White Mountain (31 page)

Inside, he stood without moving, listening for signs of activity, but he heard nothing that would lead him to believe anyone was stirring.
 
It was fortunate for him that the hotel operated more like a home than a place of business.
 
The front doors were locked at midnight.
 
No one stood night duty on the front desk, and the kitchen closed at 11:00 p.m.
 
The guests and residents of the old house should be sound asleep, which suited his purposes completely.

Moving silently on rubber-soled shoes, he slipped from the kitchen into the dining room, then from there to the lobby, staying in the shadows until he was certain he was alone.

Confident that all was going according to plan, he hurried past the registration desk, then the stairwell, heading down the hall to the family suite.
 
He considered it fate that Isabella had asked him to help carry her things earlier.
 
It saved him from having to search for her room tonight, not to mention that now he had her key.

When he reached the door, he paused, his eyes narrowing as his expression went flat.
 
He looked down the long hallway, then back behind him.
 
Nothing moved.
 
No one spoke.
 
It was just as well.

Satisfied that all was well, he laid his ear against the door, taking comfort at the silence within.
 
Then, with one last glance around, he took the key that he’d stolen from Isabella’s key ring and slipped it into the lock.

Isabella had cried herself to sleep and for the past hour or so had been locked into a repeat of the same awful dream.
 
In the dream, Jack kept running into the lobby, shouting her name.
 
Only when she saw him, it wasn’t sweat on his clothes and face, it was blood.
 
And every time she tried to ask him what was wrong, he kept pulling his gun and telling her they all had to die.

She rolled onto her back, then to her right side, thrashing beneath the covers as she struggled to stop the sequence from recurring.
 
And then, suddenly, her father was there, standing between her and Jack.

“Daddy…I’m so glad you came.
 
Everything is out of control”
 
She pointed at Jack.
 
“He says the uncles have a secret, but no one will tell me what it is.
 
It’s not fair, Daddy.
 
Make them tell me what it is.”

“Forget the secret, Isabella.
 
Someone is at your door!
 
Wake up.
 
Wake up now!”

Isabella sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding, her eyes wide with fright.
 
Shoving her hair from her face, she held her breath, listening.
 
Listening.

Then she heard it.
 
A faint rattle at the front door of the suite, then a squeak, as if someone had stepped on a loose board in the floor.

Oh my God…it wasn’t a dream!
 
Someone was really trying to get in.

She crawled out of bed, taking the phone with her as she went, and locked herself in the bathroom.
 
Without turning on the lights, she started to dial the police, then realized it would take them too long to arrive.
 
It was then that she thought of Jack Dolan.
 
Since there was a Federal agent on the premises who was meddling into her life, the least he could do was save it before he tore it all to hell.
 
Seconds later, she was dialing his room.

Jack had fallen asleep on top of the covers, still wearing his socks and sweats.
 
When the phone rang.
 
He rolled instinctively toward the side of the bed and was reaching for his shirt as he answered.

“Hello.”

“Jack…it’s me.
 
Someone is trying to get into my room.”

The voice was barely a whisper, but he knew immediately it was Isabella.

“Where are you?”

“I locked myself in the bathroom”

“Stay there.
 
I’m on my way.”

He dropped the phone without hanging it up and grabbed his gun on the way out the door.

Running in his sock feet, he made little noise, but when he started down the stairs, there was no way he could disguise the fact that he was coming.
 
Boards on the stairwell squeaked in several different places, but there was nothing he could do except keep moving.
 
Seconds later, he cleared the last step and headed down the hall to her room.

The night lights in the hallway were off.
 
Another sign of foul intent.
 
The door was ajar.
 
The rooms dark.
 
Holding his gun with both hands, he held it forward in shooting position and slipped inside.

Instantly he saw a shadow passing between him and the window.
 
It was too tall and too broad for Isabella.
 
His belly knotted.
 
Son of a bitch.
 
It had to be Rostov, but why Isabella?
 
What did he think she knew?

He slipped along the wall now, moving quickly but carefully, unwilling to give himself away.

He heard a door rattle, then a soft chuckle.

“Isabella…come out please.
 
You cannot hide from me.”

Jack heard a muffled cry and then a moment of silence before the door rattled again.

He bolted into the bedroom and turned on the light.

“Freeze!” he yelled.
 
“Get down!
 
Get down now!”

Rostov spun, his face contorted in sudden rage as he pulled a knife from his sleeve and launched himself at Jack.

They went down in a tangle of arms and legs as Isabella burst from the bathroom.
 
Jack caught a momentary flash of nightgown and knew she was trying to help.

“Get out!” he shouted.
 
“Get out of the room!”

Isabella ran out of the room and into the hall screaming as she went.

Rostov grabbed Jack by the wrist, trying to wrestle the gun from his hand.
 
It went off beside Rostov’s ear, deafening as the bullet sailed past his head and into the wall behind him.
 
Jack brought his knee up between Rostov’s legs and sent him rolling.
 
Rostov bolted to his feet, pain searing his testicles, as he kicked Jack once in the stomach and then ran from the room.
 
The moment he made it into the hallway, he’d knew he had missed his chance.
 
Isabella Abbott was nowhere in sight.
 
With no time to search for her, he headed for the kitchen, sidestepping small tables and knocking down chairs as he went.

The night air was cool on his face as he burst from the hotel.
 
He ran with his head down and without looking back.
 
Only after he’d reached the safety of the forest did he stop and turn.
 
Every light in the place was on, and the same man who’d caught him was standing on the terrace looking out into the dark—still holding the gun.

Rostov’s heart was pounding, his hands shaking with rage, as he leaned over and puked from the pain between his legs.
 
He’d been so close.
 
Cupping himself as he groaned, he saw the man slip back inside.

It was the writer.
 
He had recognized him on sight.
 
But what need did a writer have for a Glock?
 
Cursing the fates, he hurried away, desperate to take shelter in the old mine he’d found before they began to hunt for him.
 
He’d underestimated the opposition, and it had almost gotten him killed.
 
He couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

He ran and didn’t stop again until he’d gained the safety of his hiding place.
 
Slipping past the deadfall of timber blocking the entrance to the mine, he crawled on his hands and knees to the place where he’d made his bed.
 
It was far enough away from the opening that he could safely build a fire—something that had become increasingly necessary as the nights continued to grow colder.

He tossed some tinder on the embers and then rocked back on his heels, watching them as they caught.
 
Only after the flames were glowing did he lay a small log on the fire.
 
Then he dug through his backpack and pulled out a stick of dried beef.
 
After the fine food and hearty meals he’d been eating for the past week at the hotel, it was a sorry way to fend off hunger.

The hotel was in an uproar.
 
After the gunshot, the Silvias had been in the group of guests who’d rushed to the top of the stairs in concern.
 
Leonardo was ready to pack their things and take Maria back to New York, but she was firm.

“No, Leonard.
 
I will not go until I take back a baby in my belly.”

“If we wanted to be shot in our beds, we could have stayed home and saved ourselves a trip to Montana,” he muttered, as he hurried her back to their room

“No one is hurt and the bad man is gone,” Maria said, and locked them in their room.

Isabella was trying not to get hysterical.
 
Only her Uncle John and Uncle Rufus were on the premises.
 
The others had stayed at the hospital with Thomas.
 
Once she’d assured them that she was okay, she hustled them back to their rooms.
 
She wasn’t convinced that the chaos was over, and the last thing she wanted was for another uncle to succumb to the shock of what was going on as Uncle Thomas had done.

Just as the last of the guests were going back to their rooms, Jack ran back into the lobby.
 
She took one look at him and walked into his arms.

His newly healing ribs were aching from the kick he’d received, but pain was nothing compared to having this woman in his arms.
 
He held her there at the foot of the stairs with the portrait hanging above them, a silent witness to their embrace.

“You save my life.”

Jack masked a shudder.
 
He’d come damn close to being too late to brag about it.

“It’s a good thing you woke up,” he said.
 
“Or I wouldn’t have had the chance.”

“It was Daddy,” she said.

“What?”

“I was dreaming, and suddenly Daddy was in the dream, telling me to forget about secrets and wake up, because someone was at the door.”

“Hell,” Jack muttered.
 
“That’s quite an alarm system you’ve got going.”

Isabella chose not to tell him it wasn’t the first time that her father had come to her in her dreams.
 
There were some things better left unsaid.

“I thought he’d killed you,” she said.
 
“I heard the gunshot, and then he came running out and you—“

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes.”

He sighed.
 
“It was Victor Ross.”

“I know.
 
I saw him.
 
Did you hear him taunting me?”

He smoothed the tangle of hair from her eyes and then rocked her where the stood.

“Yes, baby, I heard.”

“Why, Jack?
 
Why is this happening?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She pulled out of his arms.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.
 
I swear.
 
I don’t know why the man is still here, but I suspect it has something to do with your uncles.”

“Then why come after me?” she asked.

“Who do your uncles love most?” he asked.

Her eyes widened.
 
“Me…I think.
 
Are you saying that Ross was going to use me to get to them?”

“Again, I don’t know.
 
But it makes more sense than anything else I can think of.
 
He wants something.
 
I just don’t know what.”

“Dear God…if only Daddy were still alive.”

Jack thought of the photo lying back in his room.
 
He wasn’t so sure that Samuel Abbott would have been any more cooperative that the other old men had been.
 
Obviously they had all faked their own deaths and taken up bogus identities.
 
He was just waiting for confirmation of it from Steven Randolph.
 
It was the why of it all that held the key.

“I hear sirens,” Jack said.
 
“You sit here where I can see you.
 
I’m going to unlock the front door.”

It took the better part of two hours for the local sheriff’s office to secure the crime scene.
 
The crime scene investigator had left Isabella’s room in a mess.
 
Fingerprint powder was everywhere.
 
There were hundreds of prints, but Jack knew none of them would belong to Victor Ross, because when they’d been fighting, Jack had seen he was wearing gloves.