The Heart Has Reasons (32 page)

As
Sparrow’s index finger tightened on the trigger, she screamed, “
No-o-o-o-o!
”

CHAPTER
21

As the deafening report reverberated
through Larissa’s head, the passage of time suddenly returned to normal. 
The bullet’s impact flung Sparrow backwards across the floor in an awkward
sprawl, a gaping hole in his chest.  A strangled gurgle came from him and,
with one last shuddering breath, he stilled.

Weak
with blessed relief, Larissa collapsed bonelessly to the floor.  With the
room smelling of hot steel, her kidnapper started across the room to her.

She
pointed a frantic finger at Sparrow.  “Make sure he’s really dead!”

He
paused, bending over Sparrow to palpate his neck for a pulse.  “He’s
dead.”  He came over to kneel beside her.  “Ah, Jesus, Larissa. 
Are you okay?”

Trembling
and queasy, she took a moment to assess her physical condition, then
nodded.  “I am now.”

Bending
down to frame her face with his fingers, he peered at an eye already starting
to swell shut.  Voice thick with bitter self-recrimination, he uttered in
a near whisper, “Oh, fuck.  He really beat the shit out of you.”

“
I
tried to tell you! 
This is Sparrow, the man I shot in my apartment.”

Frowning,
he turned to gaze down at the body.  “But he doesn’t look anything like
the description you gave.”

“I
know.  I almost didn’t recognize him myself.  He’s had plastic
surgery to alter his face, lost weight, and dyed his hair darker.  And it
looks like he’s pumped himself up on steroids.”

With
the hem of his tee shirt, he wiped blood from her split lip.  “So …
everything you told me was true?”

“Every
freaking word!”

“Ah,
Jesus, Larissa.  I’m so extremely sorry I didn’t believe you.  He
told me you were his wife.  He even showed me a picture of the two of you,
with two kids he claimed were yours.”  He added in a ragged whisper, “I
can’t believe what a fucking idiot I was.”

“He
showed me the picture, too.  I have to admit, it
was
pretty
convincing.”  She expelled a breath.  “Now, take these handcuffs off
me.”

He
quickly did so, then removed the hobble from her ankles, and pulled her to her
feet.  After raking clumped strands of wet hair from her face, she drew
back and threw a punch that snapped his head to the side.  “
That’s for
giving me to him while I was handcuffed and hobbled, you stupid fucking
asshole!
” she screamed.  “
I couldn’t even defend myself!
”

“I
know,” he said, rubbing his jaw through the ski mask, “and I’m so very sorry.”

“
Fuck
sorry!
 
And fuck you too!
”  Unimpressed by his newfound
contrition, she drew back and swung a second time.  He clearly saw the
punch coming, but again made no move to block it.  “
Goddamn you!
 
You nearly got me killed!
”

He
tugged the ski mask back into place.  “Hit me again if it’ll make you feel
better.”

“
Don’t
tell me what to do, you fucking asshole!
”  She shook some of the pain
out of her hand before giving him a roundhouse kick to the ribs.

He
grimaced and uttered a pained “
Uhmpf!
” as it connected, then simply
stood there, arms hanging at his sides, looking wretchedly aggrieved.

Something
inside her suddenly loosened, allowing relief to flood through her with the
force of a tsunami,
washing away all her anger.  Her throat was
suddenly tight and achy, and the tears that pooled in her eyes blurred his
ski-masked face.  When they began to stream down her cheeks, he held out
his arms to her.  After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped into them,
pressing her face to his chest as he wrapped comforting arms around her.
 “Don’t cry, Larissa.  It’s over now.”

It
truly
was
over.  Sparrow was dead.  She need never again live
in fear of him. The overwhelming relief released a torrent of hot tears that
soaked into his shirt as she pressed her face to his chest.  “Thank you
for coming back.”

“Why
were you two in the pool?”

“I
knocked him in and tried to drown him.”

He
uttered a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.  “That’s what
I love about you,” he murmured into her wet hair.  “You never, ever, give
up.”

What
he
loved
about her?

He
let her cry for a few minutes, then gently lifted her chin to gaze down into
her eyes.  “Larissa, we need to clean this place up and get the hell out
of here.”

When
she pulled away from him, his damp tee shirt was spotted with smears of her
blood.  She probed her teeth with her tongue, checking to see if any were
loose or missing, then turned, and spat the taste of blood from her mouth onto
Sparrow’s face.

“Shit! 
You just spat your DNA on him.”

She
shrugged, then grimaced at the pain the movement caused.  “It doesn’t
matter.  I have to stay here and call the police.  By now the police
in Charleston will know I’m missing, and when the police here investigate his
death, they’ll eventually learn of my history with him.  Don’t worry,
though.  I’ll tell them Sparrow kidnapped me, and brought me here.”

He
shook his head.  “This guy was clearly not stupid.  He’ll have made
sure lots of people saw him in the past few days.”

“Yeah,
you’re probably right.  Then I’ll give them a fake description of my
kidnapper.”

“Why
would you do that?”

“Because
you came back for me.”

He
nodded, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes.  “In that case,
what happened once we arrived?”

She
was quiet for a moment, trying to think, but her mind was blank in the
aftermath of terror.  She leaned her head wearily against his chest. 
“I don’t know.  My head’s pounding so hard I can barely think.”

“What
if he refused to pay me, and we got into a heated argument?  You took
advantage of the situation to run out the door and hide.  You heard a
gunshot, then saw me leave.  Not knowing Sparrow was dead, you stayed
hidden for a while, which gives me time to get away.  Finally, you came
back in, found the body, and called the police.”

She
briefly considered it.  “No.  Then the police will be looking for a
murdering
kidnapper.  Besides, how would I explain the evidence of a struggle in the
house?  I’ll claim that after you left, Sparrow and I were struggling, and
I managed to grab his weapon and shot him in self-defense.”

He
shook his head.  “No.  Absolutely not.”

“I’ve
had two years of martial arts training, and the police will have no way of
knowing that I was still handcuffed and hobbled when Sparrow was shot.”

“Larissa,
I cannot allow you do that.”

“Not
only did he attack me once before, he’s beaten the hell out of me.  It was
clearly a case of self-defense.  Plus, when the police see this chamber of
horrors, I guarantee they won’t charge me with anything.”

He
gazed about the room, taking in the soundproofing on the walls, the instruments
of torture, and the wooden cross for the first time.  Tears welled up to
sparkle in his eyes and when he spoke, anguish choked his voice.  “
Oh,
fuck
.  Please believe me, Larissa.  If I’d even suspected, I
never
would’ve brought you here.” 

“You
fucking moron,” she mumbled, not putting much emotion behind it.  “I
told
you. 
Repeatedly
.”

“I
know, and I’m so very sorry for not believing you.”  He unashamedly wiped
tears from his eyes, then gently pulled her into his arms again and held her
cradled against his chest.  “I can’t allow you take the blame for
something I did.”

“It’s
my
choice, and I’m telling them
I
shot him.”

He
leaned back slightly to gaze down at her and, seeing her resolve, released a
resigned sigh.  “You’d have to be quite an accomplished liar to maintain
your story under the extensive questioning they’re sure to put you
through.  Somehow, I doubt you are.”

Actually,
she was terrible at lying, but this wasn’t the time for such an
admission.  “They’ll have no reason to doubt me.”

“They
will if they check you for gunshot residue.”

Well,
crap.  She leaned her head against his chest, thinking.  “Is your gun
registered to you?”

“There’s
nothing to connect it to me except the fingerprints on it.”

“Then
clean them off.”

When
he reluctantly released her, she moved over to perch on the edge of the
table.  Trying to ignore the blowtorch sitting there beside her, she
watched as he ejected the magazine and emptied the rounds.  After he’d
wiped everything clean, he reloaded the magazine.  Kneeling beside the
body, he pressed the magazine and the weapon to the lifeless fingers of both of
Sparrow’s hands.

When
he slapped the magazine back into the weapon, she heaved herself off the table
and extended her hand.  “Give it to me.”

He
hesitated, clearly nervous about handing her a loaded weapon.  Finally, he
heaved a resigned sigh and handed it over.  The weapon was similar to, but
larger and heavier than the 9mm to which she was accustomed.  His eyes
widened and he twitched as she racked the slide.

She
stared at him, chest heaving.  She
should
shoot him.  Not to
kill him, of course.  Just to wound him.  The asshole deserved it for
all he’d put her through.  Straightening her arm, she fired a single
round, the heavy recoil jarring up her arm.  The report was as loud as a
thunderclap, and continued to reverberate through her brain for several
seconds.

Completely
impassive, she gazed down at the second hole in Sparrow’s chest.  “Now
there’s gunshot residue on my hands.”  Uncocking the hammer, she lowered
the .45 to her side.

“Now
let’s work out the details of your story.  During interrogation, always
stick to the truth as much as possible, altering only the details that must be
kept confidential.  That way there’s less chance of slipping up in the
minor aspects of your story.  So, keeping that in mind, pretend I’m the
police and tell me exactly what happened.”

She
gazed at him, thinking.  “Sparrow pointed the gun at me and ordered me to
stand in front of the cross.  I refused, and dared him to shoot me. 
Realizing I wasn’t going to cooperate, he came toward me and I kicked the gun
out of his hand.  I dove for it, grabbed it, and shot him.”

“Where
was he at the time?”

“Standing
right there,” she said, pointing.

He
shook his head grimly.  “They’ll be able to tell by the trajectory he
wasn’t standing when either one of the shots were fired.”

She
thought for a moment.  “Okay, I kicked the gun out of his hand and
he
dove for it.  I kicked him aside, grabbed it, and shot him while he was
still on the floor, trying to rise.”

“And
the second shot?”

“I
shot him again, just to be safe.  In the movies, they never check, and the
monster’s never truly dead.”

He
nodded.  “Yeah, they’ll buy that.  Let’s act it out.  I’ll be
Keswick … or, rather, Sparrow.”

“I
know what to say.”

“It
has to be absolutely clear in your mind when they question you, otherwise
you’ll trip up on some minor detail.”

They
went through it over a dozen times, each time going through the physical
motions with Chase speaking Sparrow’s lines, until everything was locked
perfectly in her mind.

“One
last thing,” he said as he gathered up the handcuffs, gag, and hobble. 
“When lying, people have a tendency to caress themselves, such as touching the
forehead or stroking their arms.  It’s a self-comforting gesture that a
good interrogator will be watching for, so always be aware of what your hands
are doing.  Keep them still and don’t look away when forced to lie.
 Maintain eye contact, but not to the point of overdoing it.”

“I
will.  You need to go now.”  When he simply stood there, clearly
hesitant to leave, she added, “I promise I won’t incriminate you.”

“Larissa,
after all I’ve done, why would you protect me?”

“I
told you.  Because you came back for me.”

“And
that’s the
only
reason?”  There was a strange, almost hopeful
expression in his blue eyes.

“What
other reason could there be?”

He
gazed at her for several moments as if he might elaborate.  Finally, he
shrugged.  “I don’t know.  None, I guess.”

Feet
squishing in her shoes, she walked with him as far as the main house, the .45
still clutched in her hand.  She was starting to wheeze again, and she
glanced up to find him gazing at her, blue eyes pinched in worry. 
“Where’s your inhaler?”

“I
dropped it inside the house.”

 He
spread his hands to encompass the house and the surrounding grounds.  “How
does a guy go from being a maintenance man to living in a mansion?”