Haunting Rachel (34 page)

A gun pointed squarely at her.

“Graham? What’s going on?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Rachel? I thought surely you—or your lover—would have found what you were looking for by now.” His voice was the one that had been so familiar to her for so many years, quiet and pleasant.

Involuntarily, Rachel glanced down at the box on the desk.

Graham was quick. “Ah, so you have found something. A little note condemning me, perhaps? Or something more damning, maybe information Duncan managed to gather on someone else?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you, Rachel. You never were a very
good liar.” He came farther into the room, that gun still aimed at her. “Move away from the desk. But not too far away.”

She obeyed, but heard herself offer an idiotic protest. “That’s just about some information Dad left for me. About more loans he made. Like the one to Adam.”

Graham looked at the note briefly, then pocketed it and the key. “Yes, I’m sure he kept meticulous records somewhere. I always suspected it. But there wasn’t much of a risk of anyone finding them until you came home and started going through everything. I could have found them myself, but you had to be the one to sort his private papers. And since he’d locked up his desks and, as I recall, left the keys for you in one of the safes, I couldn’t slip in here and get it done before you came back to Richmond.”

“I must be very slow,” she said, hearing the reluctance in her own voice. “It was you. You were the one who recommended Dad lend Jordan Walsh all that money.”

His eyes flickered. “So you already know about the loan.”

“We found a notebook.” She hesitated. “Adam has it. So whatever you’re planning won’t work. He knows. And Nick knows.”

“Maybe. But they don’t have proof, or they would already have moved on it.” He patted his pocket with his free hand. “I’ll make very sure they never have proof.”

“And what about me?” She swallowed. “Another exploding building? Another car playing hit-and-run?”

Graham frowned. “I had nothing to do with either of those things.”

“I don’t believe you, Graham.”

“I can’t help what you believe, Rachel.”

“You tried to have me killed.”

His frown remained. “The cut brake line was meant only to scare you, to send you back to New York.” “And the rest?”

“I told you. I didn’t have anything to do with the rest.”

“Then it was your boss. Jordan Walsh.” And that certainly seemed to touch a nerve.

“Walsh is not my boss,” Graham said shortly. “But he’s a powerful man, Rachel, a man you don’t say no to. You must see that.”

“And he told you to kill me?”

A nerve throbbed beside Graham’s mouth, but the gun never wavered. “He told me to deal with the problem. His people couldn’t seem to—I’m sorry, Rachel. This isn’t the way I wanted it to end. If it hadn’t been for Delafield—”

“What does Adam have to do with it?”

A little sound escaped Graham, a sound that was a laugh but held no amusement. “Not a goddamned thing, Rachel.”

She drew a breath. “Graham, I don’t understand this. How would it harm you—or Walsh, for that matter—for that loan to come to light? Or for me to know you asked Dad to make it to Walsh?”

“The loan wasn’t the problem. With Duncan gone and that loan made on a handshake, there was no way the money could ever be collected. But I made a mistake in giving in to Walsh and recommending he go to Duncan in the first place. The money was for a legitimate business, you know, a nice, respectable front Walsh could have used in years to come. It all would have worked out if only Duncan hadn’t seen Walsh here in Richmond, somewhere he shouldn’t have been. He got suspicious.”

“Until then, he’d accepted your recommendation of Walsh.”

“Of course. I was an old and valued friend as well as
his attorney. And Walsh had such a good cover story, you see. About all the good he was going to be able to do with that money. But then he blew it. He put Duncan on guard, made him start wondering.”

Slowly, trying to understand, Rachel said, “And any investigation of Walsh would have turned up information that you had also been involved in illegal activities.”

“It was a concern. Duncan could have ruined me with that information. And it would have focused way too much light on Walsh’s activities here in Richmond.”

Rachel felt queasy. “Your reputation as a fine, upstanding attorney meant more to you than other people’s lives. More than the life of a man who’d called you friend for fifteen years.”

“I’m glad I never had to make that decision,” Graham said, almost thoughtful.

Rachel stared at him. “You sabotaged Dad’s plane.”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to bring a plane down. No, that was a fortuitous accident.”

“The plane was brought down, Graham. It was made to crash.”

For the first time, he looked uncertain, but the expression quickly passed. “Well, perhaps Walsh acted without telling me. In any case, we were safe after that. Until you came home. I really am sorry, Rachel. You should have stayed in New York.”

Getting a little tired of his meaningless apologies, Rachel said steadily, “Well, I didn’t do that, Graham. So what are you going to do with me now? A bullet would look a bit suspicious, don’t you think? Especially with Adam and Nick working to get Walsh.”

Graham shook his head. “Rachel, how could you even imagine that I could kill you like that?”

She wasn’t reassured. “No?”

“No. We’re just going to take a little walk, that’s all.” “Where?”

“The river.” He smiled. “It’s such a pity you never learned to swim.”

It was the most chilling thing she’d ever heard in her life.

Rachel knew without a doubt that Graham could—and would—push her into the river. A river that had sometimes refused to give up its dead.

“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

A little desperately, she said, “Don’t you think that my death coming so soon after Mom and Dad’s will make people wonder?”

“Not really. Their deaths were tragic, but that crash was ruled an accident. Everyone knows it was an accident. You, on the other hand, have been terribly despondent about the new burdens that have fallen onto your fragile shoulders. I mean, everyone knows you never really recovered from Thomas Sheridan’s death, and now you’ve lost your parents in a senseless accident—another plane crash. The estate so complex, all the details overwhelming. And the double of your dead lover showing up on top of everything. Well, who could be surprised that it all just got to be too much? Especially after I spread the word about how depressed you’ve been, how you cried in my office and talked about suicide. It’s such a pity I didn’t take you seriously.”

“What about Adam?”

“Oh, he might try rattling a few cages, making some noise. But he won’t have any proof. If he gets too bothersome, Walsh will take care of him.”

“You bastard.”

“Start walking, Rachel.”

“If you think I’m going to just tamely walk to the river with that gun in my back—”

“Rachel, understand something. I’ve gone too far to turn back now. If I have to, I’ll knock you over the head and carry you to the river. It’s your choice. On your feet or slung over my shoulder. But make up your mind. I intend to be long gone by the time Fiona returns from the market.”

Habits, Rachel thought, could sometimes be used as weapons. He had known Fiona’s regular market day and had waited, knowing it was his best chance of catching Rachel alone in the house.

Panic was a mild word to describe what she felt, but even with that fear and horror running through her mind, she remembered something. She wasn’t entirely alone.

There were guardian dragons outside the gates. One watching in front—and one watching from the river.

The only question was, could either of them help her before Graham managed to kill her.

“Let’s go, Rachel.” He smiled. “And do try to remember that I can pull this trigger before you could throw anything at me—and certainly before you could run away. I don’t think a bullet hole would matter too much after you’d been in the river awhile.”

She had an awful feeling he was right.

“I hate to sound like a bad TV movie, but you’ll never get away with this.” She moved toward the door.

“Oh, I think I will. No, don’t bother looking back at me. Just keep heading for the back of the house, Rachel.”

Help didn’t come from the river.

Rachel was near the foot of the stairs, moving as slowly as she dared, when the front door suddenly burst open and a total stranger came flying in. Almost literally flying.
He landed on the rug, outstretched hands holding a businesslike automatic, and his command was shouted.

“Move, Rachel!”

Things happened very fast after that. Rachel darted toward the stairs, which was the only direction she could move in. Graham whirled toward the newcomer, his gun leveling.

“Drop it, Becket!”

Two shots sounded so close together that they seemed one.

Rachel looked back over her shoulder and saw Graham stagger back against the wall at the foot of the stairs, scarlet blooming on the upper arm of his jacket. But it wasn’t his gun hand that hung useless.

And the man on the rug was still, his gun in limp fingers.

Rachel didn’t hesitate; she ran up the stairs as fast as she could. She knew this house better than Graham ever could, and if she could just get upstairs with a few seconds’ grace, there was a good chance she could elude him —at least for a while.

“Rachel!”

She reached the top just as another shot rang out, and wood chips flew from the banister beside her.

“Stop, Rachel! The next one goes in your back.”

She didn’t make a conscious decision to stop; she was willing to take her chances and keep running. But suddenly she felt as if she moved through water. There was resistance in the very air, an odd impression of something tangible slowing her forward momentum until she stopped moving.

She turned to watch Graham come the rest of the way up the stairs toward her. Again, she felt that curious sensation,
and it compelled her to begin backing away, step by slow step.

She felt strangely calm.

“Don’t make me shoot you, Rachel.” He reached the top of the stairs and paused. “We’re going back down, and we’re walking to the river.”

“You’re bleeding, Graham,” she observed with a detachment that astonished her. “And that other man is hurt as well. What do you mean to do about him?”

“A watchdog Nick or Delafield hired to stand guard, I suppose? He’s dead meat. I’ll throw him in the river. Let’s go, Rachel.”

She was waiting for something. And she didn’t know what.

“Rachel—” He took a step toward her.

Footsteps pounded on the walk outside.

From the open front door, Adam yelled, “Becket!”

Graham started to turn.

For just an instant, Rachel thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. They had to be. Because out of a shadowy area near the top of the stairs, Adam appeared, and moved toward Graham.

And then she realized it wasn’t Adam.

There was no way of knowing what Graham felt behind him. Maybe he felt powerful, furious hands or maybe, like Rachel, he merely felt the sensation of an irresistible force compelling him onward. All Rachel knew for sure was that utter and complete terror showed briefly on his face before he pitched forward and fell.

Rachel closed her eyes as the horrible sounds of Graham’s heavy body crashing down the stairs seemed to fill the house. When the sounds finally stopped, she opened her eyes slowly, looking at the top of the stairs.

There was nothing there.

“Rachel!” Adam came up the stairs two at a time, his face pale and eyes almost wild. He had a gun, which he hastily stuck inside his belt at the small of his back as he reached her, so that he could put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, I’m … fine.” She looked up at him. “Did you see? Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Adam said. “I saw him.” And then he pulled her into his arms.

As it turned out, Graham had been wrong about Simon being dead meat. He wasn’t happy, and he was in a great deal of pain, but he was very much alive when the paramedics wheeled him out.

That made Rachel feel better. She didn’t know how she would have been able to bear it if a man had died trying to protect her.

As for the man who intended to kill her, he was not as lucky as Simon. Then again, maybe he was lucky. The fall broke Graham’s neck.

Which, Adam said viciously, would save the state a bundle and had probably made those in hell happy to see a new face.

Rachel didn’t know how she felt about any of this yet. She was numb about part of it, about Graham’s massive betrayal and the incredible violence that had occurred here today. Yet there was a definite relief in the knowledge that it was over now, that finally her life could return to normal.

And with that relief she found her mind dwelling instead on what she had seen at the top of the stairs.

Tom?

It was absurd, of course. Like the rose and the notepaper, the odd trip to the attic and the gift Tom had never
given her, it had only been her imagination. Some trick of the light …

Except that Adam had seen him too.

Rachel couldn’t help remembering waking up on that early morning a decade before to see Tom standing at the foot of her bed. And she knew, she was absolutely certain in her own mind, that she had not dreamed that.

He had come to her once in a moment of anguished farewell.

Had he come to her again today, knowing somehow that she was in danger and needed him?

Adam had seen him. And Nick might have seen him, since he’d been right behind Adam as they rushed into the house.

They had all seen … a dead man.

Rachel definitely didn’t know how she felt about that. On top of the emotions she had worked through, her feelings about Adam and Tom, her imagination working overtime, and the nightmares filled with tangled symbolism that had haunted her nights, to believe that Tom had actually come back to help her …

For the first time, she had to wonder if it had been more than the voice of her own subconscious in those dreams and nightmares, if Tom had actually used that means to reach out to her, to try to help her, and warn her.