The Chase: A Novel (49 page)

Rachel shivered violently.
Eddy had to be all right.
Just because he hadn’t come back to their room did not mean that something horrible had befallen him.
It didn’t mean that he was dead
.

“Rachel? Maybe you should sit down.”

Rachel blinked and found herself staring into Lionel’s gray eyes. His tone had been concerned, but his eyes reflected nothing but emptiness.

The comprehension seared her.
He is a madman
.

Eddy’s voice filled her mind, so loud and clear it was as if he were standing right there beside her, speaking to her in that very moment.
I think the best thing is for you to steer clear of him
.

Rachel whirled because she felt him there beside her, and she really did expect to see him standing behind her, smiling at her. No one was there; she faced a smiling portrait of an Elgin ancestor instead.

Stay away from him, Rachel
.

The words were so crystal-clear. Perhaps she was the mad one.

“Rachel.” Lionel took her hands again. “Do you want to lie down? Should I call Ellen? Perhaps you need a bit of tea.”

She looked wildly at him. She couldn’t seem to think clearly now, no, she couldn’t seem to think at all. All she could seem to focus on was staying away from Lionel—she must stay away from him—it was what Eddy wanted. “I have to go, I’m late,” she cried, tearing herself free of his grasp and hurrying down the hall.

Lionel followed her downstairs. “Rachel! Where are you going? Are you all right?”

Rachel ran faster, tripping in her haste. She had to get away from him, she had to!

“Rachel! Your coat!”

Rachel flew across the foyer, hearing him, but only vaguely. His words did not sink in. She knew only that she had to get away from him and it was crucial, it was urgent. Her brain had formed a series of words, and it was a chant she could not shake.

Eddy was dead
.

Rachel knew it because a few hours ago, a part of her had died as well.

Rachel wandered into her father’s house. Papa and Hannah were in the kitchen, sipping tea and nibbling on toast. Papa was also reading the newspaper.

He did not look up. Hannah did, and she cried out, leaping to her feet, when she saw Rachel’s expression.

Rachel staggered into the doorway and hung on to it for her life.

“Rachel,” Hannah whispered, all the color draining from her face. “Rachel, what is it? Oh God, has someone died?”

Rachel nodded, the tears coming now in endless, silent streams. The pain inside her would kill her as well, and soon, she realized. She did not care.

“Not . . . Sarah?” Hannah gasped, unmoving.

Papa looked up, eyes wide.

So he had heard; so he was human after all. “Eddy,” Rachel whispered, and then the pain went through her like a lance, and for the first time in her life, she fainted.

She awoke on the sofa. Sarah had laid a wet compress on her head, and Hannah held her hand. Papa stood in the center of the parlor, his eyes upon her. Rachel looked at Sarah.

“What happened?” Sarah asked, ashen.

“Eddy has disappeared,” Rachel said, struggling to sit up.

“He’s disappeared?” Sarah cried.

Rachel nodded, and the tears began all over again. It was impossible to speak.

“You mean he was shot down?” Sarah asked grimly.

Rachel looked from one sister to the other. Then she looked at Papa. “My husband is dead,” she whispered. The grief was too strong, she could not speak. But Papa met her gaze for the first time in four months, just before she collapsed, sobbing, in her sister’s arms.

Also weeping, Hannah fled upstairs.

Papa came over and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry,” he said.

It was too late.

That afternoon Rachel told the authorities all that she knew. But Eddy Marshall had disappeared, and it was two weeks before his body was found in a lake just north of Elgin Hall. It was the same day that Rachel learned she was pregnant with his child.

PART FIVE

A STRANGER IN OUR MIDST

CHAPTER 22

Claire paced the waiting area of the emergency room at New York–Presbyterian, choking with fear. She had one coherent thought.
She could not lose Ian now
.

A police car had actually been driving by as the shooting occurred, and while the shooter had gotten away, an ambulance had arrived only moments later. Claire had given her statement to the police, while Ian was being sped toward the nearest hospital. She had then called Leonard Feinstein, Ian’s boss. Both of his numbers were stored in Ian’s cell phone. She had snatched it from him while he was on a stretcher awaiting surgery in the chaos of a corridor in emergency, all the while trying to tell her that he was okay and that being shot in the back was no big deal.

It had been a rotten time to play hero, Claire thought now, tears coming to her eyes.

And the last thing he had said to her, or tried to say to her, as he was being wheeled away was “Lisa, Claire. Call Lisa.”

His FBI-agent sister. Claire didn’t even know her last name, but if she was single, it was Marshall. And it might still be Marshall even if she was married.

“Claire?”

Claire looked up at the sound of a stranger’s voice. A middle-aged man with dark hair and graying temples was approaching. He wore an impeccable suit and was rather good-looking; he also exuded an aura of wealth and authority. “Is he still in surgery?” he asked.

“Are you Leonard Feinstein?”

“Yes. Are you okay?”

Tears filled her eyes. “No. Damn it, I’m in love with him,” she heard herself cry.

Leonard was grim. “Let me find out what’s going on,” he said.

Claire nodded and watched him walk over to the reception desk. She had no doubt that he would get the answers she had not been able to get herself. Claire looked at Ian’s phone. Then she sank into a chair and opened up the digital phone book. Sure enough, Lisa Marshall had three listings. Claire chose the number of her cell phone and dialed. There was no answer, so she left a voice mail.

Leonard returned. “He’s being taken to his room. She was reluctant, but I told her that you’re his fiancée.” He smiled a little. “He’s okay, Claire. They dug a slug out of his shoulder; Ian’s lucky the shooter missed.”

Claire shuddered. “Thank God.”

“What happened?” Leonard sat down next to her. “Did you see the shooter?”

“No. And I already told the police everything about Ian and Elgin. I hope I did the right thing.”

He patted her hand. “You did. We’re the good guys, remember? We follow the rules, we don’t break them.” His expression changed. “Shall we go see how our buddy’s doing?”

Claire nodded, grateful to no longer be alone. Apparently Leonard had asked directions—either that or he knew his way around this particular hospital—and a few minutes later, Claire found herself peering into a private room where Ian lay in bed, pale but alert. He seemed to be arguing with a nurse.

“Thank God you guys are here,” Ian said with irritation.

The nurse said tersely, “He should sleep.” Before she turned and walked out, she gave him an annoyed look.

“Claire, did you call Lisa?” Ian asked immediately.

Claire couldn’t believe it; he had been shot, and he was thinking about protecting her. She walked over to the bed, and without thinking about it, she took his hand and clasped it. Then she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears of relief. She lifted his hand and kissed it. The tears fell anyway, silently.

He met her gaze. “I’m okay, Claire. I’ll be released first thing tomorrow. It was only a graze.”

She shook her head, incapable of speech.

“It wasn’t a graze,” Leonard said, from the foot of the bed. “They pulled a slug out, Ian. Did you see the shooter?”

“No. He fired from behind. And if I don’t miss my guess, I think he was up above, maybe in the window of an upper-floor apartment across the street.”

Claire remembered that Bill Marshall had been struck from behind as well. Had Eddy been taken by surprise, too?

Dear God, she just could not imagine William Duke being such a ruthless killer. But he must be Elgin.

“So he was a sniper,” Leonard remarked.

Ian said, “He was waiting for me to leave Frances Cookson’s apartment.” Suddenly he paled.

“What is it?” Claire asked quickly.

Ian struggled to sit up. His color had worsened.

“Slow down, bud,” Leonard said.

“Cookson. I’m worried that she needs police protection, Leonard. She couldn’t ID Elgin, but I’m afraid we led him right to her. And he doesn’t know that she can’t make him.”

“Got you.” Leonard walked out of the room, already on his cell phone.

“Damn it,” Ian said. “They’ll never put a man on her.” He winced as he tried to sit up.

“Ian, stay still. You’ll hurt yourself. Is it time for another painkiller?” Claire asked.

“I’m not taking painkillers, Claire. I can’t think clearly if I do.” Then he smiled at her, but it was lopsided. “Hey, this is new. The little-mama side of you.”

Claire stared, unable to think of any smart reply.

“Honey, it’s all right.”

“How can you say that?” Claire whispered. She gripped his hand more tightly. “You were right, Ian. Elgin is after you. Not me. We were yards apart. Do you think it was Elgin himself? Could he be such a marksman? At his age?”

Ian hesitated. “I don’t know. But if it was Elgin, he’ll have left us a small memento of the day’s work.”

Claire looked up at the ceiling in real despair, then walked away from him. She could feel Ian watching her. What would happen next?

“Claire?”

She turned.

“Call Jim, my assistant. I need to speak with him. Also, try to reach Frances. Ask her if she can go visit her relatives again for a while. I hate the idea of her being here in New York and so easy to find.”

She walked back to his side. “Ian, you are in no shape to pursue Elgin now.”

“I’ll be as good as new tomorrow. Maybe a little stiff and sore, that’s all.”

“Please rest here for a few days,” she begged.

His eyes darkened. He reached for her with his left hand. “Claire, try to understand. I’ve waited years and years for this moment. Elgin killed my uncle and my father, and now he’s gunning for me. I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while he either vanishes again, this time for good, or devises another plan to knock me off. I cannot.”

She stared at him and loved him for his courage. “All right,” she finally said. “I’ll call Jim and Frances, but you are not doing anything without my help.”

“Claire,” he began, clearly in protest.

“Tough luck, macho man,” she said. “You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”

Claire couldn’t bring herself to leave Ian’s side. It was amazing how almost losing the one you loved could put your entire life—and your feelings—in total perspective.

He had a stream of visitors: the police, his sister Lisa, three other sisters, someone’s husband, several teenagers who turned out to be nieces and nephews, and his assistant, Jim, who wound up making a list of notes. Murphy appeared. He briefly cleared the room to ask questions privately. In that interim, Claire managed to reach Frances and persuade her to go visit her daughter in Atlanta for a few days. Around noon the hospital room was suddenly empty, and Ian fell instantly asleep.

She watched him dozing for a long moment, once again thanking the universe and the fates that he was okay. Then she got up and left the room.

Claire took his cell phone out of her back pocket. Images tumbled impossibly through her mind, mostly of William and her father. The urge to call Jean-Léon was overwhelming now.

Claire had reached several conclusions. After fifty years of marriage, Elizabeth had to know the truth about William. She could not be the highly ethical woman Claire had believed her to be. Still, Claire hoped she did not know that William was a murderer. It was possible that she was aware of his having been a spy years ago but had no idea how ruthless he actually was.

There was also the possibility that the Dukes had lied about returning to the States. At this point, William would be crazy to come back. By now, he should be in Timbuktu.

On impulse, Claire dialed their New York town house. A maid answered, and Claire learned that the Dukes were out but were expected back around six.

So they had returned stateside after all.

Would a guilty man come back? Claire supposed he might, if he was sure of his ability to cover his tracks. So far, Elgin seemed to have a surplus of self-confidence.

Claire paced. Her mind veered from the Dukes to her father, and almost automatically, her breathing became constricted. Her father was protecting William, but surely he knew nothing of the extent of William’s criminal behavior. Surely he did not know that Ian had just been shot.

Claire gave up. Leaning against the wall outside Ian’s room, after reassuring herself that he was still soundly asleep, Claire reached Jean-Léon’s housekeeper and was told that he had left town. Claire was surprised. For a moment, she felt as if a band were being tightened about her chest. She reached him on his cell phone. “Dad, where are you?”

“I’m in Chicago,” he said briskly, as if in a rush, “on business. Where are you, Claire?”

“I’m in New York.” She ignored an intern wheeling an empty gurney down the hall. She inhaled deeply. “Someone tried to kill Ian Marshall a few hours ago.”

There was a measured silence on the other end of the line. It frightened Claire. The silence somehow did not sound or feel surprised. “Dad? Are you still there?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes, I am. How is Marshall?”

“Do you care?” Her own words—and her terse tone—surprised her.

“What kind of question is that?”

“I’m sorry. I’m upset.”
That’s an understatement
, she thought. “He’s okay. The shooter missed, fortunately.” Claire hesitated. “Dad, you lied to me. You lied to me about Ian’s reputation and about Elgin, who is very much alive. He’s on Scotland Yard’s most-wanted list, damn it.”

“Why won’t you stay out of this, Claire?” was Jean-Léon’s overly calm response.