For Her Eyes Only (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Vicky tumbled into the laundry bin at the base of the chute, winded as her fall was suddenly stopped by a mound of cloth. The bin rolled away for a moment, until it came to an abrupt stop against a wall.

She lay there for a moment, blinking, wincing, trying to suck air back into her lungs.
Holy crap
. She battled her way through the material until she could pop her head free. She looked around, like a gopher sticking its head out of a hole.

She was in the basement. At least, she thought it was the basement. She wheezed, trying to get her lungs to work properly again. Wait, what was that? She held her breath and listened. There was a faint dinging sound of metal meeting metal. The door to the chute. Meagan had closed it. She held her breath. She must be taking an alternative route down to here.

The thought had Vicky fighting to get her arms out of the confines of tablecloths and sheets, until she could wrap her fingers around the rim of the bin and pull herself up. A sharp, hot, stinging pain lanced through her leg. She sucked in her breath. Damn, it hurt. She sat on the rim and pulled the cloth away from her leg. And she was till bleeding, darn it.

She grabbed a napkin and pressed it tightly against her leg, trying not to shudder at what could be on the napkin, transferring to her exposed cut. She grabbed another napkin and tied it around the other, firstly to anchor it in place, secondly to slow the bleeding. Her movement shifted more fabric in the bin, and she spied something stained a rust-brown.

She frowned. She was bleeding, but hopefully not that much. Grimacing, she pulled the cloth from the bin. It was a coat. A white coat, like they used in labs. She looked blankly at the insignia on the pocket. Chicago Mercy Hospital. She recognized it because that’s the hospital where Orla had stayed. But why was there a hospital coat here?

It took a while for her exhausted brain to process the information, and when it did, she gasped, tears filling her eyes.
Oh
,
God
. They’d killed her. Orla hadn’t died in her sleep.

Shudders shook her, and she flung the coat away from her in horror. She lurched out of the bin, trying to put as much distance between her and the terrifying evidence. She limped backward.

Oh
,
God
. Her stomach heaved, and she backed up against a wall. She sank slowly to her feet, tears running down her face.
Poor Orla
. Her friend, her serene, special friend, gone so suddenly. She’d been attacked, nearly blown to smithereens, and now...she eyed the bloodstained coat and covered her mouth, hiccupping as she tried to quash her screams of pain, of grief. Of terror.

A door at the other end of the basement opened, then clanged shut.

She froze, her hand tightening across her lips, trying to stuff any sound back into her mouth. She desperately wished Ryan was here with her. No, she desperately wished they were home in Chicago, and none of this crap was happening.

Suck it up
,
Buttercup
. That’s what Ryan would say if he was here. She took a deep, silent, shuddering breath, and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the scorching pain in her leg.

Do what you have to do
,
to get the job done
. That’s what he’d say. She backed up along the wall, feeling her way. Footsteps, quiet clicks as heels met concrete, echoed through the large area.

“I know you’re down here,” Jade’s voice called out.

More sounds, something heavy being dragged somewhere. What was the woman up to?

Vicky shivered as she crept up to another laundry bin. Where could she hide from the psycho bitch?

There were several designated areas, from the looks of things. The laundry area, full of wheeled bins. There was something that looked like a large meat locker, next to the area where the staff stored their own ski equipment. There were plenty of storage cages, but the area was largely an open plan.

Vicky peered around the corner. How could she get out of here? There were more curious sounds, tapping tins, ripping, and then something that made Vicky’s blood run cold.

The sound of a match being struck, followed by a low “whoosh.” She smelled something acrid and smoky.
Oh.
Crap
. Jade had set something on fire.

Vicky glanced about. There looked to be a flight of stairs near the meat locker, which was in the opposite direction to where she’d heard Jade. That was her way out.

She scuttled across, keeping low as she limped along, using various laundry bins and equipment as cover.

Vicky sidled up next to the meat locker. She glanced toward the far end, where she’d heard Jade. An orange glow flickered over the top of the far laundry bins. She could see smoke. She couldn’t see Jade.

She turned around. The stairs were directly in front. She peered up them. There seemed to be some sort of conveyor system running up the ceiling of the stairwell. She followed it with her eyes. It led down to the meat locker. Next to the staff ski storage area. Vicky eyed the stairs.

Did the stairs lead up to the kitchen? But she’d run from the kitchen. That was where Simon and Ryan had been fighting. There was no sound from up there now, though.

She was stuck potentially between Simon and Jade.
Ah
,
hell
. She pressed her back against the meat locker, the seam of the door digging into her back. She turned.
What about this thing?

She fumbled with the latch and swung the door open as quietly as she could and peered inside. A wave of cold billowed out over her, and she shivered. She hesitated. What if she went in, and then Jade locked her inside? That would be a slow way to die. She wondered absently what would get her first, the cold or the fire?

She glanced behind her. Wheels squeaked as a bin near the laundry chute was moved. Jade was looking for her.

Vicky wrinkled her nose and slipped inside, brushing against carcasses that hung from the ceiling. She took a couple more steps in, then stopped.
No
,
this is stupid
. What if she was trapped inside here with Jade? Or worse, Jade simply closed and locked the door. She’d seen it happen enough on TV to know it was a dumb idea to hide in the freezer. She turned around to leave, bumping into a carcass that hung off to the side. A carcass that was clothed.

She looked up and screamed, tumbling backward and out of the meat locker.

* * *

Ryan burst through the door, then fell backward, raising his arm to his face.

Flames ate at a pile of rags, slowly spreading along the floor of the basement toward the heating system.

Ryan lowered his arm, squinting against the heat. Damn. What now? He peered past the flames, ducking a little to see into the gloomy basement. Smoke was beginning to rise, and the bare lightbulbs looked like hazy halos.

He had to get to Vicky, help her. He knew there was another door, leading directly to the outside, but he couldn’t waste the time to race back up through the labyrinthine corridors to the nearest exit. Vicky needed him now.

And he wasn’t going to fail her. He took a few steps back, lifted his shirt to cover the lower half of his face, and sprinted into the flames.

* * *

Jade smiled as she heard the screams. Ah, now she knew where she was hiding. She ran over to the meat locker in time to see the woman scrambling to her feet, her hand clapped over her mouth.

“I see you’ve found my handiwork,” Jade commented, planting her feet casually and leaning against the carving bench. The one with the bloodstained meat hook.

The redhead glanced between Jade and the meat locker. “Why did you kill her?” she asked, her voice faint with horror.

Jade shrugged. “She threatened me. She had to go.”
Wasn’t it obvious?

The redhead swiveled, and Jade’s eyes narrowed when she saw the limp.
A
weakness.
“Why did you kill Orla?” The woman asked, lifting her chin.

Jade’s lips pulled into a moue. “Oh, you knew Orla, did you? Aren’t you full of surprises. Who are you? Police? FBI?”

The woman shook her head. “No. I’m the admin manager,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

Jade blinked. “The what?”

The redhead glanced about. “Uh, I mean, I’m private security.”

Jade’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. And who hired you?”

The redhead met her gaze with a stare so direct it was almost unnerving.
Almost
. But nothing unnerved Jade Maxwell. Not now. “Orla Kruger.”

Jade shook her head. “This just gets better and better.”

“Why did you do it, Jade? Why did you kill all those people?”

Jade’s lips pulled into a sneer. She made it sound like it was over. But it wasn’t. Not yet. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of what was to come.

“You know what they did to me.”

The redhead nodded. “I do, and it was terrible. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Jade frowned. She seemed...sincere.

“But why kill so many? Why go to all this trouble?”

Jade’s eyes narrowed. Finally, someone recognized their efforts. This woman could appreciate their struggle, and their achievements.

“They stole my life,” she jabbed her thumb against her chest. “They stole Simon’s life. I had promise, I had potential. So did Simon. We had it all planned—graduation, marriage. My parents threw me out of the house when it happened. They called me a slut. Then that—that excuse of a man pressed charges against Simon. When Simon went to prison, I was left all alone.”

She reached for the meat hook. “You have no idea what they’ve cost me, what they’ve cost us. The one who raped me, the one who lied against me, the one who sent Simon to prison, and the one who stole his education, his career.” She was wrong about the woman understanding. Nobody could fully comprehend their suffering, and therefore this woman couldn’t fully comprehend their triumph.

The redhead frowned. “Elliot? You want to kill Elliot because he went to college?”

“He took Simon’s place,” Jade said succinctly, and stepped closer. Damn, she was slow. The redhead moved back, eyeing the meat hook nervously.

“They took what was ours. They stole our life, now we’re stealing theirs.” All this talk was just bringing everything back, all the pain, the fear. She didn’t like it. Enough with the talk.

Jade smirked. “You see, Karma is a bitch.”

She raised her hand, and the redhead bent her knees as Jade lowered the meat hook. The woman twisted, dodging out of the way. The hook grazed her arm, and the redhead cried out as she stumbled against some battered ski equipment.

“Karma’s only a bitch when you are,” the woman said hoarsely. She turned and grabbed something, swinging so hard and so fast Jade could only try to raise her arm before something long and thin struck her against her side.

A pole. The bitch had picked up a pole. Jade glared and launched herself, swinging madly. The redhead fumbled with the stock, using it like a sword to bat her away, blocking her strike. She was leaning to one side, gritting her teeth as she dodged another swing. She overbalanced, and ended up dropping the pole.

Something barreled into her side, and Jade was flung sideways, her head hitting the corner of the meat locker, and she fell down, dazed, fighting off a dark cloud of unconsciousness.

* * *

Vicky stared stunned, as Ryan stood, panting over the still body of Jade Maxwell. He bent low to look at her and nodded, apparently satisfied. He kicked the meat hook away, and it made a metallic ring as it slid across the concrete floor, to come to a stop at the base of the kitchen steps.

A bunch of cable ties lay on the carving bench, and Ryan grabbed one and used it to tie one of the unconscious woman’s wrists to the chain link fence dividing this area from another storage area.

“She’s out cold.”

“Oh, God, Ryan,” she ran up and tried to hug him, only her right arm wouldn’t co-operate. He was alive, he was well, he smelled like smoke, and he was...furious.

“What the hell were you thinking, just chatting to her like it was a Sunday picnic,” he snapped at her as he gingerly inspected the gash on her arm. She sucked in a breath, despite his care. It...hurt. Like, really, really hurt. So did her leg. She started to tremble. It was over.

“I’m so glad to see you, too,” she said, gazing up at him, not bothering to hide her adoration. He’d come for her, he was alive and unhurt.
Ow
, and he had the touch of an elephant in a kindergarten.

“I’m okay,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped at her again. “You’re bleeding all over the place. How do you think I found you? Let me see your leg.”

“I’ll do it.” She tried to unwind her makeshift bandage, but with one hand it was a little difficult. She kept her eyes on him the whole time as she slowly unwrapped the cloth, until finally his concerned gaze met hers. “I’m okay,” she told him, softly, calmly.

He glanced back at the unconscious Jade briefly before turning back to her. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut before leaning forward to kiss her. Lightly, tenderly. Hotly.

“You scared the ever-living crap out of me,” he whispered against her lips. “I was so worried about you. I thought I wouldn’t find you, wouldn’t get to you in time. Wouldn’t save you. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Hey, you scared me when you tackled Simon, so we’re even.” She rubbed her hand up and down his arm, trying to calm her big, hulking, gorgeous, protective Ryan. “I had every faith in you. When I wasn’t worrying about you,” she admitted.

He hooked his arm around her shoulders and tugged her gently to him, careful of her arm. “You did good, Vic. You did good,” he whispered against her hair.

Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, holding her away from him. “Okay, now let’s look at this leg,” he said abruptly. He’d settled his features into a composed mask.

“Wait, she started a fire—” she began.

Ryan nodded. “I know. I finished it.” He pointed to his shoes. They were still smoking, just a little. He shot a quick glance at the woman behind them. She was still out cold.