Deadly Intent (43 page)

Abbie’s heart kept hammering in her chest. Liz was insane. Whatever act of revenge she had planned for Abbie and Ben had been ruthlessly, maliciously mapped out, step by step.

She would not make a mistake now. Unless Abbie forced her hand.

“What are you going to do with us?”

Nothing could have prepared her for Liz’s answer. “I’m going to reenact the events of that night twenty-eight years ago. I’m going to set fire to this house with you and Ben trapped in it. I often wondered why I kept this place, when all it did was remind me of that bastard. Now I know.” She smiled sweetly. “I was saving it for you, Abbie, dear.”

Abbie’s legs almost buckled under her. “You’re going to burn us alive?”

“Bingo.” Liz picked up the remote and Abbie heard a click.

The dead bolt on the door behind her had slid shut.

Liz’s smile was absolutely chilling. “Clever, don’t you think? Death by fire. Talk about sweet justice.”

“You’re mad!”

“Maybe. Maybe your mother was right after all. I should have gotten help.” She shrugged. “No need worrying about it now, is there?”

Abbie thought she’d make one more attempt to sway her. “Why are you doing this, Liz? Ben and I aren’t guilty of—“

“Oh, stop whining! Don’t you get it yet? If it hadn’t been for you, if your mother hadn’t tried to save you first, she would have saved me, and my baby would have lived. You’re guilty of having been born, Abbie. You’re guilty of having had the opportunities I never had. You’re guilty of being everything I wanted to be, everything I deserved to be.”

Inch by agonizing inch, Abbie had moved closer to the piano—and the table where the gun lay. She tried to gauge her chances of overpowering Liz, assuming she wasn’t stopped by a bullet first. They were both approximately the same size, although Liz outweighed her by maybe ten pounds. Abbie’s class in self-defense would come in handy,

but before any hand-to-hand combat came into play, Liz had to be disarmed.

“You’ll never get away with this.” Abbie moved another inch. “John Ryan will find out who this house belonged to and he’ll come after you. Is that what you want? To be a criminal like your brother? To spend the rest of your life in prison?”

Liz gave her a condescending smile. “Oh, Abbie, for a rather successful businesswoman, you aren’t very bright, are you? I have no intention of getting away with anything. And I’m definitely not the type to sit in a prison cell for forty or fifty years. I’m going to be right here with you, Abbie. I’m going to burn my way into hell, just as you and Ben will.”

The chill that had settled in the pit of Abbie’s stomach spread throughout her entire body. A murder/suicide. That’s what she had been planning all along. Whatever thin hope Abbie had had of changing Liz’s mind was now gone forever. There was nothing she could offer to a woman who no longer wanted to live. “Why do you want to die?”

Liz’s eyes suddenly glinted with moisture. “Because I’m alone and unhappy and hopelessly screwed up. Because I’m tired of going from one day to the next longing for something I’ll never have. Because I’m sick of inspiring pity and even disgust whenever someone takes a good look at me. Because I’m simply tired of living, Abbie.”

Reaching under her chair, she took out a long handled butane lighter, with no sign of emotion on her face, she held up the lighter and clicked it a few times, watching the flame go on and off. A cruel smile pulled the corners of her mouth.

‘ ‘Got any last wish, Abbie?”

Forty-Five

John, Tina and the two SWAT officers had touched down at Big Sky Airfield without a hitch, and were now climbing steadily up the steep mountain.

The trail Spencer had pointed to on the map was no longer there. Rather than waste precious time looking for it, the foursome had simply chosen an area directly across from the house, and started climbing, hoping no one would decide to look out one of the many windows on that side of the house.

All four of them were equipped with bulletproof vests, and the three men, all sharpshooters, carried M-16 rifles. Tina had preferred to hang on to her trusted 9mm Smith & Wesson. Although shafts of bright sunlight filtered through the trees, at this elevation the temperature was a good fifteen degrees cooler than it was down below, making the climb easier.

A quick reconnaissance flight over the house earlier, where they had sighted the Oldsmobile, had confirmed that Abbie had arrived, although there was no sign of the Acura. When she hadn’t answered her cell phone, John had radioed the Pennsylvania authorities, given them the location of the house and requested information on its owner. He was still waiting to hear from them.

Behind him, Tina had stopped to catch her breath. John turned around.

“Everything all right?”

“Just dandy.” Too proud to complain, she started climbing again. John did the same, not talking, but conserving his energy.

His mind was on Abbie. He had thought of little else since leaving Princeton, and even though he was furious at her for not calling him before taking off, he understood why she had done it. She was a mother, and she had reacted as any mother would—by flying blindly to her child’s rescue.

He tried not to think about the unthinkable—that Abbie had fallen into the hands of a maniac who intended to kill her and her son. Even his feelings for Abbie, the way she had burst into his life and made him rethink his opinion of women, had to be sidelined for now. He had to keep focused on only one thought—to get Abbie and Ben out of that house alive.

His cell phone rang and three pairs of eyes snapped in his direction. John patted his chest, searching for the phone, found it and answered it as it rang a third time. “John Ryan.”

‘ ‘Detective Ryan, this is Lieutenant Bernard of the Tannersville P.D. You called a while ago about the house on Evergreen Road?”

“Yes. Do you know who owns it?”

“Sure do. It belongs to Elizabeth Tilly. It was part of her divorce settlement from that rock star—Jude Tilly.”

Liz. Son of a gun.

“Hope this helps, Detective.”

“It does. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His three companions were still watching him. “The house belongs to Liz Tilly,” he said, flipping his phone shut.

Tina’s eyes widened. “McGregor’s sister? The woman you went to see in New York? She’s Ben’s kidnapper?”

“Apparently.”

As if spurred on by new energy, all four of them rapidly climbed the last remaining feet.

Liz shot out of her chair. “What was that?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Abbie said quickly. But she had. She had heard a dull sound she couldn’t quite identify. Someone was out there.

Liz tucked the butane lighter into her waistband. “Against the wall!” she ordered. “Now!”

Abbie flattened herself against the wall, desperately trying to find a way to take advantage of this unexpected situation.

No longer so cool and calm, Liz ran from window to window, peering outside, muttering to herself, but never taking her eyes off Abbie long enough for her to do anything.

“Are there wild animals around here? Maybe that’s what it was.” As Abbie talked, she kept glancing at the PPK on the side table. If only she could get to it without being seen.

Liz had picked up another remote control and aimed it at a monitor Abbie hadn’t noticed before. Almost immediately, the screen was filled with a section of the outside perimeter. There didn’t seem to be any suspicious activity, until Liz turned on a second monitor and Abbie saw four people, three men and one woman, climbing up the mountainside, moving quickly and carrying rifles.

Rage contorted Liz’s face. “You brought the cops!”

Abbie tried not to look at the gun pointed at her midriff. “No! No, I didn’t. I swear.”

“You did. That’s John Ryan out there,” she shouted, pointing.

Abbie threw a frantic look at the monitor. She was right. That was John. And Tina Wrightfield. They had found her.

“I didn’t tell him a thing, Liz, I swear.” She shouted the words, hoping the people outside would hear her. “You’ve got to believe me, Liz.”

“Shut up.”

As the four people kept gaining ground, Liz reached behind the chair she had occupied earlier, pulled out a red can and twisted off the cap.

“Oh, God, Liz, no!”

“You don’t think the arrival of your boyfriend is going to change anything, do you?” She gave her a hard-eyed, cynical look. “You’re still going to watch your son die, Abbie. I promise you that. We’re just going to have to move a little faster than anticipated, that’s all.”

She started walking around the room, dousing everything with gasoline—the chairs, the rugs, the tables—everything, until she had emptied the last drop.

Abbie was frantic. She had to do something. She couldn’t let this lunatic burn them alive. She stepped away from the wall.

The sound of a gun exploded in her ears. Abbie let out a scream and grabbed her left arm as spears of fiery pain shot through it. She had been hit. Liz had shot her.

“Another stupid move like that,” Liz said, “and I’ll put a bullet in your other arm, but I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re hoping.” She waved the gun. “Back against the wall.”

Abbie didn’t have to put much effort in the moaning and groaning that came next. Blood had soaked her sleeve, probably making the wound look worse than it was. Good. That’s exactly what she wanted Liz to think.

Her arm hurt like hell, but she could move it, and she could flex her fingers, which meant there was no nerve damage.

“My arm.” Eyes closed, Abbie rocked back and forth. “I can’t feel it, Liz. I can’t feel my arm.”

Liz was running around, checking all the locks. “Shut up, dammit. I can’t hear myself think.”

“I’m bleeding,” she said, making her voice sound faint.

“Tough shit.”

Outside, the sound of heavy footsteps running across the deck could be heard.

“Police!” someone shouted. “Open the door!”

Liz let out a cry of frustration, and yanked the lighter from her waistband. In doing so, she took her eyes off Abbie for a couple of seconds. It was enough for Abbie to lunge for her gun. And this time she made it.

From a kneeling position, she gripped the weapon with both hands, barring her teeth against the pain. “Liz!”

The commanding sound of her voice made Liz look up.

“Why, you bitch,” she hissed.

She raised her Glock and pulled the trigger a split second after Abbie pulled hers.

For a moment, Liz just stood there, one hand holding the lighter, the other her gun. There was a look of total shock on her face. If it hadn’t been for the neat black hole in the center of Liz’s forehead, Abbie might have doubted she had hit her.

A fraction of a second later, her arms dropped by her sides. The gun and the lighter slipped from her hands and she fell to her knees, like a woman in prayer, before hitting the floor, facedown.

Abbie heard the sound of gunfire and crashing glass. With a strangled sob, she crawled to the table and took the remote control. Ben. She had to get Ben.

Loud, forceful pounding rattled the door. “Abbie, are you in there? Abbie, answer me!”

“John! I’m here.” Why couldn’t she talk any louder? Why couldn’t she find the strength to get up? What was wrong with her? “I’m here,” she whispered.

“Get away from the door!”

Another burst of gunfire filled her eardrums, then John rushed into the room, Tina behind him.

“Christ.” He ran to her, gently took hold of her arm. “You’ve been shot.”

“Oh God, John,” Abbie heard Tina say. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“I know.” He started to tear at her shirtsleeve, exposing the wound. “Call the hospital in Tannersville. Tell them we’re bringing in a gunshot wound. Could be serious.”

“John...” Abbie handed him the remote, pointing at the panel behind him. “Ben...in there...”

Her eyelids felt heavy. She had to fight to keep them open. “Must get him. Must get Ben...”

Tina took the remote from her hand. “I’ll do it, Abbie. Keep still.”