Novels 03 After Twilight, page 25
Kacy felt bile rising in her throat, burning her esophagus. He took a step closer, looking at her like she was the main course at a banquet, and she shrank back, wishing she could disappear.
“But first, I need you to write a little note.”
“What?” The change of subject left her feeling disoriented, confused.
“A note. I want you to confess your guilt to Roche.”
“My guilt?” She managed to choke out the words, but knew she sounded like an idiot.
“Yes. Such a shame, really.” He handed her a piece of paper and a pen. “A quarrel with your compatriots.” He gestured toward the bodies. “And such a terrible ending. But then, you always were a passionate woman.” He licked his lips and let his eyes travel slowly up and down her body.
She swallowed hard, fighting to keep from throwing up. “You want Braedon to think I did this?”
“Exactly. And that you’ve run away.”
“But surely you know they’ll find me.” As soon as she said it a tremor of pure terror ran down her spine. Of course they wouldn’t find her. Not alive, anyway. And Alex would be in the clear. Case closed.
“It won’t matter then, will it, Kirstin?” His voice was smooth and oily. It suffocated her with its silky cadence. “Write the note.”
She reached inside her, summoning every ounce of courage she had. “No. I repeat. If you’re going to kill me, do it now.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if he were hard of hearing.
Alex smiled and she felt her brave front slipping away. “I can do that. But first, I’ll have to kill your dog.” He pivoted the gun slightly, taking aim at Mac.
The dog whimpered and lifted his head, his trusting gaze meeting hers. Her heart shriveled.
The hammer clicked into place.
“Stop. I’ll write the note.”
Alex swung the gun back to her. “You always were a smart girl.”
She wanted to laugh at the irony of that statement. She’d married a psycho. Hardly something one would consider an intelligent move. She blew out a breath. “What do you want me to write?”
Braedon pulled up to the cottage in a spray of gravel. There were cars parked everywhere. Fin’s Mini, the professor’s rental car, and a black Mercedes he didn’t recognize. A shiver of alarm washed through him and he leapt from the car at a run.
Bounding up the steps, he flung open the front door and skidded to a stop in the foyer. The house was quiet, too quiet. He walked across the hallway and stopped in the doorway to the parlor, fear changing to horror.
The room was littered with bodies. He took a hesitant step forward, stepping gingerly around blood pooled on the floor. The professor lay on his back, sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Across from him, another body lay curled on its side. He poked it with his foot and Alex’s face looked up at him, the handsome features frozen in lifeless surprise.
Max.
His heart began to pound as his eyes searched the room for Kacy, uncertain whether he was praying to find her or not.
“She’s not here.”
Braedon whirled around, tensed, ready for battle.
Fin.
He relaxed, meeting the Irishman’s green-eyed gaze. Fin’s normally genial face was creased with a frown.
“How long have you been here?” Braedon demanded.
Fin winced, shifting from one foot to another. “Only a few minutes. Tolly Macnamara needed my help with an engine. It took a bit longer than I’d thought it would. I’m sorry, Braedon.”
“Don’t be. If you’d been here, you’d most likely be dead, too.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “I take it there’s no sign of her?”
The big man pulled something from his pocket, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I found this.” He held out a folded piece of paper. “’Tis addressed to you. I … uh … under the circumstances, I’m afraid I read it.”
Braedon took the note, not certain he wanted to read it. The handwriting sloped and looped across the page. He looked up at Fin. Stalling for time. “You recognize the writing?”
Fin dipped his head. “I do.”
“I see.” He forced himself to look at the page, to read the words.
Braedon,
I figured at the very least I owed you an explanation. I’m afraid that I haven’t been completely honest with you. In fact, the truth is, I’ve told you nothing but lies. You were right about me all along. I was a part of it. Alex was more than my husband, Braedon, he was my partner. And when he died, I realized I had an opportunity to be rich beyond my wildest dreams.
So I took the money we were holding for Max and disappeared. I kept in touch with the professor and from time to time we did a little business. You even said yourself, I’m one hell of a forger. And it keeps me in pretty things. Max knew I’d double-crossed him, and so when he got out of prison, he showed up here.
I really wasn’t planning to eliminate him. But it was him or me and I think, even under the circumstances, you’ll have to admit you’re at least a little glad it was him and not me. The professor wasn’t my doing. Max did it. I’d never have hurt him. I’m truly sorry the old man is dead. But we mustn’t cry over spilled milk.
I’m disappearing for good this time, so don’t bother trying to find me. I enjoyed the ride, while it lasted. You were amazing in bed. But there was never really anything to it. I’m afraid my heart will always be with Alex.
Kirstin
Braedon crumpled the paper in his hand, blood pounding in his ears, feeling like an absolute fool. Kirstin. She was everything he’d thought she was and more. He looked at the carnage before him. Much more.
He stopped himself. Angry at the train of his thoughts. There was no Kirstin. Never had been. There was only Kacy. And she needed his help. There was an explanation here. He just had to find it.
“You don’t believe it, do you?” Fin’s worried voice broke through his angry internal diatribe.
He focused on the man, shutting out the note and the dead bodies. “No. Kacy isn’t capable of doing this.”
Fin nodded his agreement. “Besides, she’d never willingly leave Mac.”
Braedon frowned. “Mac is here?”
“In the kitchen. I was working on him when you came in. He’s been shot, too.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s going to be fine. Paddy Fitzgerald’s on the way.”
The information was coming too fast. Braedon’s head was still reeling as he tried to understand what was happening. “The phone’s working?”
Fin shook his head. “I used my cell phone. Called the Garda, too.”
“So now we have to figure this out.” He looked at the note again, this time with the eyes of a man trying to solve a riddle.
“Figure it out?”
“Yeah. We’ll take it bit by bit. The truth is here; we just have to find it.” He studied the note and then handed it to Fin. “First off, Kacy didn’t need money. She has a trust fund, but I don’t think anyone knows about it.”
“Well, that would rule out stealing money then. And there’s the part about loving Alex. We know that’s a load of rot. Whatever there was between the two of them, it was never love.”
Braedon closed his eyes, seeing the pain in Kacy’s eyes, remembering her confession. No, she’d never loved Alex. Ever. He crumpled the paper in anger.
A thought pushed its way front and center in his brain. Alex. He frowned, the whole picture remaining stubbornly just out of his grasp.
“What’re you thinking?” Fin asked anxiously.
“I’m not entirely sure. Just bits and pieces that are suddenly making some sense.” He shook his head, trying to force clarity. But whatever it was, it remained stubbornly on the edge of his conscious mind.
Fin massaged his temples. “This is all my fault.”
“You don’t know that, Fin.” Braedon stood up, responding automatically, his brain still trying to figure out what was bothering him. He was missing something. But what?
“If I hadn’t waited for the framer to bring the bloody painting back, none of this would have happened.”
“That’s it.” It was as if his brain adjusted the focus; what had been blurry suddenly became crystal clear.
“What’s it? I’m not following you.”
“The painting.”
“What has Kacy’s painting got to do with any of this?” Fin frowned, confusion drawing his brows together to form a rusty V.
“It’s not Kacy’s painting.”
“Well, it most certainly is. I got it right out of the studio there. You saw me.”
“I saw you take a painting. But unless I’m mistaken, you don’t have Kacy’s copy of the painting. You have the original.”
“The original Martin? But how in the hell did—”
Braedon held up his hand, interrupting. “It’s not really important now. What matters is that I think Alex took it.”
“But Kacy—” His face looked mutinous.
“Didn’t know, Fin. She thought it was her copy, just like you and I did. He fooled us all.”
“He who?”
“Alex.”
“All right, I’m trying to stay with you here, but you keep losing me. How does the painting in the pub tie in with all that—” He gestured toward the front room. “—in there?”
“It ties in because I think Alex Madison is still alive.”
Kacy tried to sit up, but before she had risen a couple of inches, bindings of some kind pulled her taut and held her firmly in place. She dropped back against something lumpy and soft. A mattress maybe.
She strained to see where she was, but there were too many shadows. She couldn’t see. Something dug into her wrists and ankles.
Rope.
She was tied into place with rope, the rough hemp holding her spread-eagled in what appeared to be a dark, damp cavelike room. Occasional drops of water fell onto her body, adding their icy touch to her already chilled skin.
Skin.
She struggled to look at herself, already knowing what she’d see. She was naked.
Fear ran through her with the power of a freight train, her memory replaying the last few hours with startling clarity. Mac, the professor, Max—Alex. She struggled to escape her bonds, only succeeding in abrading her wrists, leaving blood dripping down her arm.
He’d done this. Alex.
She’d written what he’d told her, trying to word it so that Braedon would know it was a lie. But would he? Their relationship was so fragile, so new. Did he trust her enough to believe in her?
She lifted up, straining against her bonds, bucking against the rope, trying to break free. Finally, exhausted and hurting, she dropped back onto the mattress. Another drop of water hit her, this one right between her breasts, the moisture sliding down her body, pooling at her abdomen. She sucked in her stomach, trying to get the icy water to roll off her, succeeding only in making it worse.
Where the hell was she? What had he done to her?
She’d finished the note and handed it to Alex. Then she’d gone to Mac to make sure he was all right. The next thing she remembered was being here. Something had to have happened in between. But what?
She struggled to remember, sorting through the fractured memories in her head.
Pain.
She remembered pain. Alex must have hit her. Knocked her out. That would explain why she didn’t remember coming here. Wherever here was.
She tried to see something in the gloom, but it was too dark. More droplets of water splashed down, running in tiny rivulets over her body. As accommodations went, these weren’t exactly the best.
There was a leak. A serious leak. And unless she figured a way out of here, it was going to drive her crazy.
Tears filled her eyes, the salty liquid running down her nose, into the corners of her mouth. Great. All she needed was more water.
She closed her eyes, trying to picture Braedon, feel his warmth surrounding her. He’d said he loved her. He wouldn’t believe that she’d murdered Max. Somehow he’d figure it out.
He’d find her. He had to.
Chapter 27
ALEX PACED THE confines of the chamber, and Kacy strained to keep him in her vision.
“This fortress—” He gestured to the rough-hewn room, deep under the hillside surrounding the fort. “—is an ancient testament to mankind’s continuing need for a way out, a back door. I can’t help but feel a kinship.”
Kacy struggled against her bonds, certain that Alex was insane.
He stopped and rubbed his temples. “I ought to feel relieved, exuberant—energized. But I don’t. It was there for a moment. One tiny moment. But now it’s gone.” He came to stand over her, his eyes boring into hers. “What I need is release, Kirstin.” His smile was nefarious. “There is a certain rush of adrenaline that comes in the instant one’s quarry realizes the game is over.” He trailed a finger down the soft underside of her arm. “It’s an addiction. One I relish.”
He squinted his eyes, massaging his head. “One would almost think I was actually feeling remorse about Max’s unfortunate demise.” He snorted with derision and began pacing again, moving in and out of Kacy’s line of vision. “But I’m not. I’m glad that my brother is dead.”
Kacy opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it again. Surely there was wisdom in not drawing the attention of a madman.
“There is something liberating in all this, Kirstin. You should try it. But then you don’t have it in you, do you, my dear?”
He prodded her, evidently wanting a response, so she shook her head, finding that words had deserted her.
“Everything I do is magic. It’s all falling into place. All the loose ends. Max always told me to tie up the loose ends. There is a certain irony, isn’t there?
“Shall I tell you about it?” He tipped his head to one side, studying her, his eyes dilated, wild. And then without waiting for an answer, he continued. “First there was the banker in the Caymans. I did that in spades. An unfortunate boating accident, helped along by a clogged fuel line.”
He smiled, turning her blood to ice. There was evil here— real evil. He’d stepped over some invisible line, all things redeemable lost in the action. There was nothing left of the charming grifter. Nothing at all.
“There was such a thrill, Kirstin. Watching the boat explode, fiery refuse drifting through cloud studded skies, splashing into the water. It was my first. A virginal experience. I didn’t come down from the high for days.”
He seemed to be on a roll, forgetting she was even there. “Next came the passport counterfeiter. A fussy little cockney man with an attitude. Now, that took some planning. But I was up to the task. The man lived in London. It was so damn easy. A mugging gone bad. That’s what the newspapers had said.”
Alex closed his fist. “I can remember the feel of the knife in my hand, the resistance as blade met flesh, the satisfaction as it finally slid home, twisting deeper and deeper.” He grinned at the memory. “I almost climaxed there in the park.”
Kacy tried to fixate on Braedon. On hope. But Alex’s evil surrounded her, leaching everything good in its wake.
“It started with necessity, a way to assure that my new identity was safe, but somewhere along the way it became fun, a game of sorts, one that I always managed to win. There was a realtor and a cleaning lady who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He stopped pacing and stared down at her. “In some ways she was the best of all.” He stroked his crotch, lost in the moment. “After that it was Anson. The stupid oaf. He was fondling your things, Kirstin. He had to be stopped. Before he found something that tipped off my stupid brother. I twisted his neck until it snapped, like a Tinkertoy.”
Kacy fought the urge to be sick.
“And then, there was Max. My nemesis. My twin. He couldn’t believe I’d do it. His eyes were full of questions, confusion, joy mixed with fear. And I put it there. Me. In the end I controlled my brother. In an irrevocable, wonderful way, I won. And now there’s nothing to stop me. They’ll blame you. And I’ll disappear again. Dead forever. Once I have the painting.”
“Painting?” The question came out more a squeak than a word.
Alex caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “The Transformation, Kirstin.” He turned his hand, trapping her skin between thumb and forefinger, twisting viciously. “You didn’t think I’d forget my painting, darling. If it weren’t for that damned mongrel, I’d have it now.”
She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She would not let him have the pleasure of enjoying her pain. “You hurt Mac?”
“I should never have left it behind,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I even broke into the beach house to get it. Quite a risk, actually.”
“It was you?” Her brain was spinning, the information coming too fast to process.
“Yes. Don’t you remember me coming to you? You smiled in your sleep that night.”
Visions of her nightmares filled her brain. Alex touching her, stroking her, surrounding her with maleficence. It hadn’t been a dream at all. She shuddered. It had a been a memory.
He released her, moving away, resuming his pacing; she could hear his footsteps against the stone floor. “But it wasn’t there.”
“I sent all my paintings ahead of me, to Ireland. For safekeeping.”
“I should have known. But you paid for that, didn’t you, darling? I destroyed the Monet. A painting for a painting. Tit for tat.”
“You destroyed the Monet?”
He bent low to her, his breath washing across her face. “Don’t you know by now that you can’t keep anything from me, Kirstin?”
“So you came here for The Transformation?” The words came out in a tumble. Her gaze locked with his, and she recognized insanity swirling in the depths of his eyes.
“I came for loose ends. I thought I’d made that clear, Kirstin.” His tongue flicked out, serpentlike, tracing the contours of her upper lip.
She tried to twist away, her stomach roiling with revulsion.
“But then I saw you. And I realized that I still want you, Kirstin. I want to feel you writhe beneath me. I want to plunge into you until you cry out in pain. And then, my love, I’ll do it all again and again. I’ll use you, ride you, until there is nothing left.
