Fade To Midnight (48 page)

Paul was getting off on his intimidation show. “Go on upstairs, Ms. Parrish.” His lip curled in an unpleasant smile. “Be a good girl.”

She backed out, trying to look cowed, and ran up the stairs, back to Ronnie's room. She slapped the door open. “I'll need help to get out,” she said breathlessly. “Do you have some firecrackers left?”

“The ones Dad had a fit about? That I was supposed to get rid of?”

“You didn't, did you?” she asked, anxious.

Ronnie's eyes lit up. “Oh! You want a diversion? Super cool!”

“But I don't want to get you in trouble,” Edie fretted.

Ronnie shrugged. “With who? With Aunt Evelyn? Get real.”

Ronnie pulled the cardboard box of firecrackers out of her closet and began to scoop out her favorites while Edie puzzled through the logistics. The escape had to be meticulously timed. Since there was not room inside the enclosure for the vehicles of security and domestic staff, they parked in a covered structure outside, parallel to the west wall. The oak tree in the middle of the west yard had branches that would get her to the edge of the eight foot wall, and foliage to hide her while she climbed. They decided that Ronnie should start throwing firecrackers from the terrace five seconds before the second hand clicked on twelve.

“But how many should I throw?” Ronnie asked.

“Just enough to get me over the wall,” Edie said. “I'll have a fifteen second blind spot from when the first firecracker goes off to do it.”

“It would be more believable if I lit them all,” Ronnie mused. “Like, I flip out, and just keep throwing and screaming and crying until they come running up there to stop me. A total, frothing at the mouth freak-out fit. Actually, that sounds kind of nice. Cathartic.”

Edie harrumped. “Don't push it. It's bad enough that they think I'm bonkers. Trust me on this. You don't want to fall into that trap.”

“Hey.” Ronnie sounded hurt. “I'm high-strung, I have an artistic temperament, plus I was orphaned today. I think I'm entitled to a screaming nervous breakdown, like all the other overprivileged brats.”

Edie grabbed her. “You know what? I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too.” Ronnie squeezed her breathless. “Of course, Dr. Katz will zap me again, but I wouldn't mind being knocked out for a while longer.” She pressed her hand against her belly, and blew out a breath. “It would be nice. To take a break from this feeling.”

That made Edie nervous. “Ronnie. Don't even say that. That's no way to deal with your feelings. Promise me you won't start—”

“Shhh.” Ronnie gave her a sad smile. “Give me some credit. I'm not stupid. And I'm not a coward, either.”

“I know you're not,” Edie sniffled. “Thanks, baby. I love you.”

One last hug, and they crept up to the terrace. Edie waved to her sister, and dropped down onto the slanted shakes of the solarium roof.

She slipped on the deep slant and grappled for purchase, heart thudding. Falling off the high side of this roof was certain death. She steadied herself, crept across the roof of the solarium. Ronnie watched anxiously over the railing while Edie dangled off the edge, and dropped out of sight down onto the lower roof of the huge kitchen space, hoping that no one was in there to hear the thump. She was glad she had the high-tops. Once across that, it was only an eight foot drop or so off the eaves and down to the patio below.

The oak's branches nearly touched the kitchen roof, so she slunk beneath its cover into the yard. Her heart raced so fast, she felt faint.

Part of her begged for the rest of her to go back, to where things were safe and certain. Where someone else made all the decisions.

But that safety was just an illusion. It always had been. She leaped up, grabbed the biggest branch of the oak, and scrambled into the tree. Light slanted through the ragged leaves clinging stubbornly to the branches. She held her wrist up to it, and peered at her watch.

Oh, God. She had to get up into place and hop onto that wall in only thirteen seconds! Thirteen desperate, sweaty, face scratching, knee wobbling seconds of climbing through a tree, in the dark—

Pop, pop, whiz, bang,
the first firecrackers exploded before she was in place. She scrambled faster, feeling her tiny fifteen second window ticking into nothing. More fireworks on the other side of the house. Ronnie yelled, in a thin, high voice. Hissing, bangs, pops. The scent of sulfur drifted over. Men, shouting. Doors slamming. Hubbub.

Edie lunged for the top of the wall, slipped, grabbed, caught herself by bloodied fingertips. Scrabbling for traction with her rubber-soled sneakers.
Pop, pop.
She could see bursts of light flickering. Ronnie was screaming. It sounded very believable. Someone else screamed, too. Maybe Evelyn, maybe Tanya, or both. Shrieking like tin whistles.

A final, desperate burst of scrambling, and she heaved herself up, got her leg over. Lowered her body down as far as she could, hanging by shaking arms. She dropped, landed painfully on her wobbly legs, and took off sprinting. Fell headlong, landing on her face. Mouth full of dirt and grass and woodchips. She struggled up, and took off again.

She dove for the shadows between the parked cars under the shelter. She'd run several seconds over. If anyone had the presence of mind to watch the screens during that scream-fest, they would have seen her. And if so, so be it. She was done, for the moment. She panted, letting that twenty seconds of security camera shots cycle through, and then another, and another. If they'd seen her, let them come for her.

No sign of it, though. She checked her watch for the next blind spot, peeled herself up off the asphalt, and pulled out Paul's car keys, creeping along until she found his dark green Saturn. She let herself into it. Ronnie was still screaming, but the fireworks had stopped.

She fired up the engine in the next blind spot, pulled out and accelerated down the long drive, turning out and onto the main road. She pulled out the phone, called the nearest car service she knew of on Ronnie's cell. There was a GPS device mounted on Paul's dash. She had to get rid of this car as soon as possible. They'd nab her in a heartbeat.

“Clark Car Service, can I help you?” said the bored voice.

“I need a car to meet me at the outlet mall on Montrose Highway,” she said. “In front of the Shari's restaurant, please.”

“Ten minutes,” the man said, and hung up.

Edie parked Paul's Saturn at the Target lot on Montrose, and searched through Paul's wallet as she jogged through oceanic parking lots to the Shari's. Eighty-three bucks. Not bad. Car fare. For tonight, anyway. She stayed away from the restaurant until she saw the car pull up, and eyeballed the logo. She sprinted over, got in. The plush leather seat of the limo felt like a lover's embrace. “Evening,” she gasped out.

The guy glanced over his shoulder, did a double take. She looked down at herself. Jesus. Blood, dirt, leaves. Yikes.

“Where to?” the guy asked, sounding nervous.

Edie took a deep breath. “Take me to the Parrish Foundation building. Five hundred Highett Drive, off Montrose Highway. Toward Hillsboro.”

The place was deserted when they pulled over in front of the main entrance. There was crime scene tape over the door, but everyone had left. “Can you wait for me here?” she asked the driver. “I won't be long.”

The guy nervously eyed the yellow tape stretched across the entrance. “Meter's running,” he said.

“That's fine.” She fished the master key out of the snarl of jewelry stuffed into her pockets. She could see the gaping hole in the glass on the fifth floor of the Helix building, like a gouged-out eye. Dad's office. It made her dizzy. She had to dangle her head, let the blood run back in.

It didn't matter if the security camera saw her. She walked in with her head high. There was no shame in trying to protect the man she loved. She wasn't going to get anywhere near the actual crime scene on the unfinished eighth floor, where the sniper had set up his perch. She wouldn't touch anything, move anything, mess anything up for the forensics people. Her conscience was clear. She took the back staircase in the dark. The door to the library suite was wedged open.

She switched on the light. Tears overflowed in her eyes. Heavenly choruses sang. The boxes. They were there, as Kev had said.

It wasn't that she had doubted him. Never that. But oh, God, it was sweet relief, to have physical reality back up her own instincts.

She pulled out a tissue, and examined their contents without touching them. There were no archived files, no computer discs. Just accordian folders, stuffed with paper culled from the recycling bins outside the Helix mailroom. Memos, newsletters, junk mail. The dated stuff was no more than a month old. And under the top layer, not even that much theater. The boxes below were stuffed with shredded paper.

It was a stage set, but a very shallow one. They'd had no intention of keeping him here more than a moment or two. This had just been to make him relax, assume things were normal, and then…

And then? What the hell had they done to him then? She pressed her hand against her belly, fighting not to cry. She would call him again, but first, Detective Houghtaling. Clearing his name, protecting his freedom, was more important than indulging her shaky nerves.

After all. He had all those missed calls on his phone. If he was reachable, he knew damn well that she was thinking of him. The dog.

She took pictures of the boxes from every angle with Ronnie's super-duper smartphone. She shot a mini movie, panning from the pile of boxes to the view outside the window, the gaping broken window of Dad's office. She struggled until she figured out how to attach the photos to a text message, sent them to Houghtaling's phone, and called.

The detective picked up quickly. “Houghtaling here,” she said.

“Detective, this is Edie Parrish.”

“Hello, Ms. Parrish. What can I do for you?”

“I found some information that might be of interest to you,” Edie said. “It's about the boxes at the library. The ones that Des Marr said didn't exist. They do exist. I'm looking at them right now. I took pictures, and sent them to your phone. Did you receive them?”

“Yes, I did. You're at the Parrish Foundation building right now?”

“Please come and verify what I'm saying for yourself,” Edie said. “As you promised that you would.”

“And I would have kept that promise, if you'd given me time,” the detective said.

“I don't have time,” Edie replied.

“Ms. Parrish, you are aware that you are violating a crime scene?”

“This isn't the sniper's perch. You said yourself that no one has looked at the library until now. I took a movie of the broken window of the Helix building, to date the photo, and I didn't touch anything with my bare hands. The boxes are filled with scrap paper and shredded paper. It was a trap, for Kev, Detective. They lured him here.”

“I'll send someone to pick you up right away,” Houghtaling said.

Edie felt a maddeningly familiar frustation crush her lungs, her throat. Those pauses, that silence. She knew the vibe. The realization grew, blooming into frantic disbelief. “You don't believe me, do you?”

“It's not that I don't believe you,” the woman said carefully.

“Come and see for yourself!” Edie begged. “Des was lying through his teeth! Doesn't that change things? Point to other inconsistencies?”

The woman was silent. Edie's brain raced ahead, trying to anticipate her. “Oh, God. You're thinking that I set it up? Aren't you?”

“No, not necessarily,” Houghtaling said. “But you're stressed, confused, and grieving. You have access to that building, which begs the question as to who else had access to it. You are also in serious danger. Please stay exactly where you are, Ms. Parrish. Someone will be there to get you in a couple of minutes. We'll keep you safe.”

Edie let the hand that held the phone drop, swinging limp at her side. The woman's voice chattered on, tinny and far away. She thumbed the line closed, staring out as…oh, dear God.

Headlights were coming up Highett Drive.

“I
can't do it tonight,” Ava repeated, for the tenth time. “You'll do as you're told, Av.”

Ava's teeth rattled violently as she stared out the windshield at the city lights, raindrops beading the glass. She couldn't stop shaking.

She'd shaken the whole time she'd been locked in that stifling hell of a supply closet, and she still shook. Some mechanism in her brain, concussed by that horrible mind-to-mind encounter with McCloud.

Rape, she amended silently. What he'd done to her was rape. Feeling him in there, jerking around, feeling her feelings, knowing them intimately. Her shuddering intensified. She couldn't bear to feel her own feelings. Much less could she bear for a hostile stranger to feel them.

She was never crowning the treacherous bastard again, but she would love to tie him to a chair and crown his precious girlfriend. Sign her up for that. She felt a squirmy rush of sexual heat at the very idea.

Odd. She'd been with so many men, she did not even consider sexual contact particularly intimate. She was so accustomed to using sex. First for survival. Then she'd been compelled with X-Cog. Then she'd used her beauty and her body for advancement, and convenience. Finally, out of sheer habit. She barely noticed the sex, except insofar as she had to keep up a pretense of enjoyment.

Sex was nothing. But mental rape, oh God. Shame throbbed through her. She felt soiled, foul. Her feet drummed, her hands twitched, thinking of those years with Dr. O. How he would crown her, and then force her to—

“Goddamnit, would you stop that?”

The harsh edge of Des's voice jolted her. She stared at him, hurt.

He glared at her. “Stop twitching and jiggling! You're acting crazy! And you look like hell. What do you need, coffee? A drink? A pill?”

“Fuck you, Des,” she replied.

“Pull yourself together. Tonight's going to be complicated, and you need to be at your best.” His eyes swept over her, dismayed.

“But we can't do Edie tonight! Edie's the only one who—”

“Yeah, I know about your Edie theories, and her perfect brain.”

“You promised me I could have her! Why not change the scenario? Have her kill the little sister, and then just disappear! We'll take her! No one will ever find her! It's no more risky than what we're already doing!”

“Things have changed,” Des said. “It's too complicated. I agree with Tom. We're cutting our losses. We can't afford a big manhunt, an ongoing investigation. They'll never stop looking for her after what we've got planned, Av. Tom and his men will take care of the McClouds, we take care of Edie and Ronnie, and it ends here, tonight. And I, for one, will be grateful. This fucking thing is starting to get on my nerves.”

Ava clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Curled her toes, pressing them hard against the floor. Her fingers twisted together.

“It's a waste,” she said rebelliously. “All the things I could have done, the things I would have learned. The fun you and I could have.”

“Sometimes you just have to make personal sacrifices, Av.”

“We could have played with the little sister, too, Dessie,” she coaxed. “If we bought some more time. She's so young and tender and virginal, hmm? Fresh as a daisy. Just imagine it, hmm?”

“Stop it, Av,” he growled. “Don't even try. It's a done deal.”

“Now that I think about it, I could have compelled Edie to marry you,” she mused. “We didn't think this thing through at all. God, the possibilities, Des. The crown would be easy to hide under a wedding veil. Or I could design a nuptial crown, with decorative dangly bits. A wedding headress. I'd be the bridesmaid. Wouldn't that just be a hoot?”

Des pulled a master crown out of the bag on the center console, and tossed it on her lap. It was followed by a cap made of stretch velvet.

“Get it on,” he said. “You might not have time when we get there.”

Ava pulled down the visor, and flipped on the light, wincing when she saw her bloodshot eyes, the broken capillaries in her eyelids. Yuck.

It took her shaking fingers twice as long as usual to situate the crown. She pulled the cap on, noting that the red color accentuated her pallor and all the imperfections on her ravaged face. At least it hid the wild snarl of hair. Des had been in such a goddamned hurry after he dragged her out of the supply closet, he hadn't given her time to splash her face or comb her hair. They'd been off like a shot, to do that fat pig bastard Tom's bidding. Licking his toes, like good, obedient doggies.

They pulled up at the gate. The security guard looked at Des. “Good evening, Mr. Marr. Who's your friend?”

“This is Dr. Ava Cheung,” Des said. “She's the lady who…well, she was with me this morning, in Charles's office. When it happened.” Des gestured the guy closer. “I want to be here for Ronnie and Edie, but I couldn't leave Ava alone,” he said, in a stage whisper. “She's been traumatized, and she doesn't have any family of her own here in town. I thought we could all…grieve together. Of course I'll understand if Evelyn or your head of security has a problem with that.”

The guy peered in at her. Ava did her best to look lonely and pathetic and traumatized. It wasn't much of a stretch, actually.

“Just a moment.” The man stepped away from the car, muttered into his walkie-talkie and waved them through. “Go on in.”

“You really are an amazing liar,” she told Des as he parked.

He killed the motor. “We all have our gifts,” he said.

They were met at the door by Evelyn Morris, Charles Parrish's lemony older sister, and Tanya, her cowlike lump of a daughter. Des introduced them and sketched out Ava's heart-clutching trauma.

Their eyes brimmed over. “Oh, you poor girl,” Evelyn quavered.

Ava let her lips tremble, her chin begin to shake. Then her throat, her chest. Soon she was sobbing wildly. The older woman embraced her, weeping. The younger cow got into the action, blubbering and snorting. Ava was stuck in a damp, snorting, sniffling group hug. Dear God, when would it end? She met Des's ironic gaze over the women's heaving shoulders, and tilted her eyebrow. They all had their gifts, yes.

But some people simply had more of them.

Once through that tiresome ordeal, Ava felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. A pudgy, bespectacled middle-aged man was smiling at her. “Excuse me, Dr. Cheung. I'm Dr. Katz, the family doctor. I wondered if you would like for me to give you something. Just to help you rest.”

Not. Drugs would fuck her ability to crown, which would be disastrous. She honked into a tissue and gave him a brave, tremulous smile. “Thank you so much, doctor. But I just have to face it, head-on.”

“You're very courageous,” Dr. Katz told her solemnly.

“Thank you,” she murmured demurely.

“How are Edie and Ronnie doing?” Des asked. “Are they resting?”

Evelyn shook her head, pressing her knuckles against her shaking mouth. “Edie's gone.”

The two of them stared. “Gone?” Des demanded. “Gone where?”

“We have no idea.” Evelyn's voice sharpened. “She manipulated poor Ronnie into creating a diversion that terrified us all out of our wits. Then she jumped over the wall, stole a car and disappeared.”

Ava blinked. She hadn't expected such spirit out of mopey Edie, everybody's favorite scapegoat. “She's out there all alone?” she gasped. “With that murdering lunatic at large? Des, we have to go after her!”

“Yes, we certainly do! Evelyn, can I speak to Ronnie?” Des said, his voice urgent. “If she's gone out to meet that man, we have to hurry!”

Evelyn looked doubtful. “I couldn't get a thing out of her. But go up, do what you can with her. Third floor, second door to the left.”

Ava stifled her giggles at Evelyn's choice of words as they started up the stairs. They would do what they could with her. Oh, yes indeedy.

Des gave her a hard stare. “Keep it together, Av.”

They knocked on Ronnie's door, and it cracked open. Ronnie's hair was a rat's nest, her face blotchy from crying. “What do you want?”

“Can we come in and talk to you, Ronnie?” Des coaxed.

The girl's face was sullen. “No.” She pushed the door.

Des wedged his foot into it. “You have to tell us where Edie went. She's in danger.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“Then you should be helping,” Ava scolded. “Before she falls into the hands of the people who murdered your father!”

Ronnie's eyes flashed. “Edie will be OK. She's going to clear her name, and her boyfriend's name, too. Then you'll all see what dickheads you've been. So why don't you all just piss off?” She kicked Des's foot out of the door.
Slam.
The door lock clicked.

“That mouthy little shit,” Des whispered.

“Want to reconsider the plan?” Ava cooed. “Shall we wait until you have a chance to teach that uppity brat a lesson?”

Des's eyes flashed, tempted. “Don't distract me,” he warned. “I have to hurry. She's gone to check on the boxes in the library suite.”

Ava's eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Yeah. Thirty boxes of scrap paper won't look good. But if I get there before she does, or at least before she calls…” Des trailed off.

“So? Let's go!” she prompted.

“No, stay here. Stay close to her.” He jerked his head toward Ronnie's door, and handed her the bag that held the slave crowns and the syringes loaded with X-Cog 19. “Don't let her out of your sight.”

Des left her in the padded lair of the Parrish princesses. Ava stared at Ronnie's door for a while, then sauntered up the corridor.

She peered in the next suite, flipped the light switch. Track lighting tenderly swelled in brightness, illuminating a luxurious room lined with bookshelves, carpeted with a costly cream wool rug. A four-poster, covered with a pouffy comforter. An en suite bathroom. Huge shower, hydromassage tub. Her eyes flicked away from her own image in the mirror. She looked so young and vulnerable. Hard-used.

Like she'd been when Dr. O had found her. Fourteen years old, living in flophouses and brothels. She'd run away from her mother's live-in boyfriend, who'd been pimping her out to his drinking buddies, and from a mother who'd been too depressed and alcoholic to care.

Ava looked at the opulent room, thought of the foul places she'd slept. The things she'd done. The things that had been done to her.

Destiny was a heinous bitch. She and Edie were so similar. Eerily so. Same age. Identical test results. And yet, Edie was the princess, sitting on the silken pillow, while Ava huddled in the stinking shit.

There was a jewelry box open on the dresser. Ava poked through it, but there wasn't much. Edie must have taken the fine jewelry to pawn. So she wasn't planning on coming back. Hmm. Des better hurry up.

Ava looked through the drawers. The top ones were stuffed with lingerie. Pretty. She pulled some of it out, considering. Nylon stockings, silk stockings. Scarves. Those would come in handy later on.

She went to the closet, flung it open and gasped, awestruck. Floor length designer gowns. Gorgeous. She peeked at the labels. Dior. Dolce & Gabbana. Milla Schön. Versace. She stroked them. Satins, featherlight silks. Crinkly puffy expanses of taffeta. The sexy heft of lavish beadwork on chiffon, the glitter of brilliants, sequins.

Awww. And nobody understood the poor little pathetic princess poopsie. She had to act out. Run away. Live in a cheap hovel and pretend to be a starving artist. When she had all this. It was offensive.

That stupid, hypocritical, lying, self-indulgent little
cunt.

The ripping sound took Ava by surprise. She stared at the skirt of the off-the-shoulder Armani tea gown done in dull bronzy gold chiffon. Rosettes of fabric adorned the gather between the breasts. The empire waist hung loose from the bodice, in tattered swags. She'd torn it off. Her hands were trembling. She forced herself to breathe, backing away from the closet. Her legs shook. Her feet. The earth was shaking beneath her. The bed swung up, broke her fall.

A heavy
whump
of air escaped from the puffy down coverlet.

She lay there, hugging the leather bag to her chest, wishing that the bed would stop rocking and whirling. She stared up at the night sky through the skylights on the roof. Maybe she would dress Edie in one of these gowns. Something pale, bridelike, that would really show off the blood. Too bad she didn't have any ropes of pearls to dress the princess with. Or a tiara. Like a princess Barbie.

Ava smiled dreamily as she pictured it. Wild hair, big skirt, pale dress. Screaming. Scarlet up to her elbows, clutching the long knife.

It tracked, beautifully. After all, Edie was nuts. Everyone said so.

 

“So we wipe out the light-sensitive photochips in the security cameras with a laser. Then we toss a few grenades while you jump the wall, run in and get Edie. We blast a hole in the wall so you won't have to climb it on the way out. We have a getaway car ready. Simple. Right?”

Kev lifted his head, and gave Miles a considering look, trying not to let his lips twitch. “I like your style,” he said. “Bold, flashy. The only problem with your plan it is that half of us would get killed executing it, and the other half would go to a maximum security prison for thirty years. And they would be justified in sending us there.”

“Oh.” Miles's shoulders slumped. “Well. Excuse me for helping.”

Kev shoved back sweat stiffened hair. “I just wish she'd pick up,” he said, rebelliously. “What, are they napping? Today? Jesus.”

He dropped his face into his hands again. Unable to tolerate being the focus of so much scrutiny. So self-conscious about the scarring. Intensely conscious of the way that visceral reminder of past pain made his long-lost brothers feel. He'd gotten past it years ago, himself, but they had to process it as if it had just happened.