F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (27 page)

 
          
She
made her way back to the grounds, retracing her steps along the path until she
came to the sunken gardens. Standing on the top step on the rim of the deep,
bowl-shaped depression, she tried to remember how it looked when she and Sam
used to play here. And they
had
played. In times of truce they were just
like any other sisters
—
laughing, joking, playing
make-believe with their dolls and toys. This was their special place where
they shared their secrets and hid from their uncle and ate the sweet-cakes
they'd steal from the kitchen when cook wasn't looking.

 
          
But
as the truces grew shorter and the battles longer and more fierce, the sunken
garden became a war zone, to be occupied exclusively by only one combatant at
a time.

 
          
In
the end, it became Sam's place. To sketch, to brood, to do other things.

 
          
What
a shame, Julie thought. We could have been friends ... if only Sam had been
different. And
—
maybe
—
if I had learned to lighten up ... Trouble is, I still
don't know how to do that.

 
          
She
walked down the steps to the sunken center of the garden. She rested her hand
on the marble pedestal of the sundial that used to be "home" in their
games of tag.

 
          
Julie
heard a sound behind her, a scrape. She turned but saw nothing moving in the
darkness. Probably a dry leaf blown against the slate walk.

 
          
But
as she walked around the pedestal, pivoting her finger on the point of the
sundial, she caught a blur of motion to her right, movement that looked like
something other than a shrub swaying in the breeze. She froze and stared but
could see nothing out of the ordinary.

 
          
Time
to head for the house. Could be her imagination was running in high gear after
her most recent sortie into Sam's memoryscape, or could be someone else was out
here in the sunken garden. Either way, she wanted out of here
—
now.

 
          
She
turned and hurried up the steps.

 
          
She
didn't make it to the third one before she was grabbed from behind. A
leather-gloved hand clamped over her mouth, sealing off her cry of terror as a
powerful arm snaked around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

 
          
Frantically,
desperately, Julie kicked and struggled with all her strength. She jammed an
elbow backward, but to no effect. Her heart raced, her breath whistled through
her nostrils as she fought for more air. Visions of rape and death, memories of
the Central Park jogger's fate, flashed through her brain, fueling her terror.

 
          
But
here
—
at Oakwood? It was insane.

 
          
And
then lips pressed against her ear and a voice whispered.

 
          
"Hush
now, darlin', and be calm. I wouldn't be hurtin' you for all the world. I need
your help...."

 
          
That
voice, that accent
—
oh, God, she knew who it
was.

 
          
"Do
y'hear me now?" he said, still whispering. "Do you understand? I'm
sorry for frightening you like this, but it just wouldn't do to have you
shouting and raising a fuss. I'm a friend of Sammi's. Do you understand? A friend
... and I've got something to tell you."

 
          
Though
her mouth was still covered, the pressure was less intense.

 
          
"If
you promise not to yell, I'll let you go and we'll talk like regular people. Do
I have your promise?"

 
          
And
what if 1 don't promise?

 
          
Julie
stopped struggling. She didn't have much choice. He was so much stronger than
she. And if she kept fighting him, what would he do? If he let her go, she
might have a chance to get away, to scream for help, to do something.

 
          
She
nodded and he released her. Julie coughed and sucked in a couple of deep
breaths, then turned to face him. He was all in black, from knitted watch cap
to his shoes, his face a pale blur not two feet in front of her. And she
loathed him. She swung a fist at his face with all her strength but he easily
dodged it.

 
          
"Ooh!
Right-handed, are we? Your sister's a lefty."

 
          
"You
bastard!"

           
She swung again but this time he
caught her wrist in midair.

 
          
"Now,
now, love. None of that." He sounded amused and she hated that. "You
promised."

 
          
She
wished that she had done more than the introductory class of Tae Kwan Do. Her
words hissed between her teeth as she wrenched her wrist free.

 
          
"I
promised not to
yell!"

 
          
"That
you did. But I've no time for lawyerin' about it. I'm here to ask about Sammi
—
and warn you about your uncle."

 
          
"And
what does Liam O'Donnell know about my uncle?"

 
          
That
got him. His head snapped back as if her swing at him a moment ago had finally
connected.

 
          
"Wh
—
what makes you think I'd be any such person?"

 
          
"Sam
told me."

 
          
He
grabbed her by both her upper arms and practically lifted her off the ground.

 
          
"Sammi!
Sweet Jesus, she's awake? She's come 'round?"

 
          
Julie
couldn't make out his expression and couldn't tell whether his whispered voice
was hoarse with alarm or joy. But that wasn't what bothered her most. Julie
felt herself responding to his touch. Warmth grew where his gloved fingers
gripped her, spreading up her arms, into her chest, and downward.
—

 
          
"No,"
she managed to say. "She's still out."

 
          
"Oh."

 
          
He
released her and turned away.

 
          
The
warmth receded, thank God. She needed all her wits about her to deal with this
man. But that response
—
was it a leftover from Sam,
or her own? After all, she'd been about as intimate with Liam as one could ever
be ... after a fashion.

 
          
He
turned back to her. "But you said
—
"

 
          
"I
knew this from before."
I know more than you can
imagme. "And
I
know
Sam thinks our uncle is hiding something in his cabinet."

 
          
"But
how?"

 
          
"I
heard it from her own lips." That was certainly the truth. "And I can
tell you he is hiding something in the cabinet, but it's nothing bad…"

 
          
Liam's
face seemed to disappear for an instant as he rubbed a black-gloved hand across
it. "I don't understand this. Did she call you? She more'n once told me
about you. No love lost between you."

 
          
"She
told me. How doesn't matter. But tell
me:
Did you send her those
roses?"

 
          
He
hesitated, then, "Yes."

 
          
"Why?"

 
          
"If
you're knowing anything, you know I love her."

 
          
"I
know nothing of the sort. Only you know that. But the note: 'Don't worry. I
won't let them hurt you'? Why send a threat?"

 
          
"Not
a threat
—
Lord. Just a promise. And a
warning. I'm damned if I knew what you were doing to her with all those
contraptions you moved into her room. She seemed like a poor bugger of a lab
animal."

 
          
"So
you
were the prowler they spotted on the Sainte Gabrielle grounds."

 
          
"I
was. And I'm the prowler here, as well. Especially now that you've brought in
that head-shrinking bitch. Sammi never trusted her. So you can count on me
prowling about until Sammi's up and well again."

 
          
"Is
that what you want?"

 
          
"And
what else would I be wantin'?"

 
          
"My
uncle found out all about you. And he thinks that maybe you caused her coma.
Maybe she knows things about you... and maybe you don't want her 'up and about
again' at all. And maybe you're prowling about so you'll be the first one to
know if and when she is."

 
          
Surprised
by her own intensity, she stepped back, unsure how he'd react, and afraid. Liam
was a big man, powerful. And even if she did scream, she doubted whether anyone
at the house would hear.

 
          
"You
may be her twin," he said, shaking an angry fist in her face, "but
you don't have half her heart, and not a tenth of her soul." He lowered
his hand. "But you've got her guts, I'll give you that... accusing me of
harming her. Christ, if you were a man
—
"

 
          
Julie
retreated. "Okay
—
so maybe someone you work
for, then. Someone who wants her out of the way."

 
          
"I
don't work for anyone. I'm kinda freelance, an indepen-dent contractor."

           
"Yeah. Import and export.
Right." She took a breath. "I know you're with the IRA."

 
          
"Oh?
And who in bloody hell would be sayin' that?'

 
          
"My
uncle says Scotland Yard is looking for you. Is that true?"

 
          
"Are
you the type who's believing everything she hears?"

 
          
Julie
ground her teeth. "Must you answer every question with another
question?"

 
          
"Now
what makes you think I'm doing any such thing?"

 
          
Even
in the darkness Julie caught the flash of his grin, and had to smile herself,
though she did her best to hide it. He was a charmer, this one. Big,
powerful... but charming. Better watch out for him.

 
          
And
then his smile disappeared. "If I was you, I should be after looking out
for me uncle," he said. "If Sammi said he was hiding something, hell,
it's a damn good shot that he is. She says he's got all your da's papers tucked
away somewhere."

 
          
Julie
felt a chill worm its way through her coat. Or did it come from within?

 
          
"Wait.
No, stop right there. That's wrong. Everything our father owned went up in
smoke with the house."

 
          
"Ah,
sure that's what you've been told. But Sammi didn't believe that. She said
—
"

 
          
"Julia!
Are you still out here? Julia!"

 
          
Julie
whirled. Eathan's voice
—
calling from somewhere toward
the mansion. He could be here in minutes.

 
          
Closer
now: "Julia, where are you?"