Grand Passion (33 page)

“It took me all that time to recover to a point where I could deal with it.” Cleo had never known such primitive rage. It consumed her. She was no longer afraid of Valence. “You destroyed my family, you stupid, crazy little man.”

“Don't call me crazy.” Valence's eyes glittered with an evil light. “Those idiot psychiatrists in prison called me crazy. But they were wrong. You're all wrong. I was a professional with a perfect track record. I never made mistakes. I never failed. Your father destroyed my reputation.”

“He didn't destroy it. You screwed up.”

“Don't say that.” Valence took another step forward. “It's not true. I never screw up, as you so crudely put it, Ms. Robbins.”

Cleo edged back toward the mirror. The only defense she could think of at the moment was to keep him talking. The man was insane. It occurred to her that a genuinely professional hit man would have killed her by now. “You're going to try to make people think I was murdered by some deranged person who hated my book, aren't you?”

Valence scowled. “Even if I did not have my personal reasons for terminating you, you deserve to be punished for writing
The Mirror
.”

He was even nuttier than she had first thought, Cleo decided. “Why do you say that?”

“You are the author of a pornographic novel, Ms. Robbins,” Valence chided with the outrage of an evangelist. “You're no better than a whore. You write filth, and every decent person knows it.”

“Decent person?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You consider yourself a decent person?”

“I am a clean man, Ms. Robbins.” Valence's fingers flexed around the grip of the pistol. “My mother made certain that I did not dirty myself in the gutter of sexuality. I am proud to say that I have not had carnal knowledge of a woman since she showed me how obscene the act was.”

“Let me guess. You're the product of a dysfunctional family, right?” Cleo did not know if taunting Valence would keep him talking or push him over the edge, but she couldn't think of anything else to do.

“My mother was a pure woman,” Valence said savagely. “And she kept me pure.”

“By keeping you for herself? I'll bet those prison shrinks had a field day with that, didn't they?”

“Shut up,” Valence snarled. “You created a work of filth. No one will think it strange that some clean person took it upon himself to punish you.”

Cleo realized with shock that Valence believed what he was saying. “You've got a lot of nerve condemning me for writing erotica. You're a hit man, for God's sake. What does that make you?”

“It makes me a professional.” Valence drew a length of red ribbon from his jacket pocket. “A professional with only one stain upon my spotless reputation. But I will soon rub out that stain.”

He started toward her. Cleo saw the glint of the wire entwined in the ribbon. She knew that he was going to put it around her neck. The same way the man in the mirror put the ribbon around the throat of the woman in
The Mirror
.

Valence was going to strangle her with the scarlet ribbon.

She opened her mouth to scream, knowing Valence would probably shoot her before she could make herself heard. Perhaps if she made enough of a racket before she died he would not escape undetected.

At that instant the lights flickered and went out.

“Goddamn it,” Valence shouted in intense agitation. “Don't move. I'm warning you.”

Cleo ignored him and dove for the floor. Valence was as blind as she was, and she knew the room far better than he did. She crawled toward the door, knowing it would take several seconds for Valence's eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.

A soft, hissing sound overhead told her that Valence had fired the silenced pistol. The bullet splintered wood.

At the same instant the floorboard outside the door squeaked. A draft of air from the hallway told her that someone had opened the door and entered the room. She looked up and thought she could see a dark shadow moving against the deeper shadows of the attic.

Max.

Her hand touched the base of the mirror stand.

Another soft, hissing sigh seared the air in the room. Cleo surged to her feet, grabbed the mirror and its frame, and hurled it toward the spot where she knew Valence was standing.

The mirror struck something solid and fell to the floor. Glass shattered. Valence cried out, revealing his location.

The bright rays of the powerful flashlight that Cleo always kept behind the front desk snapped into life. They pinned Valence in a beam of blinding light.

“Get away from me,” Valence screamed. He held out one hand as if in supplication, aimed the pistol toward the source of the light, and pulled the trigger.

The crack of an unsilenced revolver shot rang out at the same instant. Valence slumped to the floor, motionless.

The flashlight fell to the floor, its beam still illuminating Valence's body.

“Max,” Cleo shouted as she dashed across the room. “Max, answer me.”

“Shit,” Max said. “The same damn leg.”

V
alence was dead, but the following morning Max decided he was still pissed at him and would be for a long time. Every time Max felt the lancing pain from the new stitches in his thigh, he was reminded of how close he had come to losing Cleo. Rage and fear had surged through him last night as he had made his way up the stairs to the attic. The damned cane had never felt so clumsy in his hand. Trying to manage the revolver and the flashlight had been a difficult task. He had never resented his bad leg so much.

But Cleo was safe now, and Max intended to keep her that way even if he had to put a leash on her.

Ensconced in a bed in the local community hospital, Max studied the ring of anxious faces gathered around him. He was still not accustomed to having people fuss over him, he reflected. He wondered if he would ever get to the point where he would take such concern on his behalf for granted. He doubted it. When you had spent most of your life looking for something, you weren't likely to treat it casually when you finally stumbled into it.

The whole family, with the exception of Ben and Trisha, who were still blissfully unaware of events, was hovering at Max's bedside. Cleo had insisted on spending what was left of the night in a chair in his hospital room. The others, who had been sent home by the staff a few hours earlier, had crowded back in right after breakfast.

The nurses had already complained twice that there was no room for them to carry out their duties. The doctor, a smiling woman in her mid-fifties, had told Max that it looked like he was in good hands.

“Does your leg hurt real, real bad?” Sammy clutched Lucky Ducky and gazed at Max with wide-eyed concern.

Max considered the matter closely. Getting shot had been a definite screwup. When he'd gotten a fix on Valence's location, thanks to Cleo, he'd switched on the flashlight with the intention of blinding Valence.

Knowing that Valence would fire toward the beam of light, Max had taken pains to hold the light well off to the side while he aimed his own weapon. Unfortunately, crazy as he was in some ways, Valence had still been enough of a cool-headed professional to shoot to the left of the light. Most people, after all, were right-handed. It was a safe bet that whoever had entered the room would be holding a gun in his right hand and the flashlight in his left. If that person was thinking, he would be holding the flashlight as far from his body as possible.

Valence had been right on all counts. Max had taken the bullet in his left thigh. He would have another scar two inches away from the first one. The doctor had assured him that it was only a flesh wound. Unfortunately, that didn't make the stitches any more comfortable.

“It doesn't hurt real, real bad,” Max said. “Just sort of bad.”

“Hey, could have been worse.” O'Reilly grinned. “Could have been the other leg this time, and then you would have had to use two canes.”

“You're a real ray of sunshine, O'Reilly.” As it was Max knew he was going to be on crutches for a while. He looked at Cleo, who was standing at the head of the bed. She had such a fierce grip on his hand that the ring on her finger was leaving an imprint on his skin. It felt good. “You're sure you're okay?”

“For the hundredth time, I'm okay.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Thanks to you.”

“You're a hero, Max,” Andromeda told him proudly. She poured some of her special tea out of a thermos she had brought with her. “The local newspaper wants to do a feature on how you rescued Cleo from that horrid Mr. Valence.”

Max grimaced as he took the mug of tea from Andromeda. “I don't want to talk to any reporters.”

“It's just Bertie Jennings from the
Harmony Cove Herald
,” Daystar assured him. “Don't worry. I've already told him that he can't talk to you until you're back on your feet.”

“Thanks.” Max scowled. “Maybe by that time he won't want to do the story.” A thought occurred to him. “How much damage did the fire do?”

“The meditation center is gone, but the lodge is fine. So are the guest quarters,” Daystar said. “We're in good shape, considering what might have happened. But, then, O'Reilly says that destroying Cosmic Harmony was not really Valence's goal. He just wanted to use the fire as a means of causing confusion.”

“Valence set the fire using timed fuses so that he could get back to the inn before the blaze started,” O'Reilly explained.

“Poor Nolan,” Cleo said. “To think we once suspected him of being behind the incidents.”

Max did not like the sound of “
poor
Nolan,” but he nobly chose to ignore the reference. He could afford to be generous, he told himself. He had Cleo. All Hildebrand had was a budding career in politics, to which he was more than welcome as far as Max was concerned.

“Valence knew a fire at Cosmic Harmony would create chaos not just there but also at the inn,” Sylvia said.

“He'd stayed at the inn often enough to know how important Cosmic Harmony was to me,” Cleo agreed.

“He obviously figured one of two things would happen when the fire was discovered,” Max said. “The first possibility was that Cleo would rush to the scene. If that happened, he no doubt intended to follow and try to get at her in the confusion and darkness while everyone concentrated on the fire.”

“The other possibility was that you would leave her safely behind at the inn while you went to see what was happening,” O'Reilly concluded.

Max swore softly. “It was a logical plan. Either way Cleo would be vulnerable for the first time since that day Valence had stalked her in the fog.”

“He must have realized that Max was keeping an eye on you, Cleo, because of the incidents that had been occurring,” Sylvia said. “It was no secret, especially after O'Reilly started talking to people in town about them.”

“That's right,” Daystar said. “Valence knew he would somehow have to separate Max and Cleo. Trying to get at Cleo while Max was protecting her would have complicated things no end for him.”

“He was very proud of his research and planning,” Cleo whispered. “And absolutely obsessive about his reputation.”

Max felt the shudder that went through her. He tightened his grip on her hand. She smiled tremulously at him. The love in her eyes was bright and clear, and he knew it would last him his whole life.

No one had ever looked at him the way Cleo did. Last night when she had told him that she loved him, he had been so shaken by his good fortune that he had been unable to sort out his emotions. He had only known that he wanted her more than ever, that he had to protect her. She was the most important thing in his world.

This morning when he had awakened to find Cleo sitting beside his bed, he had taken one look at her and finally understood what had happened to him.

“When did it hit you that the fire might be a diversion?” Andromeda asked.

Max pulled his thoughts back to the subject at hand. “When I was about a quarter of a mile down the road. I turned around and drove straight back to the inn. But I had a feeling that something had really gone bad. I started to call Cleo on the car phone, but O'Reilly called me first.”

“He was just pulling back into the parking lot when I reached him,” O'Reilly said. “I told him what I had told Cleo about a psychotic killer who had a thing about his reputation and who always planned his hits with military precision. The last thing I heard Max say before he hung up was that he knew who the guy was.”

“I came to the same conclusion Cleo did,” Max said quietly. “Valence was the obvious suspect. He'd been in and out of Harmony Cove all winter giving his damn seminars. He'd had plenty of opportunity to see how things worked at the inn. Plenty of time to set things up.”

“We didn't think of him when we drew up that list of guests who had been at the inn the night the ribbon was left on my pillow,” Cleo said ruefully.

Max exchanged glances with O'Reilly. “I put him on the list,” he said.

“You did?” Cleo was startled.

O'Reilly made a face. “Valence was on the list, and I checked him out, but there were no red flags. The guy had a nice, clean background. Everything was in order.” He held up his hands. “What can I say? Valence was a pro.”

Max looked at Cleo. “All I could think of was that I had left you alone. I knew that group of seminar attendees had all had too much to drink and were probably sound asleep. When I reached the lobby, George was also asleep, just as he had been when I'd left. I went to Valence's room, and it was empty.”

“So he came to my room,” Sylvia said. “He woke me up and told me to run down to the basement and throw the main circuit breaker while he climbed the stairs to the attic.”

“I was hoping that having the lights go out without warning would throw Valence off stride for at least a few seconds,” Max explained. “I recalled how he'd reacted that time when he lost power during one of his seminars.”

“I remember that,” Sylvia said thoughtfully. “He really got upset, didn't he? It disrupted his carefully orchestrated seminar.”

“Earlier this evening when he checked in, he made a point of saying that there were no storms expected this weekend,” Cleo mused. “He probably had planned everything so that there would be no rain to put out the fire too quickly at Cosmic Harmony or cause a power failure.”

“A real thorough kind of guy,” O'Reilly mused. He put his arm around Sylvia. “But not real flexible.”

“I think that Valence had gotten so crazy that every little alteration in his schedule threw him into a turmoil,” Cleo said.

A commotion out in the hall made Max and everyone else in the crowded room glance toward the door.

“I'm afraid you can't go in there, sir,” a nurse said in a loud, authoritative voice. “Mr. Fortune already has far too many visitors.”

“I came all this way to see Fortune, and I damn well intend to see him,” a man answered in a voice that was louder and more commanding. “I have business with him.”

“But he's been seriously injured,” the nurse said.

“He's used to it.”

“Just what I needed,” Max muttered as a familiar figure came through the door. “Another well-wisher. What the hell do you want, Dennison? I'm not supposed to have any visitors. Just family.”

Dennison Curzon had the same autocratic attitude Jason had had. He also had the same silver hair and the strongly etched features that characterized the rest of the Curzon family. But his eyes lacked the penetrating, analytical intelligence that had characterized Jason's gaze.

Dennison swept the faces of the small group gathered around Max and dismissed them all. He glowered at Max.

“What's going on here, Fortune? I hear you've gotten yourself shot again.”

“I'm recovering nicely, thank you,” Max said. “Dennison Curzon, meet the family.”

“Family?” Dennison's forehead furrowed in confusion and annoyance. “What family? You don't have a family.”

“He does now,” Cleo said quietly. She kept her grip on Max's hand as she surveyed Dennison with a curious, searching look. “Jason was your brother?”

“Yes, he was.” Dennison switched his attention briefly to her. “Who are you?”

“My fiancée,” Max said before Cleo could respond. “Congratulate me, Dennison. Cleo and I are going to be married.”

Dennison ignored the announcement and, with typical Curzon single-mindedness, zeroed in on his main target. “Listen, Max, we've got to talk.” He cast an irritated glance at Cleo and the others. “Do you think we could have some privacy around here?”

“No,” Cleo said.

Nobody made a move toward the door.

Max grinned at Dennison. “Guess not.”

“What the hell?” Dennison took a closer look at Cleo. “Who did you say you were?”

“I told you, she's my fiancée,” Max said.

“I am also Max's employer,” Cleo said crisply.

“The hell you are.” Dennison stared at her. “Fortune works for Curzon International.”

“No, he doesn't,” Cleo said. “Not anymore.”

“He works for Cleo,” Sammy announced.

Dennison scowled. “Now, see here, I am Dennison Curzon of Curzon International. Max Fortune has worked for my company for twelve years.”

“I believe he resigned when your brother died,” Cleo murmured. “He now works for me.”

“Quite right,” Daystar said in her no-nonsense way. “Max has been on the payroll of Robbins' Nest Inn for some time now. He's doing an excellent job.”

“Yes, indeed. He's one of the family,” Andromeda said.

“Bullshit.” Dennison looked at Max. “I don't know what game you're playing here, Fortune, but I need you at Curzon. My daughter and that damned husband of hers took over my board of directors yesterday.”

“Kim will do a good job with Curzon,” Max said. “She's got what it takes. My advice is don't fight her.”

“I'll fight anyone who tries to take over my company. I've waited all these years to take command, and I'm going to do it. I want you in my corner. Let's cut the bullshit, Fortune. Name your price.”

“For what?” Max asked.

“For coming back to Curzon as my personal troubleshooter.” Dennison narrowed his eyes. “I'll give you the same deal my brother did plus a ten percent increase in salary and bonuses. In return I want your guarantee that you report to me and to me alone.”