Grace Among Thieves Part 29

WHEN THE SUN BEGAN TO GO DOWN OVER the distant mountains, Mark declared it was time to move out. "We'll take your car," he said, accompanying me outside and holding the door open as I took my spot behind the wheel. He kept a tight grip on the keys until he was settled into the pa.s.senger seat. "My colleague isn't the only one with a weapon, so don't try anything." He pulled his nylon jacket to the side to reveal a silver revolver tucked into his waistband.

Don't try anything? Was he kidding? My mind was so jumbled with fear I could barely remember to breathe. All I could do was to follow what Mark told me to do and hope an opportunity presented itself.

I pulled out of the driveway and turned the car toward Marshfield. "That's it," he said, "nice and easy. We aren't going to break any speed limits, all right?"

I didn't answer. I just drove.

"What's your real name?" I finally asked.

"Found out about that, did you? I was wondering why you were less than shocked when you discovered me in your kitchen." He seemed to be waiting for me to respond. When I didn't, he shrugged. "It's the same. Mark. Taking on a new ident.i.ty is always easier when there isn't a new first name to get used to." He leaned over close enough for our shoulders to touch, whispering, "But I'm not going to tell you my real surname. I'm sure you understand."

I stared straight ahead.

"Here's the deal," he said when we'd cleared the main part of town. "You have only until nine-thirty to get us in and out with the tiara."

"What happens then?"

"First of all, you won't have to check in with your guard if we're in and out before ten. Second, as soon as I'm free with treasure in hand, I will text Lank. If nine-thirty arrives and he hasn't heard from me, he'll a.s.sume that you've mucked up the works again, the way you've so brilliantly done thus far. At that point, it's bye-bye Bruce. Well before his partner returns home."

"Bruce hasn't done anything to you."

"He's important to you. That makes him important to us."

"I hate you," I said.

"There's a fine line between hate and love . . ." he said, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from my face. "Or haven't you heard?"

We got through the front gate without a problem. Joe, in the booth, waved h.e.l.lo and smiled as we pa.s.sed. I bit my tongue, remembering having shared that ten o'clock tidbit with Mark the night I drove him back here after our date.

I turned left toward the mansion.

Our date? Dates. Ashamed of myself, and angrier than I'd ever been, I wanted to hit the accelerator and ram the car into the nearest tree. But that would do little to help Bruce.

As though he'd read my mind, Mark said, "My cell phone has a security lock. Even if you overpower me, you can't text Lank. The phone won't let you."

"Seems you thought of everything."

He gave a brittle laugh. "Not everything. Lenore is dead because of you, you know."

Instinctively, I glanced over at him.

He was watching me. "You heard me. The original plan was to take advantage of the film crew being on premises, but you messed that up for us by changing their schedule."

I thought about Lenore. The poor thing. Such a short, sad life. "No," I said, "that wasn't my fault. I'll bet you encouraged her to walk away from the group. You knew she had a problem with those voices in her head, didn't you? That's why you targeted her."

He made a so-so motion. "That was kind of fun. And it's all working out now, isn't it? It would have worked the other night if you hadn't screwed things up by calling the police so quickly."

"Yeah, this is all my mistake."

"You really do have spirit, don't you, Grace?" he said, shaking his head. "A lot more than I gave you credit for. You seemed so eager to jump into a romantic relationship. So willing to believe me."

"Just shut up."

"I may have misjudged you," he said. "It doesn't matter now, though. We're going to finally get this done. Tonight."

I was putting pieces together in my head. "Why did you have to kill Lenore? I'm sure she had no idea what was going on. What did she ever do to either of you?"

"She was easy to manipulate-easier even than you proved to be. She dropped into our laps. And what more compelling distraction can there be than murder?"

"Lank shot you on purpose, then. Why?"

"Victims are above reproach."

I didn't understand. Nothing made sense until Mark added, "Even better, victims are irresistible to trusting women. Like you."

The pieces fell into place with a suddenness that took my breath away. "I was always your target?"

"Not bad for a plan cobbled together in a hurry, is it?" he asked.

We were close to the mansion now and I took the drive that led to the underground parking garage. "No," he said. "Park outside up front. Fewer guards that way."

I realized I'd talked too much. I'd chattered about life at Marshfield, never imagining that his eager questions about things as mundane as where I parked each morning would come back to bite me now.

"We'll go in through the administrative entrance." He smiled at me and tapped his temple. "I pay attention."

I parked the car as close as we could to the front doors, hoping one of the guards would wonder what I could be doing here at this time of night, but I knew better. I'd been here this late plenty of times and everyone knew my little car.

Our footsteps crunched the gravel walkway that led to the side entrance, where I swiped my laminated card and got a green light to enter. Poor Terrence. He'd recently overseen the installation of this new security measure and now I was abusing it.

"Hang on," I said once the door closed behind us.

"What are you doing?"

I typed a code into the system. "I have to verify that I got in safely after the door closes," I said. "It resets the alarms."

"You really needed to do that?"

"If you want this tiara, yeah," I said. "If I don't reset the alarms within thirty seconds, security will be down here to find out what's wrong."

I released the alarms and reset them again once we'd pa.s.sed through doors on the second and third floors. Each time, I felt a little bit better, a little more hopeful. I tried to keep my face averted so Mark wouldn't be able to read my mind, as he seemed so capable of doing.

We made it to the corridor outside my office without encountering a guard. "Why are we here?" Mark asked with suspicion. "I told you not to try anything."

Emboldened by anger, I faced him. "You want this thing? Then follow me and quit asking questions."

He hesitated, but I didn't. I walked past my office and strode with purpose toward the Sword Room at the end of the hall. Outside its ornate doors, I stopped.

"This is where Bennett and I had dinner," he said.

"This is where the tiara is."

"I was this close?"

I didn't answer.

I opened the door to the dark room. "You first," he said.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Brave Man," I said deadpan, as I turned on the lights.

He made that tsking sound again. "Where does this steel reserve of yours come from?" he asked as I led him over to the cherry wood cabinet. "I was sure you'd be shaking in your shoes."

I ignored him.

"No really, I want to know. You come across so sweet and gentle. Look at you, all tough and sa.s.sy."

"Take it," I said, pointing. "Then text your friend."

He tucked his gun into his waistband and used both hand to lift the lid with reverence. As the tiara came into view, his breath caught. "This is better than I'd imagined." He drew the tiara up out of its cradle and held it to the light, mesmerized by the gems' gleam. "Incredible." He smiled broadly, and again all I wanted to do was rip his face open.

"Text," I said. "Now."

He looked at me quizzically.

"You have your prize. Now tell your friend to let Bruce go."

He shook his head. "No . . ." he said slowly. "That's not quite how it works."

He had both hands busy handling the tiara, his gun forgotten in his excitement. I hadn't forgotten, but it was clearly out of reach.

"How are you going to get it out?" I asked. "You plan to wear it on your head?"

"Such a sense of humor. No, my dear, you will carry it for me. And, then, only if you're a good girl, I'll text Lank once we're outside your front gate."

When he grinned, I recognized the deception at once. Like a bright, bra.s.s bell had dispelled the fog with its clear clang, everything suddenly became obvious. Why had it taken me so long to be able to read him? Had I been so blinded by his charm?

"You're lying," I said. "You have no intention of letting Bruce go."

He shrugged. "Bruce's fate is out of my hands. Lank gets to decide what happens next with him, just as I get to decide what happens next with you."

"Lank's going to kill him because he can identify both of you. As can I."

I backed away from him and could tell from his expression he thought it was because I was afraid. I was-utterly-but I knew I had to do something and I might not get another chance. I needed to save myself and I needed to find a way to save Bruce, too.

His amused, c.o.c.ky expression broadened. "Grace, let's not make this difficult. You can't deny you're still attracted to me. I can see it in your face. You can't understand it though, can you? You're repulsed yet drawn. The man, the mask. You want us both. Even now."

"In your dreams."

"Don't deny it. I'm strong, virile, I've bended you to my will. This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? A man to take control. I've done that and you can't resist, can you?"

If I'd wanted to retch before, the feeling was a thousand times stronger now. Mark was here to steal from Bennett, ready to kill one of my best friends, and he believed I found him attractive.

"You make me sick."

"Enough foreplay," he said, tilting his head toward the door. "Come here and take the tiara so I can keep you covered and make sure you don't run off."

"I refuse. You want it so badly, you take it," I said, inching ever closer to the fireplace. "Good luck with that."

"And leave you here so you can call for help the moment I walk out the door? Give me a little more credit than that." He removed his nylon jacket and tied the tiara into it, using the sleeves to make a wide knot. This he slung it over one arm as he drew his gun up again, pointing it at me. "There, you happy? Let's go."

"I'm not going," I said as I backed into the wall next to the fireplace. "And neither are you."

"How do you plan to keep me here?"

I held up my laminated ID card, the one that had allowed us inside. Before he could react-before he could comprehend what was happening-I slid it through the bra.s.s fitting on the floor, sending it on its merry way down to the trash. "You need the card and the code to get in. You need one of them to get out. You don't have the card and I'm not giving up the code."

Mark rushed past me, diving to the floor in an attempt to retrieve the placard. He shouted obscenities as he shoved his right arm into the former cigar disposal. He yanked off his gloves and tried again, sweating, positioning himself like a three-legged stool. One hand, still holding the gun, and his two knees formed support, and he dug as far down the chute as he could.

Intent on getting the card back, which I knew was long gone, Mark didn't notice my movements. I backed away, reaching above the fireplace, grabbing the j.a.panese sword displayed above. Heavier than the ones I'd used in my college fencing cla.s.ses, it felt like I'd hefted a sledgehammer.

I grabbed the hilt with both hands. With the blade in a high vertical line above me, I stomped down on the hand with the gun as I slammed the hilt onto the back of Mark's head with every ounce of strength I had.

I'd expected him to go down, to be rendered unconscious. Isn't that how it happened in the movies? He yelped, dragging his arm out of the chute as he rolled away and onto his side, the gun skittering between us. Before I knew it, he'd scrambled to his feet, his nylon jacket holding the tiara now hanging from his elbow. In his face I saw a new ferocity and I knew this man was prepared to kill.

He lunged for the gun and I lunged for him. Because the sword was unwieldy I caught him with it broadside against his injured left arm. He recoiled; I'd stung him badly but hadn't accomplished much else. I whacked again. A welt sprang up immediately where I'd hit him in the face, but he didn't let go of the weapon he'd managed to reclaim, and I knew that when he turned to point it at me, he was not going to take time to talk.

I lunged again, determined to take him down, but this wasn't a long and elegant rapier like those I was used to. Wielding it like a club, I batted him across the head, not giving him time to aim before he tried to shoot. As I pulled it back to strike again, I sliced a hot line of red across his cheekbone and he screamed in pain.

As his hand grabbed at his ripped face, the gun tumbled once again to the floor. I kicked it to the side then stood over the weapon like a sentry.

Bent in half, with blood running through fingers that tried in vain to staunch the flow, he stared at me with wild eyes.

"What is wrong with you, woman?"

"I wouldn't worry. You survived a gunshot, after all."

At the word gun, he glanced at the weapon between my feet.

"Don't," I said, waving the blade.

"How long do you think you can you keep me at bay?" he asked, breathing hard.

"As long as I need to."

He held one hand up to his cheek, the other out in a plea. "You didn't mean to hurt me. This was an accident," he said. "You don't have the guts to use that against me."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

"What are you going to do?" he asked with a furtive glance at the gun. I could see him working out calculations as to how to get to the pistol without getting stabbed. And as he winced with pain and tried hard to stem the blood gushing from his cheek, I knew one thing above all else: He was counting on me watching him and gauging his moves. He was antic.i.p.ating my reaction. Even now, his scheme was to manipulate me.