Killing Her Softly (25 page)

Why didn't Simon get the officer in the passage? Or was he reckless enough to try jumping Gage himself? With a sinking heart, she knew that was just what he would do.

He would have to be quick and clever to take Gage by surprise.

Gage must have anticipated such a move. They reached the last row, and Gage whipped her around the end of the rack, pushing her into Simon's path. Simon nearly beaned her with the wine bottle he held poised to strike Gage.

The two men glared at each other, their hatred palpable. Simon's fist was clenched so tightly around the bottle that she feared he would crush it.

"Drop it,” Gage said. “I don't really care which one of you is my ticket out of here."

Simon obligingly dropped the bottle. It shattered on the floor, sending jagged chunks of green glass skittering under the racks. The yeasty aroma mingled with the alcohol smell of the brandy.

It was a standoff. Leslie forced herself not to struggle. Simon, run, she silently pleaded. Why didn't he go while he had the chance?

"Because I couldn't leave you,” he said distinctly.

Startled, Leslie gaped at him, momentarily forgetting the pain in her twisted arm. Had she spoken the words aloud without noticing, or had he read her mind?

The question fled as the lights went out, plunging them into dense blackness.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Gage's hands loosened on Leslie's wrist. A heavy body struck her, and she fell to the floor, her hands skidding on the wet wood. Curses rang in the pungent air.

Realizing she couldn't help Simon in the dark, Leslie flung herself away from the two men rolling amid the bottle shards. She groped in her pocket for the small flashlight she'd carried down. Gone. It must have fallen during her struggle with Gage.

She ran her hands over the floor, searching for it. A sharp piece of glass sliced into her palm. She clasped the other hand over the wound, shuddering as blood dripped between her fingers.

The meaty thump of a fist striking solid muscle, accompanied by a long groan, made her flinch. Simon or Gage? She couldn't tell, nor could she see.

The fight ended, just like that, the silence broken only by rapid, noisy breathing. Holding her breath, unable to move, Leslie waited.

And exhaled in relief when she heard Simon's voice. “Leslie, quick, run up to the fuse box and turn on the lights. I've got him."

Adrenaline lent her speed and she flew up the stairs. The main breaker was in the off position. She flipped it back into place, and saw the light over the stairs blink on.

"Okay, here's the plan.” Jimmy said a while later as he sat at the kitchen table. A rough diagram of the area around the house lay in front of him.

Simon glared at a much-subdued Gage who sported strip bandages on various parts of his hands and face. Simon had a couple across his cheek, attesting to the inadvisability of rolling around on broken wine bottles. Except for the lingering ache in the muscles of her arm and shoulder, and a bandage across her cut palm, Leslie felt ready to take on the next battle.

"The passage comes out in Cecil's storage shed, which he swears he never uses. He says he had no idea the tunnel was even there."

"Do you believe that?” Simon asked.

Jimmy shrugged. “It hardly matters. I suggested Cecil go down to the village for dinner. I wouldn't want him to be hurt while we stake out the beach."

"Cecil knew Jason was alive long ago,” Gage said sullenly.

"We'll talk to him about it,” Jimmy said. “Now, Mr. Gage, since you've decided to save your skin by cooperating with us, here's your chance."

By midnight, it was all over. Gage signaled his contact, who drove a jet boat close to the shore. The crates, filled with rocks as insurance against something going wrong, were loaded onto the boat. As soon as the boat made its wide loop out to sea, toward the yacht anchored off shore, coast guard spotlights trapped it like a spider in a web.

Another coast guard vessel trained a light on the yacht's deck. Through the binoculars Simon lent her, Leslie could see Wheeler, his mouth moving as he argued with the officers boarding his boat.

Jimmy was justifiably proud of the night's work. And pleased to have Gage and Wheeler in custody. Especially Wheeler, who was wanted in several countries for various offenses including gunrunning and drug smuggling.

Leslie frowned as she got ready for bed. “Allegra. We still don't know who Allegra is. Or who sent me the gifts and flowers. Did Cecil think I was her, or did Jason know she was a former tenant of the house and used her name to try to drive me away so he could complete the business with the guns?"

"Maybe we'll never know,” Simon said, lying on the bed, taking a quiet pleasure in watching Leslie brush her hair. “Unless Cecil decides to give us more details."

"If we can believe anything he says. Do you think he helped Jason?"

Simon stacked his hands behind his head. “Probably. Gage is still adamant in denying he knew Jason was alive until a couple of days ago. And I'm inclined to believe him. Otherwise, those crates would have been picked up long ago."

He glanced at her dresser. “By the way, where did you put that necklace? I'd like another look at it. In all the excitement, I'd almost forgotten about it."

Leslie laid down the brush and pulled out a drawer, rummaging under the clothes in it. “I'm sure I put it in here,” she muttered. Her movements became frantic. She threw lacy underwear onto the floor, finally pulling out the drawer until Simon could see its bottom.

He sat up, all languidness vanishing. “Are you sure that's the right drawer? Maybe it was one of the others?"

She pulled each one out. “They're all empty."

Simon swung his feet to the floor. “That does it. Either our prowler's been back, or one of the cops going through the house today took it. And that's highly unlikely."

The color drained from Leslie's face. Simon drew her toward him, into the cradle of his thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Don't worry about it, Leslie. Not tonight. Remember the notes and the roses? They disappeared, as well. Your admirer doesn't seem to want you to keep anything."

"All the doors are locked, aren't they?"

He nodded, his thumbs tracing a delicate pattern along her throat. “Windows, too. I stuck a chair under the basement door handle. We're safe."

Leslie gnawed at her lower lip. “I guess,” she said uncertainly.

"No one can get in,” Simon said forcefully. “I promise you. Now come to bed. It's time we got some sleep."

"Sleep?” she asked, mischief coming into her eyes. She pressed closer. “I think at least one part of you isn't ready for sleep."

Simon grinned. “I'm waiting patiently."

Leslie made an impudent face at him and stepped back. Unzipping her jeans, she dropped them on a chair. They made a loud clunk as they landed. Her mouth fell open. “The keys. I forgot about the keys."

"What keys?” Simon sat up.

"The first keys the mynah brought. I wanted to try them in the bomb shelter lock. That's why I was in the wine cellar."

"And Gage interrupted."

"No, the armoire was locked. I couldn't open it. Gage came just as I was going to get a screwdriver."

Simon settled back against the pillows, his bare skin gleaming in the soft lamplight. “It can wait until morning, can't it?” he said unenthusiastically.

She pulled the jeans back on, briskly zipping them. “No, it can't. It'll keep me awake all night, wondering. But you don't have to come. The entrance to the tunnel is nailed shut. I'll be okay."

He pushed himself to the edge of the bed, standing up. Her mouth went dry as she stared at the hard, lean lines of his body. Putting out a tentative hand, she touched the warm, resilient skin. She tenderly traced the minor cuts from broken glass and the almost healed laceration from when he had hurled himself through the window to rescue her from the attic.

"You could have been hurt, you know,” she said huskily. “Why didn't you leave me with Gage? What good would it have done if we'd both been killed?"

"I couldn't leave you with him,” Simon said simply. “I couldn't take the chance.” He broke off, his eyes falling closed. Stepping forward, he pulled her against him and just held her for a long moment. Then he let out a shuddering breath and released her, his lips curving as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “On account,” he said. “You'll get the rest as soon as we wreck your blasted armoire and satisfy that cat's curiosity."

Simon sniffed the damp basement air as they passed the furnace room. “I'm still thinking I smell gas."

"How can you tell? It reeks in here of brandy and wine. What about the drain in there? Is it sewer gas?"

He exhaled. “Possibly. The water table's low at this time of year. Sometimes that causes it."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Only in large quantities. The smell isn't very strong."

Although the glass had been swept up by one of Jimmy's officers, the wooden floor was still damp in places. Simon dispatched the armoire lock by twisting a screwdriver in the keyhole until it released. The inner panel opened easily, revealing the solid wooden door with its modern lock. “Let me have those keys."

Silently, Leslie handed them over, tensely holding the flashlight while he tried one after another until she heard a sharp click. “That's the one. Leslie, give me the flashlight, please, although if it's a room, it's probably wired."

"Let me see, too.” She crept forward, placing her hand on his shoulder, the skin cool beneath her fingers.

He pushed the door open. Not unexpectedly, the hinges moved silently, obviously well oiled. A musty smell, reminiscent of herbs or dried flowers, greeted them.

Simon flipped the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened. He played the flashlight beam around the room, revealing shelves loaded with canned goods and bottled water. In the far corner stood a cot, half hidden under a rumpled pile of blankets. A dusty light bulb hung suspended from the low ceiling.

All senses alert, he circled the room, examining the food supplies, a shelf of books, a small gas hot plate with no bottle of gas attached. “This doesn't look like a bomb shelter. It looks more like a prison cell.” He pulled aside a curtain on the wall directly opposite from where they'd entered.

"Another entrance?” Leslie asked.

"Actually, it's a bathroom, toilet and sink.” He turned the flashlight toward the wall, leaving Leslie in almost total darkness. “Wait a minute, I think it is a door.” She heard a muffled thump. “Looks like it's bolted from the other side. I'm going to get the hammer and see if I can remove one of the boards."

Leslie stood beside the cot, blinking in the flashlight beam as he emerged from the alcove. The musty smell seemed stronger. Probably from the pile of old woolen blankets.

She pulled at one to straighten it. At that instant, the light passed across the bed.

Blonde hair spilling over a cobwebbed pillow. A naked skull grinned toothily at her.

Leslie's breath froze in her throat. Like a doll losing its stuffing, she sank to the floor in a dead faint.

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Bitter nausea rose in Simon's throat as he looked down at the skeleton on the cot. For a moment he felt light-headed and feared he would join Leslie on the floor. He took a deep breath, nearly gagging as he swallowed several times to control the churning in his stomach.

He knelt beside Leslie, groping for her wrist. Her pulse was a little fast, but strong. He shone the light on her face. Her eyelids fluttered. She was about to come out of it. “Leslie,” he said softly. “Wake up. We've got to get out of here."

Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged. She opened her eyes, lids heavy and languid. She half smiled. “Simon,” she said.

Then the horror returned. She struggled against his gentle hold, her eyes frantic. “Jimmy. Did you call Jimmy?"

"Not yet,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I didn't want to leave you."

She closed her eyes, and a shudder racked her body. “What's been going on in this house?” she whispered.

"I don't know,” Simon said grimly, feeling sick. “But we're going to find out.” He pulled her up, keeping one arm around her waist. “Can you stand?"

Leslie swayed, then found her balance. “I think so."

He led her to the door. “Just wait here for a second. I want to have another look at that body."

She nodded shakily and stepped through the armoire, standing with her arms hugging her waist. Simon went back to the cot, bracing himself for what he would see.

He let the blankets that were piled untidily on the cot slide to the floor. Underneath them, a single blanket and a sheet covered the skeleton, as if someone had tucked her lovingly into bed, ghoulish as that thought was. He lifted the folded blanket. She was dressed in a prim cotton nightgown, buttoned to the neck. Faded rose petals and crumbling lavender flowers lay scattered around her on the bottom sheet. That accounted for the herb smell they'd noticed; a body this long dead had little or no odor.

He pulled up the blanket again and was about to turn away when the light reflected off a shiny object. A low whistle escaped his lips. Half hidden in the lace collar of the nightgown, he saw the necklace that Leslie received.

He played the flashlight beam on the bookshelves above the cot. The flat jeweler's box lay there, along with a tiny vase that held an almost fresh rosebud. Red, like the roses that kept appearing upstairs.

Crouching down, he looked under the cot. Dust bunnies swirled away from the slightest movement. “I might have expected it,” he muttered as he used his handkerchief to pull out an old-fashioned suitcase. It had once been expensive, the leather still supple. A gold monogram adorned the side of it, ALC.

A
for Allegra?

Still holding his handkerchief, being careful not to smudge any prints that might be on the handle, he unsnapped the locks. They opened readily, revealing an assortment of dresses, skirts, bathing suits, and underwear. Thoughtfully, he closed the case and pushed it back under the bed.