Novels 03 After Twilight, page 23
He closed his eyes, trying to erase the vision of the mound of earth, but the image was still there, taunting him. Under the cacophony of the bells, he heard someone call his name. His heart pounded and his breath came in raspy gasps.
Fear coursed through him, holding him captive, frozen in this hellish place. Slowly he opened his eyes, already knowing what he would see. It stood half in, half out of the grave, hands extended, mouth open, calling his name. Its eyes were hollow sockets—or what had been eyes, the opaque balls sightless, staring. Seaweed clothed its bony body like a slimy suit.
It moved, one halting step at a time, like something from a horror movie. Only it was real. Bile rose in his throat and he retched, trying to look away, to shut it out. The bells increased their frenzied ringing. Bringgg, bringgg.
The creature had almost reached him. He opened his mouth to scream. He knew who it was. Knew it in his soul, despite its grotesque appearance.
Alex. His brother. His twin.
Bringgg.
Max sat up in his bed, sweat momentarily blinding him, the phone beside the bed jangling.
A dream. It had been a dream.
He gulped in air, reaching for the receiver. “Yes?”
“There’s a message for you, sir.”
The front desk. Max forcibly swallowed the remainder of his fear, pushing the dream aside. “What is it?”
“A Mr. Baucomo called. He said to meet him at a Miss Macgrath’s. It says here that ‘things have changed.’”
Max frowned, wondering what Rico was up to now. “When did he call?”
The clerk fumbled with the phone while she consulted the message. “Looks like late last night, sir. There isn’t a time, but the signature is the night clerk’s.”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
He hung up the phone. If Rico had changed his mind, that could only mean one thing. Kirstin knew something. Something that put them at risk. He smiled. Gienelli had played right into his hands.
Alex’s revenge was at hand.
He drew a deep calming breath. Maybe then the nightmares would stop.
Braedon crossed the empty pub, heading for the common room and the phone, hoping desperately that Matt would have some news. It was imperative that they find Max as quickly as possible. He still had no idea what the man thought Kacy knew, but until he was apprehended, she wasn’t safe.
“Morning, Braedon. Just getting in, I see.” Fin came through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands.
Braedon’s mouth watered in response to the aromatic brew. “That for me?”
The man smiled. “Well, now, that depends on where you spent the night last night.”
Braedon answered with a grin of his own. “Surely you know that a gentleman never tells, Fin.”
“Aye, that I do.” He shrugged with exaggerated drama. “But how’s a poor barkeep to update the rumor mill when his patrons refuse to spill the beans?” Fin handed him a cup and fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. “As long as it’s more than a dalliance, you have my blessing.”
Braedon met the barman’s steady gaze. “Oh, it’s more than that. I promise you.”
“So be it, then.” Fin moved around the bar to a stack of papers by the register. “I’ve a message here for you.” He thumbed through the pieces of paper. “Ah, yes, a telephone call, it was. Caitlin took it.”
“From the States?”
“I’ve no way o’ knowin’. It doesn’t say.” He held out the slip of paper.
Braedon took it. The note was handwritten, the writing loopy, feminine. And it didn’t say much of anything. The man you’re looking for is at the hotel. “This is it?”
Fin shrugged. “I guess so. If there was more, I’m sure Caitlin would have written it down.”
Braedon read it again. Cryptic. But possibly useful. “Where is Caitlin?”
“Unfortunately, she’s up and out this morning. I’ve no idea when she’ll be back. Is it a problem?”
“No.” He looked at the message in his hand. Most likely it was from Matt. Just like him to be cryptic. But he ought to check to be sure. This was not the time for making mistakes.
“I’ll be right back.” He nodded at Fin and headed for the phone. Punching out the numbers, he thought about Kacy— about all that she had been through. Once Max Madison was out of their lives, he intended to spend the bulk of his time showing her just how great life could be.
The phone continued to ring, echoing in his ear. “Damn it.” He slammed the headset back into the cradle and strode back into the main room.
“Did you get hold of your friend?” Fin raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“No. But I think I’ll head over to the castle and see what this is about.” He waved the note in the air for emphasis.
“Good enough.” Fin raised his eyebrows, obviously curious, but too polite to ask.
Braedon turned to go, trying to calculate how long it would take him to drive to the hotel and then get back to Kacy. It was an impossible situation, but she was with the professor. And she had Mac.
“Braedon?”
He turned to look at the barman. “You never told me why you left a lady as lovely as Kacy on a morning as fine as this.” The man grinned, an almost envious look on his face.
“The phone. Kacy’s isn’t working. She said it was the storm.” He shrugged.
“That’s odd.” Fin’s voice sounded unusually serious.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, really, just that I talked to Tolly this morning, no problem, and usually when the line is down, his phone is out, too.” Fin scratched his head.
A niggle of worry shot through Braedon. “Look, Fin, would you mind going out there and checking on her? It won’t take me long to handle this, but I’d feel better if someone I trusted looked in on her.”
“She’s alone?” Braedon was relieved that Fin wasn’t asking for more explanation.
“No. She’s working with Baucomo this morning.”
“Fine, then. I’m waiting for a delivery. It should be here any minute. So as soon as it comes, I’ll head over to Sidhean. Is that good enough?”
“That’ll be grand, Fin. And thanks.”
“Not to worry, boyo, I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Kacy.” The smile in his voice took any sting out of his words.
“Okay, I’m off to check this out, then I’ll call Matt and meet you at Sidhean.”
The Irishman nodded and Braedon turned to go, sending a prayer heavenward, hoping that he was doing the right thing.
“So, you’ve forgiven him.”
Kacy looked at the professor over the rim of the box she was sorting through. He was sitting on the sofa in her studio, sipping coffee and looking at her with troubled eyes. “Yes. I have.”
“I see.”
“You sound like you don’t approve.”
The little man sighed and set his cup on the side table. “It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove, my dear. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
“And you think that Braedon will hurt me.”
“I cannot say with any certainty, but I know his type, and so, I think, yes, it is a possibility.”
“I appreciate that you care about me, but—”
“But you would like for me to quit meddling in your life, no?”
She nodded, glad that he understood. She liked him, and the fact that he seemed to be so concerned for her only deepened her feelings for him. As odd as it sounded, she felt as if the little Italian was a kindred spirit of sorts.
“So be it then.” His worried gaze met hers. “I’m truly sorry if I misspoke yesterday.”
She took a deep breath, memories of yesterday’s pain already dimming in the light of the new day. “You didn’t. And I’m glad you told me. But Braedon was going to tell me, too. Would have, in fact, had you not arrived when you did.”
“And I suppose he had reasons for lying?”
“Good reasons.”
The professor looked at her, his brows drawn together, waiting for further explanation. Kacy realized there wasn’t much she actually could tell him. At least not until things had been cleared up. Besides, the truth was she really didn’t know all that much.
The doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. “That’ll be Braedon.”
The professor started to rise. “Shall I leave you?”
“No, absolutely not. Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
She walked through the hall, her step light. It was amazing how much the prospect of just seeing Braedon lifted her spirits. “Well, that took you entirely too—” She stopped, the words dying in her throat. Alex. “Good morning, Kirstin.” He leveled his gun. “I thought it high time we had a little talk.”
Chapter 24
BRAEDON SLAMMED THE door of the rented sedan. A wild goose chase. Matt had sent him on a bloody wild-goose chase. God, where was his head?
With Kacy.
Well, at least Fin was with her, and the professor. He’d check in with Matt and then head for Sidhean.
The pub was almost empty. The old man was in his place, newspaper in hand. Braedon wondered if he even had a home. A leggy looking redhead was behind the bar. The elusive Caitlin O’Brien no doubt. Up until now, he’d never actually seen her.
“If you’re looking for Fin, he’s left.”
“Actually, I was just going to use the phone. I’m staying here.”
She smiled at him, her face alight with laughter. “I know who you are. Fin talks about you night and day. You and Kacy—” She winked. “—if you take my meaning.”
He liked her. An imp in an angel’s body. He grinned, sharing a moment of camaraderie.
“The phone.” She tipped her head toward the common room, her blue eyes dancing with amusement.
“Right.” He turned to go and stopped, his eyes drawn to a painting on the wall. He knew it.
Knew it really well.
Hell, he’d owned it.
Sold it.
And been informed that it was a fake.
The Transformation mocked him.
“Like it?” Caitlin had come up to stand behind him.
He scrambled to pull his scattered thoughts together. No sense in discussing his fears with a stranger. Even a friendly one. “It’s an interesting piece. I’ve never seen it before.”
“We just got it back today. It’s been at the framers.”
“Where did Fin get it?” He already knew, but perversely he needed to hear it.
“It’s one of Kacy’s. A copy. The original was by some guy named Marty, Marvin, something.”
“Martin.” He said the name quietly, the painting holding his full attention.
“Righto, that’s it. Anyway, Fin loves it. And Kacy’s never liked it. Reminds her of her dead husband. I think she painted the copy for him.” A patron sauntered up to the bar. “Uh-oh, duty calls.” She smiled and left him alone with the Martin.
That it was the real Giles Martin, Braedon hadn’t a doubt. If necessary, he could prove it. There would be a gallery mark on the back of the canvas. He blew out a breath, trying to figure out what the hell it meant. Had Kacy lied to him? Did she know she had the original?
He felt sick. The room blurred.
No, he told himself firmly. She couldn’t know. If she had, she’d have never dared give it to Fin. He pictured the Irishman in the kitchen at Sidhean, painting thrust under his arm. Kacy hadn’t batted an eye.
He turned from the painting and headed for the phone, angry at himself for having doubted her.
Kacy took an involuntary step backward, her hand fluttering at her throat, her thoughts coming in scattered bursts. Alex. No. Not Alex.
Something in the way he stood, the way he looked at her. Not Alex.
“Max.” The word escaped from her throat, more a mangled whisper than something spoken.
“You recognized me.” He sounded disappointed. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” He stepped across the threshold, reaching back to close the door, the little gun still aimed at her heart.
“Kacy? Who is it?” Professor Baucomo stepped into the hallway and froze. His eyes on the man with the gun.
“Hello, Rico, or should I call you Eduardo?”
Kacy shot a look at the professor. “Rico?” He shrugged apologetically. “You know him?”
“You could say we have a relationship.”
Max laughed, a low throaty sound that sent shivers of dread up Kacy’s spine. He motioned them into the parlor with the gun. The professor took her elbow, his hand trembling a little.
“Have a seat,” Max said. It was not a conversational request.
She sat, her back ramrod straight. The professor moved to the sofa, balancing himself on the edge. She had the insane desire to flick him like a marble, certain that he would roll off and bounce across the floor. She bit back a swell of hysteria, trying to assure herself that this would somehow have a happy ending.
Mac growled from the kitchen door, teeth bared. “Call him off, or he’s dead.” Max scowled at the dog.
Kacy whistled softly and Mac came to her, settling by her feet, his hair raised in protest.
“I was relieved to get your message, Rico. I’m glad you came to your senses concerning our little problem.” He gestured at Kacy with the gun, a thin smile twisting his lips.
It was almost like looking at a caricature of Alex. The facial structure was the same. The line of the nose, the hair, the eyes, even the curve of his ear was identical. But it was as if the picture had been subtly altered somehow. A mirror image gone awry. Lewis Carroll would have had a field day. Kacy just felt sick.
The professor—Rico—frowned. “What message?”
“Now, don’t play coy with me. I know you have feelings for our Kirstin. It was evident from our conversation the other night. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses. All that rubbish about her being innocent.”
“She didn’t do it.” The professor’s voice was so low Kacy had to strain to hear it.
“Didn’t do what?” Kacy was beyond confused and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but at the same time, it was kind of like the guy in Dirty Harry—she just had to know.
Max focused on her, his eyes narrowing to slits. Pure hatred blazed there. Kacy shivered. “Kill my brother,” he hissed.
Kacy opened her mouth to protest, but all that came out was a small squeak.
“You found out about the money, didn’t you? That’s why you killed him.”
“What money?” she asked, trying to make sense of the nonsensical.
“That’s right, play innocent with me.” He sneered at her. “Alex may have been a sucker for a pretty face, but make no mistake, I know exactly who you are.”
Kacy knew she was on the edge of sheer panic. She gripped her hands together tightly, the painful sensation helping to keep her grounded. “Alex didn’t have any money. And I didn’t kill him. He drowned.” Hearing the fear in her voice, Mac growled. She laid a hand on his head. “Hush,” she whispered, certain that if he didn’t, Max would kill him.
“There is no way my brother could have drowned. He was an excellent swimmer.”
Memories of that night filled her head. “It was a horrible storm. No one could have survived a wave of that size.”
“Look at her, Rico. The picture of virtue. What garbage.”
Anger surpassed fear. “I’m telling the truth.”
“She is, Max,” the professor added quietly.
Max ignored them both, waving the gun. “Where’s the money?”
“There isn’t any,” Kacy ground out.
“There has to be. Alex banked all of his and all of mine.”
“Well, if there was, the secret died with him. All he left me was a pile of debts and creditors named Guido who carry guns.”
He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the professor. “Did you know this?”
“No, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. But it makes sense. If she didn’t know about the forgeries, then she probably didn’t know about the money. So it would follow that when Alex died, the whereabouts of the accounts went with him.”
“Professor, I—”
“Shut up.” Max trained the gun on her again. Mac growled and leapt to his feet.
“No,” Kacy screamed, moving toward her dog.
Too late.
Max fired and Mac keeled over, yelping in pain, blood darkening his fur. Kacy flung herself at the dog, crying his name.
“Get her away from him,” Max snapped at the professor.
Gently he pulled her back. Mac whined and tried to raise his head, but couldn’t. Kacy was choking on her tears.
“You bastard.” She stared at Max, knowing that her hatred matched his, feeling for feeling. If she could, she’d claw him to death with her bare hands.
“Sit down, Kirstin, or I’ll shoot him again, and this time he’ll die. Just like my brother.” His eyes were a little wild. She realized, with a shudder, that he was going to kill her. Oh, he might toy with her first, but ultimately, he was going to kill her.
Amazingly, the knowledge calmed her more than it frightened her. Suddenly she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And by God, she wasn’t going down without a fight. “Professor? Tell me what the hell is going on here.” She snuck a look at Mac; his eyes were closed, but she could see that he was breathing. Relief swelled through her.
“Yes, Rico, do tell our little black widow what it is exactly she’s stumbled onto.”
The professor loosened his shirt collar, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead, looking first at Kacy and then at Max. “Well, you know about the forgeries.”
Kacy nodded, grateful for the time to try to figure out what to do.
“I was the forger.”
Her attention jerked to the professor. “You?”
“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so. I told you I hadn’t any imagination and so was not particularly successful with my own work, but I’m afraid I neglected to mention that I seem to have quite a talent for copying someone else’s work.” He shrugged, looking more like an embarrassed grandfather than a criminal.
