Dangerous Melody (19 page)

TWENTY

T
ate kept the knife pressed between his palms, waiting for the chance to cut off his restraints. For all his intellectual prowess, Bittman had made a mistake by having Stephanie cuff his hands in front instead of behind. All he had to do was work the knife blade back and forth. The mine was dark enough to allow him cover. The blade was positioned point up, toward his wrists.
As he wriggled it into place, the blade cut into his palms. Gritting his teeth, he began to saw away at the plastic.

The interior of the shaft was a small space, no more than eight feet across, and he had to duck his head to keep from hitting it on the ceiling.

“No games, Eugene,” Bittman said. “Turn on a light.”

Instead the sound of the violin filled the tiny cavern, echoing along
the low beams that supported the ceiling. It was the same haunting melody.

“Stop it,” Bittman’s voice thundered. “Stop playing my father’s song.”

“He meant for me to play it,” Eugene said over the music. “He meant for me to have the Guarneri.”

Tate could hear Bittman’s teeth snap together.

“He meant it for his son, for my brother, Peter, you cretin.”

The music stopped
abruptly. “Peter.”

There was an odd questioning tone in Eugene’s word. “Peter,” he repeated. “Peter Bittman. Have you seen him?”

Bittman grunted. “He’s dead. Ricardo burned down the shop and killed him.”

“That’s sad,” Eugene said, beginning to play again.

“Stop!” Bittman roared.

The music kept going, faster now.

Tate’s fingers kept time as he sliced away at the restraints.

Bittman yelled and Eugene continued to play, the song growing wilder with each measure.

Bittman fired off a shot that drilled itself into the ceiling, hurting Tate’s ears. The impact of the bullet made a tiny puff of sparks.

Eugene broke off playing.

“Now,” Bittman said quietly as a lighter flared to life in his hand, illuminating the gun still pointed at Maria. “There is a
lantern there, hanging on the wall. Light it.”

Tate felt the plastic beginning to give.

Eugene lifted a trembling hand to the lantern and lit it. He stood there with the violin cradled in his arm, his beard covered by dust.

Bittman moved forward into the lantern light. “Give me the violin.”

“
Vater
meant me to have it. He would not have wanted it to burn. I ran. I ran to keep
it safe.” His voice dropped to a whisper, hands stroking the violin. “Safe.”

Bittman stared at Eugene.
“Vater?”
He moved closer to Eugene, who cowered against the wall, then staggered a step back as if he’d been struck. Tate was dismayed to see he did not lower the weapon. “Peter.”

“Peter,” Eugene repeated thoughtfully.

“You are my brother, Peter,” Bittman whispered. “But you died
in the fire.”

Stephanie spoke quickly as the truth sizzled through her. “The body was badly burned. It was twenty years ago. It was probably the homeless man your father took in. Peter was the one who took the violin. Peter was the one you saw that night running away.”

Bittman’s glance flicked from Stephanie back to Eugene.

Tate’s wrists finally came clear of the restraints. He
lunged at Bittman, knocking the gun from his hand, which skittered away into the darkness. Eugene let out a cry and shrank back.

Tate tumbled to the floor, fighting for a grip on Bittman, who was trying to dig his fingers into Tate’s throat. They crashed into the stone walls, thrashing as Tate grappled to loosen Bittman’s choke hold.

Tate was fueled by a strength he didn’t know he had.
This time he would not fail his sister, and Stephanie would be free of Joshua Bittman forever. Inch by inch, he managed to force Bittman’s hands away from his throat, maneuvering him onto his stomach. Tate’s knee was across his shoulder blades.

He sat panting, hands bloody and leg twitching with pain.

“I will have my violin,” Bittman said, his voice filled with hatred. “And my brother
will come home.”

Eugene looked confused. “Home?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” came a voice from the mouth of the cavern. Tate’s heart dropped like a stone as Ricardo stepped into the space, a gun gripped in his hand. “So I’m not responsible for killing your brother after all,” he said.

“But you killed the homeless guy and Devlin,” Tate panted. “You’re still a murderer.”

Ricardo
shrugged. “It’s like potato chips. Hard to have just one.” He laughed. “I appreciate you doing the legwork for me, boy. Here is my violin, and all the people I need to kill in one spot.”

Tate started to rise.

“Slowly,” Ricardo warned. “I think maybe we’ll take this party outside. Ladies first.”

Tate got off Bittman, who climbed to his feet. They paraded out of the mine shaft into
the predawn.

Ricardo took the violin from Eugene’s hand. Bittman twitched as he watched Ricardo tuck the instrument under his arm.

“You know, I’ve got the perfect way to tidy up this mess.” He led them down a dusty section of road to the old jail they’d searched earlier. “Everyone inside.”

“My pilot will radio for help if I’m not back soon,” Bittman said.

Ricardo shook his
head. “He would if he was still conscious.”

Tate’s stomach lurched. “Let the women go. You don’t need to hurt them.”

He smiled. “Right. I’m sure they wouldn’t tell anyone about me.” He guided them inside. “No, I like the irony of this method. This way, Peter really will die in a fire, just like he supposedly did twenty years ago, only he’ll have company. I just need to get the gas can
from that ridiculous Volkswagen. It’s hidden nearby. I won’t keep you waiting long.”

Tate tried desperately to find a way to fight back, but anything he might have tried would result in the death of one of their group. He followed the women into the jail, along with Eugene. Ricardo pushed Bittman inside last.

He whirled to face Ricardo, his body tense like a cat ready to spring. “I’ll
find you. No matter where you go, I’ll find you.”

“No,” Ricardo said, leaning in as though he was divulging a secret. “You’ll die.”

Bittman’s hands curved into claws. “I have people who will track you down, and you won’t even realize they’re onto you.”

“Only if they take orders from a dead guy,” Ricardo said with a laugh.

Bittman was trembling with rage. “A small puncture in
your brake line, and you’ll be gone.”

Tate started. The brake line?

You should have died in that crash, instead of your father.

Tate’s pulse thundered. “You tried to have me killed, didn’t you? By tampering with the brakes of my truck.”

Bittman’s hatred was palpable. “And you managed to make a mess of that, too, and your father died instead.”

Somewhere in the back of his
mind, he heard Maria gasp.

“Why...?” Stephanie whispered.

Bittman turned to her. “He’s a loser. A nobody, and he couldn’t give you anything close to what you deserved.”

Before Tate realized it, his hands were clutching Bittman’s collar.

Ricardo laughed again. “I’m sorry to miss this, but I’ve got a plane to catch and a violin to sell. Adios.”

The sound of the door swinging
closed roused Tate from his red-hot rage. He threw himself at it, fists making contact in time to feel the heavy bolt slide shut from the outside.

* * *

Stephanie could hardly absorb what she’d just heard. Bittman had tried to murder Tate and instead killed Mr. Fuego. She hadn’t realized until that moment Bittman’s level of depravity, his need to possess her. The list of tragedies that
stemmed from Bittman’s dark obsession was growing: Victor, her father, Mr. Fuego, Devlin and now more people awaited death in a space that would become an inferno if Ricardo had his way. For a moment she teetered on the edge of despair.

Lord, I’m still here. You made me strong for a reason. Help me now.

She and Tate immediately began to examine the walls as best they could in the darkness,
the only light coming from cracks in the roof, testing for any weaknesses. Fifteen frantic minutes passed until there was a sound of crumpling paper and the acrid smell of gasoline.

Eugene’s voice was a whisper. “Fire. He’s going to burn it down.” He began to cry.

Maria put her arm around Eugene. “It’s going to be okay. I loved the song you played on the violin. Can you tell me about
it?”

Stephanie shot her a grateful look. Maria was going to be a good mother, if they could get her out alive. She could just see Tate’s staunch profile. He would not stop trying until they were free or dead. He was one of the few people who could match her determination.

All this time she’d refused to forgive him for his failures, deep down holding on to lingering resentment. Now it
seemed that the situation had flipped. Her dealings with Bittman had cost him his father, ruined his sister. He would not be able to forgive that, and she did not blame him.

Remembering the radio in her pocket, she turned it on, only to receive buzzing static. She spoke into it anyway, explaining the situation in as few words as she could manage. Then she handed it to Maria. “Keep talking
on it. Maybe someone will hear.”

Bittman pulled out his cell phone. He got no signal, which was not a surprise. It wouldn’t matter anyway. The flicker of flames showed under the gap in the door, and acrid smoke poured in.

Stephanie looked for something to stuff under the crack. Maria handed her the jacket that had been wrapped around her waist. “The bleeding has stopped. Use this.”

Cramming the fabric in the gap slowed the smoke to a trickle, but it would not hold for long, Stephanie knew. She joined Tate, hands pressing over the rough bricks, looking for the smallest weakness in the old walls.

Bittman stood defiantly in the center of the space, occasionally looking at his brother, who was rocking back and forth next to Maria. The man who had wreaked havoc on so
many lives was now powerless, like a snake with his fangs removed. Stephanie continued on, her fingers raw from the rough walls.

The crackle of flames grew louder as the fire traveled up the side of the old jail and started to gain a foothold on the roof.

“Fire, fire,” Eugene moaned as Maria tried to comfort him.

The radio crackled, and a voice came through. “Repeat.”

Stephanie
felt a surge of hope. If Sartori was close...

There was another burst of static, and the voice died away. Maria began her message all over again, but there was no further acknowledgment. Stephanie turned away from Maria rather than see the hope die in her eyes.

Tate grunted, dropping to his knees in the far corner. She went to him, thinking he’d been injured.

“One loose,” he said,
pushing at a silvered brick with his palms. Slowly, the block began to move under the steady pressure. He got to his feet and began to kick at it. Stephanie could only imagine the pain it caused his damaged leg. When he paused to recover for a moment, Stephanie took his place, throwing kick after kick against the weakened spot.

Tate pulled her aside. “The smoke is thicker.” He jerked a thumb
at the others.

Stephanie needed no further instructions. She turned to Maria and Eugene. “Lay down on the floor where the air is cleaner.” She spoke gently to Eugene. “May I have your shirt, Eugene? I promise I’ll buy you another when we get out of here.”

He nodded and gave her his outer flannel shirt, leaving him in a stained white T-shirt. She tore off the two sleeves and handed one
to them. “Cover your nose and mouth. Breath through the cloth.”

She turned with the body of the shirt in her hands and held it to Bittman. “You can use this,” she forced herself to say.

“Stephanie, if only you had seen reason when we first met.” He touched her hand, and she jerked it away.

“If I had been reasonable then, I never would have gone to work for you.”

He laughed.
“I have always admired your fire. That drive is what attracts me to you, and your refusal only increases that attraction.”

“Why don’t you try to comfort your brother?” She could not stand to hear one more word from Joshua Bittman. “Lie down if you want to live.” She turned back to Tate just as he aimed a vicious kick at the loosened brick. It slid free, plopping into the dust outside the
jail and letting in a stream of smoky light, the weak rays of early dawn.

He beamed a triumphant smile at her that made her breath catch.

“We just need to make an opening big enough to crawl through.” He began kicking at the bricks again, but she could see that his leg was weakening.

She edged in front. “We’ll take turns. This round is mine.”

Tate was panting too hard to answer,
but he nodded and she went to work, blasting at the weakening spot as hard as she could, each impact jarring her to the bone.

A second brick gave a fraction of a centimeter, and it sent her energy into overdrive. She kicked like a wild horse until the second brick gave way, bringing a third with it.

Tate took over while she caught her breath. The air was now thick with smoke, curling
upward to the rafters above. Pops and crackles filled the air. She realized that the outside roof had caught, and the fire was eating away at the beams.

In spite of his extreme effort, Tate only managed to loosen the next brick.

“Let me try now,” she said.

He barred her with his arm. “No.” His jaw gritted, and he struck out with renewed effort. The air had grown hotter with each
passing moment, and sweat poured down both their faces. She shot a look at Maria and Eugene, who lay on their stomachs on the floor.

She was just about to insist that Tate give her another turn when an ominous crack sounded above them. Jerking her head, she was horrified to see a jagged piece of burning wood from the ceiling give way. It tumbled through the air, landing right next to Eugene.

He leaped up with a cry, waving his arms around.

“Stop!” Stephanie yelled. “Please, Eugene, stop!”

Her words had no effect as he whirled madly, as the white fabric of his T-shirt caught fire.

* * *