fell from her lap. She grabbed it. Scott threw himself against the wall on the other side of the door. He held a table leg in one upraised hand, the knife in the other. The automatic remained tucked in his belt.

The door eased back silently, then rammed the chair again, this time forcing the legs to scoot an inch across the carpet.

"Shoot him through the door," Lacey whispered.

Scott shook his head. "Louder," he mouthed.

"Shoot through the door!"

"Right." Clamping the club between his legs, he pulled out the automatic. He held it close to the door and worked its slide, jacking a live cartridge out.

The door settled back into place.

Lacey waited, holding her breath, expecting another thrust. Scott picked up his bullet and dropped it into his shirt pocket.

Nothing happened.

"What ever he is," Scott whispered, "he doesn't like bullets." Tucking away the pistol, he shoved the chair more firmly under the k.n.o.b. "I think we're all right for a while...till he figures a new way to get at us."

"What'll he do?"

Scott shrugged.

"What time is it now?"

Scott glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. "Five minutes later than the last time you asked."

"Encouraging," she muttered.

"Three and a half hours to go."

"If your man's on time."

"Knowing Dukane, he'll be early."

"I hope so." Lacey sat down again, feeling a slight pain as her shorts drew taut across her wound. Raising herself for a moment, she tugged the shorts to loosen them. Fortunately, the cut was high enough so that she didn't rest on it, sitting upright. It hurt very little, except for a frequent, achy itch. It itched now. She scratched it gently with her fingernails. "What makes you think this Dukane will do us any good?"

"He's brilliant, innovative, a crack shot..."

"Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound?"

"d.a.m.n near. Won the Medal of Honor in Vietnam. Dropped in behind the lines, killed G.o.d-knows how many gooks, freed two dozen POWs and led them all back. Alone."

Scott shook his head, looking astonished by the feat. "He's been a private investigator and bodyguard for nine years. An amazing guy. He's actually lived the Charlie Dane stories. Most of them are based on incidents from Dukane's past."

"Hope I live long enough to meet him."

"I keep trying to figure out what he'd do, if he were here instead of me."

"What would he do?"

Scott shook his head. One corner of his mouth smiled. "He'd make clubs out of the table legs."

"Would he shoot through the door?"

"More than likely."

"I wish you had."

"Don't tell anyone, but my shooting has been limited to pistol ranges. I've never killed a man."

"That would've been a good time to start."

"Well..." Scott sighed. "I'm not against it-morally, I mean. Sort of a big step, though. Besides, I'd still rather take him alive. I mean, can you imagine the story? It'd be terrific! Do it up non fiction. A hardbound sale. Major advertising and promotion. Whammo, a best seller!"

"Give me your gun," Lacey said, scrambling to her feet. She held out her hand. "Come on, give it. If you aren't willing to shoot him, I sure am."

He held onto it. "Sorry."

"Sorry won't get us out of a coffin. Now come on! You've missed two big chances to blast this b.a.s.t.a.r.d to h.e.l.l. Let me do it."

"Lacey, don't get..."

She lunged, reaching for the automatic. Scott knocked her arm away. He shoved her backward with the table leg, its bolt biting into her chest. "Calm down!"

"You'll get us killed!" she blurted, and suddenly started to cry. She turned away. She wanted to run for the bedroom or bathroom, to let out her despair in private, but was afraid to leave him. So she faced the wall, crying into her hands. She heard Scott approach. His arms reached forward and folded lightly across her belly.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said, his breath warm through her hair. "I promise."

"What about your best seller?"

"I won't let him get you."