Running Scared Part 45

He'd go out the window. Quickly, he crossed the room and unlocked the old rusted paned window, cracked in one corner. It had been painted shut, but he banged on the sash and finally wedged it open.

Just as footsteps shuffled in the hallway.

There was no time to escape now. He'd have to pretend to be locked up, then spring out when VanHorn least expected it. He pulled the window down, leaving it open just an inch, then dove toward the bed.

As VanHorn's key rattled in the lock, Jon sat down on the bed and placed the cuffs loosely around his wrists and ankles, pocketing the key in case they somehow got tightened.

The door burst open and in staggered VanHorn, reeking of stale whiskey and smoke. "Looks like we have a winner," he announced as he toppled onto the bed. Without a glance at Jon, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Christ, I'm tired."

"A winner?" Jon said.

"Yep. Your mother's cousin Alicia is willing to pay top dollar for you. I'm to deliver you to the Sullivans' lake house tomorrow night, and from what I hear, it's pretty swell digs. Moving up in the world, Jonny boy."

But she's the one who wants me dead, Jon thought. Jon thought. She's the real killer. And you're going to hand me over like a head of cattle, like a horse sold at auction. She's the real killer. And you're going to hand me over like a head of cattle, like a horse sold at auction.

"Don't look at me that way," VanHorn said, though his face was still buried in his hands. "I'm a businessman. This is business, kid."

"She'll kill me," Jon said evenly.

"What the h.e.l.l would I know about that," VanHorn said, nudging off one scuffed loafer with the toe of his other shoe.

"You know what she's planning, and you'll be tried as an accomplice."

"Nah." VanHorn kicked off his other shoe. "Only if she gets caught, and that won't happen. She's smart, real smart. A cla.s.sy lady."

A rich psycho, Jon thought, sweating hard now, his brain on overload. He had to get out, away from these crazies, back to his normal life, the one he hated back in Oregon! He had to get away, but only when VanHorn was off-guard. He had to be patient, he reminded himself as he wiped the perspiration from his brow onto the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

"Yeah," VanHorn said, leaning back on the bed. "She is one hot lady."

"Well, she can burn in jail," Jon said, trying a different tack. "Because my mom won't let her get to me."

VanHorn lifted one brow. "It's a little late for mommy to come to the rescue, isn't it?"

"She'll be here," Jon said firmly. "And so will Daegan," he added, thinking aloud.

"Daegan." VanHorn cackled as an evil smile spread across his face. "You mean O'Rourke?"

Jon froze. How did this guy know Daegan?

"He's the reason I found you, you know. Led me right to your door, though he didn't mean to. Believe me, he's no problem. O'Rourke's an emotional hothead and a loser. He's not ganna save you, Jon. No one is."

"You don't know him," Jon said. He couldn't let this slimeball cut down the only decent man he knew.

"Neither do you, I'll bet." Neils sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging. "For example, I don't suppose he told you he was your father."

Jon's mouth opened and closed. His throat tightened. "Liar," he said, but the word came out as a weak denial.

"Think about it, Jon. I got no reason to lie. But O'Rourke, he had plenty."

His father? His father? Daegan? No. No...no!

And yet, on some level, Jon knew VanHorn was telling the truth. His stomach roiled and his mouth filled with spit.

"Isn't that a hoot?" VanHorn taunted, letting out that snide cackle. "And the kicker is, your mother was his first cousin. Sick, isn't it? Bad enough you were a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but throw in the shades of incest and, well, no wonder they put you up for adoption. Just d.a.m.ned lucky you didn't turn out r.e.t.a.r.ded, isn't it?"

Again, he let out the perverse laugh that made Jon's skin crawl as the world seemed to collapse under his feet.

"I didn't think you'd want to wait on this. Not with the boy involved." Sandy's navy down parka cut a wide swath in the night.

"You've got that right," Daegan said, emerging from Robert Sullivan's stuffy townhome. It was good to see his old friend, better to hear the promising news.

Standing at the bottom of the brown stone stairs, Sandy extended a hand toward Kate to prevent her from slipping on the new dusting of snow on the landing.

Quickly, Daegan introduced Kate to his old friend, then got down to business. "Where do you think they are?"

"In a motel on the other side of town. A dive called the Ivy. A friend of mine who tends bar there thought he spotted someone who fit VanHorn's description meeting up with a high-cla.s.s woman who was obviously slumming. I took it from there. Manager says VanHorn is in Room 203, but insists it's all aboveboard."

"Jon is here? In Boston?" When Daegan nodded, Kate gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. The light in her whiskey brown eyes was so hopeful, so expectant, that Daegan didn't want to think about all the things that could go wrong. He couldn't bear to read more disappointment in those eyes.

They had to save Jon. They would.

"Can you drive us there?" Daegan asked Sandy.

"You got it, and I'll help you muscle down VanHorn. The guy's probably armed, and I doubt he'll be happy to see us."

"No doubt," Daegan said, striding down the street to Sandy's Jeep. No doubt an invasion by the two of them would be the biggest surprise of VanHorn's career.

He was close...so close.

Again, Jon measured the distance between himself and the window, calculating how long it would take to spring out and trying to remember the configuration of the fire escape stairs to the ground. He was biding his time, waiting for VanHorn to hit the can or doze off.

VanHorn was stretched out on the bed, rambling on about how he was going to spend his first million bucks, something about Vegas showgirls and tuna fishing in the Caribbean. He was vacillating between a Mercedes and a Porsche when three sharp raps sounded on the door.

VanHorn sat up and slid off the bed.

"Neils VanHorn?" a voice-an unfamiliar male voice.

"Who wants to know?"

"Collin Sullivan."

"Well, what'd'ya know?" He grinned at Jon. "Your uncle. Yep, you got a ton of 'em around here. Maybe Uncle Collie wants to sweeten the pot."

Opening the door, Neils stood aside and a tall man with thinning blond hair and a long coat swept into the room. "This is the boy?" he asked, no smile on his thin features.

"Bibi's kid."

"And Alicia wants you to what? Do away with him?"

Jon's stomach sank.

VanHorn scowled. "She tell you?"

"No, I just know my sister and recognize her faults," was his reply as he unwound his scarf. "Once Robert started hunting for the kid-Jon, is it?" he asked without any warmth in his eyes.

Jon nodded.

"Once Robert started looking for him, I knew Alicia would want it stopped. She doesn't want any compet.i.tion for Wade, oh, no," he added, seeing the distress in VanHorn's features. "I suppose she promised to pay you."

VanHorn's eyes slitted. "We have an agreement."

"A healthy one, I'd a.s.sume. Well, I'm here to cancel it. I'll pay you whatever your time's been worth and buy this boy a ticket back to his home, wherever that is."

Jon felt his spirits lift. Could it be that simple?

"No way." VanHorn wasn't giving up that easily.

"Why not? You get your money," Jon voiced. This was all so crazy, he couldn't believe it.

"How much?" VanHorn wanted to know.

"A fair amount."

"What's 'fair'?"

"I don't know-twenty-five, or thirty thousand dollars should cover it..."

Van Horn snorted derisively. "Get out of the peanut gallery and into the ball park, would ya? We're talking millions."

Collin's lips pursed. "No one in the family can give you millions."

"That's not the way I heard it."

"Uncuff the boy."

"Not until I get what's due me." VanHorn's voice had gotten louder.

"You'll be compensated fairly."

"Christ, you expect me to believe that?" He reached under the pillow.

"Watch out, he's got a gun!" Jon shouted as footsteps pounded up the stairs. Another man, a huge beast of a man with gray at his temples and a fierce face, burst into the room.

"What the h.e.l.l?" VanHorn said, stepping backward, the gun trained on the door.

"Jesus H. Christ, Collin," the beast roared. "What're you doing here?" His eyes landed on Jon with pure hatred and then he saw the gun in VanHorn's hand.

"Isn't this nice? A family reunion," Neils said with a smirk. "Jon, meet your great-uncle-no, is it grandfather?-Frank Sullivan."

Jon had to get out of here now. The big man was out for blood; he could see it in his eyes.

"Let me handle this," the giant commanded.

"No, Dad-"

But the big man pushed his son against the wall. VanHorn was distracted and Jon couldn't stand the tension in the room a minute longer. He flung off the loose handcuffs, sprang across the bed, and flung the window open.

Aware of the loaded gun behind him, he didn't take a minute to look back, but burst through the window and landed with a bone-crunching thud on the fire escape. Propelling himself forward, he rolled down the flight of stairs. Pain exploded in his shoulder.

"What the h.e.l.l?" VanHorn yelled.

"Hey-wait!"

"That little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Jon scrambled wildly, ever downward.

Footsteps. Swearing. The crack of a gunshot. An ear-piercing scream of pain.

"Oh, G.o.d, oh, G.o.d, oh G.o.d!" Fear congealing his blood, Jon swung from the ladder to land on the icy back alley somewhere in Boston. He didn't think about where he was going, where he could run, he just took off, his shoulder throbbing, his feet slipping, traction nearly impossible as he pa.s.sed men huddled around fires in trash cans, traffic trying to maneuver in the snow. Run, run, run!

The sound of the gunshot tore through the building.

"No!" Kate cried, her heart in her throat as she bolted up the stairs behind Daegan and Sandy. "No!" They couldn't have killed Jon, they couldn't have! "Please, G.o.d, let him be safe!"

"Keep her with you!" Daegan commanded, throwing a don't-cross-me look at the tall, red-haired private detective.

"But you might need back-up."

Ignoring him, Daegan pressed his back against the wall of the corridor, then leaped in through the doorway, a.s.suming a combat stance. For the first time in sixteen years, he was face to face with his father, Frank Sullivan.

"You!" Frank huffed, his lips curled in disgust. Although he was still burly and tall, Frank no longer posed the indomitable threat that had haunted Daegan's childhood. Having aged noticeably, he seemed grayer and softer, a beast who'd lost his bite.

Daegan straightened, holding his ground. "Where is Jon?" he demanded, scanning the room but seeing only Frank, Collin, and some oily creep.

"He went out the window," said the worm of a man who looked like he was going to faint dead away. "Just a minute ago, he popped out."