Grace Under Pressure (34 page)

He spun, and pulled the gun up. “Do
not
interrupt me while I’m thinking.”

“We won a lottery,” Melissa whispered. “Not a real big one. But a lot for us.”

Jepson didn’t seem to notice that she was talking.

She watched him as he walked back and forth, and continued whispering. “Sam thought we could be millionaires. That Mr. Taft said it was a sure thing . . .”

“Shut up!”

Melissa flinched and backed closer to the doorway. No wonder she always wore a haunted look: Her husband was a controlling lunatic. Melissa, I knew, was my only chance at freedom. I inched toward her.

“Do
not
move.” Jepson’s voice was a growl. In his eyes I could discern no hint of kindness, no measure of compassion. He was going kill me right where I stood, if it suited him. I just had to make sure it didn’t.

His lips were thin, his skin pasty. Holding up the set of keys he’d used to open the outer door, he turned to Melissa. “Will any of these work upstairs?”

She shook her head. “Rosa and Beth have the only sets. They never lend them out.”

“Damn,” he said again. “I don’t want to have to go all the way down to the basement to get up there.”

I turned to Melissa. “You’re the one who told him about that secret room and staircase, aren’t you? Who told you?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but stopped when Jepson glared. To me he said, “I bet you got keys to the old man’s rooms, don’t you? Give ’em to me.”

“I don’t.”

He shot me a look of impatience. “Mel, they gotta be in the desk. Go find the keys, will ya?”

Melissa scooted past, not meeting my eyes. Although I was so panicked I could barely stand upright, I thought maybe if I could get her to look at me, I could make her understand how wrong all this was. She rooted around in my desk. “I can’t find them,” she said.

Jepson spoke through clenched teeth. “Look harder.”

She tried. She went through every drawer. I remained as still as possible, glaring at Jepson. What I most wanted was to avoid broadcasting the fact that my keys were in my purse on the shelf below the desktop. I tried to think of bunnies, flowers, and marshmallow men—anything that would prevent my face from giving the location away.

“I can’t find them,” Melissa said again.

Looking ready to explode, Jepson brought both hands up to massage his head. The gun pointed skyward and I considered my chances at overpowering him while the lethal weapon was directed away.

Too late. “Okay, you . . .” He lowered the gun at me. “Sit in that chair.”

I took the seat behind my desk, wishing it had been outfitted with a silent alarm button. My walkie-talkie—my only chance now—sat just to the left of my blotter. I averted my eyes, but Jepson caught me. He grabbed the radio and shoved it into his pocket. “Don’t even think about it,” he said. “And while I’m at it . . .” He yanked the phone, pulling the cord out from the jack with a
pop
, leaving the little connector still in the wall. He strode into Frances’s room and I heard him render that phone inoperable as well.

“What now, Sam?” Melissa asked when he returned.

He spun. “I’m thinking, okay?”

With his shoulders pulled back, his breath came in short pants, and he looked ready to shoot either of us if we so much as blinked. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he ran his free hand through his cropped hair. After the briefest of moments, he turned. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said to Melissa. “I have to go all the way down to the basement to get into that stairway. There shouldn’t be anybody around. And with this uniform, I’m cool. It’s going to take longer than I planned, but there’s no help for that.” He seemed to be convincing himself as he spoke. “While I go upstairs to get the old man, you stay here and guard her.”

“Can’t we just all go with you? Can’t we—”

“Are you an idiot? Three of us roaming around this place at night? You don’t think she’ll start making noise? What do you think’s going to happen then?”

She backed away at his rebuke. “But I don’t want to stay here alone.”

Lowering his voice, he ran his free hand along her shoulder and down her arm. “Listen to me, honey. You’re doing an important job by staying here.”

“But—”

He placed his index finger on her lips, then used the same hand to reach under his pant leg. Pulling out a second gun, he handed it to her. This one was a revolver. “You remember how to do this, right?”

“No, Sam.” She backed up. “I can’t.”

I could see by the look in his eyes he wasn’t hearing her. Still holding two guns, he asked me, “What do you have in here I can use to tie you up?”

Like I would tell him. I shook my head—my best effort at looking helpless. Given the circumstances, it wasn’t all that hard.

“Damn,” he said again. “Look in the drawers, Mel. Hurry up.”

She hadn’t gotten through the first drawer when his expression brightened. “You,” he said to me again. “Take off your panty hose. We’ll use that.”

I held up my hands. “Not wearing any.”

“Nobody under forty wears panty hose anymore,” Melissa said helpfully.

“Shut up.”

He scanned the room. I watched indecision work across his face. Again I worked hard not to broadcast my thoughts. He pointed the gun at me. “Get in front of the desk. On the floor.”

I did as told and sat, afraid to do anything but agree.

“And you, Mel, you stay across the room. All the way across. She can’t move without you seeing her.” He handed her the weapon. “You point the gun at her the whole time. If she tries to get up, don’t think twice. You just shoot. Got it?”

Melissa nodded.

He took her elbow and led her to the corner opposite mine. “You’ve got a clear line of sight here, Mel. Shouldn’t be any problem for a crack shot like you.”

As he said this he stared at her, as though daring her to disagree. But I caught the alarm in her eyes.

“I asked if you got it,” he said. “You got it?”

She looked around his shoulder at me then back up at him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Give me ten minutes. Less than that. Shouldn’t take me long to get up there, and bring the old guy down.” Before he left, he spoke softly. “I’m counting on you.” She gazed up at him with such a look of total trust and adoration, I felt my stomach lurch. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“I won’t be long at all,” he said. “And when we’re done here, honey, we’re getting away from all this. Nothing will touch us ever again. We’ll be safe, together. You want that, don’t you?”

This time a more vigorous nod and a tiny smile.

He held up a finger. “You’re going to do this. For me.” He leaned in and they kissed. “So sweet.”

I wanted to retch.

Right before he left, he pointed the gun at me yet again. “Don’t try anything.”

He shut the outer office door and I heard him fumbling with keys. When the lock turned, Melissa flinched, then faced me. “Please don’t move, okay? I don’t want to shoot you.”

I didn’t have time to waste. Scared as I was, I stood up. “You can’t shoot me,” I said, trying to talk to her like I might a frightened child.

“I have to,” she said, shaking. “He told me to.”

Jepson was probably halfway down the hall, maybe even at the staircase. Why had Bennett dismissed his guards? Right now their presence could mean the difference between life and death. Terrence had beefed up the other patrols, and I prayed that one of our crack guards would recognize Jepson as an intruder: Shoot first and ask questions later.

But I couldn’t count on that.

Melissa’s eyes teared up. “I can’t let Sam down. Not again,” she said.

“Again?”

“I’m the one who gave him the idea. I made him talk to Mr. Taft about our money.”

Her lips set in a tight line, she squeezed her eyes shut against the memory.

The moment she closed her eyes I rushed her, knocking her sideways with a
whoof
that might have come from either of us. The gun clattered across the floor and she clawed at me, reaching for it. With her back against the wall and me trying my best to wrestle her arms down, we had to be a crazy sight. The girl might have been mealy-mouthed and timid around Jepson, but in hand-to-hand combat she was a vicious mountain lion. Wedging her hand under my chin, she shoved my face upward, grunting when I managed to grab a handful of hair and yank. I couldn’t hold out much longer and we both knew it. I was taller and heavier, but this chick was all muscle.

“Melissa, stop,” I said. My throat extended, my voice came out as a rasp. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.”

Her arm slacked for less than a second. Just long enough for me to knock her sideways to the floor. I scrambled away, grabbed the gun, and pointed.

“Please, Melissa. Just please . . .”

She held up her hands and started to cry. “Don’t let him get hurt,” she said. “He’s all I have.”

I doubted that, but this was no time for philosophical arguments. “You’re worried about him?” I ran to the desk, dove for my purse, and came up with my keys. I hated to use the gun as a threat, but I had no choice. I forced Melissa into Frances’s office. “Figure out a way to call security,” I said. “And then the police. Right now. Tell them what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Melissa, it’s your only chance.”

Without waiting for her answer, I slammed the door in her face and locked it.

She banged on the heavy oak, calling to me from the other side. “What are you doing?”

I ran to the room’s far side and crouched by the fireplace. Concentrating on working the lever the way Bennett had shown me, I didn’t answer her. It took a minute until the lever finally clicked. One down. Standing, I twisted the mantel edge until it was perpendicular to the floor and I felt something give.

Blowing out a breath of relief, I pushed open the hidden side door while Melissa sobbed from the other office, begging me to keep Sam safe. “Call security,” I shouted to her. “Hurry.”

This was my only chance.

Terrified, but determined, I started up the curved stone stairway.

I WISHED I’D HAD THE CHANCE TO TRY OUT these stairs before. Maybe then I would have some idea of where I was going. Right now I was literally fumbling in the dark. The gun in my right hand was heavy but I had nowhere to put it. Keeping my finger off the trigger—anything that startled me could cause me to accidentally shoot—I ran my free hand on the cool wall and hoped my feet wouldn’t trip me up. With no illumination and the stone steps each about half again as tall as a regular riser, I moved as fast as I could. The thought of Jepson racing up to Bennett’s room made every step feel like I was moving in slow motion.

At the top of the stairs was nothing. Nothing at all. Just three solid walls. I reached the pitch-black summit and felt around, realizing this was a tiny area, about two foot square. Running my hands along the three sides of the enclosure, I pushed, hoping for something to give. Why had I never thought to ask if there was a lever I needed at the top?

Breathing hard, I closed my eyes, willing them to adapt to the dark. When I opened them again moments later, my heart raced. A faint outline to my left, just a little lighter than the surrounding gloom, provided the answer I needed. I ran my hands along the perimeter, and nearly cheered aloud when my left index finger encountered an indentation with a tiny nub inside.

I pushed. It didn’t give.

“Come on,” I whispered. Pushed again.

Still nothing.

I did another sweep of the outline, wanting to rush but forcing myself to take my time and do it right. And that’s when my right hand found a similar smooth indentation along the top of the outline.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed both nubs at the same time. When nothing happened I wanted to scream. Instead, I remembered Hillary and Bennett showing me mechanisms that had required two steps. “Okay,” I said. I used my left hand to press the nub on the edge and my right hand to press the nub on the top.

The
click
was soft, but solid. I placed my hand on the wall and it gave. I eased through the opening, grimacing when the hinges creaked but there was nothing I could do about that.

The room was dark and I didn’t have any idea where I was. I glanced around quickly, not recognizing anything. Taking a tentative step forward, I tried desperately to get my bearings. I knew I must be on the south side of the residence, the same side of the corridor as the study. The stale scent of old cigars and the grouping of chairs around a small table made me believe this was a game room or . . . yes. I bumped into the corner of a billiard table. Game room. Got it. Turning to my left, I made my way to the double doors.

I held the gun in my right hand, pointing skyward. Not the safest way to carry it, but it would have to do. I’d fired guns before and knew how to handle them. This wasn’t a semiautomatic, and I’d double-checked. The cylinder was full.