BLINDFOLD (44 page)

With a Herculean effort, Joey had managed to force Slade's gun arm away from his body once more and Gideon instinctively latched on to it, jerking the wrist towards him with his right hand, while forcing his own left forearm into the back of Slade's elbow joint. Slade screamed with pain and the gun dropped with a clatter from nerveless fingers as he staggered back under Joey's continued pressure.

Gideon had little enough time to enjoy the moment. Slade's heavy had recovered swiftly from his treatment, and powered by an understandable, if regrettable, desire for revenge, a meaty fist slammed into Gideon's ribs from behind.

Pain exploded through him, arching his back and leaving him powerless to resist as he was swung round and measured for a follow-up blow to the head. What he could see of his attacker's face behind the bloody mess of his nose promised little hope of mercy.

Gideon's body had had enough. The damage Duke Shelley, and then Curly, had done to it before this guy had even got started,

was too much. His eyes closed and he swayed on his feet, almost welcoming the blow that would put an end to the misery.

It never came.

There was a rushing noise in his ears and a familiar voice said, `Whoa, steady there, mate!' almost as if he were a nervous horse. Eyes still closed, he was conscious of being lowered gently to the floor, his nose pressed into what, from the smell of it, was a newish leather jacket. Under the prompting of firm hands he leaned back against a wall that felt surprisingly soft and tried to force his eyes open long enough to make sense of what had happened.

Legs clad in blue denim jeans stepped back from him and crouched, bringing Logan's clean-cut features into view. Gideon looked past him to where his erstwhile assailant lay, stretched motionless, on the floor.

`Are you allowed to do that?' he asked quizzically, in little more than a whisper.

Logan's quick, boyish grin showed itself. `It comes under the heading of reasonable force,' he assured Gideon.

The grin disappeared in a haze of dark blotches as -Gideon's head began to spin again.

`Get your head down,' Logan advised, but leaning forward would squeeze up the ribs and Gideon elected to stay where he was. 'Slade?' he murmured, closing his eyes.

`We've got him. Everything's under control. Just sit still for a minute.'

Gideon was aware of Logan moving away but didn't try to open his eyes again, content to trust the man. There was still a fair bit of frantic activity and a certain amount of swearing going on, but there were new and commanding voices. Obviously Logan had brought the cavalry.

'Gideon?' Naomi's voice, anxiously enquiring.

He opened his eyes reluctantly to find that the world was a lot clearer this time.

`Hi, Sis.'

A radiant, if watery, smile greeted this effort.

`Are you all right?'

`Better all the time,' he responded truthfully.

`You don't look it,' she told him, scanning his face with worried eyes. `You look awful.'

`Thanks. It's been one of those days. But what about you?' She shook her head. `He didn't hurt us. We were just in his way at first. I don't think he really cared about us at all until he realised he had a means of getting back at you. He was utterly cold and ruthless. Terrifying! What on earth did you do to him?'

`It's a bit complicated. I'll tell you one day. But I'm so sorry, Sis. Really.' He broke off with a groan, seeing, over her shoulder, the fluorescent green jackets of two paramedic officers. `Oh, my God! What are they doing here?'

`Well, let me see,' Naomi said, pretending to think. `We've got one with a broken arm; one with a broken nose and concussion; one who's been shot; and one who looks as though he's been knocked down by a freight train! No, I can't imagine what they might want!'

`Shot?' Gideon exclaimed, grabbing her arm. `Who's been shot? Not Tim? Where is Tim?'

`No, not Tim. He's gone on up. A call of nature.' Naomi said. `It's your friend, Joey. At least, I wasn't sure whether he was on your side or Slade's until he went for Slade's gun. He saved my life, Gideon. That bastard would have killed me!'

Her voice cracked as a sob shook her, and Gideon pulled her down beside him, putting his arm round her silently shaking shoulders. Now the danger was past, her valiantly preserved brave front was abandoned, and she buried her face in his rough wool jumper and wept out all the terror of her ordeal.

Over her tousled blonde head, Gideon watched as police and ambulancemen went about their business, admiring their efficiency and immeasurably glad that the responsibility for decision-making had been removed from him.

After a minute or two, Naomi sniffed and sat up, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief. `I'm sorry,' she said.

Gideon squeezed her shoulders. `You know, for an intelligent girl, that's a remarkably idiotic thing to say,' he observed, and was rewarded with the ghost of a smile.

Across the room, Joey was sitting on the swivel chair, arguing with two paramedics who apparently thought he should occupy the stretcher they'd laid on the floor beside him. He'd already been stripped bare to the waist, exposing a powerful pair of shoulders, the sight of which had Gideon thanking God, for the umpteenth time that day, that Joey had chosen to side with him instead of against.

Judging by the area now padded and heavily bandaged, he'd been shot just below the ribs on the left-hand side, but his mobility suggested that the bullet hadn't touched anything vital.

In another corner, under close police guard, Slade was having his right arm splinted. Watching the pain flicker across his white face, Gideon experienced no remorse whatsoever. In fact, he felt it was a shame it was just his arm that was broken, and not his neck. What prompted this reprehensible train of thought was the realisation that, driven by the implacable hatred he obviously felt for Gideon, Slade was quite capable of dragging both Sean Rosetti and Tom Collins' reputations down with him.

As if to reinforce this belief, Slade caught Gideon's gaze on him, and returned it with one of pure venom. Beside him, Naomi gasped, and he shook her gently. `He can't hurt you now. Come on, help me up.'

Naomi frowned. `Do you think you should?' `Got to sometime,' he said with undeniable logic.

Shrugging, she climbed to her feet and obediently held out a hand to him.

He made it to his feet with the additional help of the wall, which seemed to be insulated with polystyrene and yielded a little under the pressure of his hand. The effort set off a wave of dizziness and he paused, leaning heavily on his sister who was watching his face anxiously.

`I'm not sure this was a good idea,' she told him.

Gideon wasn't sure it was, either, but he had as little wish as Joey to be consigned to a stretcher just at the moment. Even as he stood, swaying slightly, a green jacketed officer hurried over.

`I really think you should be sitting down, sir,' he advised. `Tried that. I'm fine now,' Gideon lied.

`I don't think . . .'

`I need to see Joey,' he said firmly. `If I feel faint, I promise I'll sit down. Or fall down.'

The officer didn't appreciate his humour. `Now come on, sir.'

`You may as well give up.' Logan approached from behind him. `He's an obstinate bastard.'

`Thanks.' Gideon flashed a dry smile at the policeman. `I promise I'll come quietly in a minute.'

He made his way, on horribly weak legs, over to where Joey had finally given in to his escort and been strapped on to the stretcher. As he reached them, the stretcher-bearers lifted their

"reluctant cargo, for which Gideon was grateful; he wasn't at all sure he could handle either crouching or bending at present. He put a hand out to detain the leading bearer.

`Just a minute.'

He turned towards Joey but stared at the ground for a moment, struggling to find the right words. `I can't believe you did that,' he said, finally meeting his eyes.

`Ah, shit,' Joey said uncomfortably. `You couldn't reach him, I could. I didn't plan on this.' He waved a hand to indicate his wound.

`He was going to kill her,' Gideon stated, fixing Joey's clear, ice blue gaze with his own.

`Yeah, well, I hate seeing women hurt. Guess we're even now, pal.'

Gideon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The physical and emotional battering of the day had left him in a mess. The ambulance men were fidgeting now but there was something else he had to know. `About the other ... ?'

'I've got nothing to say,' Joey assured him. `Even if I knew anything. And Curly knows when to keep his mouth shut. But Slade? I'm sorry, pal. I don't know.'

It was no more than Gideon had expected. `Thanks anyway,' he said resignedly, a cloak of depression settling on him as the paramedics bore the big man away.

It was such a waste.

Tom Collins and Rosetti had been by no means blameless but without Slade's muscle and intimidating tactics it was inconceivable that they would ever have acted on what was, after all, never meant as a serious proposal. There had been more than enough distress already; it seemed so unfair that the future happiness of two families could hang on the whim of a vicious chanter like Slade.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Gideon turned to find Slade approaching, flanked by medics and the police. His splinted right arm was in a sling of sorts, his left handcuffed to the officer at his side, but as he passed Gideon he leaned closer to him, hatred twisting his handsome features. Under his Mediterranean tan Slade's face was pale and beaded with sweat, and he was so close that Gideon could clearly see the individual hairs of his eyebrows. He resisted the instinctive urge to flinch away.

`Your friends are finished!' he hissed in Gideon's face. `I'll ruin them. And I'll get you yet! I've got mates who owe me.'

j`Get him out of here!' Logan had appeared at Gideon's side, accompanied by Naomi and the hopeful paramedic. Slade's escort erked on the handcuff and dragged him away.

`Now, are you going to tell me what happened here and why?' Logan queried.

`The pictures are by Danus Sinclair,' Gideon told him. `The ones stolen in the sixties, I presume. No need to ask by whom.' `Yeah. I've sent someone to pick up Milne. But that wasn't all that was going on here, was it? What's the history with you and Slade? He meant what he said, you know. He'll have contacts on the outside.'

`Constable, I really think this man needs medical attention,' the hovering paramedic interposed hesitantly.

Gideon blessed the man's overriding sense of duty. He did need medical attention, but most of all he needed time to consider what he was going to tell the police.

`I do feel a bit faint,' he agreed. `I think I need some fresh air.'

Having received his mandate, the green jacketed one immediately took over, brushing Logan aside as he moved to take Gideon's arm and steer him towards the door.

`I'll see you later, you crafty bugger!' Logan murmured as he passed.

Whatever the motivation for the move, it was a relief to get out of the bunker and into the cold night air. The steep flight of steps was more of an effort than Gideon cared to admit and the more deeply he breathed, the more his ribs hurt him but all in all, he knew his injuries - however painful - were largely superficial, and he was incredibly thankful to be alive.

Escorted by his sister and the medic, Gideon made his way across the concrete towards the brightly lit interior of one of two waiting ambulances. Once again the whole yard seemed to be a mass of blue flashing lights. Fire engines and police cars a fortnight ago, now ambulances and the police; the old farm had probably not seen this much activity since the end of the war.

In the back of one ambulance, Gideon could see Curly sitting, watched over by a uniformed policeman. His head was swathed in bandages and Gideon wondered if he'd realised yet that it was his own brother who had dealt him the knockout blow. Preparing to embark was Slade, now wrapped in a blanket and obviously in a great deal of pain.

There was a sudden stir in the ranks of navy blue beyond the ambulances and a figure strode past Gideon's party with a purposeful step. Lit briefly by the light from the vehicle, he caught sight of white hair and a sailor's cap. Milne, with his face set in a mask of grim determination and a fanatical gleam in his eye.

Gideon twisted away from the paramedic and saw the artist homing in on Slade's unsuspecting group like an Exocet missile. `No!' he cried, without pausing to think whom he was trying to protect.

But he was too late anyway.

Calmly, Milne took his right hand out of the front pocket of his painter's smock, revealing a large, old-fashioned handgun that had probably been out of date before the Second World War. Any doubts as to its serviceability, however, were dispelled in the shockingly loud report of its discharge.

Even as the ears of those closest rang with the sound, Slade was already dead. Shot through the heart at almost point-blank range with surprising efficiency for a man of the arts, he was knocked backwards and down, dragging his accompanying officer with him.

For a moment there was shocked silence. Slade lay on the frosty ground, his eyes flickering weirdly with reflected blue light, and whatever vengeful intentions he may have had, extinguished forever.

EIGHTEEN

I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT!' Pippa declared, tucking a wayward, newly bleached curl behind her ear as she poured coffee into mugs on the Priory's huge kitchen table. `And Sean Rosetti, of all people!'

Gideon shifted to try and ease his various aches and pains. Nearly a week had passed since the horror of the events at the Sanctuary, but it would be a long time before his body would begin to let him forget it. `Yeah, well, like I said . . .'

`Oh, I know. Keep it under my hat. But within these walls it can't hurt, can it? And I'm still trying to get my head round it. I mean, how could Sean have just stood by and let them treat you like they did that night? I thought he'd have had more backbone!'

Gideon had had much longer to think about it than Pippa. `He couldn't do a lot about it at that point, could he?' he pointed out. 'Slade was more or less holding his family to ransom by then, to say nothing of his career. To be fair, I don't think he would have carried on for any other reason. Slade was a past master at manipulating people, and he guessed Rosetti wouldn't do it for the money alone, however much he needed it.'