Consumed by Fire (32 page)

“Don’t bother.” The voice that came out of the darkness was almost ghost-like. It had no gender, no accent, no age to it; it was just a disembodied threat from the rain-swept darkness.

The cold had finally penetrated her thin dress, and she had started to shiver. The eerie voice didn’t help, but she bit her lip, trying to force some strength into her body, some justifiable rage as she hung suspended.

“Who the fuck are you?” The tone was good, she thought, snappish without sounding petty, and only slightly marred by her chattering teeth. “Let me down.”

“In the words of the immortal Dirty Harry, I’m your worst nightmare,” the voice said, and she began to make out a form in the murky darkness. He was of average height, thin—after that she was lost.

She struggled, trying to move away from the menacing figure, and her body swung slightly. “Why?” Fear was making the cold even worse, but she tried to keep her voice even. “What do you have against me? If you think James will come after me, you’re dead wrong. He’d probably be happy to get rid of me.”

The man laughed quietly, the sound both charming and impossibly creepy. “You’re not very bright, are you, no matter how many degrees you have. I have no interest in James—I sincerely hope he doesn’t find your body until I’m long gone, or I’ll have to kill him too, and he’s too good a tool to throw away. No, I’m afraid it’s you I want dead, and I’m hoping I can take my time with it, enjoy myself. Strung up like that, you’re a perfect canvas for my creativity—otherwise you’d already be dead.”

The soft words were madness, and yet he sounded so matter of fact. “But why?” she said again. “If I’m going to die, you could at least tell me why.”

He snorted, a genteel sound she barely heard over the pounding rain. “What do you think this is—some sci-fi epic where the villain tells all, wasting enough time for the knight-errant to rescue the fair damsel?”

“You’re mixing your genres,” she snapped. Her arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets, but she refused to show pain.

Again the eerie laugh. “And you have no sense. You don’t piss off the villain in the tale. If you think I have some desperate urge to confess my darkest sins, then you’ve definitely been watching too much television. I think the fact that you’ll die without ever knowing why is very satisfying. Telling you would be too easy.”

They must have realized she was gone by now. Merlin would have made a huge fuss once he heard someone in the house, and he’d alert James. The two of them would be searching for Evangeline and her assailant at this very minute, and this patch of land between the river and the creek was too small for them to hide very well. “They’ll find us,” she said, her voice shaking from the cold. “They’ll find us and they’ll kill you.”

“They? Oh, you mean the dog. I’m not worried about him. I gave him enough drugs that I doubt he’ll survive. I don’t have any sentimental qualms when it comes to children or animals—if they’re in my way, they’re fair game.”

“You drugged Merlin?” Her voice was no more than a dead whisper, and then she exploded, struggling, kicking, screaming at him. “If you’ve hurt my dog I’ll kill you! I’ll rip your fucking heart out, you bastard, I’ll . . .”

She felt his fist crack across her face, sending her swinging even more wildly, and then he put his foul hands on her, settling her, and for a moment there was nothing she could do, no way to fight back. And then she spat in his face.

The monster laughed. “He might survive, depending on how much he ate. I had to dump the stuff in his dog food, and that’s one big, scary dog. Maybe he’ll be fine. I’m afraid you’ll never know. And you can forget about Bishop coming after you.”

“Don’t tell me you killed him too! I won’t believe you!”

“Not yet. Bishop trusts me. If I tell him I wasn’t anywhere near here, he’ll believe me.” He caught her, stilling her as she swung gently in the breeze. His hands were strong, and they were gloved, to leave no trace. She was in some sort of shed—she felt the rough wood against her back—but whatever roof the structure had, it was more holes than a cover, and water was running down her back, adding to her chills. Or maybe it was simply that she was terrified.

“Let’s take a quick look at you,” he murmured affably, and for a moment she was blinded by the flashlight. It was sheer discipline that kept her from squirming away from the glare, and she could see more of the man behind the light. He had a shaved head and a beard, but his eyes were simply dark holes in the dimness, and while there was something oddly familiar about his face, she was sure she’d never seen him before.

“Having trouble looking at me, sweetie?” he said with a laugh. “Here you go.” He turned the flashlight on his own face, giving her plenty of time to take stock. His eyes were hazel, and incredibly beautiful, with the lush lashes only men seemed to have. His nose was narrow and straight, his cheekbones high above the scruff of beard, his lips thin and almost feminine. “Do I look familiar?”

She stared. “Yes,” she said, “but I don’t know you.”

“Of course you don’t. Too busy with your nose in a book to learn to observe real life.”

That wasn’t true, and it was enough of an insult that she looked closer, racking her brain for the source of familiarity. She didn’t know him, but she knew someone related to him—a brother or sister. Someone with a strong family resemblance.

He switched off the light, plunging them back into darkness once more. “Can’t risk having Bishop see the light. Not that I’m worried. If he even realizes you’re gone, he’s never going to find you. There’s no need to hurry, but I don’t want to take foolish chances.”

“And how are you going to enjoy killing me if you can’t see me?”

“Oh, sweetie, I can slowly rip you apart with my eyes closed. Don’t worry about me. And I wouldn’t bother fighting against my restraints. That’s a garroting wire you’ve got twisted around your wrists. You’ll cut your hands off before you break free.”

Garroting wire? Why did that sound familiar?
She tried to keep calm. She refused to believe Merlin was dead. It would take more than a slimy pissant, like the man who had her strung up, to kill Merlin. He’d find her. Even if they were so well hidden James wouldn’t get here in time, Merlin would find her. “Does your vow of silence include not telling me where we are?”

She was growing used to the murky light, and she could see his face. Which meant he could see hers, and she managed an emotionless expression. “Tut tut. You’re being very sarcastic, aren’t you? We’re in the remnants of a chicken coop, if my sense of smell serves me. At some point a tree fell across it, and it looks like a splintered pile of wood, but there was just enough room for the two of us, all nice and cozy, and you look so pretty, all strung up like that.”

For some reason she felt no sexual threat in his words. Merlin would find her. It was a mantra in her mind, and she wanted to throw it in his face, but it might make him speed things up. She tried to clear her throat, to sound normal despite the fact that he had her captive. “I wouldn’t call this cozy.”

“Ah, you’re used to more elegant surroundings, aren’t you? I’m afraid this was the best I could do on short notice—I wasn’t going to wait until you reached New Orleans, though if there was ever a city where murder is easy, that’s the one.” The man moved closer, pushing his face up next to hers, and she saw he held a stiletto in one thin hand. Evangeline glanced at the weapon dispassionately and then back at his face. If she was going to die, then she wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction.

She had a good memory for faces—so much for the fuckhead saying she was unobservant—and she finally recognized who he resembled. Someone she hadn’t seen in more than five years, and then only briefly. He looked eerily like the woman who’d been with James at the hotel in Tuscany. He must be her brother . . .

Realization hit, startling a little sound from her before she managed to shut down her reaction. The man spoke. “What’s up, buttercup? You think you hear Bishop coming to rescue you? I have better hearing than you do, and I’ve got the doors wired. I’ll know the moment he leaves the house.”

Evangeline leaned back against the flimsy structure, forcing her body to relax, and she could see the man’s beautiful eyes narrow. “Maybe,” she said evenly. “Do you mind telling me how you’re going to kill me? Since it’s supposed to take a long time, I can’t quite imagine how you’re going to do it. I did read somewhere about the Chinese Death of a Thousand Cuts, but I don’t think you have time for that. Are you going to hack off body parts while I scream? But that might draw Bishop’s attention.”

“You are a cool one, aren’t you?” There was clear admiration in the man’s voice. “No wonder James is in love with you.”

The words hit her like a blow, far worse than anything else he could have done. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I told you you were unobservant. The man is obsessed with you, though even he refuses to face it. The two of you are like some idiot pair of Shakespearean lovers, bumbling around.”

“Ah, a scholarly bent, I see,” Evangeline said acidly. “And I agree completely—I’m completely unobservant and idiotic. Look at how long it took me to realize who you are.”

He didn’t even blink, his thin lips curving in a smile. “I sincerely hope that you do. I tell you what—we can play Rumpelstiltskin. I’ll give you three chances to tell me who I am. If you get it right I won’t kill you.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said promptly.

He toyed with his knife, letting her observe its perfect blade. “One down. Try another.”

“Jimmy Hoffa.”

“Now you’re not even trying,” he chided, sounding disappointed. “Last chance, Evangeline, and then I’ll cut your throat first so you can’t do anything but gurgle while I play with the rest of you.”

“Fair enough,” she said sweetly. “Did you get that knife in Italy, Claudia?”

His expression was almost comical, like that of a child whose balloon had been popped. He seemed almost affronted, but it only took him a moment to pull himself together. “Actually I go by Claude when I’m dressed like this. And I have a surprise for you.”

“And that is?”

“I lied.” He came at her then, but Evangeline could read body language; she hadn’t trusted him for a moment, and she tried to dodge him, kicking out at him. To her amazement she connected, and he went flying, crashing against the wall. The rotting wood splintered around him, around them, and she heard the creak and groan of the ancient structure as it began to collapse, and then she was down in the mud, covered with wood and debris.

She screamed for James, knowing it was useless. The rain was pounding down, drowning out any sound she could make, and the wind was whipping the cottonwood trees overhead, adding to the noise. He wouldn’t hear her, he was safe in the confines of the house, his face glued to the goddamned computers, and Merlin was dead. She screamed again as Claude began to rise from the debris. He reached for her ankle, trying to drag her back, and she kicked at him with her bound ankles.

“Bitch!” Claude screamed, his husky voice higher-pitched in his fury, and he slashed at her with his knife.

She kicked again, kicked as hard as she could, ignoring the slashing blade, and she felt her foot connect with his face, hard enough to hear bone crack. She did it again, twice, so fast he couldn’t move out of the way; then she managed to roll out from under the collapsed chicken shed, where she was faced with the fallen trunk of a massive tree. She dove over it, rolling in the mud, just managing to get to her feet with her hands still bound in front of her, and began to hobble forward in the inky darkness.

She slammed into him, so hard she almost knocked herself unconscious, and she opened her mouth to scream again, when he caught her, turned her, and slapped his hand over her mouth, silencing her. How the hell had he managed to get ahead of her? She kicked and fought desperately, digging her teeth into his hand, when his arms tightened, and she knew . . .

It was James. James had found her; James was holding her. She let her body sag against him, exhaustion pouring through her. She didn’t even care if she died now—not so long as he was there, holding her shaking body.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the landscape, sizzling in the air, and she could see Claude only a few feet away, the knife in his hand, his face covered with blood. She had no idea whether she’d done it with her kicks or if it had been the result of the collapsing structure, but she hoped she could take the credit.

“Did my woman do that to you, Claude?” James asked in a deceptively calm voice. “I probably didn’t even need to come after her. She’s very good at taking care of herself.”

And how could she possibly hold on to the words, “my woman” at a time like this? But she did, and the bitter cold that had settled in her bones began to warm, just a bit.

“You don’t need her and you know it,” Claude answered, his voice both nasal and muffled from the broken nose. “You should have let me take care of her five years ago, and we could have avoided all this. Tell me she hasn’t been a pain in your ass from day one.”

“I’d never lie to you, Claude. Being a pain in the ass isn’t a reason to kill someone.”

“I don’t need a reason. No witnesses, remember. Collateral damage is a fact of life.”

“Not in this case.” He’d shifted her, so she was partly shielded by his body. “The only collateral damage in this case is going to be you.”

“How do you think Madsen would like that? I’m his best, most reliable weapon,” Claude taunted.

“You’re a nutcase, and if he doesn’t like it, he can fire me.”

“And just how do you intend to kill me? You know how good I am with a knife. I could land it between your eyes before you got one shot off. I assume you came armed.”

“I did. And we’ll just have to see about that.”

“Of course, I could aim for your girlfriend and then shoot you as she collapses in your arms,” Claude mused. “In fact, I think that’s the best possible plan. I really didn’t want to kill you, James, but you’re just too damned good.”

She could feel the tension in James’s body. He had her tucked under one arm, and she considered diving to the ground, but that would free Claude to throw the knife at James, and she had no doubt at all that he would succeed. She held very still.